Daydream with Yaya

Yaya / 21 / Gemini just yapping

[kirayuki22]

Black Fanfic to Life

Y’all remember when Wattpad authors and fans used to make edits for their stories and post them on YouTube? Those little fan trailers used to hit so hard. They made us feel the stories in a whole new way. So, I started thinking… why not do the same for Black fanfic on tumblr?

For years, Black fanfic writers have carried this community on their backs, The representation, the storytelling, the way these stories make us feel seen, it’s unmatched. They’ve given us everything, and so I thought this could be like a way to celebrate them in a new way!

Fan edits inspired by Black fanfic.

So I started by making an edit inspired by the Aaron Pierre fics y’all have been writing. (😩🔥) it’s not tied to one specific fic, but I wanted to bring that romantic, sexy, and cinematic energy we’ve been getting from these stories to life.

This is just the first of many.

So what do y’all think? What fics need an edit? Drop your recs, I wanna hear from you! Let’s make this a thing!

@theegoldenchild @theereina @thecoochiefairy @theblacklewinsky @biglibrat @earthchica @violetmuses @hotgrlcece @megamindsecretlair @wintrrxxo @blkwriters @nysrage @starcrossedxwriter @dilflov3r69 @merakidoll @eyelessfaces @nayaxwrites @erikismybitch @hearteyes-for-killmonger @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @chrollohearttags @st4rbwrry @salaciousdoll @kenshisluvrgirl @writingsbytee @caashmoneynae @thatone-girly @keyaho @nova2kss @nayaesworld @nayaxwrites @ruewritesoccasionally @sugarplum217 @kenshisluvrgirl

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

The reader having an office fling with Erik/Work Hubby

Warnings: SMUT

It’s gonna be two parts because it’s really long and detailed to start. LIKE & REBLOG

**RE UPLOAD**

You wake up on a Monday morning after enjoying your short weekend to start another 9-5 workweek. Even though a part of you wished that you could work from home another part of you wanted to go into the office so you could see Erik. Your work boyfriend. On Saturday you got your hair done in some knotless box braids, went to the spa, and did a little bit of shopping for some new office attire. Today you decided to wear some of that office attire. Nude wrap skirt, a mauve colored wrap top with bell sleeves and some So Kate pumps in a nude color. Your boyfriend and Erik shared the same name but instead, your boyfriend’s name was spelled with a “C”, not a “K”. That boyfriend in question was a personal trainer and vlogger who traveled to try different restaurants mainly in Cali and NYC. He took a two week trip to NYC with a group of his guy friends. You were used to it and grew not to care so much about it. He was living his life to the fullest.

But were you living your life?

Working as a Secretary for an Environmental Technology company that makes billions of dollars gave excellent pay. The money is good but the only thing to look forward to is your gossiping friend Regina who sat in a cubicle directly next to you and Erik, the Lead Environmental Engineer who was also a Biomedical Engineer. He’s charming, witty, mesmerizing, attractive, hardworking, can be very headstrong at times, loves ramen, and has a cat named Paws. Erik with the “K” has you blushing whenever he locked eyes with you, stuttering while you both have random conversations during tea and coffee breaks, texted you funny memes during meetings when you were supposed to be taking notes, instant messages you from his cubicle computer to bug you saying things like:

-Wyd big head?

-Did Eric with the “C” see you leave the house today in that short ass skirt?

-Connie keeps talking to me with her funky ass breath. Help me 🥺.

-So, when are you going to boss up and get an office? I wanna be next to my work bae.

-You wanna get lunch together? My treat. It’s a surprise.

-I know you and Regina are gossiping about me 😌.

-I missed you after work yesterday. 

He’s also the reason why you stayed later on Wednesday and Thursday nights. You would help him brainstorm ideas about improving pollution and what he should say in his speech about global issues such as climate change. He even asked you if you wanted to come with him to Alaska to test the water there but you hadn’t given him an answer yet. You really really wanted to but being alone with Erik wasn’t such a good idea. You were afraid to be in another location besides LA with him for reasons you’d rather not admit to.

After making Erik and yourself an egg white and veggie omelet with a Belgian waffle you headed out the door and to your Prius. Arriving at the office on time, you badge in and take the lobby elevators up to the fifth floor. Stepping off of the crowded elevator, you walk towards the newly decorated staff lounge to put away the food. It was 8:25 am and Erik wouldn’t be in for another ten to fifteen minutes. The lounge had Dunkin Donuts laid out and freshly brewed coffee. You fought the temptation of grabbing a chocolate glazed donut to go to your cubicle and boot your Mac desktop computer so you could check your company email. You said Goodmorning as you walked by. Regina was playing Candy Crush on her cell when you arrived.

“Goodmorning, Gina.” You placed your Chanel bag behind the desktop computer in your cubicle.

“Morning, sis,” Regina tapped away on her phone, “Did you sleep okay?”

“Better this time around, yes,” You flipped your box braids over your shoulder while leaning back in your office chair to talk to Regina, “I haven’t heard from Eric all weekend.”

“Which one?”

You pursed your lips, “You know which one.”

She laughs, “Erik with the C. What’s up with that?”

You shrug, “Don’t know and don’t care. He acts like he can’t answer my calls or texts so I can check up on him so I’ll act like he doesn’t exist.”

Regina gave you a knowing look, “I’m sure you and Erik with the K, aka Captain Planet, texted his work bae, Miss Y/N, all weekend long.”

You bite your bottom lip to fight a goofy smile.

“See,” Regina crosses her dark chocolate legs, “he’s not just your work bae. He’s Daddy.”

“Stop!” You throw a pen at her chest, before lowering your voice, “Erik and I are not having sex, Gina. We may flirt and text outside of work-“

“And during work hours,” Regina interjected.

“Like I said, we are not having sex-“

“Who’s not having sex?”

Regina and your head turned to stare up at Erik Stevens. He had his briefcase in one hand and a black coffee with extra brown sugar in his other hand. Tailored suit colored navy blue with gold cuff links. Burberry dress shoes on his feet. Vintage gold-plated oval eyeglasses over his onyx eyes. He gave Regina and you a teasing smile. The smile where he raised one corner of his mouth to reveal a single deep dimple.

“Y/N,” Regina answered with wide playful eyes.

“Oh?” Erik gave Y/N a mournful look, “Damn, ma. That’s too bad.”

You glare at them both, “I will ignore both of y’all the rest of the day if you keep fucking with me.”

You got up from your seat, pushing in your chair, and tried your best to ignore the snickering from them both. Walking away, Erik was right on your tail, his hand reaching out to grab your shoulder to stop you.

“Calm down, it’s all jokes,” he licks his full lips, “But seriously…no sex between you and your man?”

Groaning, you walk into the lounge to grab the food.

“Why are we having this conversation?”

“Because I’m concerned,” Erik turned his back to lean against the counter with his arms folded over his chest, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You place his food inside the microwave to heat, “I know. It’s just embarrassing, Erik.”

Erik grabs your chin to make you stare at him instead of the microwave, “Don’t even give me that excuse. Remember, we shared a lot of embarrassing stories in this office after hours.”

How could you forget?

“Yeah…it’s boring, Erik. I’m sure you’re having the best sex of your life in your fancy penthouse. Probably having orgies with models and actresses. They love a sweet and caring guy,” Y/N said sarcastically.

Erik’s tongue grazes the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling, “Why orgies specifically?”

“Is that all you focused on?!!” You shove him before taking his food out, “gosh, I hate you.”

Erik takes a swig of his coffee, “which is girl code for gosh, I love you,”

You shook your head with a grin, “leave me alone.”

“Which means, give me attention,” Erik grabs both of your shoulders, before bringing his head around to plant a kiss on your cheek, “I know y’all female dictionary like the back of my hand.”

Your head turned to face him after his lips caressed your cheek. Now, that area was warm and ticklish. Erik grabs his food and walks over to one of the tables. That gave you some time to breathe and heat your food as a distraction. Why did he have to kiss you? It’s not like he’s never done it before but every time he did it, Erik made you melt and wish it were your lips instead.

“You make some bomb food, girl. I think I’m jealous of Eric with a C.”

“Says the guy who makes the best shrimp and grits I have ever tasted besides my grandma,” you take a seat in front of him. While you ate you watched him cut into his waffle covered in syrup. His long lashes curled each time he blinked and his lips were so pouty and kissable whenever he concentrates the way he does. You felt like a schoolgirl watching him eat.

“So,” Erik chews his food some more before talking, “Alaska.”

“What about it?” You play it off by cutting your omelet up.

“Y/N,” Erik raised his brow at you, “You know about Alaska this is my fourth time bringing it up.”

“When is it?”

“In a month,” Erik takes a swig of his coffee to wash down his food before leaning forward on his elbows to make you look at him, “it’s gonna be for a week, all paid for, a mini-vacay with skiing, Matanuska Glacier walk, and lunch, helicopter tour, cozy cabin…”

Erik tilted his head at you and smiled. You looked down at your food bashfully. It all sounded so tempting. You would love to go…

“I don’t know, Erik,” you shake your head, “Eric will be home and-“

“How many trips does he take leaving you home?”

“More than I can count,” you reply shamefully.

“Exactly. I ain’t tryna overstep but…” Erik left it at that and went back to his food. You slouch in your chair deep in thought. Erik has a point. Your boyfriend traveled whenever he pleased and didn’t even ask how you felt about it once. You respected that he wanted to drop his career as a teacher to travel, eat, and vlog. Not once did he suggest taking you on one of his food journeys. You honestly felt left out.

You deserve some fun too.

Moving your food around with your fork, you finally come to a decision.

“I’ll go.” You spoke softly as if you couldn’t believe you’d just agreed to it.

“Seriously?” Erik asked with his eyes unblinking and on yours.

“Yes,” you let out a breath, “I’ll go to Alaska and have some fun for once. I haven’t been out of town in so long it’ll feel good to go.”

Alaska with Erik Stevens. For an entire week. Just you and him. Your knees shook under the table.

“See,” he smirked while stabbing a piece of omelet with his fork, “It’s crazy how I had to ask your ass four times total to come with me.”

“Why is that crazy?” You asked with a laugh.

“Because it never takes a woman this long to say yes to me,” he says in a very boastful manner.

“I’m not your woman though,” you say before you could even stop yourself.

“You are my woman,” Erik rested his tongue on his upper lip before grinning, “just at work and without the sex, kissing, taking showers together-“

“Okay, you made your point, boyfriend.” You stop him before he continued.

“Does Eric know about me?”

“A little,” you look towards the ceiling, “ he’d probably cancel all his travel plans if he knew how you looked.”

Erik bit into his bottom lip, “how do I look, Y/N?”

“Fine as hell,” you giggle as if you were drunk, “He already thinks he’s the finest thing walking.”

“That’s your man though,” Erik chuckles, “You think he’s fine, right?”

“I mean, yeah, of course.”

Both of you laugh.

“I swear,” you wave him away, “you play too much.”

“Don’t make me steal you away from him.” Erik laughed. His laugh made your stomach do summer salts.

“Okay, Erik,” you speak in a dismissive tone.

“I mean, I could though.”

“Why do you insist on playing?! If I was single-“

“You would be mine,” Erik finished.

“You can have any woman you want. Why me?”

Erik scanned your body at that table, “Really? What you mean? Have you seen yourself, ma?”

“Stop,” you giggle. He can’t be serious. Erik is a flirt but why on earth would he play like this?

“You always think a nigga playing when I say that shit.” He sounded offended. You didn’t have a reply for that. Avoiding his intense eyes you finished your food while Erik closed his empty container and placed it on the counter next to the thermal lunch bag you brought the food in.

“Aight let me get to my desk,” he grabs his coffee and walked up towards you. Erik moves your box braids from your shoulder before grabbing the back of your neck gently. The feel of his smooth fingertips on your skin made the hairs on the back of your neck and arms rise.

“I’ll see you later, babe.”

You blush with a mouth full of food, “Okay, I’ll see you later too, baby.”

His fingers left your neck and combed through your box braids before he walked away and out of the lounge. You were so preoccupied with his fingers on the back of your neck and in your hair that you lost your appetite.

——

You stood at Regina’s cubicle halfway listening to her speak and the other half focusing on Erik in his office. He looked bored as hell. Your eyes watched him ball up random printer paper from his fax machine to shoot into his document waste basketball hoop that he had in the corner near the door. He made it perfectly every time. Erik had the coolest office out of all the other Environmental Engineers. Besides the typical Newton’s Cradle pendulum balls that’s a famous desk accessory, he had a tropical tabletop fountain, stress relief visual illusion toys, stainless steel pin art hand mold, darts, a Rubik’s cube, Nintendo switch, and many other cool and fun shit.

“Girl,” Regina said chewing on a granola bar, “You’re not even paying attention to me.”

“I am,” You allow your eyes to fall on her accusatory ones, “I’m just…looking around.”

“No,” Regina puts up a hand to stop you, “You’re looking at Erik.”

Both Regina and yourself look over at him, spotting Erik walking back and forth now with his suit jacket removed and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up. He was finger juggling a pen with his right hand while speaking into a Bluetooth in his ear.

“You might as well let him ruin you, Y/N,” Regina says with a whisper.

“Oh my God, Gina,” you stomp across the carpeted floor in your pumps before taking your seat again to finish organizing in Microsoft Excel.

“He could flirt with any other woman in here. Connie, Demetria, Anita, Nicole, any of those chicks, but he chooses you. Why is that, Y/N?”

“I don’t know, Gina, enlighten me,” You roll your eyes.

“No need. You already know. Erik is feeling you, heavy baby. Heavy like that ass in that skirt that we both know you purposefully wore today to make him look.”

“OKAY.” You stop her with an abrupt tone, “Fine. Yes, Gina. Yes, I know Erik is feeling me. But I am in a relationship and I can’t just-“

“Heffa, please,” Regina laughs, “don’t even try that shit with me. You are feeling him just the same. You and Eric with the C don’t even exist when you walk in here. It’s obvious you don’t want to be with that man anymore and I wouldn’t be surprised if he is fucking some chick in NYC and secretly taking her on his little food quests. You can look at me like that all you want but deep down you know I’m speaking facts.”

“Gina,” you speak with a warning, “I will throw this stapler at your head next.”

“Won’t. Change. The. Truth,” Regina flips her long ponytail.

A part of you did believe that Eric was cheating on you. It was so obvious at times but you didn’t want it to come to that. You and Eric have been together for about five years. But then again, that shit doesn’t matter. If it did, he would be worried about fixing the relationship instead of traveling for views.

Ping Ping

-Here comes Connie. Let me take a big gulp of air before she walks in here.

Erik instant messaged you. You snicker like a child doing some sneaky shit. He was so damn goofy.

-Damn. Why don’t you just offer her some gum?

-If I do that she’ll know I think her breath stink.

-Just play it cool. Have some sitting out, grab a piece, and offer her a stick. It’s that simple.

-she talks too damn much. Just talk to me about the Alaska job so I can be prepared. That’s why I’m glad you’re coming with me.

You looked up over your cubicle to watch Connie talking animatedly while Erik swivels in his chair from side to side.

Catch my eye.

Onyx met chestnut.

Erik covered his mouth with his fist to hold in his laughter before placing his hand up at Connie, from what it looked like, to reassure her that he wasn’t laughing at what she’d said.

-want me to drag her out of there by that takky blouse?

-Why are you such a gangsta, girl? LOL aight, come handle my light work, ma

-not before I get a hospital mask so I don’t breathe in her toxic fumes. Llab

-😂😂😂😂😂 straight stupid.

You snicker again.

“What is so damn funny?” Regina peered over at you with curious eyes.

“Just IM with Erik,” you bite the gel acrylic on your thumb nail to smother your giggles, “He can’t stand Connie.”

“Mhm,” Regina smiles, “y’all so damn cute just get married already.”

-she’s gone 😁

-let’s celebrate lol.

Erik sends fireworks through the IM. You send balloons.

-enough about her. I see you 👀

-what’s that?

-you showing off. That attire is hella tight. What you doing with all of that?

-nothing. Lol, why do I have to be doing something?

-I know you wore that for my eyes only. I feel special.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. He was going down that lane. You weren’t prepared but still, you typed away.

-I figured you would appreciate it since my man wasn’t home to admire it before I left.

-Yo’ nigga got some screws loose because I wouldn’t be away letting my girl walk out the house like that.

-like what?

-with all that ass sitting in that skirt.

-can’t help that I have a lot to work with.

-ain’t no problem for me. If you were fucking with me Y/N I’d make you forget your name. Real talk.

You crossed your legs under the desk and rubbed the back of your neck. If he fucking bitches to make them forget their identities then that means his dick really ain’t nothing to play with.

-nothing to say huh?

-I’m just thinking.

-about what? Talk to me.

-why you really want me to come to Alaska with you.

-😌

-well? You’re gonna tell me why?

-Because I want you to myself.

-So I can show you something you’ve been missing.

-Eric ain’t putting it down on my work bae like he should be.

You were so damn nervous. Day by day Erik would grow more frustrated with Eric and your situation. Like Regina said, just let Erik ruin you. It’s a shame to say that you haven’t had sex in about a month. It was just you, your fingers, and your favorite vibrator. It could be Erik, his fingers, his dick, his mouth, and multiple orgasms.

-He’s not. It’s been too long. ☹️

-You ain’t gotta tell me how long. I can see it in your body language.

You twirl a braid in your hand. Looking away from your computer, you try to be discreet, bringing your eyes to peer over the top of your cubicle into Erik’s office. He was drinking a bottle of water while his eyes concentrated on the computer screen with knitted brows. He placed his bottle on the desk and leaned in, typing again.

Ping ping

-Don’t ignore me before I walk over there.

-ooooo I’m scared.

-Aight, bet. I’m coming.

-I want you to think long and hard about that, Stevens.

You were flustered, wet, shaken up that he wanted to “show you” what you’ve been missing, and willing to risk it all if he left his office space to come to talk to you.

-that’s what she said. 😈

You chuckle. He could turn any topic into sex.

“Hey, Erik,”

You look up to find him standing next to your cubicle while Regina looked at the both of you with interest. You stand from your seat, ready to get yourself some water but Erik has your shoulders.

“Where you going?” His husky voice tickled your ear.

“For some water.”

Erik starts massaging your shoulders lightly.

“Can I come with you? I need to stretch my legs.”

“Whatever, I don’t care.” You lead the way.

But you did care. You wondered what he was up to. Now that you walked ahead of him with that very tight wrap skirt on you felt exposed like he has x-ray vision and can see your phat dimpled cheeks bounce and sway. Thank God for an empty lounge. You walk over to the fountain, grabbing a cup, and Erik was right on your side, holding the tap down for you. Your cheeks poke out to hide your blush.

“Thank you,” you speak softly. His eyes were intent on you. Not once did you give in and look his way while drinking that ice-cold water. Suddenly unable to breathe you back up a little to make some space between you two. Erik followed with his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“Don’t you have a ton of work to do?” You ask to try and divert the attention away from you. Too late. Erik was determined to make you weak in front of him.

“I do but we have a long day, ma. I’ll get it done. I just couldn’t stand being away from my work bae.”

You rub your fingers along the wet cup, “I’m convinced now that you only come to work to be near me.”

“I’m cool with that,” He shrugs, “I could be a whole lot of things if it wasn’t for your man who’s supposed to be home with you.”

“He’ll be back-“

“And then he’ll be gone again,” Erik let’s out a sigh, “We’re playing too many games, Y/N. I’m tired of the flirting back and forth when I know you really want me. Stop coming in here to impress me with these bomb-ass outfits. I’ve been impressed for over a year now.”

Erik closed the space between you both, pressing his chest against your fuller one. You look over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming and when the coast was clear you focused your heated gaze on him.

“I’m tryna undress you with my fucking hands, not my eyes.” Erik takes his fingers to play with the bow of your wrap skirt, “You feel what I’m saying?”

You couldn’t speak. Your eyes were to busy admiring this gorgeous man who wanted to fuck you. His inviting eyes saw exactly what you wanted. A long, hard, fuck. Taking his fingers, Erik grabs your chin delicately to stroke. He made you feel so precious and desired.

“So, can I do that?” Erik asked with his lips kissing along your jawline. Your eyes landed on the door to check it and still, no one was there.

“Can I take care of you, ma?”

Yes.

You had this look in your eyes, this look that said, please, Daddy, come fuck me. He smelled so damn good. So invigorating and moisturizing. You could make out a hint of exotic arabica coffee and coconut oil on the skin of his neck.

“No,” you lick your upper lip, “No, you can’t.”

His lips found yours. He swallowed that no with his full lips and tongue. Both of you knew that your answer was disbelieving when your hands came up to wrap around his neck. That was a green light for Erik. His hands came around your waist, and then down to cup your ass. He would alternate between rubbing your spine and making your cheeks bounce in his hands. Erik rests his chin on your shoulder so he could peer behind you to watch his hands squeezing all that ass on you. He would let it go and watch it bounce before slapping it lightly so he wouldn’t make a lot of noise. You felt your heart in your throat. Now, his crotch was pressed into yours. Long and hard indeed. Let’s not forget thick.

“You free tonight?” He whispered in your ear.

“Yeah,” you could feel him lifting you from the floor to sit your bottom on the counter. He was between your legs while your hands reach for his tie to tug on. It distracted you from being so nervous. His hands rested on your exposed upper thighs rubbing your warm skin in slow circles to sooth you. All he was doing was killing you. His touch was so soft and gentle but under all of that was a rough dominating grasp that you yearned for

You weren’t sure which throbbing you wanted to quiet more—the throbbing between your legs or the throbbing from your heartbeat against your chest. All those daydreams about rubbing your swollen pussy lips all over Erik’s face until you came. Now that the both of you crossed yet another line——the touching and kissing line, there was no telling what would happen next. Sex after hours in the office on his desk? Walks to the parking lot only to fuck in the back seat of his car? Happy hour on Friday evenings only to get drunk and have sex at his penthouse? 

“Can I come over to keep you company?” 

“I don’t know, E. This office fling situation can fuck with both of our jobs.” You nibble on your bottom lip the second his lips came into contact with your throat. 

“Nobody gotta know,” his plush lips sought out yours again, “It can be our little secret, baby.” 

“But what if someone does find out?”

“It won’t happen like that, trust me,” Erik grabs your hand to rest against his crotch. Erik was swelled to cum-inspiring proportions, making you want to finger-fuck yourself with mounting enthusiasm. 

“Damn, Erik.” Now you were thinking about this office fling as a carnal delight after hours. 

“I know, right? Imagine me walking around all day, watching you with these big titties…shapely legs…and round ass…”

You had the body, beauty, and brains. That meant that you seldom went unnoticed; especially not by Erik, your work bae. Your slant eyes and supple body reminded him of a jungle cat that, when tamed, purred like a kitten. He wanted to hear you mewl and whimper in his ear while his dick that was currently twisted and curved in his briefs bounced off the walls of your pussy. He could see the lust in your feline eyes how quickly you noticed his arched appendage. You were probably fantasizing about what wonderful things it could do for your G-spot. 

“Keep looking at me like that and watch I finger-fuck this pussy right here,” Erik’s eyes went down to look at the Apple watch on his wrist, “It’s almost that time to eat. I’m tryna eat something else though…”

“Eat me?” You couldn’t control that slipping from your mouth. 

“Slob on this yummy pussy,” his hand was between your legs now, caressing the outside of your saturated panties, “You gonna feed me?”

“Where?” You whisper.

“Shit, we can go to my car for lunch. I got tinted windows.” Erik was desperate to slide his tongue inside you. 

“Erik, this is crazy.” You laugh faintly before he took your face into his hands, gazed into your eyes, and kissed you so urgently it felt as if you were floating away. You could think of nothing else but how good he made you feel. Erik explores your mouth with his tongue, not wanting you to miss an inch of how skilled he was using his mouth. 

“You’ll be begging me to make this pussy feel good in a minute.”

You were relentless with your hands squeezing the weight of Erik’s curved erection in his black slacks. You really wanted to untuck his dress shirt, get down on your knees, and suck him with a wide-open mouth. Keep your mouth as wide-open as was physically possible—anxiously awaiting your reward. 

“Don’t worry babe,” Erik gently pulls your hand away from his crotch, “wait for lunch and you can have me all to yourself, okay?”

———

You waited and waited. As soon as Erik left that lounge to go back to his desk a last-minute meeting was called and of course, you had to attend as well. Everyone got up from their designated spots to head to the conference room. You squeezed into the same elevator cart as Erik, moving to the back so you could be near him. On purpose, you settle in front of him. Erik’s hand reached out to play with your thick ass while you focused on your phone. That only lasted for about ten seconds because now you were on the 6th floor. Hungry for his touch again you allow everyone else to leave so he could slap your ass. 

During the hour-long meeting, both of your eyes would meet and knowing smiles would appear on both of your faces. You didn’t like the fact that Demetria was seated next to him with her cleavage hanging out from her black blazer. She tried her best to make Erik notice her but he didn’t give a fuck about her thirsty actions. 

It was well past lunchtime and most of the office had gone to either the food court in the building or outside to find something different to eat for a change. Your stomach was rumbling waiting for Erik. Groaning, you put your computer to sleep before grabbing your Chanel bag to leave for lunch by yourself. It wasn’t Erik’s fault, you knew that, but you couldn’t help being upset and sexually frustrated. No pussy eating or dick sucking in his G Wagon 550 SUV in a desert silver metallic color. 

Eating alone was boring and lonely. You played with your Caesar salad and hardly even toughed the veggie lasagna. How were you supposed to feed your appetite when it was salivating for dick? You were so excited to finally hook up with Erik. Checking the time on your phone, you had about two hours left in your shift. You pack away the food and decide to save it for dinner tonight. Standing up, you push in the silver chair at the food court table, walking away with a click-clack of your So Kate pumps. You thumb the elevator button before slipping a piece of gum into your mouth. The doors open up and you enter, turning to watch them shut as your reflection appeared. 

Ping ping

Erik -where did you go?

-To lunch. I was hungry.

Erik- Really? Why didn’t you wait for me?

-Because I was STARVING. Plus, you were busy.

Erik- I’m not busy anymore. Where are you now?

-Heading back upstairs.

Erik- I’ll wait for you.

-Erik, I have to go back to work!

Erik- fuck that you know what I want.

DING. Fifth Floor.

“Told you I’ll wait for you,” He smiles at you dangerously. 

You almost swallow your gum the way he approached you. You and him, alone in that elevator. Erik kisses your lips, savoring the minty taste from the gum. He pulled back, taking his thumb to wipe the spit from his bottom lip. He turns around to press the 4th-floor button since that’s were the garage entrance was. Suddenly you were shaking in your pumps. It was really going to happen. Finally, your pussy wouldn’t feel painfully neglected. Finally, you could have the touch of a man on your body after an entire month. 

“Are you okay?” Erik asked while looking down at you. 

“Yeah, I’m cool,” you give him a reassuring smile.

DING. Fourth Floor.

Down a hallway and through the garage door you both went with your hand in Erik’s. You walk along the concrete ground as your ears took in the sounds of sirens and car horns honking in the middle of traffic. His G-Wagon was parked in a private spot. Erik took his keys out of his suit jacket and unlocked it with a click of a button, even started it up as well. You could hear the engine rumble. The large SUV vibrates as the sound of his radio playing blasted through the speakers. Erik opened the back door, reclining the backseats to lay flat like a bed. He takes off his suit jacket, tossing it in the passenger seat before turning to you, lifting you up, and sitting you in the back. 

Once there, you take off your heels and place them far enough away so Erik and you could have plenty of space. Erik sat down, leaning forward to remove his shoes. After that, he unbuttoned his dress shirt before pulling it off and balling it up to toss at the front with his suit jacket. He finally turns, crawling his large chiseled body towards you with playful eyes.

“Is that pussy still as wet as it was earlier today? Can I taste that kitty?”

Erik pulled your legs, laying you down on your back. He was on his knees between your legs, opening them wide causing your skirt to lift and bunch around your waist. He came face to face with that phat puss covered in wet fabric. Your voice was stuck in your throat. Erik takes both of his masculine hands to pull down your already saturated panties, spreading open your legs further, and staring at that pink pussy coated with cream. He could smell your scent. His car smelling like your wet pussy. 

“Yeah, this pussy still sloppy,” Erik listened to you purr as he flicked your clit with his thumb. Erik continues to do this while slapping your pussy with his fingers. Each time he slapped your pussy, your juices would build and build to the point of making puddles beneath your ass in his car. 

“Can I stuff this pussy with my fingers now,” Erik licked his thick fingers clean, “I wanna squeeze in there deep, baby girl.” 

“Yes,” Your cunt was starving.

“Good, girl.” 

He plunged first one, then two, then three fingers deep inside your pussy, flickering at your clit at the same time. He was directly over your G spot with the pads of his fingers repeatedly rubbing you there. Your legs went wider and wider. The sound of your succulent pussy increased in such severity that it was almost deafening. Your moans mixed with the sound of The palm of Erik’s hand slapping your cunt each time he finger-fucked you had him grunting and groaning.

“Faster, faster,” You called out while gyrating your hips to fuck his fingers. 

“There you go, fuck my fingers, just like that, get it, baby,” Erik bites his lip, “look at you ready to bust a nut on my hand, mmm, get that shit, baby.”

A rush of juices flooded the back seat. Erik’s eyes grew wide as your fingers tightened around him. That liquid poured each time he moved his fingers inside of you. All you could do was moan and shake beneath him. Your ass was glued to that surface. 

“Damn, Y/N.” Erik takes his fingers out slowly before licking them clean. He got up on his knees to reach into his trunk, bringing a Puma gym bag over towards him. He opened it with his wet hands, pulling out a thick black towel that was wrapped in a body wash. Erik places that towel beneath your ass to soak up your mess. 

“Making a mess in my fucking car.” 

“I’m sorry,” You cover your face with embarrassment, “I do that a lot.”

“Don’t apologize about that, ma, I don’t give a fuck. Keep doing it like that on these fingers. Better yet…do it like that on my tongue,” Erik laid flat on his stomach, “You can squirt in Daddy’s mouth too.” 

Erik began lapping away at your pussy with such zeal that you were squirming and squealing within minutes. With the flat of his tongue, Erik assaulted your pussy with such a lashing that your legs turned to jello. Erik then probed ever so deeply inside your dripping wet pussy with his pointed tongue, tongue-fucking your slot until your eyes rolled up into your head. He found your throbbing, erect clit and tortured you sweetly with licks and nibbles that sent electric charges throughout your entire body. Grabbing your thighs to squeeze, feasting on that syrupy pussy, Erik’s dick dripped pre-cum in anticipation of your walls capturing his dick and holding tight, while he thrust himself deeper and deeper inside of you. 

“Damn, ma, I’m literally drinking this pussy dry.” 

“You make me feel so good! Make me feel good, Erik.”

Erik’s tongue circled around your pussy. Each time he did that your hips would jerk. He was fighting that pussy back with his lips and tongue each time you pumped your hips. You gazed into his dark, sexy eyes and increased the movement of your hips. 

“Oh, fuck!” Erik wrapped his whole mouth around your pussy and started slurping. All Erik could think about was how good you tasted and the heat radiating from your pussy. 

“Shit tastes so good, girl,” He licked his plate clean, “fuck, look at my dick.”

His shit was twisted and curved to the right in those pants. Erik got on his knees to undo his pants. He let out a long sigh of relief the minute his pants and briefs made it down his thighs, resting at his knees. He sat down and pulled the rest of his clothes off, now he was naked from the waist down. You watch his thick dick jerk in his hand. That dick looked like it could bench press a barbell with how hard he was as Erik slid his hand up and down his burgeoning erection. His dick skyrocketed to its highest capacity causing your mouth to drool. Erik pointed out that dick at your mouth. Doing that caused his slit to open and show you his pre-cum waiting to be sucked out. 

“Come suck me, baby,” His grip was so tight on his dick.

You obeyed every word and sucked him up into your mouth. Damn, Erik was a big boy. So girthy and veiny. Intimidating for sure. His tip blossomed so thickly your lips had a hard time wrapping around it to suck. Erik with a C ain’t have nothing on this dick. A beautiful slab of tasty meat gliding across your tongue and poking the back of your throat. 

“Damn, this is how you do it, ma? You should have warned a nigga first.”

He held the back of your head to guide your mouth lower. Each time he did that, he would grunt and whisper oh, my God, which made you super wet. All you wanted him to do was splatter your mouth with his cum. He was already so close to detonation so you opened up as wide as you could stretch to fill him all the way in. 

“DAYUM!!!” Erik bellowed, “Good girl, don’t waste a fucking drop when I bust in this pretty mouth. Never.”

You graduated from plain old hungry to ravenous. That cum of his sputtering and spurting forth was your reward. The suctioning noise of your hand jerking him empty into your throat mixed with Erik’s deep moans made your pussy convulse around nothing even though you could feel it dripping. You slapped his ever-expanding dick against your tongue. 

“Shit,” Erik looked from his wet dick to your face, “Baby girl, I ain’t cum this hard in a minute from getting head.” 

You plant kisses all over his dick, working yourself up to more sucking, “I can give you more, Daddy.”

“Give me more of that mouth,” Erik played with your braids, “Swallow my shit and lick my balls.”

“Mmm, okay, Daddy.”

Erik’s eyes rolled back when your lips would suck and then pop off his sack. He had to control himself from cumming in your hair. 

“Shit doesn’t make no sense,” Erik looked at you with disbelief before a strangled look filled with passion overtook his features. 

“Fffuckkk!!!” He groaned as he blasted inside your mouth with his sweet, sticky offering. You ran your index finger over your bottom lip to retrieve a dollop of cum. That only left you more famished than before causing you to enthusiastically slurp on his rigid pipe again until it was damn near raw and your pussy was sopping wet. 

“Y/N,” Erik’s fingers were tight in your hair. You tasted a bit of leftover cum from his slit with your hungry tongue. 

Ring Ring 

Erik’s cell was going off. 

“Shit,” He reached into his pants pockets while you jerked his dick. He answered his phone with an annoyed expression. 

“What’s going on, Greg,” Greg was a fellow Environmental Engineer, “What? Right now?” Erik closed his eyes before tossing his head back, “Okay, give me ten minutes.” 

Erik hung up his phone. 

“We gotta go, ma,” You could hear the disappointment in his voice, “Supposedly it’s something urgent about Alaska.” 

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “Should I be worried about the trip?”

Erik gave you a soft smile, “Nah, Alaska is happening regardless. Don’t worry, bae, we good.” 

You pulled your skirt down and placed your wet panties in your bag. You watched Erik fasten his belt in place before he opened the back door to let some air in. You rose from the car, Erik helping you put on your pumps before placing you on your feet. Digging into your bag you sprayed yourself with a little of your Chanel No.5, hoping to camouflage the lingering scent of sex. 

Looking in Erik’s rearview mirror, you fix your lipgloss and clothes, everything else good to go. Erik was currently spraying himself down with some Gucci cologne from his Puma gym bag and buttoning his suit jacket. He looked just as crisp as he did when he came in this morning. 

“You still ain’t answer my question, beautiful.” 

“What question,” Erik grabs your hand while the both of you walked back inside.

“Can I keep you company later?” 

You chew on your bottom lip in thought. Eric with the C, your actual boyfriend, might call you later and you didn’t want Erik with the K to be around to raise suspicion. Still, no word from Eric and the longer that happened the more you didn’t give a fuck. 

“Am I pressing too much?” Erik asks with soft eyes.

“No, no,” you reassured him, “I just think it would be better to come to your place instead. That’s all.”

“We can do that,” Erik walked towards you with his body pressed into yours, “Bring an overnight bag. You’re not going back home.”

His lips attacked your throat again, sucking and licking you there.

“I ain’t give my work bae some dick yet so you know I gotta take care of you,” His hands found their way back between your legs and on your sensitive pussy, “You gonna let me do that for you?” He asked huskily.

“Oh, Daddy, please do,” you responded.

————

You got home around 6:30 PM. You showered, finished the rest of your lunch since your appetite for dick was satisfied and drank a little bit of red wine. 

Surprised, shocked, nervous, you decided to wear a black velour tracksuit with your Fenty slides to Erik’s place and packed away everything else you needed on a faux fur tote bag. Phone sitting on the charger, you go to check it since you received a few notifications since coming home.

Eric with the C.

Eric- I’m alright. Sorry for the lack of communication. Really busy.

-that’s okay. Be safe.

He didn’t respond back. 

No I love you, I miss you, I’m thinking about you, nothing. 

Luckily the picture Erik sent to you made up for that. It was a shower picture. From his broad shoulders down to his well-knit waist with that v cut covered in soap and water. You had the urge to satisfy the cries leaking from your pussy at the moment. You had half the mind to pull your pants down and finger-fuck your pussy into multiple orgasms leaving your slit covered in sticky cum for him to find. How dare he tease you like that? Since you were spending the night you can look forward to shower with him. This entire fling had your skin tingling. Your fingers scrolled down to read the texts he left you. You really wished you hadn’t because now you were whimpering. 

Erik- Can’t wait for you to put that work in for Daddy.

Erik- where you at? I’m tryna put this thang in your gut.

Erik- want me to come to get you?

He was blowing you up. Eric with the C never did this.

-Hey, sorry, I was getting my things together. You don’t have to pick me up.

HONK HONK. 

Erik- too late. 

You walk to your living room to find Erik parked outside. He was typing away on his phone. 

Ping Ping 

Erik- Stop making me wait, girl. 

You grab your bag, phone, and keys before locking up and leaving. Walking down your cobblestone trail, Erik hops out of his car, walking around to meet you. He was wearing a black Burberry ribbed beanie with a Pyer Moss color block Reebok windbreaker tracksuit on and the same brand of shoes on his feet. He tongued you down before taking your bag to place in the back seat that was now cleaned and placed normally. Erik opened your door to help you up inside before shutting it to return to the driver’s side. You watched him walk all the way around and get inside with sultry eyes. With his hand on your upper thigh, he drove off and towards his Penthouse.

[wintrrxxo]

ꨄ︎ Fanfic Writers Masterlist ꨄ︎

ᡣ𐭩 I wanna start this post off with saying these are just the first people/blogs that came to my mind. I have a lot of real-life responsibilities that, unfortunately, prevent me from being able to read fanfics very often. Typically, whenever I'm on here, I'm trying to write, so if I didn't add you to this, it is not personal at all, I promise!

ᡣ𐭩 Also, feel free to self promo on this if you'd like or lmk if you want to be added directly onto it!

This is all 18+ BTW. Minors DNI

@chrollohearttags

@st4rbwrry

@ramonathinks

@blond3ang3l

@pinkmirth

@sintiva

@shaguro

@arminzblackbimbo

@thecoochiefairy

@sundew199

@gojom0jo

@aothotties

@blkkizzat

@soleilsfilm

@slvttyplum

@swytdoll

@2neaky

@kunareads

@merakidoll

These are specific fics I can think of right now that I love and are 1000% worth a read!

@ohayopoko has an Eren x black reader fic called Match.

@mrsackermannx - has lots of perfect Levi oneshots and a chaptered Levi fic called Fable.

@yung-notorious - has an ongoing Gojo x reader fic on ao3 called Never Lose Me

@jaegersmoon - has an ongoing Jean x reader fic called Okay, Bambi

[midnightmemoirsofher]

Smoke Stories

Stories centered on Elijah “Smoke” Moore, the quiet pressure, the long stare, the man who moves slow and leaves damage anyway. These are narratives driven by restraint, control, and tension that simmers before it snaps. Smoke doesn’t rush. He watches, waits, and chooses. When he finally acts, it’s deliberate and unforgettable.

Red = Series

MUSE MASTERLIST

Kingdoms of Smoke and Gold

Across The Water

Built for my Hands

Sit Still

Too Much House

Ruined & Kept | What Still Burns

Tasha’s Delivery

Held by Smoke

 Something You Shouldn’t Touch | Everything You Took

Across the Screen | This Close, This Real

Seven Nights, No Mercy | Date Night Degenerates

Operation Love: The Smoke & The Light Pt 1 | Operation Love: The Smoke & The Light PT 2

Hole in the Wall Heaven | Smoke & Silence

Mine Before Morning | Sun on Skin, Mine on You

Taste Test | Second Course

What You Asked For

Route 69 | Love Ain’t a Road I Trust | Stay Still Long Enough | somewhere between miles and staying

SMOKE DON’T CLEAR EASY

Smoke in the Bones

The Devil's Playground

Patience Is A Virtue | The Virtue of Need

Orange Chaos

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

TONGUE TWISTA! 🫦

Pairing: GF!Mirko x Black!F!Reader x Semiu Grier

Synopsis: After a hot night at the club with your girlfriend, you catch the eye of another baddie just like your favorite bunny hero. She's also just as posessive and dominant. What happens when you get both muscle mommies both in the bedroom for a fantasy fit for heaven?

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); Reader Has Braids; Threesome; Girl on Girl on Girl lol; Strangers to Lovers; After-The-Club Sex; Pussy-Eating; Facesitting; Strength Kink; Muscle Worship; Wetness; Clit Stimulation; Edging; Orgasm Denial; Mommy Kink; Legs Up; Spanking; Spitting; Pussy Spanks; Dom!Mirko x sub!Reader x Dom!Semiu; Sharing is Caring; Reader Cums 2x; Free Use!Reader; Aftercare; Strap Sex Talk; Cliffhanger Ending teehee

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer's Note: I feel so fucking bad that I didn't get a chance to put more fics out for Pride Month 😔😔 This month has truly been one of the busiest so far. BUT I'm happy to get this one out for y'all at least! This is my very first Mirko fic & there will be plenty more later on cuz that's my waifu fr. I hope y'all enjoy! -love, Jazz

Credits: Divider by @pixopix!

“So you think you can take us both, cutie?”

Your girlfriend stands before you, all lean muscle underneath her mesh, deep-cut top that exposes her delectable tits and lean stomach sinewy with abs. She is smirking down at you in a way that is so knowing and teasing while you try to focus on both her AND the short-haired bombshell standing next to her.

"U-Um…I could try." You try to laugh, but it comes out nervous and breathy even as your panties are more soaked than they were at the club earlier tonight. You know you have bitten off more than you can chew with these two baddies...and the two baddies in question know that.

The short-haired woman standing beside your girlfriend raises a curious brow above her spectacles that remind you a little of owl eyes, so big and round. "Hm. You seemed so confident at the club. Was it the Don Julio?"

She wears the same smile as your girlfriend, something the pro bunny hero Mirko, your Rumi, is known for. Like Rumi, your guest is all lean muscle with curves in all right places. Her cotton candy white hair and alluring yellow eyes are what drew you in, other than how gorgeous her dark skin looked under the lights of the club.

"Semiu" she said her name was when Rumi asked her. The night was hot and sticky. Just as sticky as Rumi's passion fruit-flavored lipgloss pressed against your lips; juicy and sweet. You had been kissing all night, wrapped up in each other among the throb of music and the push of dancing bodies on the dancefloor, the alcohol and Rumi's perfume fueling you.

She looked so hot tonight. All eyes were on her AND you pushed against each other, hips grinding and hands grabbling at each other's hips and asses. Hers groped your ass under your mini dress while she pushed against you, her sweat sticking with yours, Hennessy and rum on her tongue.

You felt Semiu's eyes on you before you actually saw her. They were like hot lasers on your back, making you feel flush the way the strobe lights did. You turned, finding her sitting at the bar, arms slung over the bar and her thighs spread in her hip-hugging jeans like she owned the place.

And the way she stared at you...she stared like she already owned you and you didn't know it yet. It was so brazen. So bold. So daring, even when you were locked against Rumi with her lips on your neck. Drunk from the seduction and the Don Julio you consumed, you turned to your girlfriend and tugged on her bunny ears.

"Hey," you said over the music, grinning at her. "Remember that thing we talked 'bout before? 'Bout pickin' somebody up?"

Rumi understood immediately and the corner of her glossy lips turned up into a smirk. "Sure thing, babes. Who caught your eye?" You nodded at Semiu who was still staring, sipping on her drink. "Her," you whispered into Rumi's bunny ear.

Rumi hummed in interest, checking out the stranger. "She's been starin' at you all night, y'know. If she wasn't so damn hot, I would've beat her ass."

And so you went over to Semiu and invited her into your little club romp for some drinks and a night of dancing. When you found yourself sandwiched between both women on the floor, you felt that push and pull of two dominants trying to fight over you and mark their territory.

When Rumi pressed her front against your back, her teeth nibbling your neck, Semiu gripped your hips and licked down your throat where a trail of salt from her tequila laid. "Thanks for lettin' me join y'all," she whispered against your trembling neck. "What's next for tonight? You two headin' home?"

Rumi overheard the dark-skinned woman and smirked, answering for you. Only because you were too speechless to do so. "And why you wanna know? You interested in a nightcap?"

Semiu smirked at your girlfriend, taking on the challenge. "And what if I was?" She chuckled, staring into your eyes, the sparks of lust in hers making you weak. "Your girl seems to like that idea, don't you, cutie? Would it really be such a shame to be shared between two bad bitches?"

'No,' you decided and took a shot for the road before hurrying out into an Uber with the two women, kissing and touching in the backseat. Semiu's fingers toying with your thighs while Rumi rubbed your pussy in her lap, making Semiu watch and sloppily kiss you.

You know they both would've probably fucked you in the backseat if you hadn't gotten back to your crib with Rumi so quickly. The idea of the both of them slutting you out was a fantasy you couldn't resist, but know that you're here, you realize that the booze was speaking for you.

Rumi chuckles as she watches you kneel on the bed, staring so obediently up at her. "That always gets her wet. Why do you think I always order it?" She had pumped you up with tequila all night, knowing it made you loose and horny. You feel like you're about to explode the more these two tease you.

Semiu clucks her tongue, acting disappointed. "That’s so messy. All to see your girl be a slut for a whole other woman?" She reaches out and touches your hair, moving a braid back behind your ear. You shiver at her touch.

Rumi doesn't even try to hide her freakiness. "Absolutely. You just need to remember who owns her." Her golden eyes flash at Semiu, but the dark-skinned woman isn't intimidated. You sense that Semiu can hold her own and has had her fair share of threesomes in her days with plenty of pretty women after the club or the bar.

Rumi turns to you, staring down at you with a look dripping with hot lust and posessiveness. "That goes for you too, sweet thing. No cumming for her without MY permission, understood?" She cups your chin in her hand, squeezing in a way that makes you gasp.

It doesn't hurt, but it makes you so wet that you have to control yourself, thinking of nothing but her holding your neck while Semiu eats your pussy, forcing you to take it. "Y-Yes, miss." Your voice is soft and weak when you answer her so obediently. Submissively.

Rumi smiles, proud of you, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. Semiu watches on, interested, her pierced nipples hard beneath her flimsy top. "Oh, she’s that kinda girlfriend. I do love my girls obedient."

Your girlfriend aburptly frowns, her expression sharp. "Obedient to ME. Mind your place, girl. You’re a guest, sure, but you’ll be goin’ home after tonight." Semiu scoffs and tosses up her hands adorned with rings and gold bangles. "Goddamn, fine! Now are we gonna sit here and argue or have a taste of this cutie?"

They both turn to you now, eyes hot with lust, dripping with a night of alcohol and grinding on the dancefloor now blown off with some steamy sex. With you. These two gorgeous vixens could've had anyone else tonight, but they chose you.

So you are determined to make tonight one that they will never forget.

"Strip," Rumi demands and you do so, immediately slinking out of your skin-tight dress with the sexy cheetah print you like. Rumi helps you slide it past your heels, loving it when she fucks you with your heels on, your pretty painted toes up by her ears with her tongue in your pussy or her strap deep inside you.

Semiu hums in enjoyment as she drinks in your body, from your bra to your lace thong, your brown skin soft with coco butter and your body smelling like fruity body mist. She and Rumi come out their clothes too, leaving them discarded on the floor. You greedily drink in their muscles: abs and biceps; thick yet toned thighs; the curves of their perky tits and firm, juicy asses.

They are perfection. And under their gazes, you feel like perfection to them too.

In a blink, you are lying on your back, eyes gazing up at their supreme asses in their panties. Rumi wears a thong while Semiu has on simple lace panties, her asscheeks jiggling so enticingly out of them. She reaches down to stroke your cheek, playing with your bottom lip. "You’re such a good girl for her, cutie. Maybe you can show me what makes you so special," she whispers.

You shiver with anticipation, knowing what is coming next. You were feening for this part, just as much as the rest of tonight. You nod, smiling, fully prepared to have their sugary tastes on your tongue. You can lick on their muscles later. Right now, you want nothing more than to lick on their pussies.

Rumi hovers over you, pressing a loving hand to your cheek. "And you're gonna be a good girl and make us both feel real good, right?" she coos. You nod, smiling up at her, shivering with arousal. "Y-Yes," you whimper.

The prospect of tasting both women is a blessing that you will not turn a blind eye to. Any man and women would be happy to be in your place right now. Rumi smirks, knowing this, and squeezes your cheeks together with her posessive hand. "Then shut up and stick out that tongue f'me."

You do so, sticking your tongue out as far as it can go, allowing Rumi to suck on it before spitting into your mouth. "You know where to put it," she purrs before she pulls her panties down, revealing her sobbing wet pussy to you squeezed between her tanned brown thighs. Gorgeous. Even Semiu is impressed with the sight.

Before you know it, your girlfriend is sitting on your face with her thighs trapping you between them while Semiu is busy slipping your panties off. While you can't see her through Rumi's incredible ass in your face, you can imagine her knelt between your thighs with her ass sticking up in the air, her glasses foggy as she gazes at your pussy. "Let's see if you can focus with my tongue in you, cutie~"

You shiver as Semiu's breath caresses your thighs and the sensitive folds of your pussy. Even the slight brush of wind will make you cum at this point. "Just don't mess up my nut," Rumi huffs, glaring back at your guest. "Or I'll mess up yours." Semiu scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Where's your sense of fun, bunny? Your girl seems like love the idea of me eatin' her out."

And you do. Especially once Semiu actually gets her tongue in you. You find that she has a tongue piercing when you feel the cold metal press against your clit, making you jump. She chuckles into your dripping hole, her tongue wicked and addictive, caressing every part of you as her hands greedily grip your hips.

Meanwhile, you girlfriend is grinding her pussy into your mouth, making you take every inch of it in your mouth. You just love it when Rumi sits on your face, makes you take all that she gives you. "Mmm, fuck, that's it, baby," Rumi moans. "Just love it when you make me feel so good."

She flips her long, white hair back as her ass grinds into your face, riding it like a surfboard. She looks back at you, cheeks flushed and eyes fiery with lust, her hands massaging her perky tits. "You love eatin' that pussy, don't you, sweet girl?" she coos.

You moan into her pussy, making her whine at the vibrations. Every drip of her nectar on your tongue quenches you, but also makes you crave more. You reach up to grip her firm yet soft ass, the weight of it driving you to insanity. "Uh-huh!" you whimper into your dripping folds. "I wove it, Mommy!"

Semiu giggles from between your thighs as Rumi moans, tossing her head back when your tongue licks her faster. "A Mommy kink too?" she chuckles. "How scandelous....that makes me so fuckin' wet."

Rumi lets out a throaty chuckle, slowing her fast grinding to more slow ones that drag her wetness across your tastebuds. "Well," she sighs, "I guess since we sharin', you can sit on her face...for a bit."

Semiu looks up from your pussy, using one of her fingers to rub your clit while she thinks on this. "How kind of you to share your girl with me," she chuckles. "Let's just hope she don't get addicted."

Unfortunately, you end up becoming hooked like an addict when you get a taste of Semiu's pussy for the first time. She switches with Rumi and sits on your face, her tits and pierced, brown nipples in your face. You yearn to taste him; tweak each perky nipple squeezed between the silver balls with your tongue and teeth.

But you simply watch them bounce as Semiu rides your face, grinding her gorgeous cunt in a nest of trimmed white curls against your greedy tongue. "Fuuuck, girl, that tongue!" she groans. "You ain't too bad at this, cutie, y'know that?"

The praise fills you with utter joy and self-confidence, making your tongue lashes grow more intense and erratic as Semiu rides your tongue like she stole it from Rumi. Speaking of Rumi, the woman is eating your cunt off of the bone, her wickedly long tongue slurping at your dripping juices down to your asscrack.

You whimper and moan into Semiu's pussy as each tingle of pleasure coarses through you like waves. Rumi always knows just how to please you and revert you to nothing but a whimpering slut. "Those are cute sounds you're makin', baby," she giggles. "Keep 'em up. Mommy loves 'em...and all this gush you're givin' me."

She then uses her tongue to dip into your hole, aiming up to lick your internal clit. It's enough to make her eyes roll back and your hips buck up into her tongue. "Hey." Tap-tap. Semiu gently pats your cheek, just enough to smack you back to reality: her on top of you. "Don't stop. Eat that pussy if you want more of me later."

Lucky for you, you do get more of her and Rumi. The two end up switching spots, both of them planting their wet pussies on your waiting tongue, grinding to their hearts content. You are determined to make one or both of them cum, even as your jaw aches and your lips grow sticky with their gush.

Even as they make the bed shake when they bounce their asses on your tongue, practically humping your face. Their throaty, low moans fill the air, no doubt making the neigbors jealous and horny to join. Luckily for you, you manage to make Semiu cum first while Rumi busies herself eating your pussy again, bringing you closer to the edge.

Semiu's moans fill the air, loud and worthy of one of those ebony lesbian porn flicks that you've watched with Rumi before, her abs slick with sweat as she rides you to orgasm. "Fuck, that's it, baby! Make me cum!" she gasps, until finally, she explodes all over your tongue.

You swallow every bit of her, licking her up like a dripping ice cream cone. She is sweet just like one with a bit of salt to her too. It's intoxicating. Finally, she rolls off of you, allowing you to breathe, and plants a sloppy kiss on your lips that makes her head spin. "Good girl," she coos. "Now it's your turn. But I get to make you cum."

You shiver at the prospect of cumming for the gorgeous woman while Rumi simply glares, sitting up between your legs. "Says who?" she grunts, but Semiu is already scooting the bunny hero out of the way and tossing your legs open.

Rumi scoffs, still glaring as Seimu spits on your pussy, coating it in her saliva to make it drip and shine for her. "You could've asked nicely," she growls. "Fine, but only 'cause I don't wanna disappoint my girl. You'd better make her feel extra good then."

Semiu simply smirks at the bunny hero, all fire and self-assurance. "Don't you worry, girl. I've got my ways of makin' this pretty gal scream for me."

Several minutes later, Semiu shows you her trickers with that pierced tongue of hers. You lean back against Rumi's tits as Semiu swirls her tongue in your dripping, swollen folds, sucking on your clit with those soft, glossy lips. You whimper and moan against Rumi's chest, her strong hands holding your arms back while Semiu has your thighs cracked open as wide as they can go, making you spill all over the bedspread.

"Such a naughty girl you got here, Rumi," Semiu giggles against your clit. "Just look at how wet she is!" Rumi tuts as if she's disappointed in her girl being so messy, gushing all over herself in such an obscene way. "And all for another bitch," she tsks. "I'm startin' to feel some typa way, baby."

Her hand moves to your neck to grab your throat while Semiu angles her tongue up inside of you, making you gasp. "O-O-Oh, fuck!" you wail, squeezing your eyes shut in pure pleasure. "F-Fu-uh...you...oh, shhhit, yes!"

Semiu stares at you from behind the foggy lenses of her glasses, watching you writhe against your girlfriend with her hand locked around your throat. "You sound so cute, baby," she hums into your pussy. "Can't wait to hear how you sound when I fuck you."

Yes. The fucking part. The part where they finally take their straps and fill you up...hopefully. You're happy with just getting eaten like a dessert plate, but you're also a greedy ass bitch, so you'd hope to end the night with getting dicked down by the two pretty women, just enough to have to walking side to side the next day with a smile on your face.

Surprisingly, Rumi doesn't bark at Semiu for the comment. You'd figure she'd take it as disrespect, but instead, she says something else that shocks you. "You got some fingers, don'tcha? Go 'head, put 'em in her. She can take it, right, mamas?" She tilts your head up to look at her, seeing her wicked smirk before she plants her lips on you.

She kisses you dumb, shoving her fat, long tongue into your mouth just as Seimu sinks a finger inside of you. You gasp at the feeling, your toes curling as she begins to finger fuck you in between slurping your pussy, moaning with your buzzing clit in her mouth. When she adds another slim digit into your dripping hole, you damn near lose your shit, your soul leaving your body.

You moan and grabble for Rumi's arms, gripping them as Seimu continues to slurp your soul out of you through your pussy, making you pool all over the bedspread and your thighs shake. "A-Ah! Oh, fuck, I'mma cum!" you whine. "Please, please make me cum!"

Rumi tuts adoringly at your sweetness, gently patting your cheek. "So polite. Even slutted out of her mind, she can't help but be so sweet." But she trained you that way. Rumi wouldn't have her girl any other way but sweet and submissive, begging to cum even when you can obviously do it on your own without waiting for permission.

So you ask her, "May I cum, Mommy? Please, please?" You whimper the words out, unable to coherently speak as Semiu's tongue flicks grow more intense, the sounds of it sloshing around in your soaked pussy drifting through the air.

Rumi smiles down at you, adoringly and proudly. "Of course you can, mama," she chuckles, gently stroking your braids. "Go 'head and cum for our guest. Just rmembers whose pussy that is when you do, okay?"

And with that confirmation, you allow yourself to gush all over Semiu's tongue like a tidalwave, your moans loud and bouncing off the bedroom walls as you cum. Semiu takes it all, moaning greedily as she slurps up your mess from the source until your head spins. Rumi holds you close, her muscular arms wrapped tight around you as Semiu finishes up licking you clean until your moans grow weak and soft.

"Hm," Rumi hums, eyeing the way you slump against her, totally spent. "Not bad, but I can show ya better. Switch with me real quick." Semiu shares the same wickedly evil smile as your girlfriend, letting you lay back on the bed. You squeak as Rumi forces to lay back into the pillows, abanaoning her spot behind you. "B-But, Rumi," you stammer, only to get kissed into silence.

Rumi gives you a posessive, slow kiss that makes your brain turn to mush the same way your orgasm from Seimu's tongue did. "Quiet. Mommy wants to taste her girl now. After all, this pussy is mine, right?" She slinks a hand down between your legs to pet your pussy, grinning when you twitch from how sensitive it is. "Y-Yes," you whimper.

But that isn't good enough for your girlfriend.

SMACK! The sound of her hand smacking your pussy echos throughout the bedroom, richoeting off of the walls. "Right?" she repeats, firmer this time. She gives you another sharp smack, her palm sticking to your wet pussy as she does. "Yes, it's yours!" you loudly whine. "It's always yours, Mommy!"

The bunny hero smiles, her joy and pride so addictive. You want to make her proud of you. "Mmm, that's right. Now show our guest how good you cum for Mommy when she tastes you~"

You almost forgot about Seimu, glancing at her watching from the sidelines, rubbing her pussy, the contrast of her white nails on her brown skin making your pussy throb. Rumi switches places with Semiu, now between your thighs, hiking them up so that they are pushed against your stomach.

You have no choice but to lay there as your girlfriend makes your limbs go criss cross like a pretzel and she shoves her tongue inside of you, locking you in a prison of sheer pleasure. "Oh, fuck!" you whine, writhing on the bed like you're in the middle of an exorcism. "O-Oh, shit, Rumi, yes!"

Too late, you realize your mistake. You feel your stomach flutter with nerves as Rumi stares up at you from between the V of your thighs, glaringly. "Who?" Her voice is firm and rasped, making you bite your lip.

Suddenly, she is flipping you over with as much strength as it takes to pick up the remote, making you squeal. "Oh, fuck!" Seimu laughs as you're forced onto all fours, your ass sticking up in the air for your girlfriend.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK! Each spanking from Rumi feels like fire licking across your asscheeks, the sound of her hand colliding with your Seimu moans at the sight, dripping all over her fingers as she toys with herself watching Rumi spank you and tears spring into your eyes.

"I'm sorry, M-Mommy! It just feels s-so good!" you whine, practically blubbering. "I won't do it again!" Rumi hums in agreement, pausing to soften the blow with wet kisses. "Mm-hm, you'd better not," she grumbles. "Now let's make my baby cum."

And then finally, finally, she's got her mouth on you again, eating you from the back. You moan and whine into the pillows as she pries your asscheeks apart, gripping them as she shoves her tongue inside of your dripping hole, coating her tongue in your honey.

Rumi is relentless with her pussy-eating, not giving you a chance to breathe or to protest. She takes what is hers, her tongue sloshing messily in your pussy, making you trickle down your thighs and drip all over the bed beneath you. Your sweet moans mix with Seimu's as she rubs her pussy to the sight, her eyes fluttering shut in pleasure.

You watch her as you get closer to your orgasm, gripping the pillow so tight that your knuckles turn pale. "Fuck, Rumi! You're gonna make me fuckin' cum, Mommy!" you whine into the pillow, staining it with your sweat and makeup.

"Then what's the magic word, mamas?" she murmurs into your pussy. "Don't be rude now. Show our guest how sweet you can really be."

"Please!" you sob, your eyes stinging with tears. "Please, please, make me cum, Mommy! Please let your baby girl cum!"

That's all Rumi needs to hear. And with a few more strokes of her tongue, you let out a broken moan as you cum for the second time that night, filling your girlfriend's mouth with your cream. Seimu cums too, letting out a throaty moan and a gasp as she makes her fingers sticky with her cum watching you explode, Rumi's mouth stuck to your pussy as she tongues you down.

Your girlfriend eats you out until your head is blank and you're seeing stars, totally and completely spent. Seimu comes over to slide her fingers, sticky with her cum, against your lips. "Taste me," she orders, making you pry your lips open to suck her taste off of her digits.

Rumi does the same, but with her tongue, forcing you to kiss her and taste your pussy off of her tongue, sharing your cum with one another. Seimu joins in with Rumi's permission, leading to a heated three-way kiss that almost makes you want to repeat the entire thing over again.

Finally, Rumi lies you down on your back and lets you recover. She and Seimu lie on either side of you, sandwiching you between them, their tits brushing against your arms. "How was that, baby?" Rumi coos, gently carding her fingers through your braids.

You weakly smile at her, your head still spinning and your body slick with sweat. You feel heavy with exhaustion but also with the wonderful feeling after great sex. "Heaven," you reply, making Seimu giggle beside you.

"Good," Rumi chirps, smirking at you. "But you ain't seen heaven yet. We ain't even give you our straps yet."

TO BE CONTINUED.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

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

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

Part Seven

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

“You wanna ride me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Then, she sank. 

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

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

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

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

She rode him like she was made for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

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

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

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

“Daddy—”

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

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

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

“No—no, I’m not—”

L5$3! Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

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

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

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

Pop. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

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

She started bucking. 

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

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

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

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

“Sanaa—”

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

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

It was working. 

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

And then she rode him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

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

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

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

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

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

And that was it.

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

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

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

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

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

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

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

“Erik—”

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

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

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

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

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

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

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

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

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

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

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

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

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

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

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

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

That was all Erik needed.

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

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

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

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

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

And it was. 

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

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

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

“E—”

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

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

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

“Fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

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

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

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

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

Her body jumped.

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

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

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

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

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

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

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

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

So damn pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

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

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

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

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

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

It was a sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fill me up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

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

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

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

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

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

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

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

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

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

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

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

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

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

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

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

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

“Now lay in it.”

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, here he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s yours.

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

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

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

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

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

5:18 A.M.

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

Erik preferred it this way. 

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

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

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

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

Sanaa. 

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

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

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

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

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

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

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

Nope. 

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

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

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

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

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

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

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

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

This don’t make no damn sense. 

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

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

One notification. 

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

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

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

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

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

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

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

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

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

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

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

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

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

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

“You good, Liyah?” 

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

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

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

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

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

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

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

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

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

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

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

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

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

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

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

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

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

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

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

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

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

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

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

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

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

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

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

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

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

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

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

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

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

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

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

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

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

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

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

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

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

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

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

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

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

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

“…Fruit look old.” 

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

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

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

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

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

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

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

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

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

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

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

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

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

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

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

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

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

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

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

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

“I know enough.” 

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

“Mmmm.” 

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

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

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

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

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

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

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

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

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

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

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

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

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

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

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

“That gotta be Naima.”

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

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

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

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

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

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

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

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

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

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

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

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

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

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

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

“I know.”

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

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

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

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

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

“Damn right.”

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

He still looked unconvinced.

______

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

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

“I’m glad it made it.”

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

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

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

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

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

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

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

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

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

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

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

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

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

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

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

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

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

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

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

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

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

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

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

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sanaa?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

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

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere.”

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

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

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

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

Her phone buzzes.

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

She bites her lip.

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

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

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

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

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

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

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

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

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

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

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

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

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

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

He followed. “Out.”

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

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

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

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

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

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

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

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

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

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

But then it hit.

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

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

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

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

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

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

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

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

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded.

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

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

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

Again.

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

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

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

She whined. “Erik, please—”

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

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

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

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

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

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

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

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

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

And he kept going.

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

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

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

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

She nodded slow, dazed.

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

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

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

[saintsir4n]

A COUPLE MINUTES - messy in love

off campus prompt:

ex!dean di laurentis x sidney watkins (oc) x john logan

sidney watkins is played by heather harris.

__

sidney watkins, aka sid was a sports therapist major at briar university.

back in sophomore year, sidney and dean dated for a couple of weeks. they never slept together, she believed he was too lustful, and she didn't want to be used, so she broke things off.

in junior year, she met john logan, when he came by for a physical exam, and she had to use him as a case study. he was instantly attracted to sidney, her focus and drive, but mainly her alluring looks.

sidney wasn’t interested in him, not wanting to get involved with another ice hockey player, but she thought he was kind and very handsome, and the two became friends.

they would always bump into each other on their way to classes, and whenever she took part in the practical part in her courses.

he couldn’t help his feelings, growing increasingly attracted to her whenever she confidently answered questions in their electives and how quickly she would take notes whilst simultaneously helping him with whatever he’d miss.

their friends hardly knew of their friendship.

during a halloween party in junior year, sidney kissed john, sober despite not him believing she was. so he waited until the next day to address the kiss, not even sleeping through the night, because he was thinking about her lips.

so when they met in malones the next morning, she confessed how she felt, “i like you, and if you asked me out again, i’d say yes.” he stared at her like she had hung the moon, and took a few minutes to gather his racing thoughts before he stood up, slid into her side of the booth and asked if he could kiss her. she immediately said yes (hannah and allie would see but not mention it to a soul)

she believed it was best they keep their relationship on the down low, only a few of her friends knew, and he only told garrett and didn’t tell his sister, knowing it would end up all other fifth line.

they made time for each other, going on dates off campus, or he would drop by her dorm, stay over and wake up with his head on her stomach and arms wrapped around her waist. morning texts were always sent, as well as goodnight texts whenever they weren’t sleeping over. he smiled whenever she wanted to call and check in, but always slipped away before arousing suspicion.

she would watch his games through jules’ account and always wish him good luck before each one and congratulate him with a kiss after every win, and sometimes something more.

when she did start coming to his games and cheer along a certain blond was surprised but both john and dean would show out, unbeknownst to each other’s motivations.

he’d help her study for her tests and let her use him for her practice work, concealing his jealousy whenever his teammates would make crude jokes about his tatum.

he was grateful whenever dean would shut down the comments, though he didn’t understand why, but he was glad he never made a move on his girl…

when they finally said ‘I love you’, it was him blurting it out in the middle of watching her favourite movie, an officer and a gentleman.” she said it back with a teary smile, and they slept together for the first time.

only when they got caught kissing at a junior year party did their relationship become public. his teammates would jeer and even ask why he never said he was dating sidney. tucker believed it was because he didn’t want the attention, garrett would pretend he didn’t know, but would tell everyone to leave him alone, whilst dean kept quiet, confusing him more than anything.

when dean randomly popped up. sid knew why he requested to meet, but she ignored him.

dean, despite wanting to leave her alone, couldn’t help but wait outside her dorm when she was leaving for the thanksgiving holidays. when she opened the door, she tried shooing him away, but he called out that he was hurt and confused about why they never continued dating and instead chose john.

sidney yelled at him to leave, but it was too late. john came out of her en-suite bathroom, stunned by their past. he accused tatum of being a liar and almost swung at dean who was quick to defend her.

sidney felt small under her boyfriend's glare, never seeing him so angry before, “it was a couple of dates last year, and that’s it. johnny, please believe that.” but he didn’t.

john had always felt second to everyone his entire life. so he scoffed, pushing past his teary eyed girlfriend and regretful friend.

a/n:

i was bored as hell, came up with a random draft for an off campus fic but i don’t wanna write one, just come up with prompts for one instead especially after making this edit.

re-edited: changed her name from tatum to sidney, shout out my girl for the help @viavolterra

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

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

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

Part Six

Things felt too quiet after the way Erik came in her mouth. 

Sanaa wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, then she reached for her phone like she was checking the time instead of ending a man’s night with a single press. Nathan was still talking about dinner reservations when she tapped the screen and ended the call. Her breath floated softly between them—warm and slow—kneeling between his legs like she was posing. 

A tiny wet strand of spit clung to her bottom lip. The taste of his cum still on her tongue. Sanaa didn’t bother to fix it. 

She lifted the phone and tilted her chin slightly. The glow of the screen lit her skin, her tank top, her thighs on the rug, the shin on her mouth and chin. She pulled up her camera app, her other hand wrapping around Erik’s spit-covered dick, bringing it closer to her mouth. Tongue poked out, a quick shutter flashed. Sanaa saved it. 

Erik sat back against the sofa like he’d been dropped there like a sack of potatoes. His chest rose and fell with uneven pulls. His taunt abdomen kept tightening further and relaxing like it hadn’t caught up with the rest of his body. Erik looked down at Sanaa the way a man looks at something he should deny himself of but knows he never will. His thighs were still spread wide, his dick lay heavy and twitching against the palm of her hand. Softer now but still thick enough to make her smile. 

Sanaa finally released her grip around his girth and stood slowly. Not completely. Just enough to lean in close. She braced one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his thigh. Her mouth slick and looking slicker like she wanted him down her throat again. Her sparse faux lashes framed her eyes in that soft yet dangerous way that he wouldn’t have imagined seeing. 

Sanaa peeked down the hallway. 

Silent. Dark. Safe.

Her voice dropped low, “You almost gave us away there, Erik.” 

He blinked once. Slow. His jaw clenching again. That look he got when he wanted to say something but didn’t trust what might come out. 

Sanaa eased closer. Her breath brushed his cheek. Her lips curved.

“You want us getting caught?” 

She said it like a dare. Like a challenge. Like she was testing his restraint. It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t innocent. Not anywhere close to the sweet girl Nathan thought he was talking to. 

Sanaa’s mouth hung open just a little as she watched him, letting the shine on her pouty bottom lip to catch the faint glow of the TV. Her throat still tasted like him. She let that knowledge sit between them, thick as the air he was pulling in slow through his nose. 

His eyes stayed on her face. His mouth shut. Then, his eyes dropped down her neck, then lower, stopping at the faint smear of spit or maybe his cum on her chin. Something dark settled in Erik’s gaze. Something quiet and dangerous. Something he tried to hide most days. Unless he was provoked.

And she was provoking him.

Erik finally sat up. Only a little. His shoulders pulled forward. His hands rested on his knees like he was trying to remember what his body was supposed to be doing. Erik didn’t touch her. The way he looked at her felt like a grip. 

Sanaa straightened up a little more, not backing away. Not apologizing for her antics. Her fingers brushed the top of her tank just above her cleavage. Just enough for Erik to notice. 

“You liked that, didn’t you.” She spoke faintly. Not a question, more like she already knew the answer.

Erik’s eyes narrowed. He licked his lips and finally spoke.

“You really think you safe right now?” His voice came out low. Almost calm. Too calm. 

Sanaa’s smile widened. Pretty. Sweet on the surface. Dangerous underneath.

“I know I am.” 

Sanaa lifted and stepped back only enough to give herself space to walk. She turned her back to him, the soft sway of her hips carrying her towards the hallway. Her shorts rode up with every step. She didn’t fix them. She never fixed anything when she wanted him to focus on her. To watch. 

Halfway down the hall, Sanaa paused. She stood there, one hand resting on the wall, the strap of her tank sliding down her shoulder. Then, she turned her head. Eyes heavy. Lashes low an teasing. 

“You look like you gon’ come get me.” 

Erik stared at her from the sofa, his chest rising too fast now, his forearms flexed where he braced them on his thighs. He didn’t answer her. His whole body was already telling her he planned to do just that. 

She let a small sound slip from her throat. Almost like a whimper. Or maybe a soft whine. Pleased none the less. 

“Good.” 

She pushed off the wall an slipped into her bedroom, closing the door just enough for a thin line of warm light to stay visible.

Erik remained on the sofa, breathing hard, staring at the crack of light like it was pulling him forward by the collar. His jaw flexed again. One hand reached up to drag down his face slow and rough. A soft curse pushed out of him

“Fuck.” 

Erik leaned back, tried to get himself under control. 

Failed.

Because all he could see was the shine of her pretty mouth. The way she sucked him down. The look in her eyes while she was on her knees between his legs. Her throat opening around him. 

Erik sat there for a long moment, fists tight, chest rising. 

Then, he stood. It wasn’t fast. 

He knew exactly where he was about to go. And who he was going for. 

Erik waited only long enough to make sure Aaliyah’s door remained shut. Once he was certain, he moved. Quiet. Direct. No hesitation in his strides. The hallway felt narrow for how he was breathing. Almost claustrophobic. 

He finally reached Sanaa’s door, pushing it open with two fingers. 

The sight hit him like a jab to the gut. 

Sanaa stood in the middle of her room, back turned towards him, the hem of her tank sliding up her waistline as she peeled it over her head. Her hips looked soft enough to bite into. And that ass in those little shorts? She kicked those off gently, leaving a pair of cheeky, dark green panties on. Just bare enough to tempt him. Enough to let him know she was waiting for exactly this. 

Sanaa bent forward a little like she was reaching for something on her bed. That ass lifted. Her thighs parted slightly. It was an eased, casual movement Erik knew was done with intent. 

She looked back, a small smile tugging at her lips when she saw him in the mirror. 

A tease. A trap. 

Erik stepped inside and closed the door behind him with his foot. It clicked shut. His breath tightened in his chest, steady but strong. All that calm he tried to hold onto was gone. 

He crossed the room in three strides. 

Sanaa straightened just as he reached her. Before she could turn fully, his big hand slid around her next firm. Sanaa’s breath stuttered in her throat. Erik moved her to face the wall near her bedroom door, their bodies close, her skin soft and warm against his body. He could feel her pulse tapping under his palm. 

Her lips parted.

Erik leaned in, his voice dropping low enough to rattle her spine.

“You think you cute.”

His thumb pressed under her jaw, guiding her chin up. It was enough to make her listen.

“You really sat out there on your knees. Let that lil’ nigga talk to you while you sucked me off…”

Sanaa’s eyes fluttered. She smiled faintly, all innocence and no innocence at all.

“You think I’m playing wit’ you?” Erik brought his forehead to the side of her face so he can speak directly into her ear, “You a dirty girl. You know that? A messy lil’ slut. A tease. You do this shit on purpose.” 

Sanaa swallowed under his hand. Her thighs pressed together. 

Her voice came out gentle but trembling with hunger, “I’m a nasty bitch?” 

Erik let out a breath through his nose. Deep. His fingers tightened slightly around her neck, enough to make her gasp. 

“You a nasty bitch for real. The kinda nasty bitch that don’t listen. Make a nigga lose it. The kinda bitch that open her mouth for dick while another dude begging for her time…”

Sanaa’s breath slipped out shaky. She shifted against him, her ass brushing his crotch. It made Erik clench his jaw.

“…You proud of yourself?” 

A small whine rippled from her throat. Sanaa nodded. 

Erik leaned even closer, lips almost touching her ear. 

“Say it again.” 

Sanaa shivered, “I’m a nasty bitch.” 

His grip on her neck tighter. More dominant.

“Louder.”

“I-I’m a nasty bitch.”

Erik’s breath hit her shoulder, “You damn right.” He let his other hand slide down her side. Over her ribs. Across her thigh. Then up between her legs, stopping just before he touched her where she wanted him to touch. He didn’t even have to go further to feel the heat radiating from between her legs. That pussy was damn near soaked through her panties. He knew it.

“You drippin’. Actin’ bold one second. Shaking the next.”

Sanaa’s knees buckled a little and Erik caught her by the waist, holding her steady.

“Put your hands on the wall.” 

Erik stepped in closer behind her, his chest now fully pressed to her back, his hand now locking her arms above her head. That dick she was slurping on sitting between her cheeks. Sanaa’s breath went thin.

“You gon’ tease me again like you did tonight?” 

Sanaa shook her head.

“You lyin’. You gon’ suck my dick all over this apartment while that nigga tryna take you out?”

Her thighs pressed tougher. Voice barely held together.

“If you let me.”

Erik’s other hand slid down her stomach. Flat. Warm. Possessive.

“Don’t start. Because if you ask for something tonight, daddy just might take you up on it.” 

Sanaa exhaled, a soft sound that made his grip tighten. 

Then, she whispered, voice low and needy, “Daddy…I want more.” 

The look that came across his face could set the room on fire. Erik chuckled under his breath. The sound vibrated against her spine. 

“You want more,” Erik said, his mouth still at her ear, his words brushing her skin, “Actin’ like you ready for anything I give you.” He leaned in closer, his chest pressed to her back. His hips nudged her lightly. A reminder of his size. A reminder of the weight she loved. A reminder of how easily he could fold her if he wanted, “You not getting a thing.” 

Sanaa’s mouth parted, a small involuntary sound slipping out but she covered it with a slow inhale. Trying to look unbothered. 

Erik chuckled again. He saw it. All of it.

“You hear me?” Erik’s lips grazed the edge of her ear tickling her, “After what you pulled in that kitchen. After what you pulled tonight. You gets nothin’.” 

Her nails bit lightly into the wall. Sanaa pressed her lips together because she refused to give him the satisfaction of begging. Even though her body betrayed her.

Erik stepped even closer, his frame engulfing hers. His hand settled on the wall above her head, boxing her in. The room felt smaller with him anchored behind her like that.

His voice dropped even lower, “You think you can get on your knees in front of me, run your mouth like that, swallow me whole, then ask for more. You think you run this.” 

Her breath rose unevenly. Sanaa tried to steady it. Tried to stop her hips from shifting back toward him. Tried not to let her body answer him before she could. But it was so hard. 

“Stand still,” he said.

She did. Barely. Her knees wobbled. Erik’s hand found her waist. His fingers pressed into the soft dip there. 

“You not gettin’ my dick tonight.” His words wrapped around her like a fist, “You not gettin’ my fingers. You not gettin’ my mouth. Nothing.”

Her lashes lowered. A heat stirred low in her stomach. She hated how much his denial hit her. Hated how thick her throat felt. Hated how his voice ran down her spine like warm syrup. The second she got a piece of control, it slipped. 

Erik dipped his head to her neck. His lips hovered. Teasing the air above her skin.

“You thought you could push me. You thought you could take control like that.” His breath filled the space between them, “You out your fuckin’ mind, lil’ girl.”

She swallowed. Her head tilted slightly to the side without permission, baring her neck to him. It was instinct. Her body was betraying her.

He loved that.

“Watch how you walk around this apartment tomorrow like you innocent. Like you not the same lil’ slut who did all this shit tonight.” His voice sank even lower, “But I know you, Bri.” 

She shifted again. Tension ran down her thighs.

“So keep tryin’ me,” he whispered, “Keep runnin’ your little games…”

Her chest rose sharply.

“Because you not getting touched until I say so.” 

Something slick moved behind her eyes. Not desperation. Calculation.

He could feel it.

“You thinkin’ of a way to piss me off again,” he said softly.

She didn’t respond. Erik smiled against her cheek. 

“You plotting.”

Still, Sanaa stayed quiet. Her body gave her away. Her back arched the tiniest bit. Her breath got thinner.

He pressed his lips to her ear, “You wanna act up again, ma?” His voice was warm and cruel all at once. “Go ahead.”

Her stomach tightened. Erik stepped back suddenly. The air left her body in a cold rush. She stayed against the wall because her knees didn’t trust her yet. Erik looked at her from behind. Her back rising. Her skin flushed. Her whole body fighting itself.

“I hope you do,” he said, “‘cause when you push me too far…”

She turned her head slowly toward him, lips slightly parted, eyes dark with want and something sharper.

He smirked, “Think real hard before you try me again.”

Sanaa turned slowly. Her chest peeled from the wall inch by inch, breath unsteady, her tank was still lifted tto show that soft line of her waist he kept staring at. She faced him fully now, her curly hair messy, her lips shiny from licking and nibbling on them. The air tightened between them the second their eyes locked.

Erik’s stance was wide, heavy, shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway. The scars across his arms and torso caught the soft yellow lamp light, raised bumps over rich brown skin that made him look carved from something older than this world. His locs hung partly in his face, shadowing dark eyes that glared at her like she had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

It made her knees soften.

Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip and her gaze dragged all the way down his chest, over the swell of muscle in his arms, the slope of his stomach, the thick outline still fighting to calm down in his sweats. She touched her throat lightly. A slow trace of her fingers. Like she was remembering his hand there and wanted it back.

“I never told you this,” she started. Her voice trembling not from fear, but from need.

Erik’s chin lifted. Barely. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and lust twisted together.

Sanaa stepped closer. Just one slow step. Enough to make his jaw clench, “I remember…” Her lips curled, “I saw you getting sucked by one of your bitches back home.”

His whole body went still.

Her voice dropped to even more of a whisper, “I watched her. I watched you. I never forgot it.”

His nostrils flared, fingers twitched at his sides.

She kept going, “I pictured myself on my knees for you. All the time.” She moved her hand from her neck to her mouth, dragging her thumb across her bottom lip, “I practiced too. A lot. Just so when it was my turn, I’d be good for you.”

Erik took one short step forward, enough to let her feel the size of him. His shadow swallowed her.

“…You practiced,” he echoed. His voice wasn’t loud, but it rumbled low in his chest, “For me.”

Sanaa nodded. Slow. Eager. Defiant.

He leaned in close. His breath brushed her cheek, “You a bold lil’ bitch,” he said, “Standing here bragging ‘bout sucking practice like that don’t make you dick crazy.”

Her chest lifted. The word crazy almost pushed a sound out of her. Erik let his eyes drag over her body, slow and heated. Down her throat. Across her chest. Over her hips. He took his time. Let her feel every inch of his stare.

“You really sat there and watched me get my dick sucked. Then went home and tried to copy it.” His tongue traced the corner of his mouth. “You filthy.”

Sanaa inhaled sharply. Her thighs pressed together without her permission. He stepped even closer. Their chests brushed. Her breath caught in her throat.

“You wanna know what that make you?” he asked.

She nodded.

His lips touched her ear. A ghost of contact.

“My lil’ slut in training.” Erik pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. His expression shifted to something darker, “But you not gettin’ touched.”

Her breath stopped.

“Not after that.” His voice wrapped around her like a rope, “Not after tellin’ me you been practicing on your own time just to suck me right.”

She swallowed.

“You think that supposed to get you somethin’ tonight?” His tone hardened, “You think that confession mean you gettin’ dick?”

Her lips parted. No words came out.

“You gettin’ nothing.”

Her stomach twisted so sharply it hurt. Erik reached out like he was about to grab her chin.

Then he stopped.

His hand hovered inches from her skin. Close enough to make her gasp. Close enough that she leaned forward instinctively, desperate to feel his touch.

He dropped his hand, “You thirsty,” he said softly, “Shaking for it.”

Her breath stuttered. She hated how true it was. Couldn’t stand it. Erik looked down at the front of his sweats. The fabric twitched again. Hard. Thick. Full from base to top. His body was betraying him more than hers. 

He clenched his jaw. 

“I should take you right here,” he said, “I should bend your ass over this bed for everything you just said.”

She shivered.

“But I’m not.” His voice cut warm and sharp, “I’m a leave you aching.”

Her lips parted in shock.

“And I’m walkin’ out this room while you stand here wet as hell in them lil’ ass panties...”

Erik stepped back. Sanaa’s breath quickened. Her fingers curled at her sides.

“You want to play reckless?” His eyes dragged over her again, slow and punishing, “Good. Feel it.”

Sanaa stared at him, stunned, ruined, burning. His chest rose heavy as he fought himself. The twitch at his waistband betrayed him again. His abs tightened. His breath hitched.

He wanted her. Bad. So damn bad.

But he turned toward the door anyway.

“Touch yourself tonight,” he said without looking back, “See what it get you.”

Her mouth fell open. A quiet sound escaped her.

Erik opened the door, he paused at the doorway.

“And don’t forget.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper, “I can tell that you been practicing.”

He walked out.

Left the door cracked just enough for her to feel the cold air rush in. Left her shaking. Left himself hurting. Left both of them one wrong move away from breaking again. 

____

A low bassline pulsed from the speaker in the corner, something dark and hypnotic. DVSN threading through the air. Erik sat lounged in the corner of the sectional, thighs relaxed, that long frame stretching out in a way that pulled attention whether he meant to or not. His tank top clung to his chest. Sweatpants hung low, the print of his semi-hard dick visible when he shifted. His locs were pulled back and his gold slugs glinted every time he licked over his full bottom lip. His laptop was open and resting over one thigh. He bobbed his head lightly to the music. 

Erik hadn’t heard her come in at first. 

Sanaa dropped her keys in the ceramic dish and stood in the entryway for a second. She was exhausted, book bag slumped on one shoulder. 

Erik looked up.  

“Sup, Bri. You good?” 

She gave him a weak nod, “Yeah…just school shit.” 

Erik watched her a beat longer. Watched the way her shoulders drooped, the slight frown in her forehead. The fuck-it-all drag in her feet as she made her way to her bedroom. Sanaa shut the door behind her without another word. 

Erik went back to typing. 

Then, ten minutes later, she returned.

No clothes. Nothing. Not even a bra and panties. Just butt ass naked. Skin dewy and glowing. Titties bouncing with each graceful step. Pussy waxed and shining. Those soft thighs parting as she walked across the living room without a trace of shame. Sanaa quietly breezed through. Didn’t even glance his way until she got to the front of the sectional. The music was still low in the background, that sleepy instrumental to DVSN ‘muse’ that matched the thump of Erik’s blood when his dark eyes landed on her. 

Erik had been simply lounging back on the sectional with that calm, unreadable look on his face. But the second she walked into that room—naked, soft, wet—he leaned back and stared up at her ass like he was trying to decide if she was being serious. 

He stared deep into her eyes, brows frowning, “Fuck you doin’, lil’ girl?” 

Sanaa came closer. Her hands remained at her sides. She leaned in close enough for him to smell her vanilla and marshmallow scented lotion on her skin and the stress of the day still clinging to her. 

“You even take a breath before throwin’ that lil pussy at me?” Erik’s voice came slow, low, teasing. 

Her voice was a soft whisper when she began to speak. Like it had nowhere else to go but his ears.

“Make me feel better.”

Then she laid back right there. On the rug. Head tilted. Those eyes on him. Her thighs opened and inviting him to come get that pussy and make her forget how stressed her day had been. To fuck the stress away. 

One leg lifted and fell to the side, exposing all that glossy, wet pink pussy between her thighs. Her clit was puffy, inner lips parted like they’d been craving that kind of attention since before she left campus. 

Erik sat for a second. 

Then, he closed his laptop. Sat it down beside him. 

“…You ain’t even get comfortable yet,” Erik spoke as he stood, “Just came straight home needing your pussy played in?” 

He crouched between her legs, voice dropping lower with every word.

“Mm,” Erik grunted under his breath like he had just been given something so delicate yet so nasty to study. His hand moved in. No rush. All palm at first—warm, heavy—cupping her entire pussy like he was checking it’s temperature.

“Been missin’ me, huh?” He said, rubbing her slow with his whole hand, middle finger dragging through the slick. 

Sanaa’s pussy twitched in his hand.

“You this wet off nothin’? Just walked out drippin’ like that?” 

His fingers dipped in—just two at first. Deep and curling slow. Erik stroked upward, his knuckles dragging against her soaked walls. Sanaa’s back arched like she was. Puppet obeying her master. Just a soundless breath and a shudder escaping her lips, legs trembling as her hips tilted into his palm. 

“Thought so. Thought you was gon’ sit there and just give it up like this.” 

Erik kept finger-fucking her with a steady and deep motion. He didn’t pump her pussy fast. He angled his fingers just right in that pussy and dragged them in and out slow, then curled them inside her like he was raking through honey. Sanaa let her head fall back and grabbed onto the sides of his thighs for balance, her jaw slack and her chest rising in a staggering rhythm.

She tried pathetically to close her legs but Erik opened them back up. 

“Don’t fuckin’ do that. Don’t piss me off,” Erik’s voice dropped darker, “Let me play in it. Nasty lil’ bitch. What happened? Professor ain’t give you no attention? You been fidgeting in them lil’ lecture seats thinkin’ ‘bout daddy dick again, huh?” 

Erik didn’t let her answer. 

“Daddy—”

“Shut that shit the fuck up. Whinin’. You know what time Aaliyah come home?” 

“She—she got class…” 

Erik curled his fingers and watched her body twitch. 

“And if her shit get let out early? You gon’ be sprawled out in the middle of the living room like a slut. You gon’ get us caught. You want that?” 

She shook her head. Whimpered. 

Erik just stared at her for a moment. His jaw clenched. Eyes low. That quiet irritation that always gave way to something darker when it came to her. 

“Then stop actin’ like a bitch in heat, Sanaa.” 

“Erik…I can’t. You make me wet just lookin’ at you. I can’t help it.” 

Erik’s chin tilted down, voice dropping into that fake gentle concern that made her stomach grow warm.

“Yeah, baby girl?” He let it settle, slow, “I make it wet?” 

Her breath hitched.

Erik touched her chin, his thumb pressing into the corner of her mouth just enough to make her feel owned and tempted at the same time.

“Daddy turn you on so much you can’t stop openin’ your legs for me? Huh?” 

Sanaa swallowed. Erik’s palm slid down the side of her hip, fingers spreading like he was measuring her. 

“You that far gone?” His tone stayed sweet. Too sweet, “All it take is me lookin’ at you and now you leakin’ on yourself?” 

Her pulse jumped. Erik leaned in, his lips a breath above her ear.

“You serious, ma?”

Sanaa nodded before she could stop herself. Erik gave a soft scoff, almost laughing at her, but it came out warm enough to melt her spine.

“Greedy lil’ Sanaa. You really can’t help it, huh?” 

His tone shifted. 

Erik pulled his fingers out. He picked her up easy. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Erik walked straight up to the sofa and tossed her down her down just hard enough to make the cushions bounce. 

“Don’t say nothin’,” he growled, “Just lay there and be the needy lil slut you wanna be.”

Sanaa was already reaching between her legs when he slid down onto the sofa beside her. 

He caught her wrist. 

“I said don’t…touch. That’s my pussy now.”

His fingers slid back inside her and this time he went deeper. His thumb massaged her clit just the way she liked it. His mouth stayed close to her ear, that voice keeping her pinned.

“Been thinkin’ about me all day, huh?”

“Yes…”

“Been actin’ smart too often. Rollin’ your eyes. Givin’ me attitude. Suckin’ my dick and sending me pussy pics. Just reckless. Get home and lay it all out like a bitch who forgot how to behave.”

“I needed it…” Sanaa whined. 

“Yeah? You need it now? Greedy ass pussy,” he breathed, “Clutchin’ like you tryna keep me in.”

She looked up at him, breathless, “I am.” Biting her lip, gyrating her hips a little to match the way his thick fingers stroked her. 

“Aight then. You want it?”

She nodded, eyes glassy.

He leaned in close, gripped her jaw, “Beg for it like I been gone three weeks.”

Sanaa’s lips parted, voice cracking.

“Please. Erik, I need it so bad. I been thinkin’ about it all day. My pussy so wet, I swear. I’ll be quiet. I’ll keep it in. Just…please. I need it.”

His eyes dropped to where she glistened.

He gave a slow smirk.

“Say less.”

He didn’t rush it.

That was the first thing that always ruined her.

Erik never rushed when it came to her pussy. He treated it like something he needed to study every single time. Like he might miss something if he went too fast. Like he wanted to watch her fall apart piece by piece. On his dick. On his tongue. And now on his fingers. 

He dragged two fingers down her slit, not even going inside again. Just tracing. Feeling how slick she was. How she twitched at the smallest contact. He rubbed through her folds lazy, teasing, spreading her wetness everywhere until her thighs started shaking. Feeling the soft slippery folds of her pretty pussy. 

“Look at this shit,” he whispered, “You nasty.”

His middle finger slid in. Deep. All the way to the knuckle. Sanaa’s head fell back immediately. A soft, broken sound left her throat before she could stop it.

“Ahh…”

He paused. Smiled.

“That all it take?”

Then he started moving.

In.

Out.

Slow. Controlled.

Erik was setting a rhythm for her body to follow whether she wanted to or not. Then, he added a second finger. Pushed in. Curled them both upward. Hit that spot good. 

Her back arched clean off the sofa, “Oh my—yes…”

Her hands fisted the throw blanket beneath her. Her words disappeared after that. Because he did not let up. He started fucking her with his fingers. Not gentle. Not polite. Deep strokes. Curling. Pressing. Dragging against her walls like he was trying to rewrite her brain.

“Mm,” he hummed, “There it is.”

Her moans turned sloppy. High. Breathless.

“Uh…ahh…Erik…fuck…”

“Shut up,” he said softly, “Just feel it.”

He pulled his fingers out suddenly. She cried out in protest. Before she could complain, he dragged those same messy fingers up and planted those same fingers on her clit. Then he started rubbing. Back and forth. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder. Side to side. Her hips bucked immediately.

“Ohhh…ohh…oh—mm—gah—mffff—”

She couldn’t finish a sentence. Couldn’t form one. Her mouth stayed open, nothing but broken sounds falling out. He watched her closely. Watched her thighs tremble. Watched her stomach tighten. Watched her toes curl.

“Look at you. Dumb off some fingers. Can’t even talk.”

He slid his fingers back inside her. Two. Then three.

Wet. Slippery. Messy.

Went right back to fucking her. At the same time, his thumb never stopped on her clit. In and out.

Rub. Curl. Rub. Deeper. Faster. Rub.

He set a brutal rhythm.

Finger her. Rub her clit. Finger her harder. Rub her faster. Over and over. No mercy. No break. No slowing down.

Her body started betraying her. Her hips chased his hand. Her legs shook. Her breath stuttered. Her eyes rolled up.

“Mm…mm…mmm…”

That was all she had left. 

He leaned down, mouth close to her ear, “Whole pussy cryin’ for me and you can’t even say shit,” he whispered. “Pathetic.”

She whimpered. Tried to speak.

Failed.

He sped up, “Yeah. There it go.”

His fingers plunged deep and stayed curled while his thumb went ruthless on her clit. Side to side.

Circles. Pressure. Faster. Faster.

Her back bowed. A broken sob left her mouth.

“Erik…I’m…”

“I know,” he said calmly, “Go ‘head. Cum right in my hand.” 

He did not slow. Did not ease up. Did not give her time. He pushed her straight over the edge. Her body locked. Her thighs clamped around his wrist. A loud, uncontrollable moan tore out of her chest as she came hard.

Wet. Hot. Soaking his hand.

Shaking like she was being electrocuted.

“Ahhh… ahh…oh my g-ga-ha-ffff…”

He stayed inside her. Kept rubbing. Kept fucking her. Rode it out with her. Sanaa grabbe for his wrist but she was too weak. Her grip too soft. She looked into Erik’s eyes with a mixture of confusion and lust. Then she glanced down at her pussy. At the mess. At the way he kept focus on that spot. Her eyelids fluttered when his thumb made its way back to her clit and rubbed. Her acrylics dug into the palm of her hand from how tightly clenched she was. 

“Let it out,” he whispered, “Make a mess…make a mess…make a mess…”

Her orgasm dragged. Pulsed. Hit her in waves. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. When she finally collapsed back into the mattress, completely spent, he slowly pulled his fingers out. Held them up. Glossy. Dripping. He looked at them. Then at her.

“Look what you did,” he said quietly, “Disgusting.”

She could barely lift her head.

Her voice came out weak, “…do it again.”

He chuckled low, “Greedy ass. I ain’t never met a hoe so greedy like you.” 

He did it again.

Back to her pussy. Fingers inside. Deep strokes. Soaked. Then right back up to her clit. Rubbing tight, wet circles. She was panting now, body rocking with each shift of his hand, throat too tight to make full sounds. Just high whines. Moans caught in her mouth. Her head dropped forward and Erik grabbed the back of her neck, keeping her in place.

“Uh uh. Sit up. I wanna see that face.”

He kept rubbing, kept fingering, switching between the two like he had her on a rhythm he made up just for her. Her pussy was clenching, fluttering around nothing when he pulled out, leaking and sensitive and begging for more.

“Messy lil pussy,” he said, gliding his fingers up again. 

She couldn’t answer. Her mouth hung open but no words came. Her body talked for her. The way she rocked in his lap. The way she gripped his wrist. The way her climax crept up like it was dragging her under.

Erik felt it. Saw it.

“There you go…there you go…daddy’s good girl…,” he whispered.

He rubbed harder. Fingers slid back inside. She cried out, louder this time.

“Ohhh—FUCK.”

“That’s it. Come on, lil’ princess with the pretty pussy—”

Fingers back on her clit. Back in her pussy. Slick noises filling the space between her thighs and his breath.

She started to tremble.

And he didn’t stop. Erik didn’t let her come down. He worked her through it until she was writhing, mouth open but no sound coming out. Her pussy gushing all over his fingers, thighs soaked. She was shaking so hard now he had to wrap an arm around her waist to hold her steady.

Then, finally, she slumped forward, chest to his, breathing hard and twitching.

Erik kissed her temple.

Licked his fingers.

“Better?” he asked with a slight tick of his brow. 

_____

The way her body curled against his told him everything he needed to know. She wanted it again. Wanted to feel wrecked. Owned. Dumbed out on his touch. But Erik wasn’t giving in easy. Thighs sticky and twitching, pussy glistening. Her chest heaved. Her lips stayed parted, eyes halfway rolled. She was losing herself before he even started up again.

Erik leaned in close, brushing his lips just beneath her ear, fingers still playing in her wetness.

“This that same pussy I had laid out in that bed, huh?” he whispered, dragging two fingers up her slit slow, “Yeah. This that same tight lil’ pussy that creamed all on me while you was beggin’ for the tip, actin’ like you ain’t know what the fuck you was doin’.”

Sanaa’s thighs clenched. He didn’t let her close.

“Nah. You gon’ keep that shit open,” he said, voice deep and calm, “You made this mess. Sit in it.” He eased two fingers back inside her, knuckles deep, the angle precise. He stroked her from the inside while his thumb pressed soft over her clit, “Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how this pussy felt when I fucked you,” he muttered, nose brushing her cheek, “All that grip, all that wet, pullin’ me in like you was tryna keep me.” His fingers slid in deeper, “Shit was creamy like lotion. Had me slippin’ and slidin’ in it. Couldn’t stop. Still can’t.” He started thrusting his fingers harder now, slow but precise. Curl. Stretch. Rub. She jerked in his lap, “And you know what I really love?” His voice dropped, lips now against her jaw, “How you let me nut in it.”

She gasped.

“How you take daddy nut. Don’t pull away. Don’t run. Just open them pretty lil’ legs and let me fill it up. Cus it’s mine to fill up how I please, ain’t it? Lil slut like this nut up in her pussy?” 

Sanaa was moaning now, breath ragged, whole body trembling against his chest. He pulled his fingers out just to rub her clit with all that wetness, sliding fast, back and forth, making her eyes roll.

“You know I ain’t supposed to be dickin’ you down like this,” he growled in her ear with a slight mug, “You supposed to be off limits.” Then he shoved his fingers right back in, “But I can’t get enough of this sloppy lil’ puss. Keep thinkin’ ‘bout it. Wakin’ up hard over it. Watchin’ you walk around like you ain’t the reason I stay backed up.” 

She whined loud, reaching for his shoulders, losing the ability to hold herself steady.

Erik caught her by the throat, “Nuh uh. You gon’ take this like a big girl.” He squeezed gently, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to hold her still, “You want that dick again?” he asked, staring her down.

She nodded fast.

“I said,” he growled, “you want that dick again?”

“Yes—yes,” she choked out, voice trembling.

“You gotta fuckin’ earn it.” He started rubbing her clit faster, meaner, while his fingers stayed buried, “You been a bratty lil’ bitch lately. Pushin’ it. Givin’ me attitude. Walkin’ ‘round actin’ like I won’t bend you over this couch and fuck that attitude right outta ya lil’ ass.”

Sanaa’s cries turned breathless, legs shaking again.

“Been movin’ too risky. Gon’ get us caught ‘cause you wanna keep gettin’ your pussy stretched and creamed like a nasty lil’ fiend.” He hit that spot again. She screamed into his shoulder, “Oh, you feel that?”

She was falling apart.

“Yeah. That’s what happens when Daddy in control. You want it, you follow rules.” He kept stroking. Kept rubbing, “Say who it belong to,” he demanded, hand between her legs relentless.

“Y-you,” she stuttered.

“Nah. Say it right.”

“It’s yours, Daddy—fuck, it’s yours—”

“Damn right. This daddy pussy. Gotta remind you…”

He shoved his fingers deep again, grinding his thumb over her clit until she came with a sharp cry, body convulsing, pussy gushing. She clung to him, sobbing through the release. Erik didn’t let up until she went limp in his lap. Then he kissed the side of her neck and whispered—

“You want the dick again, you better act like it.”

She nodded, dumb and breathless.

He smiled, “Now that’s my good girl.”

Her breath came in shallow pulls, lashes damp, lips swollen from biting them shut. Erik sat back, fingers glistening, and stared at her like she was his next meal. Then, he brought those same fingers up to her mouth, slow and slick.

“Open.”

She did it without thinking, tongue out, lips wrapping around his fingers like she was starving for more. Erik groaned low, eyes darkening as she sucked them clean. He moved them deeper, past her lips, pressing to the back of her tongue. She gagged a little but didn’t stop, eyes fluttering closed like she liked it.

“Mm,” he chuckled, “Oh you ain’t so tough now, is you, Bri?”

She looked up at him, eyes low, need pouring off her in waves.

“You know your fuckin’ place now or I gotta put you through this couch? Fuck some respect back in you?”

Erik pulled his fingers from her mouth with a wet pop, stood up slow, and dragged his sweats down his hips. That thick dick sprang free—heavy, brown, pretty, veins bulging up the shaft. Sanaa’s lips parted again, this time in awe. Her eyes dropped, locked onto it like she forgot how to breathe. Like she forgot how that dick look. What it tasted like. How it opened her up. 

“I been edging my shit all fuckin’ day,” Erik growled, gripping the base with one hand, the other cupping his full, weighty balls, “You see this?”

He pushed his hips forward, showing her how swollen they were, dragging one palm beneath them slow.

“Balls backed up. Look.”

She moaned out loud, crawling forward on her knees, reaching for him, eyes glassy.

“Uh uh,” he said, stepping back, “Don’t touch me.”

Sanaa whimpered.

He chuckled again, stroking himself now, letting her watch that thick dick swell in his grip.

“I’m a give it to you…yeah,” he said, voice low, rough, “But you ain’t touchin’ me.”

Her brows pulled together, breath catching as she tried to sit still, thighs clenching under her.

“I’m tired of your lil’ ass thinkin’ you run shit,” he said, jerking himself faster now, jaw tight, eyes locked on her face, “Throwin’ tantrums. Actin’ bold. Bein’ a fuckin’ brat.” He stepped back in, towering over her, letting that thick dick bounce right in front of her lips, “You gon’ sit there and take this like you supposed to.”

Sanaa nodded, eyes wide, voice barely a whisper, “Yes, Daddy.”

He smirked.

“Good. Now sit back. Arch that shit. You wanted it so bad? Get yo’ ass ready to beg for it all over again.”

Sanaa arched her back deep, her spine curved like a bow, cheek pressed to the cushion, ass raised high like an offering. Her low bun sat pretty at the base of her neck, trembling each time she breathed too hard. She was dripping so much it leaked to the throw blanket beneath her, folds glistening, thighs trembling.

Erik stood behind her, stroking his dick slow, letting the head glide through her wetness without putting it in yet. Just teasing. Making her wait for it on his command.

“You always got some slick shit to say,” he spoke low and rough, pressing the tip against her entrance, not moving. “Always actin’ like you runnin’ something.”

Sanaa whimpered, pushed back just a little, trying to catch it. He gripped her ass with one hand, thick fingers spreading her open.

“Keep that shit right there.”

Then he pushed in. Slow. Deep. All the way. Her pussy stretched wide around him, and Erik let out a thick breath through his nose, clenching his jaw as her walls clenched tight around every inch. His thrusts started slow. Strokes that dragged through her like he was tryna mark every inch. Her moans came soft at first, then louder with each roll of his hips.

“Fuck, Daddy…” she gasped, eyes squeezed shut, legs shaking.

Erik grabbed that bun. Fistful. Tight.

“Up. Get on them fuckin’ hands.”

He pulled her up, forced her to arch even deeper, made her take all of him from a new angle. Then, he started really fuckin’ her. Deep. Hard. Faster. Her ass clapped back against his thighs with every stroke. The sound echoed off the walls.

“Oooh, shit—” Sanaa cried out, gasping, shaking.

Her hands gave out. Her body couldn’t keep up. Erik held her by her hair, other hand palming her ass, pulling her back onto his dick over and over again.

“Thought you was in charge?” he growled, “Thought you was slick?”

She tried to answer, but all that came out was another broken moan.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. This mine. You act like it ain’t. I remind you every time.”

Her voice cracked, “It’s in my belly, Daddy—”

Tears slipped out the corners of her eyes. She was crying now. Whimpering. Babbling.

But Erik wasn’t tryna hear that shit.

“Nah. Don’t cry now.” He dug his grip deeper into her hip, “You the one beggin’ for dick. You the one throwin’ that shit at me every time you get needy.”

His dick was slamming up into her now, balls smacking her clit with every stroke, wetness dripping down both their thighs.

“You gon’ feel this tomorrow.” He slapped her ass, left a mark, “Next time you act up, I’mma put you right back in this position. Face down, ass up. Cryin’ ‘cause you can’t take it, but beggin’ for more.”

She was gone. Whimpering. Clawing at the couch. Back arched. Mouth wide open. Tears falling. Sanaa folded, arms draped over the top of the sectional, face buried in the crook of her elbow like she was hiding from what he was doing to her. Whimpering. Shaking. Her breaths came ragged and shallow, lips parted, eyes wet.

Erik didn’t say a word. He was speaking with that dick. Long, deep strokes. Slow. Intentional. His hips rolled with power, digging into her like he was carving out a message inside her walls. Each thrust dragged a sound from her throat she couldn’t control. All broken, soft, shame-drenched. One of his hands stayed planted between her shoulders, big palm flat, holding her still. Pressing her down just enough to make her feel the control. The other hand was wild with it—slapping her ass, jiggling the softness between his fingers, spreading her open so he could watch her take him.

“Just like that,” he muttered finally, voice low, breath heavy, “Stay right there. You takin’ it now.”

She nodded into her arm, body jolting with every bounce of her ass.

“Can’t even talk no more, huh?” he said, smacking her again, “All that mouth you had? Gone.” He gripped her cheeks and pulled them apart, watching his dick disappear inside her soaked pussy, “Listen to that shit.”

Their bodies were loud now. Wet claps. Deep grunts. Her gasps growing frantic.

“You gon’ learn how to act.” Another thrust. Deeper, “You gon’ stop playin’ with me.” Another slap. Louder, “You gon’ remember who run this pussy.”

His hips never stopped moving, his dick bullying her into silence. Sanaa let out a choked cry, trying to lift her head. Erik shoved her back down with the hand on her back.

“Uh uh,” he said, “You stay right there and take this dick like the nasty lil’ brat you been actin’ like.”

She started sobbing for real, wet and messy, trying to push back and take more at the same time.

“Don’t run, slut. You begged for this. You needed this, right? I’m just remindin’ you.”

And he was. With every stroke.

Sanaa’s body had passed the point of no return. Her arms hung limp over the back of the couch, face still buried in the crook of her elbow, sweat glistening along her spine. Her legs shook beneath her, toes curled hard into the cushions. Erik hadn’t said a single word in minutes. He was fucking the breath out of her. Hard. Vicious. Ruthless. With power. With punishment. Just dick. Every stroke knocked her forward, ass bouncing back from the sheer force of his hips. Her pussy sounded obscene, wet and clapping loud beneath her. Her body tried to run from it, but he was gripping her tight, dragging her back onto him, over and over again.

Sanaa couldn’t breathe right. Her mouth stayed open but nothing came out except strangled gasps and helpless moans. Her climax had been building from the first time he pushed inside her, slow and deep, but now—now it was boiling up her spine, thick and hot and feral. Her pussy clenched down hard around him, squeezing like her body was trying to trap him, hold him hostage. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, hips jerking like they didn’t know whether to run or grind back harder.

And Erik didn’t stop. He beat that pussy up. No mercy. No tenderness. Just raw fucking. The kind that made her see colors behind her eyelids. The pressure hit all at once—right at the base of her belly, then spreading wide, then down. She cried out, high and broken, choking on her own breath as the orgasm ripped through her.

Her body convulsed. Back arched. Pussy fluttering around his dick in desperate waves. Erik didn’t stop his pace. He continued to beat that pussy up. 

Sanaa’s pussy stretched around him. Letting our broken sounds—soft and shocked. She wasn’t prepared to feel him that deep. His hips met her from behind with a hard clap. The impact traveled through her ass, up her spine, and into the back of her skull. Her vision blurred a little. And her mouth remained unhinged. 

Sanaa tried to push her knees wider but it didn’t help. Daddy was still too much. 

Erik watched her from behind, tongue sitting at the corner of his mouth, a slight smirk on his lips. His hands gripped her waist and pulled her back while he thrusted forward like she weighed nothing. 

His voice low, that Oakland lingo curling around her spine.

“This dick got you floatin’. Daddy got you gone, huh?” 

Sanaa tried to answer but only got air. Her mind was foggy. She felt the room spin a little. Every time Erik slid out and slammed back in, her body jerked forward like she was being yanked out of herself. Sanaa grabbed at the back of the sofa because her arms were the only thing keeping her from falling flat. 

That pussy was wet enough that the sounds echoed in the living room. Slick. Loud. Sloppy. Every stroke pushed a gasp out of her. She could not control her voice. Tighten her legs. Think. She started trying to shift. 

Sitting up? Failed.

Reaching back? Failed.

Pull forward to control the impact? Failed.

Erik reached up with one hand and pressed the center of her lower back, forcing her arch deeper. Her ass lifted higher without her meaning to. The angle opened her up so far she felt a sharp pull in her stomach. Her eyes rolled. Her breath stuttered.

“Yeah. There she go. Daddy told you not to run.”

His tone was calm. Almost gentle.

It made her wetter.

She tried to inch forward, but he caught her hips and dragged her right back onto him.

“Stay on this dick like I said,” His voice sounded patient. Too damn calm, “You wanted this. Take it.” 

Sanaa nodded without knowing she nodded. Her thoughts came in pieces. Heat. Pressure. Breathing. Wet. Deep. Deeper. Too much. More. 

Erik sped up, hips hitting her with sharp, rhythmic thrusts that lifted her halfway off the sofa each time. The whole world narrowed to the feeling of him pounding her. She felt taken. Filled. Held in place. Her body kept clenching around him because it was begging for more even though her voice could not form a single word. 

Sanaa’s stomach tightened. The pressure inside her grew fast and overwhelming. She felt a wave roll up her spine so strong her hands slipped on the sofa for a second.

Erik saw it. Felt her pulse around him.

He gripped her waist with one hand harder.

“Daddy got you wide open. Say it.”

She tried. Nothing came out but a whine.

He leaned over her back, lips near her ear, “Say it, baby.”

“I’m open,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I’m open for you. I c-c-can’t think.”

Erik smiled against her shoulder, “That’s it. Daddy got you gone. Let it happen.”

Sanaa soaked the base of him, thighs messy, ass shaking as her climax wracked her from head to toe. It wasn’t gentle. It was violent, needy, a full-body surrender. throat tight, pussy gripping him in long pulses she could not stop. Sanaa was spaced out, head empty, breath broken. All she could hear was him behind her and the wet slap of her body taking every ounce of what he gave.

He kept fucking her through it, body meeting with flush thrusts against hers, dick pulsing thick and hard as her cries turned to helpless sobs. Sanaa reached for anything. The couch. The fabric. Her own skin. Anything to ground her.

Erik held her in place while she came, guiding her through it with slow, deep thrusts that kept her right on the edge of falling apart again.

“That’s Daddy’s girl,” he said, low and warm, hand stroking her hip while she shook, “So sweet when you lose yourself.”

But Erik kept going. And that pussy kept taking it. Every inch. Every thrust. Every bruise-deep reminder of who had her like this.

Her body was wrecked, but Erik hadn’t slowed once.

He was balls-deep, hands locked on her shoulders now, dragging her back onto him like she was weightless. His grip was firm, possessive, muscles flexed along his arms, forearms bulging with every pull. The wet slap of skin echoed through the room—hard, sharp, relentless. just pure fuckin’ force.

Her cheek stayed planted against the sectional, breath choppy, spilling frantic. Her pussy was being pounded without mercy, swollen and sensitive, sucking him in. Sanaa turned her head, barely, neck twisted so she could see him from the corner of her eye. That stuck look on her face told it all—mouth slack, brows raised, tears caught on her lashes. She was gone. Dick drunk. Fucked open and filled.

Erik looked right back at her. Eyes low. Locked in. Lip caught between his teeth like he was holding back a groan that could tear through walls. His abs tightened with each thrust, his hips working in a brutal rhythm. Sweat dripped from his chest, slid down the deep ridges of his torso. And then he reached for her head, palmed the back of it. He pressed her cheek back down against the cushion like he was putting her in position for execution.

“Keep your eyes forward.”

He let his hips do the talking. Slowed the stroke—but not the depth. Dragged it all the way out. Ground back in deep with a slow, whining roll of his hips, letting her feel every inch, every throb.

Her pussy opened for it. Took it. Sanaa’s ass bounced, thighs shaking under his grip. He leaned over her, close enough for her to feel his breath against the back of her neck. That heavy, ragged, ruthless breath of a man who knew he was deep in it. Who wasn’t pulling out. Who wasn’t letting up.

His hips rolled again, slower now, deeper, grinding that dick inside her like he wanted to stir her guts and mark them.

“Yes…fuck this pussy like that…”

Her voice cracked mid-sentence, thick with need, broken from too much. She could barely get the words out, but they spilled anyway—greedy, mindless, slutty.

Erik’s eyes darkened. He grabbed her by that low bun with one rough twist of his fist and pulled her head around. Her mouth parted in a soft gasp, and he bent down, caught her lips in a messy, nasty kiss. Didn’t even wait for permission. Flicked his tongue against hers, wet and teasing, then deeper—slow and nasty like he wanted to taste the whimpers still stuck in her throat. All the while, he held his dick buried inside her. Pressed in to the hilt. Not moving just siting thick inside her, filling her so good it made her whine straight into his mouth. 

Her fingers reached back, tried to push at his abs, her breath catching as she twitched beneath him. Erik pulled out slow—slick, swollen, the whole length gliding against her soaked walls—then slammed back in with a force that made the sofa groan beneath them both.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice a growl in her ear, “That pussy stretched now, ain’t it?”

He did it again.

Pulled out slow. Let her feel the slide. Let her know what she gave up. Then drove back in deep, rough, full-body thrusts that rattled her bones.

“I’m a leave you sore.”

Sanaa whimpered, nodding, clenching around him because she wanted to be wrecked. He watched her hand grip the back of the sofa, watched her legs buckle again as her slick dripped down onto the cushion.

“You gon’ make a mess on this sofa, huh?” Another stroke. Mean. Precise, “You sittin’ here with this pussy so fuckin’ wet it’s leakin.”

She whined louder, body rocking with the rhythm of his dick.

“All that smart ass talk you be doin’—for what? Just to let me fuck you stupid like this? Givin’ this shit up like it don’t mean nothin’. Lettin’ me beat it up raw.”

Her mouth opened. No words came out. Just a sound, high and gone.

“You lettin’ me nut in it again too, huh?” Another thrust. Another bounce, “Say it.”

“I—yes, Daddy—”

“Say you want me to leave my nut right up in this pussy.”

She nodded fast, sobbing a little, pushing her ass back onto him like she wanted him deeper than deep. Erik dragged her head back by her bun again, breathing hot against her ear, watching her fall apart in his grip.

“Then shut up and take it.”

And she did. Like it was the only thing she knew how to do. Erik dragged his dick slow out of her then rammed it back in so deep her ass bounced and her breath caught in her throat. That arch in her back was illegal—deep, curved like submission carved straight into her spine. 

______

He stared down at it, jaw clenching.

“Should send that nigga Nathan a pic of this nasty arch you got in your back,” he spat, breath ragged and hard as he ground into her from behind. “Bet that nigga won’t hit you up no more after he see how I got you.”

Then—

Crack.

He slapped her ass rough. Rough enough to sting. Rough enough to leave her hips jerking and her lips trembling. She cried out, but Erik didn’t give her time to catch her breath. He grabbed her by the arm and made her sit up—dragged her back, chest up, hands scrambling to grab the top of the couch for balance.

“Look forward,” he ordered, low and sharp, “Keep that fuckin’ noise to yourself.”

Sanaa stared straight ahead, eyes glossy, breath hitching. Erik grabbed her hips, squared them, and sank back into that pussy with a thrust that stole her soul. She gasped—but caught it. Bit her lip and locked it down. Didn’t make a sound.

Erik smirked behind her, knowing damn well her body was screaming even if her mouth stayed shut. He fucked her just like that—hard, deep, without mercy. His hips crashed into her ass, each stroke sending a ripple up her spine. Her thighs trembled. Arms locked. Nails dug into the fabric.

Her body was humming. She felt every inch, every vein, every throb. That dick was killing her, filling her, breaking her down. He wasn’t giving her space to breathe, wasn’t giving her an inch of control. Domination. And she asked for it. She knew it would feel this good. Sanaa’s head dropped forward, eyes fluttering shut. Her lip caught between her teeth. She was doing everything she could to hold the noises in, but her pussy was creaming without her permission. Dripping. Pulsing. She was close. So close. But he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t slow. Wouldn’t let her run.

And that made her wetter. That made her hate him a little. Because he always got what he wanted. And all she could do was take it.

Erik held her hips like he built her body himself. His fingers dug into her skin firm enough to remind her who she opened herself up for. His stance was wide. His chest rose heavy and slow. He watched every inch of her bent over in front of him. 

His eyes dragged over the arch in her back.

The lift of her ass. 

The shine between her thighs. 

The way she trembled each time he pushed deep. 

His jaw flexed. His nostrils flared. A low groan slipped out when she tightened around him. Deep in his chest. The sound a grown man makes when the pleasure hits harder than he expects. Her pussy wrapped around him like she was built to take him. Warm. Wet. Gripping him with every stroke. He felt her pulse around him and his eyes rolled half back before he caught himself.

“Look at this lil’ body.” His voice was thick, “Look how you let Daddy fit in you.”

He pumped into her again. The impact lifted her forward and she cried out, fingers clawing for balance. His eyes stayed locked on the place where they met. He watched the slide. The stretch. The way her pussy pulled back on him every time he backed out.

Erik shook his head slowly, almost laughing at how good it felt. “Greedy girl. Always takin’ this dick like you starved.”

Another stroke. Another clap of his hips against her ass. Another deep grunt from him that vibrated through the room.

Erik straightened his back and looked down at her like she was something he owned. Something trained. Something hd enjoyed breaking open.

“You my lil’ slut, huh,” the calm in his voice made her wetter, “knew it soon as you started playin’ innocent ‘round me. Fake shy. Body tellin’ me everything.” 

Sanaa moaned into the sofa and her spine curved deeper. 

Erik grabbed her ass with both hands and spread her open wider. His thumb pressed into the soft, give of her cheeks while he watched his dick slide insider her again. Erik let out another groan, rougher, pleasure hitting him straight in the gut. 

“Damn, look at this pretty shit,” his tone dropped even lower, “This young pussy stay beggin’ me to put dick in it, huh, lil’ slut?” 

He thrust again. Hard enough to knock her breath loose. Sanaa gasped, back arching, vision blurring. Erik watched her lose herself and his lips parted like he needed air.

“Yeah. That is it.” His voice got raspy, “Go stupid for it. Daddy likes that. Daddy likes that.” 

Erik pulled her hips back onto him, forcing her to take every inch with no escape. Her body jolted with each stroke. Her sounds turned soft and broken and helpless.

He stared down at her.

Patience mixed with raw need.

“You mine, ain’t you, lil’ hoe.” 

He said it like a fact. Not a question. Because he knew the answer. Erik’s hips rolled his hips deeper, slower, making her feel every part of him.

“Open up. There you go. Let Daddy fill all this pretty pussy.”

Her stomach tightened and her head dropped. She was slipping again, mind going foogy, body doing whatever he told it to. Erik watched her come apart from behind.

A grown ass man. Not the lil’ niggas she used to. 

Steady. Focused.

Enjoying every second of how she shook for him.

“Oh, you perfect like this,” he breathed out, voice thick with pleasure, “stupid for me. Don’t fight it. Take what Daddy givin’ you.”

Erik pulled her back into him with one firm hand around the front of her neck. Claiming that space right under her jaw where she felt every heartbeat. His fingers spread wide, thumb resting against her throat, steady pressure keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

His other hand pressed down on the small of her back. Heavy. Solid. A silent order. Her spine dipped. Her ass lifted. She felt her whole body fall into the shape he wanted like it remembered him more than she remembered herself.

“Stay right there,” he said, voice calm and low behind her, “Daddy got the rest.”

Sanaa let out a shaky sound. Her arms trembled. She felt the room tilt again. Her mind started to space out the moment he held her neck like that. The weight of his palm made her feel smaller. Made her feel kept. Made her feel owned in a way that turned her inside out.

Erik watched her back curve. Watched her body offer itself without a word. His grip on her neck tightened just a little. 

“That’s my lil baby girl,” he said. “Look how fast you fold for me.”

His hand on her throat caught the inhale and rolled back into a gasp. Her knees shook. Pussy throbbed. 

He pressed her lower back again, pushing her into a deeper arch.

“You hear me talkin’ to you,” he continued, “Answer Daddy.”

“Yessss,” she whispered, voice thin and gone.

He laughed under his breath, “You such a pretty lil’ slut for me.”

Her pussy clenched around nothing and her breath broke. He guided her back onto him slow at first, hand controlling her throat so she stayed upright, hand on her back so she could not rise away. He set the pace. Not her. Never her. When he pushed into her fully, she cried out, body jolting forward, palms slipping on the sheets. His grip on her throat kept her from falling.

“Uh huh. Take this fuckin’ dick.” His voice stayed steady. “You begged for this. Acted up. Teasin’ Daddy like you grown.”

He pulled her back on him again, harder, filling her in one long stroke that made her stomach clench. Her mind blurred. She felt dizzy. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

He stared down at her. Eyes low. Lips parted. That older man hunger mixed with complete confidence.

“Look at that,” he said, “My greedy girl. Baby girl stay reachin’ for more like she got no sense.”

Her body rocked with every thrust. She tried to crawl forward but he caught her throat and held her still.

“No. You stay right here with Daddy.” His tone dropped even lower, “I said I got you.”

She whimpered, breath catching in his hand.

“You proud of yourself?” he asked, voice soft but filthy, “Proud you get Daddy this hard? Proud you got me talkin’ like this? Dick feelin’ so good in your pussy, mama?” 

She nodded fast. Too fast. He tightened his fingers around her throat just enough to make her slow down.

“Good girl. Slow it. Feel me movin’ you.”

He rolled his hips deep, slow, dominant, making her feel every inch. Sanaa’s stomach tightened again. Her vision blurred. She was spaced out, floating, her body taking what he gave without her mind catching up.

“You makin’ Daddy so proud,” he said. “Look how you stay open for me. Look how you let me fuck you like this.”

She moaned. Her legs trembled again. He pushed her lower. Bent her deeper. Held her throat firmer.

“This what happen when you tease me,” he said, “Now Daddy got you good. Dumb for on it. Shakin’ all over.”

Her voice cracked into a whine.

“Say it,” he told her, “Say you my lil’ slut.”

“I’m your lil slut,” she whispered, almost crying with how full she felt.

“Good girl.” His tone warmed, “Now let Daddy finish givin’ you everything you kept beggin’ for.”

“Daddy,” Sanaa whispered, just a soft plea, “Daddy…I can’t think.”

Erik heard it the second her tone changed. He tightened his grip on her waist, steady and warm. His other hand slipped up the front of her throat, holding her in place. His thumb stroked her bottom lip soothingly. 

“I know, baby girl,” he said, voice calm, “You fallin’. Daddy got you. I know it’s a lot. But you wanted this…”

She made a broken sound, almost a sob, but sweet. Her mind floated. Her thoughts slipped away. She felt small. Safe. Fucked out. 

“Daddy keep me,” she whispered, “Please? I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

Sanaa was in another dimension at this point. 

Erik nodded slow behind her, eyes heavy as he took her in.

“You better be,” he said, “You know how you get when you act up. You end up right here. Bust open. Shakin’. Callin’ for Daddy like you lost.”

Sanaa whimpered again, body slack, breath shallow.

Her voice was tiny, “Don’t let go of me. Please. Daddy please.”

His hand on her throat stayed firm. Grounding. Claiming. Certain.

“I said I got you,” he told her, “You stay right here in this. You hear me?”

“Yes Daddy.” Her voice cracked, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease. I just…I needed you.”

“That’s why Daddy teachin’ you.” His tone dipped into that low, older-man authority that made her melt harder, “You think you can run your lil’ mouth, shake your lil’ ass at me, then not fall apart on this dick? You not built for that.”

Sanaa moaned softly, head dropping.

“I’m yours,” she whispered, “Daddy I’m yours. I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.”

Erik smiled at that. Slow. Dark. Proud.

“That’s right. Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

Her breath hitched, “I’m yours Daddy.”

Erik’s hand slid from her throat to her jaw, tilting her head so he could hear her better.

“You stay where Daddy puts you,” he said, “You breathe how I tell you to breathe. You don’t go floatin’ off without me.”

She nodded hard, tears at the edge of her lashes. Pussy clenching around his still hard dick. 

“Daddy keep teaching me,” she whispered, “Please. Don’t stop. I’ll be good.”

“Yeah,” he said, “You my pretty lil’ bitch. You don’t know how to behave unless Daddy get you right.”

Her body loosened even more at his tone.

Her voice was almost gone.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t stop fuckin’ me.”

“I’m right here,” he said, palm warm on her jaw, “Stay with me. Listen to Daddy. You safe. Let daddy fuck you. Let daddy make you cum, okay?” 

Her mouth parted. She slipped further. Her voice was a whisper of a whisper.

“Daddy…keep doing it. Please. Please. Keep going.”

His voice turned even quieter.

Even more controlled.

“Good girl. Stay in Daddy’s hands. On daddy’s dick. Let me guide you. You wanted this. Now you learnin’ how to take it.”

Erik’s grip on her hips tightened as her pussy started to flutter. That creamy, soaked mess was clutching him tighter with every stroke. She was damn near convulsing, whole body trembling, arch deep, thighs quaking. She was coming.

And he felt it. Knew it in the way she started to shake. The way her pussy squeezed and sucked at his dick like it was begging him to stay in and finish with her.

“Fuck,” Erik groaned, digging in deeper, slower for a breath, then harder again. His abs flexed, shoulders rolling, the veins in his arms thick and raised. He was right there too, balls heavy, dick swollen, the kind of hard that made his own body twitch with the need to bust.

Sanaa reached back, crying out, trying to grab him—anything to hold on. But Erik caught her wrist mid-reach, twisted it gently, and locked it behind her back. Palm flat between her shoulder blades again, pinning her forward with control.

“Nah. Stay right there.” His other hand reached down, cupping her dripping cunt, feeling every twitch, “Good pussy,” he growled, his breath ragged now. “Creamy ass pussy.” His thrusts stayed deep, purposeful, each one slamming into her soaked walls with a noise that sounded wetter than it should’ve been, “Greedy pussy girl. You love this shit, don’t you? Can’t help yourself.”

Sanaa sobbed out, high and open. Then it snapped. Her body buckled, back bowed, and that climax ripped through her like a tidal wave. She screamed—loud, wrecked, wild.

“Daddy!”

Erik’s hips stuttered, his jaw clenched, his groans turned into thick grunts. Still in her. Still grinding.

“You cumming for me, Princess?” he panted, eyes locked on her body shaking beneath him.

That name broke her.

“Yes, Daddy,” she cried out, all soft and ruined. Barely audible.

He fucked her right through it.

“Keep cumming on this dick. Wet this dick up. Give me all that shit. Don’t hold it in. Push it out.”

And she did.

She let go fully, pussy pulsing. Then squirting just enough to make it messy. Dripping down both their thighs. Body limp now, spent and twitching.

Erik hit her with two more strokes—deep, fast, full-body thrusts that slammed the air out of her chest—and then pulled out quick, grabbing the base of his dick, stroking hard, groaning through clenched teeth. His nut hit her lower back in thick ropes, hot and heavy, splattering across her brown skin.

Sanaa’s face twisted, head turning over her shoulder, breathless and confused. She was expecting to feel that thick cum deep inside her, like last time. She was used to being filled up by now. He promised…right? He said he would give it to her. 

“Wha—” she whispered, still catching her breath.

Erik wiped the tip of his dick along her back with a smirk, “Nah,” he said low, still out of breath, “This yo’ punishment.”

She blinked, stunned.

“You don’t get my nut in that pussy since you like to misbehave.” He leaned in close, hand still pressing her wrist behind her back, “Since you like to forget who run this.”

She didn’t say a word. All she could do was lay there—wrecked, messy, throbbing—and remember exactly who did. Sanaa lay stretched over the back of the sectional, skin flushed, back sticky with his nut, thighs trembling from everything he’d just pulled out of her. Her arms had gone soft, her breath unsteady, and her mouth twisted into a pout without her even meaning to.

Erik looked down at her, standing tall, chest rising heavy, dick glistening with her mess, still stiff despite the nut he just spilled across her back. Sweat clung to every inch of him—his shoulders, his stomach, the raised scars running down his torso like a story she still didn’t know all the way.

He chuckled under his breath, “Tsk, tsk,” he tsk’d, voice low, teasing, “Fix that pretty face.”

Sanaa’s eyes dragged up over him, slow and needy. He looked devastating. Sweaty, muscles shaking just slightly from how deep he’d been digging in her, jaw tight, arms flexed, locs damp. The type of fine that should’ve come with a warning. Her pussy clenched again, fluttering from the aftershocks.

Erik stepped in close, kneeling behind her, and his hand came to her thighs. Gentle this time. He slid his fingers up through the mess between her legs, rubbing her slow softly like she hadn’t just been fucked dumb minutes ago.

“Still twitchin’, huh?” he muttered, fingers slick.

Sanaa whined into the cushion, hips bucking just a little. He leaned in closer, hand rubbing smooth and lazy between her folds, voice dropping to something gentler.

“Shoulda done this last time. Left you layin’ in that mess like I ain’t care,” he spoke low, “Daddy sorry, baby.” His fingers moved in slow circles, not to tease, not to play, just to soothe her, ease her down, “I got you this time,” he said softly, “I’ll clean you up.”

Erik brought his hand back, glistening with her juices, and without breaking eye contact, slid his fingers into his mouth. Sucked them clean. Tongue slow. Eyes heavy.

Sanaa’s lips parted. Her body jerked again.

Erik stood tall, bent down, and wrapped an arm under her knees and one beneath her back. Lifted her right off the couch like she weighed nothing.

“C’mon, Princess,” he said, kissing her shoulder.

She rested her head against his chest, letting her eyes fall shut to the sound of his breath and the warmth of his skin. He carried her through the apartment like she was breakable. Straight into the bathroom.

And this time, he kept his word.

Erik set her down easy on the edge of the tub, her thighs still slick, her body soft and pliant with satisfaction. She leaned into the cool tile behind her while he crouched down to turn the water on. The sound filled the bathroom, a low calming rush that contrasted the filthy mess they’d just made in the other room.

He looked up at her, “What you like in your bath, Bri?” he asked, voice softer now, “Lavender? Eucalyptus? You got that little oil set in the basket over there, right?”

She blinked at him, still floating, then nodded slow, “Lavender…and them oatmeal salts.”

“Say less.”

He poured both into the tub, steam rising. The water turned cloudy, milky with oils. Once it filled, Erik tested the temperature with his fingers, then came back to lift her in. She melted right into the warmth, letting her muscles sink, a slow exhale leaving her lips as she settled. He knelt by the edge, fingers trailing along the surface. Then he cupped her chin, tilted her face to his, and kissed her hard. Deep. Mouth wet, tongue slick and slow. A filthy kiss laced with tenderness. When he pulled back, her eyes fluttered.

“You gon’ be a good girl next time?” he asked, low and deliberate, “That’s the only way you get my nut back in that pussy.”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes heavy, “Yes, Daddy,” she said soft.

He stood with a smirk, leaned in to kiss her cheek, and let her relax back in the bath alone.

Out in the living room, Erik moved fast. He slid on his black sweats, no draws, the fabric hanging low on his hips, dick still half-hard against the cotton. He looked around. The throw blanket had caught most of her squirt—thank God.

He gathered it up, quick, then wiped down the couch cushion just to be safe. Lysol’d the air. Opened the balcony door a crack and flipped on the wax warmer sitting on the shelf. The scent hit quick. Fresh, clean. Like sandalwood and citrus. Masculine. Clean enough to erase every trace of Sanaa’s wet pussy from the air. He tossed the throw in the washer, punched in the cycle.

And just as he shut the lid, he heard the front door click.

Aaliyah stepped in with a classmate trailing behind her—tall, brown-skinned girl with a twist-out and big almond eyes.

Erik was still shirtless, sweat-slicked, skin glowing.

“You just came from the gym?” Aaliyah asked, eyeing him, voice suspicious.

The girl next to her was straight-up ogling.

“Girl.” Aaliyah side-eyed her. “Stop starin’ at my brother. Damn.” She turned back to Erik, “Can you put on a shirt or somethin’? You embarrassing me.”

Erik didn’t say shit. Just lifted a brow and turned away, letting the waistband of those sweats sit low while he walked off, back muscles flexing.

The girls slipped past toward Aaliyah’s room, giggling.

Aaliyah cracked the hallway bathroom door on her way.

“Hey, Bri!” she called, “Naima is here!”

Sanaa’s voice floated back, muffled and sweet through the steam.

“Hey, girl! Hey Naima!”

They disappeared into the bedroom. And Erik went back to cleaning like he wasn’t just rearranging that girl’s guts ten minutes ago.

______

Sanaa lingered in the steamy haze of the bathroom, the hot water from the tub slowly cooling around her as she tried to summon the strength to move. Her body felt heavy, every muscles protesting the effort, especially her legs—wobbly as if they’d been replaced with strands of overcooked noodles. The ache between her thighs was a persistent throb, her pussy tender and swollen from the way Erik had claimed her, that thick dick stretching her wide and leaving her feeling deliciously raw. She shifted slightly, a sharp twinge making her gasp, and ran her fingers lightly over her sensitive pussy lips, marveling at the lingering warmth. It wasn’t just the physical soreness; there was a deeper satisfaction, a glow that radiated from within making her skin flush with a post-climax haze that made everything seem a little dreamier, a little more alive.

Finally, she hauled herself out of the tub, water dropping from her body as she reached for her towel. After patting her skin enough to leave it damp to touch, Sanaa reached for her body oil on the shelf. She poured a generous amount into her hands, the sweet, floral scent of jasmine filling the bathroom. She smoothed it over her skin with delicate strokes, starting at her shoulders and working down, the oil gliding across her breasts, nipples still peaked and sensitive from Erik’s insistent touches. Then lower, where she paused to massage the slick warmth into her thighs and the soft mound of her pussy. Each gentle rub eased the ache a bit, but it also stirred faint echoes of pleasure, reminding her of how he’d pinned her against the sofa, his hands everywhere. 

Sanaa dressed in an oversized T-shirt that draped loosely over her frame and baggy pajama pants that did little to hide the slight waddle in her step. Sanaa caught her reflection in the fogged mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with that unmistakable afterglow, and she opened the door, the cool air of the hallway hitting her like a whisper of reality, making her acutely aware of how she moved. Her hips swayed unevenly as if the memory of Erik’s thrusts still echoed in her bones. 

Stepping into the hallway, Sanaa paused, listening to the muffled chatter from Aaliyah's room down the hall. But all she could focus on was the delicious soreness that made every step a reminder of what they’d shared. There was a quiet thrill in knowing he’d left his mark on her, a secret intimacy that made her heart race even as her body protested. Sanaa leaned against the wall for a moment, gathering herself before heading out towards the front of the apartment, her gait betraying her in a way that might draw curious eyes but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when the memory of his touch still lingered. 

Sanaa eased herself down onto the sofa, careful with her movements. The cushion dipped beneath her, familiar in a way that made her pulse jump. She smoothed her fingers over the fabric without thinking, slow circles pressed into the exact spot where her body had given out earlier. Her touch lingered there,  breath catching a little. The memory pushed through her like a warm flush.

Aaliyah’s door swung open. She came out talking a mile a minute with Naima right behind her, that tall girl with the twist-out and big almond eyes. They were laughing about something that happened in class, hands flying everywhere. Naima kept adjusting her crop top and trying to act like she wasn’t still thinking about Erik’s bare back.

They wandered into the living room, loud with gossip at the same time. Sanaa tried to appear normal. She tucked her legs under her, propped her elbow on the armrest, and let her hair fall over one shoulder. She could still feel her thighs tremble every time she moved them too close together. 

Erik came out without a sound. He had put a shirt on, but it did nothing to hide the shape of him. He leaned one shoulder against the entryway, arms crossed, quiet in that way that always made people look twice. His eyes swept the room, until they landed on her.

Sanaa’s chest tightened.

He held her gaze. Not for a second. Not accidental. He looked at her like he had already touched every part of her and remembered how she sounded when she came apart. His eyes lowered to her mouth, then the line of her throat, then the lazy drape of her T-shirt. Those dark eyes traveled back up and stayed locked on hers.

Something inside her slipped. Her breath stuttered. She dragged her fingers over the cushion again. Not consciously. Her body did it on its own. The fabric was soft but the reminder was not. Her spine curved in a slow arch she didn’t mean to show him. 

Erik’s jaw flexed. Subtle. The way he stood there felt like he was closing the space anyway. She felt his attention like a hand on the inside of her knee. Sanaa shifted and tried to hide the way her breath hitched. Her fingers closed around the cushion in a gentle grip.

Aaliyah collapsed into the armchair across from her, still talking to Naima, “Girl, my professor is wild. I swear he gave us a whole hour lecture on why folks don’t know how to email.” She rolled her eyes, “Sanaa, you heard me tell you about him before, right?”

Sanaa blinked. She tried to turn toward them, but Erik’s stare dragged over her again and her whole body tightened. Her throat bobbed when she swallowed. She could barely pull her eyes away. Her face felt hot. Her legs shifted in a slow, careful motion to try to relieve the pressure building inside her.

“You okay?” Aaliyah asked, laughing a little, “You look spaced out.”

Sanaa straightened, “Yeah. I’m cool.” She tried to smile, but it felt too shaky.

Naima plopped onto the other side of the sofa, “You sure? You look like you just woke up from a nap or somethin’.”

Sanaa nodded, “Long bath. Almost fell asleep in there.” 

Aaliyah snorted, “You actin’ like you had a whole spa day, bitch.” 

Erik lifted his chin just enough for her to see it. A private acknowledgment. Heat slid through her belly. Her breath dipped for a moment. She looked away too slow, giving herself away. But Aaliyah noticed none of it. She kept talking to Naima about a class group chat full of drama.

Erik kept his eyes on Sanaa.

Her chest rose in a slow inhale she tried to hide.

From across the room, Erik let his tongue slip across the inside of his cheek. His eyes did one more sweep of her legs tucked up on the sofa, the loose fall of her shirt, the glow still sitting on her skin.

Two Days Later…

It had only been two days. Forty-eight hours, give or take since Erik had lasted touched her, but Sanaa swore it felt longer than that. Her body was going through withdrawals. Brain scrambled. Pussy tight and aching. She’d been moving through the week with a short fuse and slick ass thighs, stuffing with no focus, scrolling with no real purpose, half way listening in class while replaying flashbacks of that big ass dick punishing her like it was made to shut her ass up. And it was worse because he was everywhere. Every time she looked up, there he was. Fine as hell and smelling like fresh linen and that clean, warm masculine scent that always unravels her. 

Now here she was, awake at 1:43 am, laying in bed with her T-shirt hiked up, fingers halfway between her legs but not doing a damn thing to satisfy her. She didn’t want to fuck herself. She didn’t want to use her vibrator. She wanted him. Big, slow, nasty. The way he bent her over left a permanent arch in her back. The way he fingered her pussy so good making her crave his fingers more than she’d ever wanted it. She remembered how he dragged his tongue over her clit, held her open, didn’t rush a thing. How he smirked with her taste on his face and her mess on his dick. 

That was the kind of dick she was missing. 

Sanaa sat up. 

Fuck this. 

Sanaa padded quietly into the hall, heart tapping against her ribs. She didn’t go straight to his room. She moved past it, tiptoeing down the hallway, pausing outside of Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa cracked it.

Inside, her friend was knocked out in bed, one leg tangled in the sheets, AirPods still in, the screen of her phone dimly lit beside her—notifications stacked, audiobook still playing from where it left off. Sanaa watched a beat longer, just to be sure. Aaliyah never stirred. Sanaa shut the door gently.  Then, she turned. Barely breathing. Tiptoed back towards her room. She closed her door shut and stood there in the quiet, body already warming up with a need she couldn’t sleep through. 

Sanaa moved in the silence, every step quiet, her breath low but her body already tingling with need. She turned the knob on Erik’s door gently, opening it just enough to peek inside.

He was there.

In bed, propped up on one arm, still awake. Lights low. No shirt. Joggers on. Those brown eyes locked on her from across the room like he’d been waiting on her to make a move. Sanaa’s heart jumped. Pussy throbbed hard.

She slipped inside without a word. Without an invite. 

If he didn’t stop her, she wasn’t leaving.

The door eased shut behind her like she was hiding. That quiet sneaking when you know exactly what you want and already made peace with not regretting it.

Click.

The soft click echoed, louder than it should’ve in the quiet. Her back pressed gently against the wood, breath stilling in her chest as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The room was low-lit—TV screen casting a dull blue glow across the bed, flickering shadows that danced over his skin. 

Erik was sitting up now. Sheets kicked low around his waist. His chest was bare, all deep bronze and hard lines, the keloid scars carved across him like stories she hadn’t read yet. His locs were pulled back in a loose tie, a few strands falling forward near his face. One of them touched his collarbone. 

He looked up at her, slow like he smelled something sweet.

That smile curved lazy on one side.

Sanaa stayed where she was for a second. Breathing steady. Head tilted. Eyes on his. Her lips were parted just a little, her skin glowing warm in the flicker of the screen. The steam from the treatment she’d done to her hair earlier still clung to her—moist spirals curled down her shoulders, parted deep on one side, sticking soft to her neck in places. Her earrings caught the light when she shifted—small diamonds, delicate, gleaming like she wore them on purpose just for this.

“What ya lil’ ass doing in my room,” he whispered, voice dipped and quiet.

Sanaa’s giggle came soft and pretty, tugging at the tension like a bowstring, “I miss you.”

Her voice floated out, feathered and smooth.But her eyes…they dropped. Traced the slope of his chest down to the spread of his thighs. Paused.

Stayed.

He caught it.

Erik stood, chest rising, that smirk never leaving his face. His body filled the space like a wall. He stepped forward, looking down at her.

“Miss me,” he asked, voice low, “or this dick, baby? Don’t lie either.”

She looked up at him, face calm but eyes sparkling, “Both…but that dick more.”

Erik chuckled, a sharp inhale through his nose and teeth. He shook his head slow like she was ridiculous, but he liked it, “You a fuckin’ trip,” he said under his breath. “I like that shit though.”

His hand came up, cupped the side of her face. Thumb dragged across her bottom lip once. Then he just looked at her. His hand stayed at her face, that thumb still resting at the edge of her lip. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. Then again. Sanaa tilted her chin just a little, lips parted, like she was already ready. Already his. He dipped down slow. Broad shoulders lowering. Those dark eyes never leaving hers until the last second, just before their mouths touched.

That first kiss landed deep. Full lips locking, warm and firm. The second kiss came harder. Slower. Wet. His mouth molded over hers like he needed to feel all of it, like he wanted to memorize the shape of her.

Sanaa rose to her tiptoes, soft whimper sliding from her throat as her nails dragged gently down his chest—just enough to tease, just enough to make him grunt through the kiss. Her hands slipped up, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling herself higher, pressing against him like she couldn’t get close enough. Erik’s hands found her waist—strong and steady, wide palms spreading over her curves. He squeezed once, then pulled her in. Closer. Like he wanted to fuse her body to his. Like letting go wasn’t an option.

Their tongues met slow at first, a slick drag and pull. Lips parting, breath catching, tongues twining together deeper with each pass. It got greedy quick. Messier. Their mouths didn’t break—not for air, not for hesitation. It was all teeth, breath, tongue, lips.

Sanaa whimpered again. Quiet. Needful.

Erik groaned low, brows pulling together like the taste of her made his brain short-circuit. He pushed her back just enough to hit the wall, never breaking the kiss, just changing the angle. Bent down deeper, mouth slanted harder, tongue sinking past her lips like he was searching for something inside her.

Their mouths broke with a wet drag, a soft gasp passing between them as the seal of that kiss finally snapped. The air felt thin now—heated and stolen. Sanaa’s lips were swollen, slick, tingling from how hard he’d kissed her. Her chest rose and fell fast, trying to catch up to what just happened.

Erik didn’t move far. He hovered close, breath heavy, beard brushing against her cheek as he looked down at her. His hands slid slow around the curve of her waist. Tracing the lines of her body like he was mapping it out. Then—

He gripped her ass.

Firm.

Both hands full, kneading deep. Like he liked the weight of it. Like it was his to touch. His thumbs dug in low at the crease and dragged upward in one long pull before settling back to squeeze again. That touch made her thighs press together, tight.

She let out a soft, shaky breath.

Erik dipped his head, lips finding her neck. Not gentle. He kissed her there like he’d been thinking about it. Like he needed that taste. His mouth opened wide against her skin, licking slow, sucking deeper right beneath her ear. Her knees buckled a little, but his grip held her steady.

Sanaa’s nipples hardened instantly beneath her shirt. That slick heat between her thighs had already started during the kiss, but now it pulsed. Her panties were damp—soaked—and she could feel how warm her body had become. Every inch of her was on edge, hyper-aware. Skin buzzing. Goosebumps scattered along her arms, down her thighs.

She threaded her fingers through his locs. They were soft but thick, clean and slightly damp at the ends like he’d washed them not long ago. Her nails scraped gently across his scalp. Erik groaned low at the touch, mouth dragging down to her collarbone, then back up to the hinge of her jaw where he sucked hard, slow, like he wanted to leave something behind.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her palm slid down his arm, feeling the way his biceps flexed under her touch—solid, thick, heavy muscle wrapped in warm, clean skin. She could feel the raised texture of his keloid scars there. Jagged. Firm. Like battle marks beneath her fingers. She stroked one with her thumb, slow and curious. They didn’t scare her. They made her ache for him.

Her hips shifted. Just enough for her pussy to brush against the front of his sweats. Her breath hitched. He hadn’t even touched her there, but her body was already aching. Already clenching. And Erik just kept licking her neck slow, one arm wrapped around her waist now, hand still locked tight on her ass. His lips dragged up to her ear.

“You feelin’ all that, huh,” he whispered low.

She whimpered again. Fingers curled in his hair. Pussy pulsing.

Yeah. She was feeling everything.

Her lip was already caught between her teeth, but now she bit it harder. Soft. Pretty. Like her body was trying to keep it together even while her pussy was giving her away.

Because she was feelin’ it. Every word he whispered, every grip, every drag of his mouth down her neck had her soaking through. Wetness growing slow and steady, deeper now. And that voice?

That voice was the switch.

“Killmonger,” she whispered, mouth close to his ear, “You make my pussy wet.”

She felt it. His dick twitched against her belly, thick and heavy through the cotton of his sweats.

Erik stilled.

His stare dropped to her face, slow and hard. Like he couldn’t believe she said that shit. Like he loved that she said it. His lips parted just slightly, breath catching, those gold slugs flashing through for half a second. Everything in his body tightened.

Her breath got softer, more shallow, but her hand moved with purpose. She reached for him. Found his hand—big, warm, calloused. Brought it to her mouth. Her eyes didn’t leave his as she lifted one of his fingers. Her lashes dropped low as she sucked it in slow, lips parting wide, tongue dragging up the underside. Wet and thick. Spit coating it. She pulled back just enough for it to stretch in a string before swallowing him again.

His jaw clenched. He didn’t even blink.

That look in his eyes? Changed. The second she said Killmonger, it flipped something inside him. Set him off quiet. But it wasn’t just in his stare—it was in how his chest rose higher now, how his dick was pressed harder into her, how his finger curled in her mouth just a little like he wanted to feel her suck for real. She let her lips pop off his fingertip, slick with her spit. Still looking up at him. Slow blinks. Pussy damn near dripping now.

“Say it again,” he rasped, voice tighter. Rougher.

Her lips curved just a little when he told her to say it again. She leaned in, breath brushing his mouth, voice low and teasing.

“Should I be scared, Killmonger…or wet?”

The way his eyes darkened told her everything. Before he could even answer, Sanaa grabbed his hand and dragged it down between her thighs. Guided it right where she needed him. Right where she was soaked. His fingers slid against her through her panties and shirt hem, instantly slick.

He felt it. All of it. Warm. Wet. Slippery.

“Damn,” he breathed.

She lifted one leg and wrapped it around his waist, foot hooking behind him. Erik caught it without thinking, strong arm locking under her thigh, holding her up like she weighed nothing. Her body tilted into him, pussy pressed right against his hand now.

He started rubbing. Back and forth. Back and forth. His palm and fingers moving over her folds, spreading that wetness, listening to the soft, obscene sound it made. His eyes stayed glued to his hand. Watching her open. Watching her react.

Sanaa’s head fell back against the wall. A soft moan slipped out. Then another. He rubbed faster with more pressure. Then he slid two fingers inside her. Fast. Hard. Deep. Finger popped her with quick, sharp thrusts that made her whole body jolt.

“Ah…Erik…” she gasped.

Her walls clenched around him immediately. Tight. Greedy. Wet as hell. He slowed. Pulled almost all the way out. Then went back to rubbing her again. Circling her clit. Dragging through her folds. Tapping her pussy lips lightly with his fingertips. Little wet pats that made quiet, filthy sounds every time he touched her. You could hear how soaked she was.

Plap. Plap. Slick. Wet.

Sanaa couldn’t help it. Her moan came out louder this time. Breathless. Shaky.

“Mmm…oh my God…”

Erik snapped his eyes up to her face. Gave her that look. That warning.

“Quiet all that noise down, girl,” he whispered rough, “Before you get us caught in this bitch.”

She bit her lip. Tried to behave. Failed immediately. Still breathing hard, still shaking on his hand, she leaned in close and whispered back with a soft, cocky smile.

“I like him better than you.”

His brows pulled together, “What?”

She blinked up at him, innocent and messy and soaking wet, “Killmonger,” she added, “He don’t play.”

The way his jaw clenched told her she had just started something she was not ready to finish running from.

Erik didn’t say a word. Just looked at her. That look. Then, he grabbed her. Lifted her clean off the floor like she was nothing but breath and softness. All strength. Arms locked tight around her thighs, body pulled up against his chest. Sanaa gasped, arms flying around his shoulders, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

She loved when he handled her like that. Like she was his to pick up. His to move. His to fuck. He walked them over to the bed, dropped down at the edge, thighs spread, letting her settle in his lap with a soft bounce. She was straddling him now, nose to nose. Pussy right on top of that thick dick he kept pressing up through those damn sweats. Her eyes flicked down, smirk blooming on her lips.

But first, she kissed him again. Sucked his bottom lip slow, tugging it between her teeth. Let her tongue swirl there, lazy and wet. Erik’s hands were already moving. Palms dragging up under her shirt, fingers splaying over her back, her sides, her ribs. Exploring. Then, he found her breasts. Warm, soft, perfect in his hands. He groaned against her mouth, thumbs brushing over her nipples slow at first, then rolling them. Playing. Testing. Teasing. She whimpered into the kiss. Back arched a little. Her pussy grinding against him now with more purpose.

His dick jumped again beneath her. Hard. Sanaa felt it. Felt the way it pulsed between her legs—thick and eager, like it recognized her.

She pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, “You so excited about gettin’ in this pussy again, huh?”

He just stared at her. Breathing hard. Dick twitching again.

Sanaa licked her lips slow, still grinding on him, “You miss it that bad?” she teased.

She already knew the answer. But it was the way his hands gripped her tighter, the way his eyes dropped to her mouth like he was ready to devour her whole, that told her…

Yeah.

He did.

_______

He barely had time to react.

One minute, Erik was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders broad and chest rising steady with heat behind his eyes and the next she was pushing him back, palms flat on the firm press of his pecs. His body hit the bed. He didn’t bounce. Just laid there and let her take over. 

Sanaa stood with her legs planted between his. Her eyes looked on him with that knowing look that made his dick twitch without being touched. Tension taut in the air like elastic about to snap. Sanaa lifted her shirt up in a slow strip tease, arms raised above her head as her brown tits with chocolate nipples bounced free. Erik’s eyes followed the movement, tongue pressing to the back of his teeth. That body? That fucking body? Smooth, slick little thing with curves that begged to be bent, gripped, and rearranged. 

Sanaa tossed the shirt somewhere behind her, not caring where it landed and turned around, back facing him. She looked over her shoulder, lips curved like she already knew she was about to drive him wild. 

Then she started moving.

Her bare ass rubbed over the front of his joggers, dragging back and forth right over where he was thickest. That bubbly ass bounced with every grind. Her movements were cocky, teasing just enough friction to feel him throb underneath. 

Erik spread his legs wider, letting her settle in deeper.

“Mm,” she exhaled, bracing herself on his knees, “That what I’m sittin’ on?”

His hands gripped her hips for a second before sliding back, cupping both cheeks and letting them go with a light smack—then another. He alternated between left and right, just enough to make the skin ripple. His palms opened wide when they landed, fingers splaying across her ass like he was measuring it. 

Sanaa let out a breathy gasp when he gripped one cheek tighter, spreading her just enough to feel how warm it was right underneath. She started bouncing then, hips rising and falling, grinding down with her back arched and her ass clapping gently over the ridge of his dick. Every bounce pressed her pussy closer, making him grunt low and strained through his teeth. Erik’s eyes dropped closed for a second but the tension in his jaw and the way his nostrils flared said everything.

“Fuck,” he groaned. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t surprised. It dragged out of him, heavy and grateful.

That lil’ ass was showin’ out.

Erik reached for her again. He gripped her ass tighter with both hands now, holding her steady as she rocked her hips in circles, letting the bounce turn into a whine and then back again. The weight of her body against his dick was just enough to torment him. 

“You tryna make me nut in my draws?” His voice was low. Raspy. Too calm to match how badly he was leaking, “You gon’ keep fuckin’ playin’ with me like that?” His voice turned darker, filthier, each word sliding out like syrup, “Look at this lil’ pussy bouncin’. So fuckin’ wet. You really want it that bad, huh? Want me to slide in slow, or you want that deep shit that make you shake? That make your legs give out right here in front of me?”

She whimpered soft. Didn’t stop riding.

Erik popped her ass again, this time with a little more weight behind it. Sanaa jolted, the sound she made after—low, needy, breathy—made his dick jump. Erik sat up just a little, wrapping an arm around her waist so he could pull her back flush against him. His mouth touched the back of her neck, teeth grazing her shoulder. His voice was in her ear, filthy as ever. 

“Bounce that shit one more time. Just like that. Lemme see how bad you want it.”

Sanaa obeyed. Started riding like she knew it was her job. And that dick? It was twitching like a loaded gun, waiting for the right moment to go off.

She arched deeper.

That pretty curve in her spine dipped low as she braced herself harder on his knees, pressing her palms flat while she started bouncing heavier. Each rise and drop sent her ass into his lap with a slick clap that had his eyes rolling up just a second. That little ass movies like she had rhythm built into it. Round. Greedy. Warm. She knew what she was doing riding the shape of his dick through the fabric like she was tryna imprint it. 

Erik exhaled hard through his nose, chest rising with restraint. His fists clenched at his sides, trying not to grab her and flip her over.

He gritted through his teeth, jaw tight,  “I swear to fuckin’ god—”

Another bounce.

“If we ain’t have to be quiet—”

Another slow grind, her pussy pressing right over the head of his dick.

“I’d be poundin’ yo’ ass into this mattress right now.”

Sanaa turned her head slightly, voice breathy, teasing but drenched in need, “How would you pound me, Daddy?”

That did it.

Erik’s hand came up, dragging down her spine, settling heavy on her lower back to hold her in that perfect arch. His other hand spread across her ass again, squeezing till her breath hitched. His voice dropped low behind her, all gravel and grit like he was about to break his own rules. 

“I’d grab the back of that fuckin’ neck,” he said, slow and deep, “Make you stay right here, in that arch. Then slide this dick in slow, all the way. Let you feel every inch sittin’ in your stomach.”

Sanaa whimpered.

“I’d hold you down with my hand on your back like this. Pull out halfway, then fuck the rest back in. Deep. You’d take it.” He leaned in closer, mouth at her ear now, “I’d fuck you hard. Both hands on this pretty ass, spreadin’ it while I beat that pussy up like it owe me. You’d be takin’ all that pressure. My dick draggin’ your walls, hittin’ that deep spot.” He paused. Licked his lips, “You’d be creamin’ all over it too. I already know.”

Sanaa’s thighs trembled slightly. She pushed her ass back harder into him, grinding slow.

He grunted, low and dangerous, “I’d tear you up, lil’ freak. You fuckin’ deserve it. You make me crave that sweet lil’ pussy so bad it hurt. Got me talkin’ like this with your ass in my lap, knowin’ I can’t even slide in how I really wanna. You proud of that?”

She nodded, hips rolling slow and nasty, pussy gliding over the length of him like she wanted to make him break.

Erik let out a slow exhale, head tilting back, voice full of warning, “Keep fuckin’ playin’, Sanaa. Keep on. I’ll dig so far in this pussy, you gon’ feel me every time you sit down.”

He sucked his teeth, sharp and low. Tsk.

That was his warning.

His hand slid up her thigh, then down again, gripping the back of her leg. Sanaa could feel his chest rising behind her, muscles flexed, breathing thick with control he was barely holding onto. 

“Bring that ass up here,” he growled, voice coated in that dark Daddy tone that always made her body go hot, “Scoot it up. Sit that pretty pussy on my face.”

Before she could even pretend to hesitate his palm cracked against her ass. A quick, low pop that made her gasp. 

He leaned up, eyes heavy, voice even heavier, “Now. Fuck I say?”

Another smack. This time harder. Made her thighs shake.

Sanaa scrambled to obey, breath shaky as she shifted backward on her knees and climbed up, straddling his chest first then inching her way higher. Her thighs opened, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his head. Her body trembled a little from the anticipation, pussy sticky and throbbing. 

She hovered over his mouth, dripping. Erik looked up at her like she was dinner. Then, he wrapped those thick arms under her thighs and locked her in. Hooked her so she couldn’t run even if she wanted to. He yanked her down onto his mouth with no hesitation, tongue poked out, ready to taste. 

The moment her pussy met his tongue, Sanaa moaned sharp and grabbed the sheets. That first swipe was so nasty, dragging right through her lips. Erik kept his tongue stiff so every time she shifted or bounced it licked her just right. He wasn’t playing. He was focused. His big hands gripped her thighs tight and started guiding her—lifting and dropping her like she was nothing but weightless. He bounced her on his tongue like she was sittin’ on a damn throne, letting her ride the shape of it while he groaned low into her pussy. Each bounce smeared that slick gushy mess all over his face. Erik kept that tongue out, swiping, lapping, savoring, owning. 

“Fuck,” she gasped, voice cracking.

His hands squeezed tighter. His tongue flattened, then curled up at the tip to flick her clit, “You gon’ nut like this, huh?” he rasped between licks,  “On Daddy’s face? That’s what you needed?”

Sanaa’s moaned we’re the only response he needed. Her hips started moving on their own, syncing with his tongue, with his grip, with that deep, filthy hunger he poured onto every swipe. 

Erik stayed locked in. Tongue out. Mouth open. Breathing through his nose while he licked and sucked that soaked little pussy like it was his full-time job. No gentleness. Erik lapped at her with heat in his throat, groaning into her pussy. That pussy was sittin’ so perfect on his face, tasting better than anything he could’ve imagined. 

“Look at that,” he growled between sucks, lips shiny and swollen from how deep he was in it. “Leakin’ on my face. You fuckin’ drownin’ me, Sanaa. That lil’ pussy so wet, I could drink it.”

Erik wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard, then let it go with a kiss right on the hood. His tongue dragged flat and slow through her lips again, catching all that creamy wetness she couldn’t stop giving. 

“You feel that? The way I lick it like that?,” he said, tongue circling her clit now, “Got this pussy gushin’ like that? You make a mess every time I touch it.”

Sanaa’s eyes fluttered, jaw slack, her body rocking helplessly over his mouth. She couldn’t think straight. Could barely hold herself up. Her thighs were trembling from the overstimulation. From the precision of his mouth. From the way he talked to her pussy like he was tryna keep her under control. 

But she needed him. Needed all of him.

So her hand reached down, blind and shaky, until he fingers landed on the bulge under his joggers. That dick was HARD. Thick and curved to the left, pressed up against the inside of his joggers like it was tryna break free. Sanaa wrapped her hand around the length of it through the fabric and started stroking. 

Erik’s groan rumbled against her pussy the second she touched it, “Fuck,” he breathed, licking her faster, Yeah. Stroke it, baby. Play with Daddy dick while I eat this pussy. That’s it.”

Sanaa gripped tighter. Her fingers curled spring the shape of him as she pumped. He twitched against he palm thick and hot. Sanaa moaned when she felt another wave of gushy mess slide out and coat his face. 

“Oh my god—Erik…”

“Keep fuckin’ moanin’, Sanaa,” he grunted against her clit, “That’s what the fuck I like. Cream on my tongue like that. Make a mess for me. This Daddy’s pussy, right?”

Sanaa nodded frantically, eyes crossing, fingers slipping from the sheets, reaching back to his locs now, tugging, anchoring herself. Her hips were rocking hard, chasing that release, grinding her clit on his tongue, lips, nose, anywhere with zero shame. Her breath came fast and shaky like she couldn’t get enough air. Erik wanted her to lose control. To cum so hard sh collapsed on his mouth, twitching and helpless. 

He licked like a gluttonous man.. his grip got tighter. Big Jan’s flexed under her thighs, keeping her exactly where he wanted her—on his fucking face with no escape. His full lips were wet and pillowy, beard soaked and ticklish. That thick tongue worked her lokeche was fluent in her body, fluent in that pussy. Every lick had her dizzy. Every suck felt like a punishment and reward all at once. He devoured her like he knew he’d never get enough. 

Then his voice came up again—deep, filthy, dominant.

“This Daddy’s pussy?” he growled, tongue flicking fast on her clit, “Say it.”

Sanaa whimpered, nodding, hands sliding down his abs for balance. Erik licked through her folds slower, then he sucked hard on her clit again until her thighs shook. 

“I eat it good for you, baby?”

His voice was all pride and filth. That nasty, cocky tone that made her cunt tighten around nothing. She was creaming so much it slid down his chin. 

“Best head you ever had in your life, huh?” he rasped, kissing her slit with slow, open-mouthed sucks like it was the only thing he wanted on his tongue for the rest of his life, “You couldn’t wait, huh?” Another lick, “Couldn’t fuckin’ wait to feel my tongue in you.”

Sanaa moaned loud, trying to ride his face harder, chasing the pressure.

Erik slapped her ass with one hand and bounced her on his mouth, “Nah, show me. Show me how bad you wanted it.” His voice dropped even lower, every word dripping with that Daddy dom authority, “Come sit this lil’ pussy all the way down. I want you to fuck my face, Sanaa.”

She did it.

Rolled her hips, fucked back on his pointed tongue while he licked through her. Erik kept his tongue out, lips open, letting her slide over it again and again while she stroked his dick through his pants. Sanaa could feel the tip jump under her palm. 

He groaned, “Cum in my mouth, greedy girl,” he said, tongue pressed flat against her clit, fingers digging into her thighs. “Lemme taste what you been holdin’ for me. Go ‘head and let it go, baby,” he whispered, breath hot on her folds, “Cream all on Daddy face. Don’t hold that shit.”

It hit her slow.

Not a crash, not a wave—but a pull. Like every nerve in her body got strung tight then snapped loose all at once. Her breath caught in her throat. Hips locked mid-roll. Sanaa stopped moving. Just frozen right there on his mouth. Legs spread, chest heaving, hands clawed into the sheets. Her thighs started quivering in slow motion—one, then the other—muscles didn’t know what to do with all that pleasure. A long, soft moan spilled out of mouth shaky and high like. Note being sung just for him. 

“…shit…” she whispered, voice thin.

She wasn’t loud, she was sweet with it. Sensitive. Her whole body reacting in these tiny, helpless jolts like aftershocks. Her clit was swollen and throbbing on his tongue, pussy fluttering from the inside out as the orgasm gripped her full-body. 

“Oooooooo…” she sang, soft and breathless, back starting to arch, “Unhhhhhh…”

Sanaa clenched down on his face and Erik knew she was cumming for real. Felt that hot cream spilling over his mouth, his tongue catching every bit of it. Sanaa wasn’t squirting but she was gushing—wet enough to drown him and still he didn’t pull back. Erik growled under her, biceps flexing to hold her tighter as she tried to lift off his face. She was overstimulated now—body twitching, hands slipping, but Erik refused to let go. 

“Uh uh,” he grunted, locking her down.

Sanaa whined. Tried to rock back, but he angled his face just right and buried his tongue deeper into that pulsing pussy, tip pointed, firm, collecting her release because it was his. He earned it. Her voice was all shaky hums and pretty little cries. She was somewhere between passing out and floating. And Erik stayed right there. Tongue moving, lips sucking, face soaked, beard coated.

He was feeding. 

_______

Sanaa finally lifted off him, her thighs trembling as she scooted back on unsteady knees. Her pussy was still fluttering and dripping, her whole body moving like it had been fucked already even though he hasn’t touched her with anything but those thick fingers, his lips, and his tongue. 

Erik licked his lips, chin shining.

But before he could say a word, she leaned in close and kissed him.

Gentle at first. Then deeper. Lips parting, tongues flicking. Sanaa kissed him slowly like she was tasting herself, pulling the cream from his mouth, licking at the corners and sucking his bottom lip between hers like she needed to clean it all up. Her right hand cradled his jaw, rubbing against his beard while the other hand stroked the scar along his left cheek like she loved every inch of where she sat just moments ago. 

Then, she pulled back. A little smirk playing at her lips, one curl falling over her cheek softening the look in her eyes. Like she wasn’t just riding his face. 

Erik raised his brows, still catching his breath.

She gave a sweet little shrug, “What?”

Sanaa dropped her gaze down and tugged at the waistband of his joggers. She pulled them down, teasing, eyes low and sultry, a soft chuckle at his expression. Her curls skipped forward, swinging as she peeled the fabric past his hips.

Thwap

That dick sprang out heavy, pulsing, leaking. Veins thick. The shaft girthy and standing straight up lie a flesh-covered rod just like she remembered. But nothing compares to seeing it up close like this—free, two-toned, hard, balls hanging low and full underneath. 

“Damn…” she whispered with a shaky breath and a low, almost reverent chuckle.

Sanaa slapped it against her palm once. Then twice. The round was wet and heavy. Her eyes got lower. A little smile pulled at her lips like she was impressed all over again.

“This what you be hidin’ in them sweats?” she said, voice teasing, fingers wrapping slowly around the base, “This dick too fuckin’ big. You outta pocket for this.” She stroked up once. Grip tightening, “I can hardly wrap my fingers around it all the way. Look at this shit.” She licked her lips. Then looked back up at him, face soft, voice low, “This what you tryna fuck me with, Daddy?”

Erik’s eyes dropped to her hand and flared when he saw how small it looked against the length of him. He didn’t answer because his dick was already answering for him—throbbing, leaking, ready to ruin her. Erik was already leaning back on his elbow la when she positioned herself on the bed over his lap slow and sultry, while body still humming from that climax. She got on her knees beside him. 

The mirror across the room caught it all—full-length, angled just right. From his spot, Erik could see everything. Sanaa bent forward, face hovering over the heavy length of him. Her breath touched his tip first—warm, wet, teasing—and he twitched in response. Sanaa glanced up at him through those lashes, giving him that same pretty, quiet smile she wore when she was being the nastiest. Her curls framed her face, half-wild, and fell forward as she leaned lower. Erik reached out and gathered her curls with one hand. Smoothed them back from her face so he could see all of her. 

“Lemme watch, ma,” he said under his breath, voice hoarse, stomach flexing.

And she let him.

Sanaa wrapped her lips around the tip, eyes never leaving his as she sucked him in. The head disappeared first, glistening from how much he was leaking. Her hand followed, stroking the base with soft pressure as she eased more of him into her mouth.

Erik’s breath stuttered. His jaw clenched.

She made it wet. Spit trickled from the corners of her mouth down his shaft, hand gliding through it. She stroked with a twist, lips stretched tight, cheeks hollowing just enough to drive him mad. 

The sound of it was nasty. All lips and slick and soft suction.

Schlk…schlk…glck…

Erik’s eyes fell to their reflection. It was a sight to see. Her head bobbing. Ass arched. He saw the wet trail her mouth left behind as she sucked. The spit strings that stretched when she came up for air. Her tongue glided over the tip before she went back down like she couldn’t get enough. Erik’s free hand slid under her body, fingers curling between her thighs. He rubbed her pussy lips, eyes widening when he felt it. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered.

Sanaa was soaked. Dripping to his sheets. That creamy mess from earlier leaking, mixed with more slick every time she moaned around his dick. Erik rubbed her with his fingertips—middle and ring working in circles over her clit. His lips parted around an exhale. The feel of her pussy on his fingers made his dick throb in her mouth. Sanaa wasn’t expecting that, her tongue slipping along the bottom of his shaft causing his tip to nudge her uvula. Erik’s brows pinched. His expression was somewhere between awe and obsession. Her pussy juices still staining his face. He looked dazed. 

Sanaa couldn’t take all of him but she took enough. She did just right. Her lips made love to every inch she could handle, twisting her wrist at the base, sloppily gliding her tongue under the head, then up the slit. Her tongue flicked fast before sucking him down again, swallowing spot just to start over wetter. Erik’s thighs flexed. His head dropped back for a moment but his hand stayed in her curls. His fingers stayed rubbing that messy pussy. 

“Keep goin’, baby,” he grunted, voice breaking, “Suck that shit slow. Just like that.”

And she did. Making him watch. Making him feel. Making him lose every ounce of control he had left.

Erik’s whole body stilled. Except his hand. The one in her curls. Stroking, gripping, guiding like he needed to stay connected. Like touching her helped him keep a grip on reality while she sucked the soul out of him. His head tilted, eyes flicking down at her then back on the mirror. 

The look on his face? Wrecked.

Brows dipped but not from anger. His mouth parted just enough for his breath to drag out heavy. His eyes low, dark, locked on her. Watching every glide of her lips over his length. Every bounce of her curls. Every flex of her hand as she stroked what her mouth couldn’t handle. His tongue dragged over his bottom lip. 

He started whispering, “Yeah…look at you. Pretty lil’ mouth on my shit.” The tip of his tongue peeked out again—barely, “Messy as fuck. Just how I like it.” His voice dropped to a whisper, all gravel and heat, just for her to hear, “Sound like you tryna fuckin’ drown on it.”

Her mouth slurped around him harder, tongue swirling, spit dripping.

“You love this dick, huh?” he rasped, “Love suckin’ it slow, suckin’ it nasty?” 

Her eyes flicked up toward his, and he damn near lost it. That look she gave him while her lips were stretched over his shaft made his breath catch in his throat.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, softer now, but still filthy, “Look so sweet with my shit in your mouth.” He leaned back a little further, but his eyes didn’t leave the mirror, “Whole face wet. Drippin’. You look like you needed it.” His hand slipped lower between her thighs again. His fingers came back wet. He held them up and looked down at her.

“This you?”

She moaned around him.

Erik chuckled under his breath. His smile was crooked. Sly. Sinful, “You that wet from suckin’ my dick?” He brought his fingers to her lips and smeared her slick across them while she still had him in her mouth.

“Greedy ass lil’ slut,” he whispered, “You love this shit. Can’t even help it.” Then his voice dropped to a low warning, “Don’t stop.” He was breathing heavier now, chest rising, watching her like she was his favorite slut. One he knew would fuck him up but he couldn’t put down.

“Keep suckin’ Daddy nice and slow. Let me see that spit shine. I wanna see that mouth stretch when I nut in it.”

Erik was barely breathing from how hard he was holding back. Every muscle in his stomach flexed. His thighs spread wide, chest lifting just enough to show he was still alive under her mouth. That mirror reflection was his favorite movie now. Her lips wet and stretched, that little hand working the rest that couldn’t fit down her throat, pink tongue teasing his tip, those doe eyes looking up at him like she knew she had him.

She was moaning on it now.

Soft, sweet little hums vibrating against his dick. Pulling back to give him tender kisses down the shaft, lips barely touching. Hand twisting and keeping that pressure tight. Her moans got deeper as she slid down further.

Erik exhaled hard through his nose, eyes hooded, his hand still gripping her curls with a soft dominance, “I’ma nut on your lips,” he whispered, voice gritty, low, and full of warning, “Gon’ give you what you fuckin’ want.”

Her eyes flicked up. And that was it.

That was his trigger.

Sanaa kept moaning around him, sloppier now, spit dripping down her chin, lips swollen, throat working as she bobbed. And when she reached under, cupping his balls and started massaging? Erik’s body jerked. His head dropped back for a second before he snapped it forward again, watching her mouth like he needed it memorized. 

“You tryna swallow all that nut, huh?” he hissed, “Mouth stretched like a good girl.”

She gave him a low moan in response. “Mmmhmm.” 

Didn’t stop moving. She slid her lips up with a wet glide, kissed the top with a filthy smack, then sucked it back in with a twist of her wrist. Her tongue teased the underside of his shaft every time she came up, dragging across that sensitive line beneath his head. 

“Fuck…” he groaned, his voice breaking, “You a problem, Sanaa.”

Sanaa moaned again, like she could feel how close he was. She knew. She could hear it in his breath, feel it in the way his thighs twitched beneath her. Could see it in the way his hand gripped her hair tighter.

 Erik leaned forward a little, watching the mess she was making on his dick, “You hear how wet that shit sound?” he whispered, voice gravel and filth, “That’s you. That’s that greedy ass mouth.”

Her moans turned into soft whimpers. Sanaa pulled off just enough to kiss the tip. 

“Slap it on your tongue…mmm…good girl…”

Sanaa poked her tongue out and slapped that hard dick on it. Wet tongue covered in drool dripping down his dick each time she did it. 

“You wanna fuck my throat, Daddy?”

His hand twitched in her curls.

“Say the word. I’ll let you.”

Erik grunted low, like his whole body was threatening to come undone. He needed control. 

“Nah…keep suckin’ just like that,” he said, jaw slack, eyes trained on her mouth, “Let me nut slow. I want you feelin’ all of it.”

That shit went in one ear and out the other. 

Erik’s thick fingers tangled in Sanaa’s hair, his heavy balls brushing her wrist with each stroke. Erik groaned low, abs tightening under his scarred skin, “Slow, baby girl,” Erik commanded, voice rough and edged with warning, locs falling over his shoulder as he looked down at her, “Suck daddy’s dick nice and slow. Tease it out.” 

But Sanaa didn’t listen, her bratty spark igniting as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, tongue swirling fast around the throbbing underside of his girthy shaft. One hand gripped the base, stroking up and down in quick, twisting pumps that made his length slick with her spit while her mouth plunged deeper, taking him to the back of her throat with a wet gag that echoed in the room. Sanaa pulled off just enough to slurp noisily at the top, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his swollen head before diving back in, gagging herself on his full length, throat convulsing around the invasion. 

Erik looked down at her like he was in a trance. He was trying. Really trying. Chest rising slow, eyes squeezed shut. That vein in his neck pulsing. But his thighs were flexin’ up off the bed every time her tongue swirled right beneath the tip.

“Fuckkkkk” he hissed, voice low, tight, “You tryna make me bust, huh?”

She ignored him. Just slid her lips down again, took more of him in. Wet ass mouth clenching around him. Hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach.

Erik’s fingers gripped tighter, pulling her down with slow force. His stomach jumped. That nut was sitting heavy—low, “Damn,” he groaned, hips pushing up against her face. “Slow down, ma. Let me—shit. Let me breathe. Fuck, Sanaa, I said slow—”

She didn’t slow down. She moaned around his dick instead. Real soft. Real nasty.

That shit went straight to his balls, “You tryna make daddy bust quick? I said suck this dick slow—tease it, slut. Don’t make me on your head and fuck your throat myself.”

Sanaa giggled with his dick in her mouth. 

Erik looked down at her, that pretty mouth stretched wide. Drool on her chin. Hand strokin’ tight while her tongue flicked with intention. She wanted him to lose it. Wanted that nut sittin’ heavy in balls to come up out of him. His breath got short. Neck stiff. Thighs flexing. 

“Aight. Aight, that’s it—fuck,” he growled low, “You want this nut? You better take all that shit. Don’t you pull off. Don’t you run—fuck. Take that nut,” he growled, voice tight as his body bucked, hands gripping her head while his release spilled across her tongue, “Fuck…there you go. Keep suckin’, ma…fuuuck.”

Erik’s hips bucked once. Then again. Deep strokes into her throat now, not even thinking straight. Dick pulsing hard in her mouth. He gripped her hair, held her still. His whole body locked up. That nut tore through him from the spine out. 

“Yeah…take that shit,” he groaned, voice breaking in his throat. “Take every fuckin’ drop.”

That dick unleashed ropes of hot cum straight down her gullet. The salty flood coated her mouth, overflowing past her stretched lips in creamy dribbles that trailed down her chin but she swallowed greedily—throat bobbing with each forceful gulp, humming low as she savored his load. 

Erik didn’t even move after. He just leaned back on his hands, chest heaving, dick twitching with aftershocks. 

“You a goddamn problem.”

Sanaa let it sit on her tongue, then she licked the top clean with one last moan, never breaking eye contact.

_______

Erik was gone. 

Stretched out, chest rising, eyes barely open. That nut had him slumped for a moment, muscles twitching, still feeling the aftershock like it snatched something up outta him. But Sanaa? She wasn’t done. Far from it. And knowing that surged through Erik, fueling him for more to put her in her place. For walking in his room looking the way she always do—fine, sexy, gorgeous little coco puff. 

She let his dick slip from her mouth with a wet pop…then did it again. And again. Kissing it, sucking just the tip, letting her spit drag before popping her lips off it like she ain’t just milk the soul outta him. 

“Ma—chill…” he warned low, hips twitchin’.

But she smiled. That quiet, little freak smile all soft and evil. 

That was the last straw.

Erik sat up like nothing hurt. Stood at his full height and stared down at her because he was about to reach her a new lesson.  Erik grabbed her up easy, placed her on the bed where he wanted her—flat on her back, legs open, knees to ears. He shoved her thighs apart rough with no effort, then pressed one hand to her shoulder, the other to her inner knee, pinning it as far back as he could. 

“Lay the fuck back.” 

She did. Biting that lip already. Damn near gyrating that pussy at him like she was saying ‘catch this pussy daddy’ Erik kicked off his joggers the rest of the way. Socks too. His body full bare now—tattoos flexin’ scars movin’ with every shift of his hip. Erik stepped between her legs, eyes locked on her pussy, then dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed just enough to lean in. 

Erik grabbed the backs of her knees, pushed them up until they were damn near touching her chest. Bent her. Pinned her. And spread her wide. That fat, wet pussy opened up for him. Creamy and glistening. Soaked. Erik didn’t slide in right away. He wrapped a his fingers around the base of his dick, thick and solid, and rubbed the tip up and down from her clit to between her labia slow. Let her feel all of it. Let it drag. That slick sound filled the room. He slapped it against her clit a couple times, watching her flinch and the way her pussy lips jiggled from the impact. Then, he pointed that tip right at her entrance and looked her dead in the eyes. 

“Look at me,” he said, low and steady, “Look at me when I put it in yo’ lil’ ass.”

Her eyes fluttered, mouth already falling open.

“Bite your lip.”

She obeyed.

Chewing the corner of it, eyes wide, breath catching as he started to push in—slow and mean—letting her feel every inch part her open. Erik wanted it to hurt just a little. Wanted her to remember what it felt like when she begged for him. 

“You gon’ be quiet while I fuck you?” he whispered, deeper now, “Or I gotta put my fingers in your mouth?”

Sanaa moaned, but caught it behind her teeth. She was breathless, lips trembling, already so far gone she couldn’t hide it. 

And then the babble started.

“I want it…I want it…I want it…”

She just kept saying it, all breathy and needy, like she’d been starving for it. Like her body recognized this moment. Erik groaned low, deep in his chest. He pushed in deeper, buried halfway now, feeling that pussy stretch to take him in. 

“You want it, huh?” he growled, hand sliding to her jaw, thumb brushing her lips, “Say that shit again.”

She whispered it again, louder, “I want it, Daddy…”

He pushed all the way in. Balls touching ass. Her mouth fell open in a soundless cry.

“Fuck, shit don’t make no sense how a cutie like you can be such a fucking…freak…take this dick.”

Erik stayed deep. Just let it sit there thick and pulsing, buried to the hilt. Her pussy wrapped right around every inch. Sanaa was so full it made her dizzy. Her mouth parted in a soft whimper, breath short, body twitching beneath him as her walls tried to adjust around the stretch. 

Erik was inside her. And not just inside—stuffed in her. That heavy dick curved just right, pressing up against her deepest spot, veins dragging slow against soaked, swollen walls. Her pussy was hugging him, clenching tight around the root, slick and creamy, leaking down his shaft from the pressure alone. 

“Shit…” she gasped, legs trembling. “Too deep…”

Erik stayed right there. Watching her like a man possessed, his hands tightening around the backs of her thighs. His grip was rough, firm, keeping her folded just how he wanted her. His locs hung low, a few sticking to his cheek, his body gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. Muscles flexed across his arms and chest as he held her in place. Then he pulled out. Slow. To the tip. Abs flexin. That v-cut taunt. Biceps tight with tension. And sank right back in with a heavy grind that forced the air from her lungs. 

“Uhhhhhnn—fuck,” she cried, voice high, eyes wide.

“You feel all that?” Erik growled, voice deep and close, “That’s what you been beggin’ for, right?” 

Erik dragged her body closer to the edge of the bed, hands still locked on her thighs, and pulled her legs apart wider until her pussy spread open for him, glistening with her own cream. Then, he started to fuck her. Really fuck her. Not fast. Not wild. Not in a frenzy. 

Deep. Sharp. Punishing. 

Thick strokes. Slow pressure. Drippin’ dick like he had time and discipline. Each thrust hit her with weight—his hips driving forward, dick gliding through all that slick coating him in her wetness, that creamy grip holding him like it was trying to pull him in deeper every time he bottomed out. 

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. 

The sound of skin meeting skin echoes soft, wet, rhythmic. Her pussy was talking. Sanaa couldn’t stop gasping. Her eyes flicked from his dick—watching it disappear and reappear slick with her cream—to his face, where he stared down at her with that focused, locked-in look. Like he was reading her. Studying every reaction. Every blink. Every moan. Every shake. 

“Look at this shit,” he whispered, pulling out slow just to watch it, “Givin’ Daddy all this cream. You see this fuckin’ mess?”

He slammed back in deep.

Sanaa damn near folded. Fingers gripping the sheets, legs shaking, stomach fluttering. Erik leaned over her, keeping her legs pinned back as his strokes got meaner. Not faster—meaner. More deliberate. Pistoning in and out of her. More pressure behind them like he was pressing his nickname into her from the inside out. 

His voice dropped, slick with filth, “Talkin’ all that shit with my dick in your throat, now you quiet.” Another stroke. Deep. Meaner. Precise, “Pussy too full to talk now, huh?”

She moaned again, back arching.

“You feel that tip kissin’ that spot?”

She nodded, tears brimming.

“You know I don’t play when I fuck you,” he growled, sweat sliding down his chest, his body looking like a carved up masterpiece, “I ain’t never gon’ play about this pussy.” His strokes got heavier. Balls slapping. Her cream painting his dick, glazing his shaft with every thrust, “You gon’ keep this pussy nice for me?”

“Y-yes…”

“You gon’ keep it wet for me?”

“Uh-huh…”

“You gon’ keep lettin’ me fuck it open like this anytime I want?”

She couldn’t answer. Her body said it all—dripping, trembling, stuffed and begging for more. 

Erik wasn’t letting up. He was locked in, head low, eyes never leaving her face, dick still sliding in and out of that sweet, swollen pussy like it was his favorite place in the whole world. Biting his lip. He was tearing her up. Not reckless. Controlled. Those deep strokes powered by tight muscles that turned ruthless. Every thrust dragged out then slammed home with precision. Making her breath hitch each time he drove back in. That dick curved just right, splitting her open while her pussy sucked him back in. Sanaa was babbling now—soft, breathless moans that kept spilling out her mouth whether she wanted them to or not. 

Erik wasn’t having that.

“Shhhh,” he hissed through clenched teeth, hips snapping forward again, fucking deep into that creamy mess, “Shut up.”

She gasped, eyes rolling. Couldn’t even help it.

Erik pulled out suddenly and flipped her, laid her on her side, and guided her leg up over his forearm. She was stretched, propped on her hip, one hand clawing at the sheets, the other reaching for him like she needed something to hold. Erik stood over her, body hulking, muscles glistening, locs hanging as he gripped the back of her thigh to keep it open. Then, he slid back in from behind, watching his thick dick disappear into that tight, little pussy all over again. That bubble booty jiggled with every stroke, soft wet claps filling the room. The way her ass moved under his control had his jaw twitching. Breath ragged. Erik leaned in closer and slid two fingers in her mouth—thumb brushing her bottom lip before pushing past it. 

“Suck.”

She did. Eyes wide and dreamy. Wet with tears. Locked on his. Sanaa wrapped those pretty lips around his fingers and sucked slow, cheeks hollowing, eyes big and innocent like she wasn’t getting fucked dumb at the same time.

Erik groaned low, “Fine ass.” His hips rocked forward again, deep strokes punching her breath right out her chest, “Pretty lil’ slut.”

Whenever he complimented her it made her stomach flutter. Sanaa moaned around his fingers. Loud. Wet. She sucked harder, letting her spit run down his knuckles while her pussy clenched tighter, meeting every stroke now with one of her own. Her hips pushed back into him, timed and fresh, making Erik grunt with every clap of skin. She looked so good. Face all soft, lashes fluttering, mouth full of his fingers, eyes on his like she wouldn’t dare look anywhere else. 

Erik blinked slow, nostrils flaring, sweat trailing down his temple as he kept fucking into her, “Oh, it’s like that?” he growled, grinning through it, “You tryna fuck back now?”

Sanaa sucked harder on his fingers and moaned through her nose, hips rolling, letting him feel how deep she wanted it. Her ass bounced off his lower abs with every stroke, pussy sucking him in wetter, messier, louder. 

“You gon’ make me nut in this pussy again,” he whispered, shaking his head with a bite of his bottom lip, “Keep fuckin’ back. I dare you.”

Erik grabbed a fistful of her curls, wound them tight around his hand, enough to own her. Her head tilted back with the pull, neck arched, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp. Erik used the other hand to keep her leg cocked up, bent at the knee, foo dangling in the air like her ankle gave out. The way he held her like he knew he was the reason her body couldn’t keep itself together had her losing whatever strength she had left. 

Erik shifted his weight forward and dropped his hips in tight strokes, each one hittin with that perfect pressure that made her body jolt in little shivers. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t wild and erratic. It was intentional. Erik was fucking jer with weight not overzealous speed. With discipline. And the whole time, he was watching her. Eyes dark. Lip caught between his teeth. Dimples poked. Breaths steady. Sanaa’s hand flew up to her mouth, cupping it as a muffled moan escaped high and wrecked. She had to. Aaliyah was just down the hall. They had to be quiet. But the way Erik was tearing her ass up on the edge of the bed mad quiet feel impossible. 

And then it happened.

That slow, warmth between her thighs into something wetter. Creamier. Her pussy started to gush around him—thick and sweet and messy—and Erik felt every bit of it. 

“Oooh shit…” he groaned under his breath, gripping her tighter, “That lil’ pussy cummin’ on my daddy’s dick, huh?”

Sanaa couldn’t answer. Could barely think. Creaming on him felt too good. It made everything worse—better. That extra glide turned every deep stroke into a slick, full-body drag that left her with no time to recover. Her walls tried to clench down but slid open again with every pump. It was too slippery, too sensitive, too much. Her little pussy was reacting before her mind could even catch up. By the time she realized he hit her spot, he was already hitting it again. Her cream glazed his shaft, painting his dick with it. It sounded wetter now—those quiet, low, schlk, schlk, schlk noises that made Erik’s eyes narrow like he was trying not to loose it. Then, he slipped out from all that mess

“Bring that leg back up. Right there. I’m puttin’ it back in. Right there. Don’t move. You keep doin’ that I ain’t never gon’ stay in…”

Erik leaned in, still holding her leg up, dragging that doc in and out of her like it was sex therapy, “You know how the fuck I nut in this pussy,” he said under his breath, “So why you creamin’ it like you beggin’ for a repeat? You fuckin’ drippin’ on me.” Erik gave a slo thrust, let her feel every veined inch as it slid through the dream she couldn’t stop leaking, “You don’t even know what to do with this dick. Just keep leakin’. I’m a keep making this pussy talk then.”

Another thrust.

Sanaa cried out behind her palm, eyes rolling, thighs quivering.

“You can’t even hold it in.” 

And she couldn’t.

She was melting from the inside out, stuffed and stretched, body overwhelmed by the glide, the heat, the pressure. Her pussy clenched but had no grip left, just gushed again, soaking him, that mess dripping down to the bed beneath them. Erik smirked, fucking her through it, her curls still wrapped around his fist. Her leg hanging in the air, twitching every time he drove back in. His gaze drifting to his mirror, loving the visual of her body being torn to pieces. 

“Greedy ass pussy,” Erik spoke low, close to her ear, “Look at you. That’s my messy girl, huh? That’s my messy girl? Creamin’ all over daddy’s dick like you need it to breathe?” 

Sanaa is whiny, barely holding on, “Daddy…”

Erik groans. The groan transitions into a faint chuckle. He gripped her tighter, “Nah, don’t start cryin’ now. You wanted Daddy’s dick now look. Got your lil’ pussy talkin’ back, spillin’ on me like she proud to be my lil’ nasty girl.” 

“I can’t help it…”

“You ain’t supposed to. That’s what I like. Keep makin’ a mess for me, baby. Let that pretty lil’ pussy leak ‘til it’s drippin’ down both our legs.” Erik pulls out slowly just to watch it ooze, then slides back in, chuckling soft, teeth gritted, “Mm. There she go again. So damn greedy. That creamy shit all in my lap, all up my stomach…you see it, right? That’s how bad you need Daddy.”

Sanaa moaned soft,  nodding, almost crying, Yeah…I needed it so bad…”

“I know you did. You always do. That’s why I’ma keep feedin’ you like this. Gotta keep my nasty lil’ baby full, huh?”

He pulled out slow.

The drag of it had her shaking, mouth parted, breath coming in soft, helpless gasps. The sheets clung to her skin where sweat had slicked her thighs. Erik leaned back, watching her body react to the absence of him—how her legs trembled, how her pussy stayed wet and open for a second too long before twitching around nothing. 

Sanaa sat up, legs folded under her like she needed a second to catch her breath. But her eyes never left him. Not his chest, not his arms. She reached for his muscular thighs, palms spread wide as she slid forward, settling between them on the edge of the bed. Her head dropped, hair brushing his skin, and her lips parted just enough to let a breath escape against his dick. She stared. Watched the way he throbbed for her, thick and slick from where he’d just been. Then, she wrapped one hand around the base and stroked him. Real slow. Lazy. Like she had all the time in the world to tease him back to full attention. Her other hand rested against his thigh, gripping weakly. She looked up at him, eyes glassy, void coated in want. 

“Why you fuck me like that?”

Erik just stared, jaw flexing.

Sanaa licked her lips, kept stroking, twisting her wrist just enough to make him grunt under his breath.

“Let me ride it, daddy. Please?”

Erik cocked an eyebrow. That slow, unimpressed look that made her squirm every time. 

She bit her bottom lip, started stroking a little faster. Still watching him, “I wanna feel it push back while I bounce on it…” She kissed the tip. Just a little taste, “Been thinkin’ about this stroke all day. My pussy’s ready.”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

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

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

Part Four

Doja Cat was blasting.

The speaker thumped against the cluttered dresser, vibrations through every inch of Aaliyah’s room. Loose clothes were everywhere. A carry-on half-zipped. Shoes tossed across the rug. Outfits draped over the desk chair and mirror. It was chaos but a cute, girly chaos. Sanaa was behind her, hands working fast, fingers gathering Aaliyah’s curls into a soft, high updo. She left a few spirals loose to kiss the sides of her face and neck, swooping the edges into delicate baby hairs with her pinky and a bit of edge control.

Baby we tried to fight it…we all been there some days…thought i needed something else and acted like I was okay…we just had to work it out…and baby, I needed space…ain’t nobody ‘round here on your level you’re so far away…

Aaliyah hit the high notes like she meant ‘em, holding her phone like a mic, eyes closed. Sanaa laughed behind her, doing backup vocals while pinning the last piece into place.

“Girl, you not gon’ be able to sing once you out with Jordan tonight,” Sanaa teased, “He gon’ have you losing your breath.”

“Please.” Aaliyah smiled but tried to play it cool, “He better act like he got some sense tonight. Or I’ll just Uber home and call it a day.”

Sanaa raised her brows in the mirror, “And have Erik spazz out?” 

“Exactly why I need to look good,” Aaliyah said, twirling a curl around her finger, “If I’m gonna have to fight for my date, I wanna at least be fine doin’ it.”

“You so STUPID!” 

The girls laughed again as Sanaa fluffed the final piece into place. The style was soft, romantic, and full of volume, her curls pinned up just right, with a few framing tendrils that made her look ethereal.

“You cute as hell,” Sanaa said, stepping back to admire her work, “Like…damn near ethereal. Floatin’.”

“Okay, floatin’!” Aaliyah grinned, turning her head side to side in the mirror, “All I need is that lil’ lip tint—what’s the name of it? The peach one.”

Sanaa nodded, already walking toward the door, “Yeah, hold on. It’s in my room—I’ll grab it.”

The music kept playing. Aaliyah kept dancing in the mirror. Sanaa opened the door and stepped into the hallway, her body still buzzing from the energy in the room, hair swaying across her upper back like a mane’s tail, jeans riding low on her slim waist. That shirt of hers hugged her torso just right, rising a little too high when she moved.

She was humming the lyrics under her breath.

Like you…like you…like you, ooh…

Not knowing that just a few steps down the hall…Erik was about to stop fighting it. And he was about to show her exactly what he meant when he said she was a problem.

Sanaa didn’t mean to take her time, but she did.

She bent over when she reached for that tiny-ass lip tint, back dimples popping out. Erik was nowhere in sight. She assumed he was still in his room, probably back on that game again or scrolling through something that didn’t include her. But it didn’t stop her from glancing toward his cracked door as she passed. Didn’t stop her from swinging her hips just a little harder, letting that tantalizing denim ride low. She grabbed the tint, popped the cap, and started to slick it on in the hall. Thought maybe she’d linger long enough to catch his shadow in the doorway. But nothing.

Not until her phone buzzed.

She glanced down.

A text from Erik.

Then the photo dropped in.

Her heart stuttered. Fingers froze. Lips parted mid-swipe. The pic loaded slow, and it wasn’t because of Wi-Fi, it was because the universe knew what it was doing. Knew how to make her squirm. He was laid back on his bed. Dark sheets beneath him. His thick, muscular thighs stretched out, sweatpants loose but not loose enough. The fabric clung like it knew it had a job—to hug that dick and show out. And baby…it showed out.

Sanaa’s breath caught.

That print was aggressive. Damn near 3D. The outline of him long and thick, stretching down the left side, pushing heavy through the fabric like it was trying to make contact. You could see the whole thing, even the way the tip curved a little along his thigh. A thick, high rise of flesh full and unmistakably real. That kind of print that made your mouth water and your knees forget how to function.

And he knew what he was doing.

Because the waistband was tugged down just low enough to show the trail of hair leading there. That little line that had her thighs pressing together every damn time he walked around shirtless.

The next text slid in.

Erik: You sure you can handle this dick, slut?

No emoji. No cute follow-up. Just that. Straight to the point.

Sanaa blinked. Felt heat crawl up her chest. Her thighs clenched and her pussy pulsed, fast and hot like it was answering for her before her brain could catch up.

Another text.

Erik: I know you think you grown…but you keep testing me. You want daddy to stretch that lil pussy out, huh?

She swallowed hard. Backed into the wall. Still staring at the screen like it was hypnotic. Like the print itself had a grip on her. 

Then he sent another. This one a close-up. A zoomed crop of just the bulge. You could see the ridge of the head now. Thick and proud, fighting through the fabric like it needed air. She could imagine exactly what it would feel like, dragging over her lips. The weight of it. The warmth. The way his dick would hit her deep, then deeper, making her gasp before she even realized he was all the way in. She squeezed her thighs again. Pressed the gloss tube against her lips just to keep from letting out a sound. Biting the end of it to muffle a faint whimper.

Another text.

Erik: You gon’ let me fuck that attitude off your face? Or you still wanna play?

She didn’t type back. Sanaa didn’t trust herself. Her fingers hovered. She thought about sending a cute reply. A selfie. A smart-ass remark.

But she couldn’t stop staring.

Another ping.

Erik: Slide them jeans off. Right now. Take a pic of them panties you tryna keep dry. I know you wet.

Another beat.

Erik: Matter fact…pull em to the side. Let me see what I’m finna ruin.

Sanaa’s whole body prickled. The heat between her legs surged so fast it scared her. Her panties already damp, already clinging. And he knew it would be. And she knew if she took them off, that wetness would leave a trail down her thighs. Her hand shook as she reached for her waistband. Phone still in the other. Her reflection in the mirror looked flustered, guilty, wrecked. And all she’d done was read his texts. All she’d done was look at the print of that dick.

Erik sent one more.

Erik: You takin too long, Bri. Want me to come do it for you?

She hesitated. Not long but it was long enough to decide she was gonna be bad about it. Sanaa stood there in the hallway, one hip leaned against the wall, phone in her hand like it weighed too much. Her other hand dipped slow, smooth, hooking into the waist of her jeans and easing them down over her hips. Not all the way. Just enough. She let the denim bunch at the top of her thighs, soft curves spilling above the waistband, brown skin glowing under the hallway light. Her panties were black, thin, silky, clinging to her fat pussy like they knew how good she looked. The outline was obscene. The damp spot even worse. That pretty little pussy soaked, lips full and pressed up tight behind the fabric, looking like it was begging for attention.

But she didn’t pull ‘em to the side or spread shit. Didn’t give him what he wanted like he commanded. She snapped the pic like that. Jeans mid-thigh. Panties stretched tight. A flash of her hand at her stomach, holding the phone down at an angle that showed everything but what he was asking for.

Still teasing and playing. And that was the point. The point was to drive him crazy to this very moment.

And she succeeded.

She hit send, pulled her jeans back up with a cute little shimmy of her hips, let them hug her again like nothing happened, and walked her ass back into Aaliyah’s room. The door creaked open and Aaliyah was in the bathroom, face close to the mirror, blending out her contour like she was late for a photo shoot. She had her robe tied loose, lashes half-on, and was already rambling like her best friend wasn’t spiraling inside.

“Ugh, I shoulda told Jordan ten minutes later,” she complained, “He always pullin up early like I don’t need a full beat.”

Sanaa gave a tight smile, “You look fine.”

Aaliyah scoffed, “Bitch, duh. But I wanna look good. Like, ‘can I suck your dick in the car before we get there’ good.”

Sanaa let out a short breath through her nose, pacing slowly toward the edge of the bed. She sat down, careful, like if she moved too fast, her body might give her away. Because she was nervous now. Heart tapping faster. Mouth dry. Stomach aching in that weird, fluttery way, like something was lowkey crawling behind her navel. Because Jordan pulling up meant Aaliyah would be leaving. And if Aaliyah left…she’d be alone in the apartment.

With him.

With Erik.

With that dick print still burned into her screen.

With that last text still hanging in the air.

Her phone vibrated again. She snatched it quick, face tilted away from the bathroom, thumb opening the thread before she could change her mind.

Erik: That lil’ drip don’t scare me, Bri.

Erik: Shit look perfect. Fat ass pussy lookin like it need to be ate through the fabric.

Sanaa felt her breath catch. Spine straightening. Another one came through right after.

Erik: You got all that pussy sittin up pretty and you still playin like I won’t put you on ya back and feed. I’ma lick it till you cry, slut. Then fuck you so deep you forget your name.

Her legs crossed tight. She folded over just a little, pretending to reach for something in her bag. In truth, she just needed to breathe. She could feel the heat rising again, thick between her thighs. Her panties clinging worse than before. Every word from him sent sparks through her chest, straight down her belly.

She whimpered under her breath low and weak.

Aaliyah’s voice floated from the bathroom, still talking shit about Jordan’s playlist and how he always played the same Gunna song on repeat. Sanaa barely heard her. She was staring at her screen like it had her under a spell. Her lips parted, breathing shaky, one hand pressed flat against her stomach like she could hold it all in. But she couldn’t. She wanted him bad. Bad enough her whole body was pulsing for it.

Sanaa felt her phone buzz again.

Another text.

She knew it was him before she even looked. Her hands were already shaking. The ache between her legs had gone from something faint to something deep. Her whole body felt wired, charged, too aware of the man just a few steps away behind that bedroom door. Erik wasn’t teasing anymore. He was taunting now. And she was the one who started it. She sat on the edge of the bed while Aaliyah kept rambling from the bathroom about lashes and lip combos. Sanaa barely heard a word. All she could focus on was the little text bubbles on her screen.

Incoming video from Erik. She tapped it. And baby…that shit opened like a floodgate. 

Erik was in his room, lights low. The TV in the background still glowing, 2K music faint under it, but all the attention was on him. He stood in front of his full-length mirror, one hand holding the phone low, filming himself from the perfect angle. His tank was lifted halfway up with his other hand, exposing his hard stomach, deep-cut abs flexed, muscles twitching every time he moved. Locs hanging in his face, jaw tight like he was trying not to say what he was really thinking.

Then he gripped it.

Right through the fabric of his grey joggers, his hand wrapped around that thick ass dick print like it belonged on display. He tugged at the base, squeezing through the material, and it only made that dick print bolder. It rose up heavy. You could see the whole length, thick from the root, wide and long, curving slightly as it swelled against the soft cotton. The shape of it clear as day. That dick that made you question if you were even built for it. The kind that pushed back. That moved when he touched it. It jumped once in his pants when he flexed, and she gasped. Couldn’t stop herself. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes low in the mirror. Then he looked into the camera, and that’s when it hit her in the chest.

That stare.

Dark. Primal.

He could see right through her. He said nothing in the video because that look said it all. That look said: You wanna play, baby girl? Bet. He kept rubbing that dick through his pants, slow strokes that showed just how long and heavy he was. The camera dipped a little lower to catch the way the fabric stretched tight over the tip, swollen and pulsing like it was trying to punch through.

And then the video ended. Just like that.

Sanaa was trembling.

A mess.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, the heat in her panties had become unbearable. Her pussy was slick, no, wet. That good wet. Sticky. Her thighs pressed together in a panic and it only made it worse. She wanted to squirm. To grind. To touch. But Aaliyah was still in the bathroom, talking, moments from walking out and leaving Sanaa completely alone.

With him.

Another message popped through.

Erik:Yeah you still playin’. Drippin for me, ain’t you? You not ready. Not for this dick. Not for what I’ma do when I get my hands on that lil pussy.

She whimpered again. This time, too loud.

Aaliyah paused, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Sanaa choked out, clearing her throat, “Just… stomach cramp.”

“Mmm. Prolly hungry. You be forgetting to eat.”

Sanaa kept her head down, hair falling around her face as she clutched her phone to her chest, her other hand pressing down hard against her stomach, trying to soothe the ache that wasn’t from hunger. She needed to get it together. Fast. Because Erik wasn’t letting up.

Aaliyah spun once in front of her mirror, curls pinned up in a soft, coiled halo. Her shoulders were bare, dusted in cocoa shimmer, the neckline of her sweater dress dipping just enough to be flirty but still dinner-appropriate.

“Okay, okay,” she said, turning to Sanaa, “Be honest. Is it givin’?”

Sanaa looked her up and down from the bed, chin in her hand, “It’s givin’,” she nodded, “Soft serve caramel dream. You good.”

Aaliyah grinned, “Thank you, bitch.”

Then—

Knock knock.

They both froze.

“Oh God,” Aaliyah panicked, grabbing her compact, “That’s him.”

Another knock, this one firmer.

Then Erik’s deep voice called from down the hall: “I got it.”

Aaliyah’s eyes widened in alarm, “No, no. Sanaa—go with him! Make sure he don’t try nothin’. You know how he is!”

Sanaa stood, already feeling the heat crawl up the back of her neck, “Ain’t my job to babysit—”

“Sanaa,” Aaliyah whined, eyes pleading.

She rolled her eyes, but her feet were already moving. Each step down the hallway made her skin feel tighter, her chest heavier. And there he was, already unlocking the front door, joggers slung low on his hips, body radiating that heavy, hot, quiet he always wore when he didn’t like something.

That door creaked open. Then came him.

Jordan. 

Tall. 6’1”, maybe 6’2”. Warm bronze skin, lined-up fade with neat braids tied back. Sharp cheekbones, a watch that said money but humble. Button-up and slacks. Smooth smile with a dimple just beneath his left cheek.

Sanaa clocked all of it in one sweep.

He stepped forward, “Hey,” he greeted, voice low, polite, Then he turned to Erik, “You must be Erik. Jordan Taylor.”

He extended a hand. Erik stared at it like it was a disrespect to invade his space and expect to be dapped up. He took it, and he didn’t give him a shake. It was a vice grip squeeze. Sanaa saw the subtle flex of Erik’s forearm. How Jordan kept it calm, not backing down. The silence between them was louder than the knock had been.

Erik’s voice came low and gravel-thick, “You pick her up, you bring her back. Same way.”

Jordan gave a single nod, “Of course. Got her the whole night.”

Erik’s jaw ticked, “You better.”

Jordan looked at her, expression shifting softer, “You must be Sanaa?”

She tilted her head, smiling just enough, “Guilty.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said with ease.

And then Aaliyah appeared. The effect was instant. Jordan’s whole face softened. Eyes swept over her like he forgot how to blink.

“Damn,” he exhaled, “You look…”

Aaliyah laughed, touched his arm, “You too.”

They left out together, light on their feet. Jordan’s hand brushed Aaliyah’s lower back as she stepped ahead of him, laughing at something he said under his breath. She looked like she knew she was the main character. Like the city lights outside were hers to walk into.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Alone.

Sanaa stood near the arm of the sofa, phone still in hand, pulse tickin’ too fast in her neck. Erik stood out like a damn silhouette in that tank top. Still brooding. He was by the window now. Arms crossed over that thick chest, jaw set. His locs hung just enough to shadow his eyes, but she didn’t need to see ’em to feel it. That look was already on her. Slowly, he turned. His stare dragged over her like it had weight. Sanaa was frozen.

Erik’s eyes dropped once. To her mouth. Then lower. Then back up. Still not a word. And just when she thought he might speak—might finally say some slick shit to push her over—he turned.

Walked off without a glance.

Broad back disappearing down the hallway. Heavy steps. Calm like a storm moving in. Sanaa just stood there, breath shallow, heart knocking.

Then her phone buzzed. And she knew…he wasn’t done

Erik:  I’ma fuck my name into that pussy.

Erik’s door was shut.

That alone made her nerves scream.

Sanaa walked past it slow, every step deliberate like the apartment might hear her thinking too loud. The air itself was waiting on something to pop off. She didn’t look at his door when she passed it. The heat coming from behind that wood. The weight of him on the other side, knowing she was there. Knowing she was alone now.

She slipped into her room and shut the door behind her.

Click.

The sound landed heavier than it normally would.

She leaned back against it for a second, eyes closed, chest rising and falling too fast. Her phone was in her hand, screen dark. No texts. No commands. No permission. And that almost made it worse. She peeled her clothes off slow. Jeans first, sliding them down her hips, stepping out of them like she had all the time in the world. Her wet panties clung in that needy way she hated and loved at the same time. She left them on. On purpose.

Sanaa pulled on an oversized tee. Old. Soft. A vintage rock band shirt that used to belong to somebody else, sleeves stretched, hem falling mid-thigh. It slipped off one shoulder when she moved, exposing smooth brown skin and the strap of her bra. The fabric brushed against her nipples every time she breathed and they were tight, sensitive, betraying her. She sat on the edge of the bed and bounced her knee, restless. Hands fidgeting. Fingers digging into her thigh, then her stomach, then her chest like she didn’t know where to put them.

Her body felt loud. Her pussy felt louder.

A deep ache sat between her legs, low and constant, not sharp but heavy. Like something was pressing from the inside out. She was full of anticipation instead of anything solid. A slick heat between them making her suck in a breath through her teeth.

She’d been waiting for this. That truth settled in her chest and didn’t move.

Waiting since the first time she caught him watching her from across the room. Waiting since the first time his voice dropped when he said her name. Waiting through every almost-touch, every too-long stare, every moment she pretended she wasn’t thinking about how he’d feel on top of her. Inside her. Over her. Making her behave.

This was her moment. And she was scared as hell.

Not scared of him. Scared of herself. Of how bad she wanted to walk down that hall, open his door, and offer herself up just like he said. Knees soft. Head tilted. Mouth ready.

She stood up. Her heart thudded hard, heavy, like it was trying to talk her out of it and failing. She smoothed the shirt down, pushed her shoulders back, lifted her chin. Took a breath that didn’t steady her at all. Then, she walked to her bedroom door. Her hand wrapped around the knob clammy and slightly slick.

She opened it.

And he was right there.

Close.

Too close.

Sanaa gasped before she could stop herself. The sound caught in her throat, sharp and soft all at once. Her body reacted faster than her mind. Chest jumping. Body shaking. That ache flaring hot and needy. Erik stood in the hallway like he’d been waiting the whole time, locs loose around his face. His presence filled the space between them instantly, heavy and undeniable. His eyes dropped to her shoulder, the way the shirt slipped, the bare skin offered up without her meaning to.

Then his gaze lifted. Locked on hers. Her breath shook. She didn’t step back.

The door behind her was still open. Her room exposed. Her bed visible over her shoulder. Everything about her right there for him to take in. And the silence between them was thick enough to choke on.

She swallowed.

He didn’t touch her, but the way he moved toward her felt like contact all the same.

Erik stepped in close. One step. Another. Measured. Calculated. His shoulders filled the narrow space and everything seemed to fade under the weight of him. She backed up without thinking, breath catching low in her chest until her spine met the cool wall.

He kept walking.

Not rushing or crowding her clumsily. Closing in at a pace that said he already knew she wasn’t going anywhere. His eyes locked on hers the entire time, a low heat building the longer neither of them spoke.

Sanaa felt her pulse throb at the base of her throat. Erik lifted his arms, planted his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head, and that simple motion swallowed the rest of the hallway. The muscles in his biceps flexed. His scent curled into the tiny pocket of space between them. She could feel the heat coming off his chest even though they weren’t touching.

A small, stunned breath slipped out of her.

He didn’t move closer or lean all the way in. Erik didn’t even let his body graze hers. He just stood there, caging her in, staring down at her like he was deciding what to do with a temptation he had tried too long to ignore. Heat wound through her ribs. Sanaa lifted her chin a little, eyes meeting his with the same guarded intensity he came in with, but it didn’t hold. Not against the way he looked at her or the quiet storm rolling behind his eyes. Her composure began to soften, the edges of it loosened. Her lips parted. Her gaze slipped from his eyes to his mouth, then back up again.

Erik saw every shift. Every twitch.

His chest rose slow, fell slow, like he was working to keep himself steady. The lights overhead cast a warm glow over his face, highlighting the sculpt of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the tightness around his eyes where control sat heavy. His height boxed her in. His presence pressed against her without a single point of contact. Sanaa’s breath quickened. It wasn’t frantic breaths. She was aware of him. Aware of the heat rising low in her stomach. Aware of the subtle ache forming before he ever laid a finger on her. Her back stayed flat against the wall. Her thighs eased together for no reason except the way he looked at her.

His eyes dipped slow down her face, over her lips, then back to her gaze like he wanted to see if she’d break.

She did. Just a little.

Her lashes lowered in a slow blink. Her lips stayed parted. Her heartbeat pulsed all through her, tightening, waiting, wanting something she wasn’t going to say first. Erik shifted his weight slightly forward, and the change in proximity alone sent a warm rush down her spine. He still didn’t touch her. But his presence filled her senses so completely that her body reacted as if he had. Her throat bobbed in a swallow. Her voice didn’t come. The air felt too charged to cut through with anything foolish like a word.

Erik stayed like that, looking down at her while the tension built between their bodies. That subtle, slow pull that crept from silence to desire. Her fingers curled against the wall. Her breath brushed the front of his shirt. Her pulse fluttered wild beneath her skin. And Erik let the stare hold. So heavy. So intense. So hypnotic that it pulled her deeper into it, inch by inch. Her face shifted again, the last bit of resistance slipping. Desire sat openly in her eyes now, warm and unguarded. Her gaze traced his lips again before settling back on him. Her chest lifted in a small inhale that pressed her body closer to the invisible line between them.

Erik’s jaw tensed. That was all he let himself show. But it was enough for her to feel it. Their breath mingled. A quiet, electric charge coiled in the center of that hallway like something ready to strike if one of them leaned even an inch closer. But he dipped his head, lowering it until his locs brushed the side of her cheek like a dark curtain falling around them.

Sanaa’s breath stuttered.

He exhaled slow. Steady. A breath that felt like it traveled straight through her skin. Her knees threatened to give just from the heat of it. Her pulse fluttered wildly against the wall behind her spine.

Then, right against her ear, low enough to curl her toes, he confessed.

“I want you.”

Low, yet powerful.

Sanaa shut her eyes because her body reacted before she could stop it. A shiver climbed her back, small and sharp, as if those three words reached places he hadn’t even touched.

He waited for that reaction. Savored it. Then his voice brushed her again, deeper now, “But you already knew that, huh?”

Her mouth didn’t move to give him a reaction. Her lips parted, but the sound didn’t come. Her chest rose in a trembling breath, the silence itself exposing everything she thought she was hiding.

Erik angled his head a little, eyes on her like he could see straight through her, “You ain’t even gotta say it,” he said, voice thick with heat, “Cuz you want me too. That’s why you teasing me so much, right?”

Sanaa’s teeth caught the corner of her lip. Almost like a plea disguised as hesitation. Her gaze lifted, locking with his, and the look she gave him was the closest thing to surrender without a single word spoken.

Erik leaned in until their faces were almost touching, breath mingling, both of them pulled tight into the moment, “Worked so hard to break me,” he spoke low, voice steady and low as his eyes dragged over her mouth, “And it worked.”

Her stomach fluttered and clenched.

He dipped closer, bringing his lips to the point where she could feel the warmth of them without contact. Her breath caught with a shaky sound as he continued, “Because now…” The words ghosted her mouth. His breath slid across her lips, light enough to set off sparks under her skin, “…now I’ma show you what happens when you provoke me, lil miss ‘I want my best friend’s older brother to fuck me.’”

Sanaa’s expression changed instantly. Desire pulled her features soft and dreamy. Lips parted. Eyes low, heavy-lidded, almost dazed like he’d taken her legs out from under her.

Erik watched that look spread over her, studied it like he wanted to memorize every shift. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if considering her, “Now…” he said quietly, “what to do about that…”

His gaze dropped down her body, slow enough to make her breathing quicken, then back up. He lifted his hand a fraction, not touching her, just bringing it close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin. His voice deepened, “These scars?” His free hand rose between them, palm turned slightly so she could see the patterns carved into his skin, “Each one for a kill.”

Her breath hitched hard, chest lifting in a trembling inhale.

“You sure you wanna go there with me?” he asked, tone steady as a pulse, “Cuz I don’t fuck like them lil niggas you prolly used to.” He bent a little closer. Close enough that her lips grazed his breath again, “That jackhammer shit?” His eyes lowered to her mouth, “Nah.” His voice dropped to something dark and dangerous and it wrapped around her spine and pulled her forward, “I’ma leave my dick print in your guts for the rest of your fuckin life, girl.”

Sanaa’s body trembled with a reaction she couldn’t hide. Shock. He could feel her answer in the heat between them. Erik let a faint chuckle slip out of him. It carved into the tight space between them and hit Sanaa right in her stomach. His single dimple dipped into his cheek, that little flash of cuteness wrapped around something entirely unsoft. He licked his lips once, a slow sweep of his tongue across the bottom one, gold slugs glinting under the hallway light.

Then he spoke, “You ever heard of a grind, baby girl?” His voice rolled over her skin, “Ever seen it? I’m sure you have…girl like you prolly got a whole bookmark saved on your Twitter…”

Her reaction was instant. Immediate. Almost physical in a way that made her embarrassed to breathe. A pulse throbbed between her thighs so sharp she nearly whimpered. Heat flooded her underwear so fast she felt it soak straight through the cotton, sticky and warm against her skin. Her nipples tightened under her tank, pushing hard against the fabric, so sensitive they tingled at the slightest shift in air between them. Goosebumps rose along her arms and belly, a shiver rolling up her spine like a slow electric climb.

And all he did was talk.

Erik watched the way she reacted, watched the tension in her throat, the small way she pulled in a breath she couldn’t hide. He leaned closer, his words dropping lower, “I fuck to make you feel me,” he said, that deep timbre sinking into her bones, “And I don’t rush it. I ain’t chasing a nut. I’m aiming to make you melt, baby.”

Her thighs pressed tight together.

“That’s what a grown man do.”

Sanaa’s lips parted again, barely a sound leaving her. Erik lifted his hand slowly, so slow she felt each inch of anticipation travel up her nerves. He used a single knuckle and stroked her cheek with a touch so careful it sent a hot, aching wave straight through her middle.

He bit his bottom lip as he looked at her, “You so damn pretty, Bri.”

The nickname hit deeper because of the way he said it. Like he owned her. Like she had no idea what she was doing to him.

“Had a nigga shook when you walked out with them lil ass shorts on.” His eyes darkened, “I was like mmm…fuuuck. This Sanaa? Lil shy, quiet, hiding in the corner Sanaa?” His gaze swept down her body, slow enough to make her stomach clench again. He took in every curve, the way her nipples pressed hard against her top, the way she couldn’t keep her thighs still anymore. His voice dropped to something that touched her like a hand, “Thoughts ran through my mind…” He took one breath. Let it sit, “Like damn. I know she taste real good.”

Her knees almost buckled.

“I’d slurp her up. Dip my tongue in that pretty pink puss…”

A soft sound escaped her throat, almost too faint to hear, but he caught it. Her eyes went dreamy, unfocused, pupils blown wide. Her lips stayed parted. Her chest trembled.

She was ruined.

Standing there with her back against the wall, sweating under the intensity of him, panties soaked through, nipples hard enough to ache, breath coming in shallow, shaky pulls because she had never been this turned on without a single touch.

“You like the way I’m talkin’ to you, lil baby?” His voice was dark silk, slow and dragging, dipped in something slick that made her toes curl. Sanaa nodded, slow and dazed, her body answering before her brain could catch up. Erik tsk’d. A low sound of disappointment that made her shiver, “Uh-uh,” he said, tilting his head slightly, eyes burning into hers, “Open your mouth. Don’t act mute now. You had a lot of shit to say earlier.”

It took effort to speak. Her lips parted around a tiny whisper, “Yes.”

He smiled at that. Not a kind smile. Not a gentle one. It was a smile that showed he had her exactly where he wanted her. Made her panties feel wetter than she even thought possible.

“Why you want me so bad?” he asked, licking his bottom lip slow, “Tired of the same old sorry ass dick?”

Her mouth fell open slightly, eyes heavy-lidded. He saw the answer before she gave it, but he wanted to hear it anyway.

“You wanna see what I can do to that pretty pussy?”

Sanaa shifted where she stood. Her hips rocked forward a little, like her body needed to move, needed to do something about the ache pooling in her core. She bit her lip, then nodded once—then again, slower, “Yes.”

Erik’s voice dipped lower, rougher now, dragging the words out like he wanted her to feel each one between her legs, “Want me to open you up?”

Sanaa’s back arched slightly, nipples hard as diamonds beneath her shirt, brushing against the fabric with every breath she took.

“You ain’t scared it’s gon’ be too much?”

She tilted her head the tiniest bit, tongue resting in the corner of her mouth, her expression hazy and thick with heat. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze dropped, then lifted back to his, “Mmm mmm.”

His eyebrow arched, “What’s mmm mmm?” he asked, smile deepening with a hint of threat, “I don’t know what that is. Words.”

Sanaa blinked slow, eyes low, lips wet, “No, daddy.”

Erik’s jaw twitched. He bit down on his bottom lip, those gold slugs gleaming just behind it, nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled through his nose. Her calling him that—soft, sweet, no hesitation—sent a pulse straight to his dick. She dripping, trembling, got her mouth half-open like she’d been fucked already.

“Oh,” he said, voice rough and low, “Shit…so you ain’t scared then?”

Sanaa’s lips parted again, breath fogging between them, chest rising, “No, daddy.”

The way she said it? Soft but certain. Sticky sweet like syrup down the back of his throat. Her pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-swollen, and the front of her panties now damn near ruined—wet enough she’d have to peel them off. Erik pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and bit down on his lip again, hard this time, fighting the urge to devour her right then and there. She was ready. He could see it in the glassy look in her eyes. He could smell it between them. Could feel it in the heat she was radiating off her skin like steam rising from a kettle.

All this?

Just from his voice.

Erik’s fingers hooked in the hem of her shirt. Slow. Intentional. He lifted it just high enough to expose the waistband of her panties—black, flesh-hugging, soaked straight through in the center. His eyes lingered. He just looked. Took his time like a man admiring something he already knew he was about to own.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, “Got this lil’ pussy cryin’. She know who it belong to.”

Sanaa’s tied to ease the ache, squirming, but it only made it worse.

“Uh uh,” he said, nudging her thighs apart with just the press of his knee between hers, “Don’t hide that shit. Lemme see what I did.”

She didn’t move away. Her body didn’t resist. She let him part her legs, just slightly, standing in front of him like a girl about to be unwrapped.

He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear, voice thick, “I’m gon’ stretch you, Sanaa. Real slow. Real deep. Make sure this tight lil’ pussy remember me.”

She whimpered. Actually whimpered. It spilled out unplanned, soft and sweet, like her body responded before she could stop it.

Erik grinned against her jaw, grazing her skin with the tips of his teeth. “Yeah,” he drawled, “you gone learn tonight.”

Then he stepped back just a little. He ran his thumb over one hard nipple slowly, watching the way her lips parted like it shocked her, how her hips tilted like her pussy was clenching again.

“You this sensitive?” he asked, low and amused, “Wait til’ I taste this pussy. You gon’ melt when I do.”

Sanaa nodded, lips glossy, voice barely a whisper, “Please…”

He smirked, eyes still locked on her, “Please what?”

She swallowed, “T-Touch me…”

Erik’s head tilted, tongue dragging slow across his bottom lip, “Where you want me to touch you, baby?”

Sanaa’s lips quivered. Her body leaned into his like she couldn’t hold herself upright anymore.

“My pussy,” she whispered, followed by a soft whine.

“Mmm.” He let out a low hum, eyes never leaving hers, “Say it louder. I need to know you mean that shit.”

She hesitated, only for a second. Then she looked him dead in the eye and said it again—this time stronger. Hungrier.

“Touch my pussy, daddy.”

His hand was on her before she finished the word. One broad palm slid down the front of her panties, cupping her through the soaked fabric. Warm. Heavy. In charge. His fingers pressed in, just enough to feel the heat, the pulse, the mess she’d made. He groaned low in his throat.

“Goddamn, girl…you wet like I already been in it.”

Sanaa’s eyes fluttered.

He slid a finger beneath the waistband, dipped in slow and deep until he touched her bare. Wet and slick. His finger slid through the mess she’d made, knuckle deep, and her mouth dropped open in a silent cry.

“There it go,” Erik rasped, “Told you I was gon’ open you up.”

Sanaa whimpered again, thighs shaking, her body trying to close around his hand, but he held her still. His finger worked deeper, curved just right, and her back arched, hands gripping his forearms like she needed to hold onto something solid.

“You feel that?” he said, voice thick, “That stretch?”

She nodded fast, moaning through clenched teeth.

“Don’t run,” he warned, voice a deep growl, “I’m not even two fingers in. I’m just warmin’ you up.”

Sanaa was panting now. Sweating. Dripping, “Erik…”

He kissed her neck. Then sucked it. Let his teeth graze her skin as he slid another finger inside.

She gasped, loud this time.

He smiled, “There she go.”

Her body jerked. She was clenching around his fingers, wetness coating his palm now, and Erik just kept working them in slow, deep strokes. It was pressure and rhythm and filth.

“You said teach you how to take it, right?”

She nodded, desperate, whimpering.

“Say it again,” he growled in her ear, thumb now circling her clit slow.

“Teach me, daddy,” she cried, voice shaking. “Please—show me how to take it.”

“Oh I’ma show your greedy ass. And you bet not forget a single stroke.” He pulled his fingers out, soaked and shining, then brought them to her lips, “Taste what I do to you.”

She didn’t even hesitate. Mouth opened. Tongue out. She sucked his fingers clean while moaning, eyes rolling back just a little from the taste. Erik’s dick jumped hard in his sweats.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice low as hell, “You mine now.”

Sanaa whimpered.

Erik’s dick brushed her belly through his joggers, thick and heavy, and her breath hitched on impact. She felt it, hot through the cotton, thick enough to make her blink slow and look down. The print was obscene. Long, fat, with the kind of weight that made her thighs tense again. Her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth like instinct, lips parting on a shaky breath. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Erik saw the way she looked. The way her gaze dropped and stayed there.

“Go ‘head, miss greedy. Rub me.”

Sanaa’s hand moved on its own. She brought it down between them and pressed her palm against the thick ridge stretching his joggers.

The heat met her first.

It was warm through the fabric—almost hot—and stiff as hell. Thick. Her fingers trembled when they brushed the full weight of it. Not just long but wide, heavy, meaty in a way she wasn’t used to. It curved slightly to the left from being trapped and she could feel the exact shape of it pressing into her palm even through the joggers. Her whole hand didn’t wrap around it at first. She had to adjust her grip, slide her palm across the length of it and back again.

“Shit…” she moaned. 

She hadn’t meant to say it. But it slipped out anyway, whispered under her breath as her fingers stroked over the bulge again. She applied more pressure. Felt it throb in response. The whole thing jumped against her hand and she froze for a second, thighs clenching, her pussy clenching too. Sanaa stared, mesmerized. Watching the way her fingers moved over the thick ridge, seeing the way it swelled, how the head of it sat high and proud against the front of his joggers. That tip had a little dent where the fabric gave in, already damp from the precum leaking steady beneath. She gave a slow stroke up, then back down, palm flat. Then she did it again, this time wrapping her fingers just a little, rubbing it like she was warming it up. The way it twitched told her everything. That dick was alive. Pulsing in her grip. Hard as hell and still growing.

“This dick big as fuck…” she whispered, eyes wide, lips parted.

Erik grinned, head tilting just enough to let her see the glint of gold across his teeth, “Uh-huh,” he said, deep and smug, chest rising slow, “And that’s before I even pull it out.”

Sanaa just kept rubbing. Her thumb traced the vein she could feel through the fabric. Her fingers closed tighter, sliding down toward the base. He was thick all the way through. No taper. No mercy. The feel of him in her hand was almost too much. Panties growing uncomfortable and sticky against her folds. Every slow drag of her hand across him made her clench tighter, made her want more. Her body reacted on instinct, hips shifting, breath catching.

She wanted to see it. Needed to see it.

She let her fingers linger low, pressing just under the head. The wet spot was bigger now. She felt it with her thumb and let out a soft breath.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

Erik watched her, eyes dark with amusement, “That wetness yours or mine?”

She blinked. Looked up at him with that same dazed heat in her eyes.

“Both,” she said, almost too quiet.

That made him smile harder. He reached down and gripped the waistband of his joggers, “You wanna see what you been rubbing on?”

Sanaa nodded, hand still holding him.

“Say it,” he said, “Ask for it like a good girl.” 

She hesitated only a second, then licked her lips, “Lemme see your dick, daddy.” She damn near begged, slightly tugging downward on his length. 

He dragged his joggers down halfway low enough to free the monster she’d been teasing.

And there it was.

It dropped out, heavy and thick, no underwear in the way. Thick at the base, even thicker near the middle, and the head was fat and flushed dark with blood. A glistening bead sat right at the tip.

Sanaa’s breath caught in her throat.

It was the kind of dick that made you pause. Long and pretty, veins rising along the sides like a roadmap for the way he was about to rearrange her guts.

She stared. Couldn’t look away.

“You still greedy?” Erik asked, Brow arched. Lips slightly parted and gold slugs peaking. 

Sanaa nodded slowly. Her hand moved again, fingers wrapping around him bare this time. The difference was insane. She felt the skin glide under her palm. The heat of it. The throb. She gave one slow stroke down and felt the weight pull. Another stroke up. Her thumb swiped the leaking tip. His whole body flexed.

“You sure?” he asked again, eyes steady on hers, “Cuz once I put this dick in you, you not gon’ be the same.”

Sanaa moaned, low and desperate, “I don’t wanna be the same…”

Erik grinned, “Say less.”

Erik brought his hand up and wrapped it around the side of her neck. His palm was warm against her throat, thumb resting right beneath her jaw, fingers spread behind her ear, holding her still. Sanaa’s breath hitched when he leaned in close, his face inches from hers. So close she could feel the heat of his breath, the slow drag of it over her mouth. His nose brushed hers—once, then again—and she let her eyes flutter closed. His lips hovered over hers, soft but never touching. The anticipation made her knees weak,

“Breathe,” he whispered.

She did. Shaky and shallow.

Their mouths finally touched—barely. A soft graze. A tease. Sanaa’s lips parted with a soft gasp. Her body leaned into him more, anticipating the connection. He held her there, right on the edge, the tension sharp enough to snap. Then—slow—he stuck his tongue out and dragged it across her lips. Just once. Just enough to make her moan. The sound came from her gut. A low, feminine ache slipping past her throat like her body couldn’t keep it in.

Erik chuckled low. The sound rumbled between them. His thumb lifted slightly, tilting her chin, “Open.”

That one word held weight. It rolled off his tongue like a command.

And she obeyed.

Her lips parted, her mouth pliant and waiting. She just gave herself to it—whatever this was. The gravity between them. The way it pulled. Erik’s lips met hers in full this time. Hot and slow. Tongue first, pushing past the seam of her lips, tasting her, pulling her under.

Sanaa melted.

Her mouth opened wider to meet his. Their tongues met in the middle—slick and slow, sliding over each other like silk. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like he was determined to make her feel every second of it. Their lips smacked softly in the quiet of the hall. A slow grind. Deep pulls of breath between them. Sanaa’s hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into his tank top. Her head tilted to the side, and Erik followed her movement, adjusting the angle like they were dancing.

Because that’s what it felt like.

A dance.

Their mouths moved like partners—tilting, swaying, deepening. Every time they came up for air, they went right back in. Lips brushing, then sealing. Tongues swiping, teasing, pressing. His hand never left her throat. His thumb stroked slow under her chin while his other hand slid down her waist and pulled her closer. Her body molded against him now. She kissed him like she’d been waiting years for it. He tasted like power and something a little risky. Sanaa moaned again, louder this time. Erik swallowed it. Kissed her harder. He deepened the kiss, sucked her bottom lip, then dragged his tongue along it again. Her knees buckled, and he caught her with a firm hand around her waist.

“Uh uh,” he whispered into her mouth, “I got you.”

He kissed her again before she could answer. Tongue diving, then pulling back, then diving again. He kissed her like he was mapping her, like her mouth had secrets only he could read. Every soft moan, every tremble, every breath she took, she gave it to him. Their foreheads touched for a moment when they finally broke the kiss, breath mingling, lips still brushing.

Neither of them spoke. The kiss said it all. Sanaa couldn’t breathe right.

Her lips were swollen from the kiss. Her chest heaved in soft, shallow bursts. She tried to steady herself, tried to blink the haze away, but her body betrayed her. Her hands trembled. Her knees? Useless. She was trying to keep it together, but the pressure between her legs was unbearable now. It throbbed—hot, slick, begging. And she ain’t even had the dick yet. Her pussy already felt like she’d been touched and worked over and left wet and needy for more. She took a step back, hoping it would help her catch herself, but that only brought her closer to the wall and Erik followed. Didn’t even give her space to speak. He saw her trying to breathe through it. Saw her lips twitching like she wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. His gaze dipped to her chest, watching the rise and fall. Then back to her lips. His jaw ticked.

That was all the warning she got.

Suddenly, Erik’s arms were around her, solid and sure. He picked her up like she weighed nothing, gripping her thighs and hoisted her clean off the ground.

All muscle. All power.

He handled her like his arms were made for it. Because he’d been waiting for the moment he could lift her, press her against something, and kiss her breath away again. Sanaa gasped, arms wrapping around his shoulders on instinct. Her legs spread and clung around his waist, locking behind him.

“Erik—”

She barely got the name out before his mouth crashed back into hers.

This kiss wasn’t gentle.

This one was hungry.

Messy.

Hot.

Lips sliding, tongues dancing, breath stealing. He kissed her like he was feeding off her. He needed the taste of her just to breathe. Her back slammed gently against the door to her bedroom. The sudden jolt made her moan against his mouth. He gripped her tighter. One hand under her thigh, the other sliding up her back to hold the back of her head as he kissed her deeper. Tongues tangled. Lips smacked. She was losing track of where her body ended and his began. Her pussy pulsed hard behind her panties, slick and ready, soaking through the fabric and no doubt pressing into the front of his joggers. She was riding that line between need and madness now, whimpering into his mouth, clinging to him like she couldn’t get close enough.

His voice broke through the kiss in pieces, heavy against her lips, “You tryna hold it together?” he asked, his mouth brushing hers, breath hot.

Sanaa nodded against him, then shook her head, then nodded again. She didn’t know. Her brain was gone. He kissed her again. A deep, slow drag of tongue that made her stomach flip and her toes curl behind his back.

“Nah,” he breathed, “Don’t fight it. Let that shit go.”

Erik grinded against her as he said it. Letting her feel every inch of that heavy dick pressed against the throb between her legs. Sanaa moaned into his mouth again. Her legs tightened around him like a vice. She tried to hold back, tried to stay quiet, but it was impossible. He kissed her again and again and again, each time deeper, messier, wetter. Their mouths didn’t separate for more than a second. They kissed like they were possessed. Both starving and just found their first meal. The door behind her rattled. Her bedroom. She reached back blindly and fumbled for the handle. Erik chuckled against her lips, still kissing her, and grinding that big dick against her soaked core through their clothes.

“Go ‘head,” he said, dragging his lips down her jaw, “Open that door and show me where I’m ‘bout to fuck your lil’ ass up.”

Sanaa’s fingers shook as they found the handle.

Click.

The door swung open behind her. And Erik walked them in. Still holding her and kissing her like he owned every breath in her lungs.

He didn’t slam it.

He cracked it. Left it open just enough. He wanted the night to hear what was about to happen. He needed the air to move around them, carry the scent of her arousal into the walls. Sanaa’s back hit the bed gently as he laid her down. His hands lingered, holding her there for a second, palms wide on her thighs like he wasn’t ready to let go. Her chest rose, lips plump from all the kissing, her body twitching beneath him like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

She was breathless. Eyes glassy. Skin hot.

“Damn…” she whispered, blinking slow.

Erik stood over her, tall and dark in the shadows of her room, chest rising as he took in the sight of her laid out like that—hair fanned against the pillow, shirt tugged up just enough to show a strip of brown stomach, panties sticking to her soaked pussy like a second skin. He licked his bottom lip and shook his head once. Then he stepped between her legs.

She opened for him without thinking.

He reached down and grabbed her calves, both hands gripping firm, thumbs brushing over the curve of her legs. Then his hands slid lower—one to her ankle, the other to her foot. He lifted her legs gently. Set one foot on his chest. The other he held in his hand, thumbing the arch slow while watching her.

Then he kissed her ankle.

Once.

Then again.

And on the third kiss, he looked down at her and spoke.

“Why you play in your pussy and not ask for help?”

The question hit like a thud in her chest.

Sanaa’s breath caught. Her ankle twitched in his hand and her toes curled against his abs. She gave a soft smile, trying to hide the way her pussy felt like it had a heartbeat of its own.

“How would you have helped?” she asked, voice low, teasing.

Erik leaned forward, bending her legs back as he closed the space between them. His mouth hovered near hers. He spoke it, voice dragging like it was made to melt her.

“I would’ve instructed you on how to stroke it…what toy to use…how to make yourself cum.” His lips brushed hers on the last word, then trailed down to her jaw, “And when you were done?” he whispered, “I would’ve cleaned up the mess with my tongue.”

Sanaa whimpered, mouth falling open. Her hips lifted slightly, grinding up without her even meaning to. Her panties clung to her like a wet towel and Erik could feel it—smell it. It had him rock hard, that big, fat dick of his pressing heavy against the damp cotton at her center. He leaned down between her legs, thighs spreading wide around his hips as he kissed her again. Deeper this time. Sloppier. His body settled against hers. That heavy dick dragging up against her slit, the pressure making her moan into his mouth.

Sanaa arched up into it.

She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him in, her hands sliding everywhere. Over his arms—thick, veiny, strong. Over his chest—broad and warm beneath his fitted tee. Up the back of his neck—fingers slipping under his locs, rubbing slow at the base of his scalp.

“I love your body,” she said it like a confession.

Erik pulled back just enough to look down at her.

That look he gave? Made her clit jump.

He cocked his head slightly, smiling like he knew he had her trembling and couldn’t wait to make it worse.

“What you love about it, baby girl?”

Sanaa sat up, chest pressed to his, legs still parted wide around his hips. Her hands traced the dip between his pecs, then slid across his chest—her nails soft against his tank, then down to his waist. She reached beneath the fabric and slowly lifted it up, revealing the warm brown muscle beneath, the ridges of his abs, the sharp taper of his V-line. She pulled the tank over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Then she touched him again.

This time with both hands, tracing the scars that ran across his torso and arms. Her fingers moved gentle over them, no hesitation. She looked up at him the whole time—eyes low-lidded, mouth parted, her voice still that sexy hush that wrapped around him all velvety smooth.

“I love the way you move,” she said, “How strong you are. How your arms feel when you carry me.” Her palm slid across his shoulder, then down his side, “I love your scars…they feel like stories.”

Erik swallowed, jaw flexing.

Then she leaned up and kissed one of the scars near his ribs. Her lips lingered, “And I love how dangerous you are.” Her eyes rose to meet his again. Slow. Steady. Full of something that made his dick twitch between her legs, “You don’t talk much. But I can feel it…all that heat underneath.”

Erik’s breath caught in his throat. His adam’s apple bobbed.

Sanaa tilted her head, voice even softer now. Sultry. Laced in that siren energy that made men forget who they were, “You’re the kind of man who ruins a woman right. That’s why I wanted you. Why I touched myself thinking about it. Why I waited for you to make the first move.” She leaned in close, lips brushing his, “You feel like danger,” she whispered, “And I wanna feel all of it.”

Erik’s hand wrapped around the side of her neck again. Gripped it firm, thumb brushing her jaw. He kissed her. Hard this time. Hungry again. Their bodies pressed close. That thick dick grinding right against her clit through the soaked barrier of her panties. Her back arched, moaning into his mouth.

Erik pulled back for just a second. His voice dropped, “You sure, princess?”

Sanaa smiled. And said the only word he needed to hear, “Fuck yes.”

Erik kissed her like he was claiming breath from her lungs, then finally pulled back just enough to look down at her. Sanaa lay beneath him on the bed, chest rising, lips wet, eyes heavy with that quiet hunger that made him lose focus. He placed one palm flat on her stomach. Firm. Commanding.

“Take this off,” he said quietly.

But he did it for her. 

His fingers hooked into the hem of her shirt. He didn’t yank it. He lifted it slow, letting the fabric drag over her skin, letting the cool air kiss each inch that he revealed. Her stomach tensed. Her nipples hardened before he even reached them. The shirt rose up to her ribs. He leaned in and kissed the exposed skin there, soft at first, then deeper. His mouth trailed across her side, right beneath her breast. She gasped as he nipped lightly, then soothed the spot with his tongue.

He lifted the shirt higher. Her breasts spilled free.

Erik froze.

His eyes darkened, scanning every curve, every soft rise, every warm brown inch of her. He touched one breast with his fingertips, tracing the slope from the top down to her nipple. The touch was light but it woke something deep in her belly.

He brought his mouth down.

He sucked her nipple slow, drawing it between his lips. His tongue circled it. Pressure first, then a gentle pull. It made Sanaa arch, a tight breath escaping her throat. Her hands gripped his arms, fingers digging, nails dragging. Erik switched to the other nipple. He teased it with the tip of his tongue, then sucked harder. Sanaa whimpered, her thighs rubbing together, trying to calm the throb between them. He peeled the shirt off the rest of the way and tossed it aside. Then he looked at her body fully. Stretched on her bed. Glowing. Breathing fast. Ready for whatever he wanted. He slid down her body and kissed her collarbone. Then her shoulder. Then the soft spot where her neck met her shoulder. His lips lingered there, sucking gently until her breath hitched. His mouth lowered again, kissing down the center of her chest. He kissed under her breasts, along the edge of her ribs. Then he moved to her stomach. He kissed the top of it. Then the center. Then lower. His lips were warm and full against her skin. The glide of his mouth made her toes curl.

He dipped his tongue into her navel.

Sanaa moaned. A soft little sound she couldn’t hold back. Her fingers slid into his locs, gripping the thick, twisted cords, rubbing his scalp as he continued moving downward. Erik kissed the soft flesh just above her panties. His breath brushed the damp cotton, and she shivered. He kissed the left hip. Then the right. Then the inside of her left thigh. He didn’t just kiss her thighs. He worshiped them with his mouth. He opened her legs wider and kissed slowly, all the way down to her knee, then back up, tracing the line of her inner thigh with the flat of his tongue. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably. He looked up at her, saw her chest rising sharp and quick, saw her lip caught between her teeth.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I see how bad you want it.”

He kissed the right thigh the same way. Long, wet, dragging kisses that made her hips jump. Her hands tightened in his locs. She tugged at the roots. Scraped his scalp lightly with her nails. He groaned into her skin. When he lifted his head, his mouth was inches from her center. He pressed his face there, right against her pussy through the fabric.

And inhaled deep like he wanted her scent in his lungs. Sanaa let out a broken sound, her hips rising into his face, needing more contact.

“Smell so damn sweet,” he said against her. His warm breath spread through the soaked cotton, “you been wet long enough. Marinated long enough,” He chuckled softly. 

She moaned again, fingers tightening in his locs.

Erik hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties, “Lift your hips.”

She obeyed instantly. Like her body was wired to follow directions.

He pulled the panties down slow. Painfully slow. The fabric peeled away from her pussy, sticking slightly from how wet she was, stretching, then snapping free.

He froze.

The panties stayed between his fingers, hanging useless, because he could not look away from what he saw. Her pussy glistened in the low light. Warm brown lips full and soft. Slightly parted from how swollen she was. Her inner lips peeked out, darker, slick with clear arousal. A drop fell as he watched. Another followed behind it, sliding down toward the curve of her ass.

He raised his brows, “Goddamn.”

His voice was low. Rough. Real.

Her pussy looked tender and inviting. Puffy with heat. Shiny and wet. Beautiful in a way that pulled his breath straight from him.

He looked up at her before he spoke, “You this wet for me?”

Sanaa nodded, eyes glossy. He let the panties fall to the floor. Erik slid his hands under the backs of her thighs and lifted them, opening her wider, exposing everything.

He stared.

Then he spoke it, “This the prettiest pussy I ever seen.” His voice dropped lower, almost like he was confessing something he couldn’t hold, “Puffy. Look at how it’s glistenin.” He ran one finger along her outer lips, barely touching, watching the wetness coat his skin, “You stayin wet like this for me…” He shook his head. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ drip like this.”

He pressed two fingers to her entrance. Her pussy opened for him.

Stretching.

Welcoming.

Sanaa gasped.

Erik licked his lips, “Yeah,” he whispered, “You perfect. A nigga could lose his mind between these legs.” He lowered his head until his mouth hovered right above her center, “Spread yourself for me, baby,” he said, “Lemme see you open.”

Sanaa’s hands trembled as she reached down and parted herself.

Erik inhaled again.

Then his tongue slowly descended.

Erik lowered his head and let the tip of his tongue barely touch her. One flick. Right over the top of her clit. Not a lick. A wet flick. A warm, precise, taunting stroke that sent a sharp jolt through her hips. Sanaa gasped, thighs twitching. Her back arched off the bed just enough to chase more contact, but Erik pulled back.

Just like that.

He bit his lip and sat back on his heels, eyes glued to her pussy like it was his favorite thing he’d ever seen.

And honestly? It might’ve been.

That drip…fuck...

It slid from her again. Clear. A warm, sweet string of arousal that leaked from her swollen folds and shined in the low light like melted sugar. He reached up, scrubbed a hand down his beard, jaw tight, eyes heavy with lust. His lips parted slightly, tongue peeking out to taste the last of her off his mouth.

Then he exhaled, real low, “Shit.”

His voice had that Oakland weight to it now—gritty, smooth, full of bass and control. He leaned in just enough to speak against her slick lips, breath hot and filthy.

“How you touch this pretty pussy, baby?”

Sanaa didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to.

Her hands moved down between her thighs, slow and deliberate. French-tipped nails—soft pink, perfectly shaped—grazed her inner thighs first. Then she reached lower and spread herself open again.

Her fingers were glossy within seconds.

She slid two over her clit in slow, small circles, eyes never leaving Erik’s. Her head tilted slightly to the side, mouth open just enough to breathe. She rested on her elbows, legs bent, toes curled. Her body moved with the rhythm of her own fingers. Gentle rolls of her hips, each one drawing a soft sound from her throat. Needy. Angelic.

“You watching?” she whispered, voice sticky with heat.

Erik’s jaw clenched. His eyes stayed on her hand. The way her fingers moved, the way she pulled her folds apart, then spread the wetness down and circled again for a slicker glide. It was a performance, but not for applause.

It was for him. All for him. Fot thr man she'd daydreamed would see her spread open and waiting. wanting. Like she was his ultimate present.

“Mmm,” he growled low, “That’s it. Rub on that clit, greedy girl.”

Sanaa moaned.

She tilted her hips again, her fingers stroking tighter circles now, teasing the peak, pressing into it like she needed to cum from just that alone. Her thighs trembled slightly. Her breaths came quicker; faster.

“There you go…” Erik said, voice full of grit, “Make that pussy feel good.”

Her brows pinched like she was already close. Her other hand came up to cup her breast, pinching the nipple, lips parting in a breathy moan. Eyelids fluttering soft.

“Look at your fine ass…” he said, licking his lips slow, “This what you do when you think about me?”

She nodded, eyes hazy, locked on his like she was drunk off lust. Her fingers never stopped moving.

“Yeah, you be playin in that pussy, huh?” Erik grinned, watching her squirm, “All quiet in the house, rubbin on that clit thinkin’ bout this big dick?”

“Uh huh,” she moaned, rolling her hips again.

He leaned in slightly, close enough to feel the heat off her, “Show me more then ,” he said, “Spread that fuckin' mess. Let me see how wet you stay for me.”

Sanaa’s fingers dipped down, slid through her folds, then up again. The shine on her hand was ridiculous.

“Good girl,” Erik praised, voice heavier now, “Good girllll…yeah, that’s it. That's it good girl...mmm...”

His eyes dropped back down to her center, lips parted. He dragged a hand over his mouth again like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His tongue peeked out and ran across the edge of his lip.

“Goddamn.”

She was dripping. Actively. Wetness gliding over her fingers. Gliding over her folds. Thick, warm, glistening. Her pussy looked edible. Fat, warm brown lips parting just enough to reveal the deeper blush of her inner folds. Everything was glossy. Her clit was peeking, swollen, begging for more pressure. Her fingers spread her open again, and Erik let out a groan from deep in his chest.

“You got the prettiest fuckin pussy I ever seen, girl.” He shook his head again, breathing heavy, “I’m talkin’…this shit got character to it” He reached out and pressed two fingers gently against her thigh, steadying himself like he needed to ground his body before he lost it, “Pussy got some memory. I can tell. won't ever forget this”

Sanaa’s breathing turned shaky, her lips parting again as she kept rubbing soft and slow.

“You tryna make me eat it or what, huh?” he asked, voice all gravel and temptation.

She nodded, biting her lip.

He smirked, “Nah,” he said, “You ain’t askin’ right. What I tell you ‘bout that? open your mouth”

Sanaa locked eyes with him, still rubbing, voice barely there, “Eat it, Daddy. Please eat it...”

Erik’s face changed.

Sanaa’s fingers were still glistening when she pulled them from between her thighs. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air now—sweet and warm, dripping with heavy lust, the kind of wet-wet that left streaks on her inner thighs and sticky glimmers on her skin.

Erik didn’t even have to ask.

She raised her hand to his mouth, still leaned back on her elbows, hair falling over her shoulder in that silk-pressed curtain that framed her face just right. Her lips parted, teeth catching the corner of her bottom lip. That quiet freak energy wrapped around her like perfume. No theatrics. Just power. And that power was real.

She held her fingers out to him. Shiny. Wet. Beautiful.

“Come get it,” she whispered softly.

Erik leaned forward, gaze locked on hers. His mouth opened slow. He pulled two of her fingers between his lips and sucked.

His tongue glided between the pads of her fingers, tasting the mess she made for him. He moaned low—barely audible but heavy with need—and closed his eyes for a second like it was better than anything he’d ever had on his tongue.

“Shit,” he spoke with a low rasp under his breath when her fingers slipped free.

Sanaa just smiled. Bit her lip again. Her legs spread wider. She lay back, still propped up on her elbows, legs bent at the knees. Her pussy glistened like a flower blooming in sunlight—folds soft and full, parted just enough to show off the glossy blush of her inner lips. It looked kissed already. Sticky and warm. Nectar pooling and dripping down like a puddle.

Erik slid down the bed and settled between her legs.

He didn’t dive in. He had a routine. A rhythm. A way he did this that couldn’t be rushed. He didn’t eat pussy like a boy still trying to impress. He ate it like he knew the power of it—how to control it, how to command it, how to unlock the kind of orgasm that rewired a woman’s brain. The shit was an art form.

He started with kisses.

Not just kisses—ticklish kisses. Featherlight. Barely there. The type of kiss that made goosebumps rise over your skin. The first one landed just above her clit. Not on it. The next? Just to the side. Then another on her inner thigh. Then right at the curve of her folds. His lips moved like he was tracing the shape of her pussy with his mouth. Each kiss sent sharp little sparks dancing down her thighs, curling into her toes.

Sanaa gasped. Then whimpered. Her thighs jerked, “Baby…” she moaned out.

Erik smirked against her skin. He kissed her clit next. Not a suck. Not even pressure. Just a warm, slow peck.

Then another. Slower.

Sanaa’s stomach clenched. Her elbows dug into the mattress, trying to keep her grounded.

Then came the licks.

His tongue flattened and dragged upward, slow and wide, collecting every drop of wetness from the bottom of her slit to the tip of her clit. He tasted her like he’d been waiting months. The sound of his tongue sliding through her folds was filthy. He ain't wanna miss a drop.

And she was soaked. Dripping wet. It didn’t matter how much he licked—there was more. Every time his tongue made contact, a new stream coated her lips. It was like her pussy was responding to him directly. Like it knew he was worthy and wanted to give him everything. Her folds opened more under his tongue. Swollen. Shiny. Beautiful. Like butterfly wings slick with nectar. Erik couldn't believe how good she tasted.

He pulled back for a second just to look. Licked his lips slow, “Fuck…”

Then he leaned in again. He parted her with his thumbs, exposing the soft pink flesh beneath. Then he sucked.

Soft. Tight. Right on the clit.

Sanaa’s entire body twitched. Her hips tilted off the bed like she was trying to get more of it—trying to grind into his face.

“Unh…” she moaned, voice all air and ache.

Erik held her thighs steady. Gave another slow, wet suck.

“You like that, huh?” he asked, voice low and gritty, “When I suck you like that? Right on that clit?”

Sanaa’s lips curled into a half smile. She bit her bottom lip again, chest heaving, legs trembling, “Yes, daddy,” she said, soft and sexy, hips tilting toward his mouth.

He chuckled deep, “I could suck all this wet off you and it’ll just come right back, huh?”

Sanaa nodded. Licked her lips. Her voice was like silk, “Cuz you make my pussy so wet,” she whispered, “It’s crazy…”

Erik sucked again. Softer this time. Slower. The sound of it echoed in the room—wet, filthy, perfect.

“Ain’t gotta worry if this dick gon’ slide in,” he said against her clit, “You already know it is, don't you?”

“Mhm…” she breathed, hips rocking gentle now. Her hands gripped the sheets, fingers twitching.

He kissed her again. Licked again. Sucked again.

Real slow. Real patient.

He was edging her. Dragging her to the edge then pulling back. Letting her drip. Letting her cream. Letting her feel every bit of it until her thighs were shaking and her voice was catching in her damn throat.

He wasn’t in a rush. He was about to teach her what it really meant to be eaten. Cuz ain't no way she knew. And her body told on her.

Sanaa didn’t know how long he’d been eating her. It could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time melted the second Erik laid his mouth on her pussy. And now she was shaking. Soft moans spilling from her lips like her breath couldn’t keep up. Her body was right there—right on the edge—but Erik refused to let her go over. Edging her until he was satisfied.

He kept switching it up.

One moment, he was sucking—slow, wet, focused right on the hood of her clit. Soft pulls that sent heat zipping down her thighs, into her spine. Then he’d pause. Lick along her folds like he was just tasting for fun, dragging his tongue flat from bottom to top, barely touching that swollen center. Then he’d pull back and let her feel that absence. That ache. That almost.

Sanaa was trembling.

Her thighs kept clenching. Her hips couldn’t stay still. Her clit was throbbing—tight and swollen and begging for pressure. But Erik wasn’t giving in.

She whimpered. Rolled her hips again. Tried to catch his mouth. He pulled back and looked up at her, lips glossy, beard wet. His locs brushed her thighs as he shook his head slightly, “Ain’t had it like this before,” he said, voice low, gravel thick in his throat, “Look at the way you feedin’ this pussy to me.”

Sanaa moaned again—long, high-pitched and helpless.

Erik’s voice dipped even deeper, teasing and demanding all at once, “Grab me by the hair and feed me then…since you wanna be so fuckin’ greedy, girl.”

Sanaa’s hands dove into his hair like it was instinct. Both palms spread across his scalp, fingers gripping thick locs and pulling him into her pussy with a desperation she couldn’t hide. She tilted her hips just right, parting her thighs wider, shifting her center until her clit was perfectly seated against his mouth.

Erik groaned into her. Deep. Primal.

Then he licked. Not just a flick. Not a tease. He dragged his tongue up her slit in one long, firm stroke, then did it again—steady pressure, no breaks, no games. His hands grabbed her thighs and held them in place while he worked. Mouth open, tongue flattened, licking her from the inside out.

Sanaa gasped.

Then she started to ride.

Little movements at first. Hips lifting, rocking slow against the line of his tongue. Erik let her. He kept his mouth open, his tongue steady, letting her rub that clit wherever she needed.

And when she started grinding harder? When that pussy dragged with more force?

He slurped. Wet. Loud. Nasty. He wrapped his lips around her clit mid-grind and sucked.

Sanaa cried out. Her back arched. Her thighs shook.

“Keep eating my pussy…” she whimpered, voice high and broken. Needy. Desperate. 

Erik sucked again, messier this time. His beard was soaked. His jaw flexed with every pull of her slick folds into his mouth.

Sanaa whimpered again. Then whispered, “Couldn’t wait for you to put those lips on me…”

Her voice was soft. Shaky. Full of that quiet ache that only came when a woman was losing control. Erik groaned against her. The vibration made her hips jerk. Made her legs try to close around his head. Made her breath hitch.

He held her open. Firm. Kept licking. Kept sucking on everything he could. Kept pulling those breathy moans right out of her chest like he was making music from her body. Sanaa’s head fell back. Her moans didn’t stop now. They were continuous. Light and airy, one after the next, like she couldn’t catch her breath between the waves of pleasure.

Her toes curled. Her fingers twisted in his locs.

And then she felt it. That creaming feeling.

It didn’t crash into her like an orgasm. It crept. Slow and intense.

A slow roll of warmth that started deep inside and spread outward. Her pussy started leaking thicker. Wetter. The glide against his lips turned slippery and heavy. Her clit swelled even more, and the pressure built like a drumbeat in her lower belly. Her pussy fluttered. She felt herself cream. Her muscles felt as if they were locking. Warm and thick, coating his mouth, his tongue, her own thighs.

She was still being edged and held on the brink. But her body didn’t care. It started giving him everything anyway. Giving in.

Erik pulled back just an inch. Just enough to let the mess drip down. Then he looked up at her again, eyes half-lidded, full of heat, “You feel that, baby girl?” he asked, licking his lips slow, “You creamin’ for me, greedy girl?”

Sanaa moaned so loud it turned into a broken whimper. She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks from the intensity, “I need it…” she whispered. “Please.”

Erik’s lips curved into a slow, filthy smile. Then he lowered his mouth again, “Say less, lil’ mama.” 

Sanaa’s body was trembling.

She had one fist tangled in Erik’s locs, the other gripping the sheet beside her like her life depended on it. Her thighs wouldn’t stay still—kept flexing, twitching, trying to close around his head. But he had her. One thick arm slung across her lower stomach, holding her down. The other? He slid his fingers in. Slow. Two of them. Thick fingers that stretched her out like a dick. Her pussy swallowed him easy, wetness dragging down his knuckles before he even got halfway. That first push had her moaning—soft and high, like it caught her off guard.

But then he curled them.

Just right.

His fingertips pressed deep against her front wall, slow, measured strokes that dragged across her most sensitive spot like he knew exactly where to touch. The angle. The pressure. The rhythm.

Sanaa choked on a moan. Her back arched. Her breath stuttered. Her thighs started shaking harder. Erik smirked against her skin. He licked her clit once. Then again. Then again.

And then sucked.

All while his fingers pumped deep, curling every time he pulled back, like he wanted to draw her orgasm out by hand. The sound between her legs was filthy.

Wet. Sloppy. Creamy.

Every stroke made that mess louder. Slick fingers gliding in and out, dragging her cream with them, strings of it clinging between his knuckles and her folds. Her pussy pulsed around his fingers like it was begging to be filled and stetched.

“Yeah,” Erik rasped, licking her clit again, “You hear that shit?”

Sanaa moaned long and cracked, like her breath gave out halfway through.

“You fuckin’ creamy, baby,” he whispered against her, “Drippin all on my hand.”

He sucked her clit again but slower this time. Then he curled his fingers harder.

Sanaa yelped.

The sound shot out of her throat, then dissolved into a breathy moan. Her eyes rolled, mouth falling open, lips slick with spit. She was losing it. She tried to speak. Tried to say his name. But all that came out were broken little whimpers and gasps. She bit her lip hard. Tried to focus. But she couldn’t. Not when his fingers were stroking that spot like a rhythm, a pattern, a pressure designed to ruin her and her only. Not when his mouth was glued to her clit, tongue flicking in circles, then flattening, then sucking her swollen bud while his fingers fucked her. Especially not when her pussy was making a mess all over his hand, his mouth, the bed beneath her.

She whimpered pathetically.

Erik chuckled, tongue teasing again, “Aww,” he cooed, “My baby can’t talk?”

Sanaa shook her head, tears in the corners of her eyes. He kept going. Fingers pumping, curling. Tongue licking.

Then his voice dropped into something darker, “Say you want it.”

She tried. Her lips moved. No sound.

Erik kissed her clit, then pressed deep with his fingers, “Uh uh…say it with your pussy then.”

Her body responded.

Hard.

She clenched so tight around his fingers it made his breath catch. Cream poured out around them, sticky and wet, dripping down her crack, smearing across his palm.

Erik groaned into her, “Shit, baby…this pussy talk better than your mouth. Ain't that some shit?”

She squealed. Eyes crossing. Legs jerking. She was stuck. Sanaa was right there. Right there. Her clit pulsed under his tongue. Her pussy clenched around his fingers like it was starving for release. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking, her stomach was tight, her moans were high and strained, leaking out one after the next like she was breaking apart breath by breath.

And Erik knew it.

He felt it in the grip of her body. He felt it in the thick cream sliding down his hand, in the way her pussy clutched and fluttered, trying to force the nut out without permission. He pulled his mouth from her clit, let his breath run hot over it instead. His fingers didn’t stop moving—but they slowed. Deep curls now. Pressure. Precision. Just enough to make her lose her damn mind without pushing her over the edge.

“Open your mouth,” Erik said, voice low and sharp, “Tell me what you want.”

Sanaa whimpered. Eyes glossy, face twisted in agony. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She was shaking her head, trying to breathe, trying to speak—but her body was wrecked.

“You been wantin’ this, right?” he continued, fingers still stroking,  “Been rubbin that pretty pussy thinkin’ about this tongue? This dick?”

Her lip trembled. Tears welled up and slipped down the sides of her face.

Erik kissed her clit again. Once. Real soft. Then he growled, “Open that mouth and say it. Closed mouths don't get fed.”

Sanaa’s breath hitched. Her hips jerked. She grabbed the sheets with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, trying to hold back the sob bubbling in her throat. But it was too much. Too much pressure. Too much edging. Erik saw her body start to seize, felt her cunt tighten hard around his fingers.

He stopped. Froze. And gave her a warning with a brow lifted.

“You push that nut out,” he said, deep and deliberate, “I’ma spank that ass.”

Sanaa whimpered again. A high-pitched sound full of pain and need. She clenched everything—legs, pussy, jaw—trying to fight it.

But she was desperate. So fucking close. She dropped her hand from her mouth and finally begged.

“Please,” she cried, voice cracking. “Please let me cum—please, Erik—Daddy—I need it—oh my God—I need it so bad—please don’t stop—please, I’ll be good—I’ll say whatever you want—just please…”

It came out all at once. Pathetic. Broken. Slurred through moans and sobs. Tears rolled down her cheeks now. Her mouth stayed open, shaking with every breath. She didn’t care how she sounded. She didn’t care how she looked.

She was begging for real.

Erik exhaled through his nose and leaned over her, voice low, close, thick with control, “Damn, mamas…” His fingers started moving again. Deeper. Slower. Curling right into that soft, soaked spot that had her clenching all over again, “I’m diggin in this pussy good, huh?”

Sanaa cried out—high and breathy. He slid back between her legs, kissed her clit softly while his fingers stroked slow and deep.

“That’s a good girl, That's my good little slut,” he whispered, tongue flicking her clit just enough to make her back arch, “Keep your legs open. Let me give you what you want.”

Her legs parted wider. Her hips tilted up. Her breath caught. And then...

“Cum for me,” Erik said.

And her whole body snapped. Her back arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry. Pussy clenching so hard around his fingers it pushed cream out in waves. Her thighs trembled. Her clit pulsed beneath his tongue. Her moans were messy, unfiltered—one long stream of 

“ohmygodohmygodohmygod—Daddy—yes—fuck—yes—”

She came like her body couldn’t hold it anymore. Like the climax of an electric guitar.

Hard. Deep. Shaking. Her cream coated his fingers. Her pussy pulsed around them, wetness gushing, soaking his palm, the sheets, her thighs. And Erik just kept licking. Slow. Gentle. While she fell apart beneath him.

It was still happening. She was still cumming. Body shaking. Still losing herself in wave after wave of heat, pressure, release. Sanaa curled in on herself without meaning to—knees drawn in, arms folding across her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. But her body betrayed her. Her thighs trembled. Her feet flexed, pointed, curled again. Her back arched slightly, then trembled as it fell. Her hands opened and closed against the sheets. Her lip was quivering, bitten raw, and her eyes were squeezed shut like she was trying to survive something or remember it forever. Her moans had quieted. But her body was still screaming. Tears dried on her cheeks.

Erik didn’t say a word. He just looked at her. Looked down on her with an intensity so raw.

Looked at the way her legs twitched every time her pussy fluttered. Looked at the way her nipples stayed pebbled, trembling with the rise and fall of her breath. Looked at the tears streaking down her temples, the wild scatter of her silk press, her thighs glossy with cream, her lips parted but speechless. She looked ruined. Pretty. Small. Shaken. Like she had just been unlocked from the inside and didn’t know how to settle back into herself. Her pussy clenched around nothing, fluttering open and closed, messy with his saliva and her wetness, folds gleaming and tender.

Erik sat back on his heels. Silent. Watching. Breathing steady. His dick was so hard. Thick and pulsing and curved up in his joggers like it was ready to take what his mouth had primed. He didn’t even touch himself. He wanted to watch. He wanted to see what it looked like when his baby girl broke. When all that wet and all that cream came to the surface and shattered her. And he loved the way she tried to hide her face in the crook of her elbow. Cute. Real cute.

He reached forward and gently pulled her arm down, “Let me see you.”

She opened her eyes slowly. Glassy. Glowing. Doe eyed.

“Breathe,” he said.

She did. Barely. And Erik just watched her come back to earth. One breath at a time. He picked her up like she weighed nothing. All that slim-thick softness trembling in his hands, limp and light now that her body had been emptied out. Erik sat down at the edge of the bed and brought her with him, settling her in his lap, straddling him. Her legs draped over his thighs. Her bare, glossy pussy rested right against the thick ridge of his dick still straining inside his joggers. Sanaa’s arms hung loose around his shoulders. Her head leaned forward. She was still dazed. Trying to breathe. Her heart fluttered against his chest.

He kissed her, slow pecks to her lips. One. Another. Then another, right at the corner of her mouth. Big hands glided up and down her sides, from her waist to her thighs to her ass, grounding her. Stroking her like she was still coming down from a high and she was. Her skin was warm, flushed. Her mouth slightly parted. Her lashes fluttered low like she could barely keep her eyes open. She could hardly keep her head balanced.

“Catch your breath,” he said low, Another kiss, “Good girl…”

She inhaled like her lungs just started working again. Her eyes blinked open. Her mouth twitched into a hazy, breathy smile. Erik’s hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb stroking softly under her cheek.

“Wasn’t prepared for that, huh?” he said with that slick, knowing tone, “I know it. You ain't even gotta tell me.”

Sanaa whimpered in response. A breathy sound. Embarrassed. Wrecked. She shook her head just a little, but her body stayed slumped against his chest. Erik looked at her like he had every right to. Like she was his. Because he just unlocked something he knew nobody else had ever touched. He slid his thumb over her bottom lip and dragged it slow.

“What I tell you ‘bout all that tough talk?” he asked.

Sanaa didn't have the words. Her eyes were low. Lips swollen. Chest rising and falling with a shaky inhalation. Erik tilted her chin up just enough to make her look at him.

“Hmm?”

She blinked. Then finally, her lips curled, “…I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ else.”

He chuckled, low and deep, dimple's slightly peeking, “Yeah, aight.”

Then he kissed her again. But this one lingered. It was open mouths, warm tongues, his hand on the back of her head, holding her close. And when she moaned into his mouth, it was soft. Grateful. Weak. Like she was thanking him without saying a word. He could feel her pussy. Still blazing. The wet between her legs pressed right up against him. Bare pussy soft and creamy on the thick print of his dick through those joggers, still hard, still untouched. Erik didn’t move or grind up into her. He just held her in his lap and let her feel it. Let her sit right on it. One big hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb sliding slow along her nape. The other stroked down her spine, all the way to the small of her back. He kissed her again. Just lips brushing hers, lazy pecks, like he had nowhere to be but here.

Sanaa let out the quietest sigh.

Her body was still trembling a little. Her muscles tender. She was too sensitive. Her clit still tingled. She didn’t know if she could take more, but she wanted it, wanted him. She wanted to feel the weight of him inside her. And now the ache was growing again. She shifted in his lap. Just a little. Just enough to feel that pressure tease her slit. That thick ridge nudging her folds through the fabric. It made her pulse deep in her core. Her lashes fluttered. Her arms tightened faintly around his shoulders.

Erik smirked, “You tryna get it started again?” His voice was smooth, rich. Teasing.

Sanaa shook her head once, but it was a lie. The kind of soft, guilty lie that showed all over her face. She glanced down, like she couldn’t meet his eyes. Her lip was caught between her teeth again. Her thighs squeezed just slightly around him, embarrassed. Because she was dripping. Again. Wet all over his clothes. The mess between her legs was so obvious. Sticky, warm. And he ain't get in her pussy again.

He stroked her waist with both hands now. Then leaned in, nose brushing hers, “You just came, pretty girl,” he whispered, his lips hovering, “Body still shakin’…pussy still twitchin’…and you want more?"

Sanaa let out the smallest whimper.

He kissed the corner of her mouth again. His hands slid down to her hips. Held her there. Right above his dick. But didn’t let her grind. He just held her still.

“You want more, huh?”

She stayed quiet.

He tilted her head with his thumb under her chin.

“I said…you want more?”

Her eyes met his.

They were so pretty. Glazed. Her lips parted. Her voice was the quietest it had ever been.

“…yes.”

Erik grinned. That smug, deep grin like she just gave him the world. But he still didn’t move.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning in slow, lips brushing her cheek, “You was talkin’ all that big girl shit earlier. Got real quiet now.”

Sanaa let her head fall forward to hide against his neck. She nodded against him, lips pressed to his skin.

“Say it then,” he said, voice dropping. “Say what you want.”

She shook her head again, giggling soft in that breathless, bashful way. Too embarrassed to say it out loud.

He gripped her ass tighter.

“Open that pretty mouth and ask for it, baby.”

She lifted her face. Looked him dead in the eye, still shy, “I want it,” she whispered, “I want you.”

Erik leaned in closer, lips grazing hers. His hands slid up her back, fingertips teasing her skin, “You want this dick, huh?” he rasped.

Sanaa nodded. But that wasn’t enough.

He pulled back just enough to see her mouth move, “I wanna hear you say it. Say it like a good girl.”

She swallowed. Her voice was like syrup now. Sweet, needy, “Please, Erik…I want your dick.”

He kissed her once. Deep. Then pulled back and whispered against her lips.

“Good girl.”

By the time Erik pushed her back onto the bed, Sanaa was already shaking with need.

From the way his hands handled her like he’d been starving and she was the first real meal he’d seen in years. He slid her down the mattress until her ass was right at the edge, thighs spread wide. Her pussy was open and slick, lips swollen and shining, already overstimulated from what he’d done to her minutes before.

She had already came once. Twice. Lost count. 

Hard.

Her body still buzzing from it. Legs weak. Core trembling. That aftershock warmth still rolling through her like heat trapped under skin.

And Erik wasn’t satisfied. He needed more.

He dropped to his knees slow, big body lowering between her legs like it belonged there. His hands grabbed her thighs, thick fingers digging in, scars catching the light as he spread her wider. He leaned in close, breath hot against her pussy, close enough that she could feel him smile without seeing it. His beard tickled her.

“Aww, this lil pussy still jumpin? You that fuckin needy, huh?” Voice low, lips wet, tongue already sliding again like he ain’t give a fuck about her being overstimulated, “I just made you nut, and you still twitchin like you ain’t had enough. Greedy girl... so greedy.”

His tongue flattened out and dragged up her slit, slow and thick, from bottom to top, collecting everything she had to give. Sanaa cried out, hips jumping forward on instinct.

He caught her.

Strong hands pinned her thighs back, folding her open even more, holding her exactly where he wanted her. His mouth went right back to work, tongue circling her clit, slow at first, then tighter, firmer, like he was drawing patterns just to see how loud he could make her.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, fingers tangling in his locs.

He groaned into her pussy, the sound vibrating through her, making her thighs shake harder. He sucked her clit into his mouth, lips closing around it, tongue flicking fast now, mean and precise. Like he was mad at it. Like he was taking something out on her. Stealing her soul through her slippery tongue.

“You thought I was gon’ let shit slide?” he said against her, voice muffled, nasty, “After you had me hard like that? After you teased me? Like I wasn’t gon’ get you?”

She tried to pull away, the sensation too much, her body begging for mercy even while her pussy clenched around nothing.

He followed her. Stayed right there.

Kept his mouth locked on her, tongue deep, lips slick, sucking and slurping like he was trying to drain her. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her just enough to keep her right where he wanted her, sliding her closer to the edge when she tried to scoot back.

“Nope,” he said, calm as hell,  “Where you goin? Didn't I say I was gon' get you?”

She sobbed, back arching, legs trembling in his grip. Her pussy throbbed, oversensitive, aching, begging for another release even though her body was still recovering from the last one.

“I’m tryin’—I’m tryna take it, I swear I am…” she cried. 

“That’s fear talkin’. Pussy know better.” He tongued her like she owed him rent, “You started this. Now take what’s comin’.”

His tongue moved lower, dipping into her, licking her wet, greedy ass pussy like he was tasting her for the first time and the last time all at once. He ate her like he hadn’t had pussy in years, like he was trying to make up for lost time, mouth messy, sounds obscene, saliva mixing with her slick until everything was wet and loud.

Sanaa screamed.

Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling hard, but he didn’t budge. Flinch. Just tightened his grip on her thighs and kept going, scarred arms flexing as he held her open and helpless beneath his mouth.

“Still fuckin cryin. Still needy. That lil pussy talkin like she want another one. So I’ma give it to her.” he said, voice low and filthy. 

Her pussy clenched hard, body betraying her again, another wave building too fast, too strong.

“Please,” she whimpered, barely a word, “P-P-Please…”

He smiled against her.

“That’s it,” he said, “Say it like that.”

Then he went back in, tongue ruthless, mouth full of her, sucking, licking, slurping like he was trying to pull her soul through her pussy. Her legs locked around his shoulders as she came again, harder this time, body going tight then loose, a broken sound tearing out of her chest.

He dragged it once through her slick, tasting her again like he wanted to remind her whose mouth this was. Sanaa gasped, a sharp sound tearing out of her chest as her hips levitated off the bed without permission.

Then he found her clit.

And that’s when she damn near lost her mind.

His tongue flicked over it precise. Strong. Controlled. Each stroke purposeful and full of intent, like he knew exactly how much pressure to use to make her unravel. He hit it again. Same spot. Same rhythm. Then switched it up just enough to keep her from getting used to it.

“Ooh, fuuuuck,” she cried, voice cracking, eyes squeezing shut.

He groaned low, mouth never leaving her. His tongue moved with gusto now, fast flicks followed by slow, heavy presses. He circled her clit tight, then flattened his tongue over it and dragged it back and forth with purpose, like he was trying to rub the sound out of her. Her legs shook hard in his grip, muscles trembling like they were about to give out.

“Ain’t even fuckin and you breakin. You sure you built for this?”

He sucked her clit into his mouth for half a second, just enough to make her yelp, then went right back to flicking it, tongue snapping over that little bundle of nerves with strength that made her whole body jolt. Sanaa sobbed, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, chest heaving, “I can’t take it,” she whined, hips rocking desperately into his mouth.

He didn’t let her move. His scarred arms locked her in place, palms pressing her thighs back, holding her open like this was exactly where she belonged. Every time she tried to squirm away, he followed her without missing a beat, tongue staying right on her clit like it was magnetized. Like it was glued to it.

“Nowhere to go,” he told her calmly, “You stay right here and feel this.”

His tongue worked her relentlessly. Flick. Flick. Slow press. Flick again. He switched the rhythm just when she thought she was about to explode, teasing her on purpose, keeping her right on the edge. The sensation was sharp and overwhelming, her clit pulsing under his mouth, begging for release even while it burned from how sensitive she was.

She cried openly now, soft broken sounds spilling out of her as her body shook beneath him, “Please,” she gasped. “Please, Erik.”

He groaned deep in his chest and went in harder, tongue moving faster, stronger, flicking her clit with strokes that made her vision blur. He licked her like he was angry at the time he’d gone without, like he was reclaiming something he’d already decided was his.

Her pussy clenched hard. Her back arched. Her cry turned loud as another orgasm ripped through her, body locking up, thighs shaking uncontrollably in his grip. Erik stayed right there on that spot, tongue still working her through it, jaw damn near locked, not letting up until she was completely undone, sobbing and shaking at the edge of the bed.

Her whole body was vibrating from the way he tore her up with that mouth. Sanaa had never been ate like that. Like he meant it and he was on a mission to take her apart and leave nothing behind but trembles and whimpers.

But it was what she saw next that really fucked her up.

Erik stood tall at the edge of the bed, his body carved like sin. Muscles tight. Scarred. Every inch of him looked like something designed to be feared and fucked. Deep ridges of healed wounds cut across his chest and abs, trailing down in chaotic beauty. His skin was rich—dark, smooth, gold-toned in places where the light caught him, that brown so pure it made her mouth water. A walked god.

And then he slid those damn sweats down.

Sanaa sat up fast, breath catching in her throat.

That dick…It was stupid.

Thick and long, heavy, the kind of dick that made you stop and blink just to make sure your eyes weren’t lying. The base was wide, sitting on a smooth trim of dark curls low cut, clean, just enough left to make it masculine. A faint scent of his skin, sweat, and that deep musk from his body hit her nose and made her clench all over again. The shaft was darker than the rest of him, with veins running up the sides, thick and raised, pulsing. He was hard. Rock hard. And the tip?

Sanaa damn near whimpered.

The head was plush, flushed deep burgundy, almost swollen from how hard he was. A thick drop of precum sat right at the tip, glistening, heavy, already threatening to spill down. That shit looked edible. Glossy. Beautiful. It curved just a little to the left, mean and perfect, the kind of dick you dreamed about but didn’t believe existed in real life. She was at eye level now. Kneeling on the bed, lips parted, dizzy from everything. Dizzy from the taste of herself still on her tongue. Dizzy from the fact that this dick—that big dick—was hers now. To play with. She couldn't be more excited.

Erik grinned down at her, lazy and cocky, his voice low, “Yeah?” he said, eyes locked on her, “You like this dick?”

Sanaa nodded, couldn’t even lie. Her mouth was already watering. He gripped the base with one hand and slapped the tip against his abs once, then let it drop—heavy—the weight of it alone made the air shift.

“Bigger in person, huh?” he smirked.

Her thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

“You want it?” he asked, “Come talk to it. Put it where it belong.”

She crawled closer, hands shaking, one rising to touch the thick base of him, fingers wrapping around but not quite meeting. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.

He tilted his head, “Open that pretty mouth.”

She obeyed. Tongue out. He tapped the tip against her tongue once. Precum smeared on her lips, salty and warm, and her eyes fluttered.

“Good girl,” he said low, “You ready to learn?”

She nodded again, whimpering now.

“I’ma teach you how I like it sucked,” he said. “Take your time on my shit, girl. Slow.”

She wrapped her lips around the head, careful. Tucking her lips. The warmth of him filled her mouth, the size of it pushing her jaw wide already. Her tongue circled the crown, teasing the slit where he was still leaking. She moaned, loved how he tasted—clean, masculine, deep. She sucked slow, hollowing her cheeks, eyes fluttering shut as she took more in.

He groaned above her. A deep, rumbling sound from his chest, “Yeah… just like that,” he whispered, “There you go, baby. Suck it slow. Feel all of it.”

She eased down further, struggling a little with the stretch, but her hand stroked the base where her mouth couldn’t reach. Her spit dripped down the shaft already. She pulled off, let the head pop free with a wet sound, then licked up the underside, tongue tracing that vein like she was memorizing it.

Erik’s hand came down, gripped her head firm, “You want me to fuck your throat?” he asked, breath ragged, “Slow?”

She whimpered, nodding fast.

“You take this whole dick, I’ma lose my mind, Bri. I swear.”

She opened wide again, let him guide her back down, slower this time. Her lips stretched, jaw aching in the best way. He let her take control for a moment, let her find her rhythm—messy, wet, devoted—before he rocked his hips once, just a little, and her moan vibrated around him.

“Damn,” he hissed, “You tryna make me nut already?”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy, spit dripping from her chin. His dick slid out, covered in it.

He slapped it against her tongue again, “Keep goin’,” he growled, “I’m not done teachin’ you how to take me.”

She was takin’ her time with it.

Lips wrapped slow around the thick head of his dick, tongue moving like she was scared to miss a spot. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered open, big and glossy, locked right on his. She blinked up at him soft, all that pretty need showing in her face like she was trying to be good for him. Real good. Erik groaned low, hand resting heavy on her head, letting her work him.

Her lips popped off with a soft wet sound, a string of spit following before she wiped it away with her fingertips. She was breathing hard now. Mouth shiny. Face flushed. Then, like she was remembering something—something nasty—she whispered.

“Wait…”

He raised a brow, watching her crawl back toward the edge of the bed where her phone sat. The movement alone had his dick twitching again. She was down on her knees, just smooth brown skin, thighs glistening, and that pretty little pussy still wet and shining from how he ate her. Tits swaying softly with every breath, nipples tight. Hair hanging over one shoulder. That body? That body looked criminal. Like he should be arrested for the way he was about to fuck her face. She grabbed the phone and crawled back tantalizingly slow, hips swaying just enough to drive him out his mind. When she reached him, she sat back on her knees again, looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

Her lip caught between her teeth. Her voice was sugar, “Can you record me?”

His head tilted, smile curling slow, eyes darker now, “You want me to put you on camera?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.

Sanaa gave a breathy little laugh, nervous and nasty at the same time. Her tongue slid across her top lip, catching the taste of him still there. She looked like a wet dream. Like a dirty little angel.

“I like it,” she said, eyes still on his, “More so when I don’t notice but…yeah.” Her lashes fluttered, “Please?”

Erik chuckled low, thick fingers reaching for her phone, “You somethin else,” he unlocked the camera, switching it to video. His dick stood tall and heavy between them, wet with her spit, “Aight then, freak.”

She smiled. Bit her lip again. He hit record. And she sank right back down.

“Yeah…” Erik said, voice low behind the camera, steady, “That’s it. Go slow. Take your time on daddy’s dick.”

Sanaa did exactly that. Mouth open, tongue out, she let the head of his dick slide back in like it was routine. She moaned soft, slurping up the precum leaking heavy from the tip like it was honey made just for her.

“That’s my girl,” Erik praised, his voice rich, close, like velvet on the speakers. “There you go. Keep suckin just like that. Pretty lips stretched all over me.”

She bobbed her head, spit coating the shaft. Her hand stroked what she couldn’t swallow yet. She was tryin. Workin' her jaw, cheeks hollowed, tongue swirling. The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and addictive.

“You look so damn good like this,” he said, angling the camera low to catch her face and the way she handled him, “Got my whole shit in your mouth like you ain’t just cry all over my tongue five minutes ago.”

She moaned around him. He caught it on camera.

“Yeah, let ‘em hear how messy you get. That’s right. Let that spit fall. Don’t clean shit up.”

She pulled off slow, letting the head pop out with another loud, nasty sound. Her chin was wet, lips puffy. She looked straight at the camera and licked the tip once—soft, seductive. Then whispered, “This mine now, huh?”

Erik’s voice dropped, “Yours to suck, mine to own. Keep goin’, Bri,” he growled, bringing the phone closer. “Show me how nasty you really are.”

And she did. Eyes up, lips wide, throat relaxing. She slid deeper this time, slow and skilled, sucking him like she wanted to stay there all night. Steady. Watching. Capturing every drip, every moan, every choke of spit sliding down her chin while she sucked him like her life depended on it. Erik had the phone angled just right. One hand holding the camera low, catching the sloppy view of her full lips wrapped around that fat dick, the other dragging slow through her silk press. Fingers gliding through the sleek strands like he owned every inch of her because right now, he did. She was on her knees between his thighs, head bobbing, spit dripping from her mouth, tears clinging to her lashes, that back arched, lifting that ass high off the bed. Sanaa was deep in it. Gagging sweet, eyes watery but focused, trying to take him slow like he asked. Hair swaying with the motion of her head bobbing. Gold hoops swinging pretty. Her hand stroked what her throat couldn’t swallow yet, and she moaned real soft around him when his thumb grazed her jaw. That shit had Erik losing his mind.

“Yeah…” Erik said low, voice thick with that gritty Oakland bass. “That’s how you fuckin’ eat it, nasty girl.”

She whimpered around the shaft, tongue flexing as she sucked deeper, the stretch of it making her jaw ache. And he felt all of it.

“That pressure good, huh?” he asked, tilting the camera down more, “You like suckin this big-ass dick, don't you?”

She pulled back, gasping, chin glossy. Then went right back down on it without hesitation, slower this time, more focused.

His voice dropped another octave, “Don’t run, baby. Take all that shit. I want it nice and wet. Make that shit glisten for me.” His thumb swiped her cheek, then tapped her jaw, “Look in the camera,” he said calmly, “Show everybody how you behave when this dick come out.”

She peeked up with those big, glossy doe eyes, lashes wet, pupils blown. And he grinned—that slow, evil grin that meant he was trouble.

“Good girl,” he said, breath thick, “That’s what the fuck I’m talkin 'bout. Pretty lil’ slut just made for head.”

She moaned again and he caught it all. The sound, the suck, the spit. His hand stayed in her hair, palm warm against her scalp, holding her in place. He wasn’t forcing shit. Erik really didn't need to. Sanaa wanted this. Needed it. She was putting in real work, tongue swirling, throat flexing, mouth loud and messy.

“Keep suckin, baby. You doin good. Real good.” He licked his lips, “Make love to that dick. I want it slow.”

She pulled off with a pop, lips red and glistening, panting through her nose.

And that’s when he hit her with it.

“Who dick you suckin’ on, slut?”

Sanaa blinked slow, pupils glassy, spit still clinging to her lips. She bit her bottom one, smiling like she wasn’t two seconds from choking on him.

Then whispered, “Killmonger’s big dick.”

Erik groaned low. Damn near laughed through it, “Aww, shit. That’s right.” He palmed the back of her head, guiding her back toward the tip, his voice deep and filthy, “Now shut up and show that camera how you love daddy’s dick.”

Erik’s palm slid to the back of her head, heavy and sure.

Commanding.

“Keep still,” he said, voice low, calm, that Oakland grit threaded through every syllable, “Let me do the work.”

Sanaa whimpered around him, lips already stretched, jaw aching sweet as he guided her down slow. His dick filled her mouth inch by inch, thick and warm, veins pressing against her tongue. She gagged softly when he pushed a little deeper, breath catching, eyes squeezing shut.

“Nah,” he said quietly, watching her, “Eyes open.”

She forced them open, tears clinging to her lashes, staring up at him while he eased his hips forward again. Slow thrust. Controlled. He wasn’t chasing nothing. He was taking. Her hands lifted on instinct, fingers twitching toward his thighs.

He caught it immediately, “Hands in your lap,” he ordered. “Don’t touch shit.”

Her hands dropped, trembling, palms pressing into her thighs like she was trying to ground herself. That made his chest tighten. Made his jaw clench.

“Good,” he said. “That’s better.”

He rocked his hips again, shallow thrusts at first, letting her mouth adjust, letting her tongue learn the shape of him while he stayed right at the back of her throat. She gagged again, wet and broken, spit spilling down the corners of her mouth and onto her chin.

“That’s it,” he said, eyes dark, watching her struggle in the prettiest way, “Take it. Don’t fight it.” His breathing changed. Deepened. Chest rising slower but heavier now. He rolled his hips back and then forward again, just enough to make her choke, just enough to make her moan around him, “Look at that,” he said, tone slick, satisfied, “On your knees like this. Mouth full of dick. Can’t even grab on for help.”

He pulled out slowly, the length of him sliding past her lips inch by inch until the head popped free with a wet sound. He didn’t give her a second to recover.

He slapped his dick against her lips once.

Twice.

The head smacked wet and loud against her mouth, leaving her lips glossy, swollen, stained with spit and precum.

“Open,” he said.

She did.

He tapped it against her tongue, smearing that slick heat across her mouth while she breathed hard through her nose.

“Yeah,” he continued, voice thick now, “This what you wanted. Got you on your knees suckin daddy dick?” His eyes dropped to where his scars cut across his chest and stomach, down to the way his dick rested heavy between them. He watched the contrast like it did something to him. Taut muscle. Ritual wounds. Thick, leaking dick. Her mouth waiting, “Pretty as hell like this,” he said, jaw flexing, “All quiet and obedient.”

He slid back in, deeper this time. His palm stayed firm on her head, fingers spreading through her hair, keeping her right where he wanted her while he fucked her mouth with controlled strokes. Each thrust was measured. Each pullback purposeful. He wasn’t losing control. He was enjoying it. She gagged hard this time, throat flexing around him, eyes watering bad. A broken sound came out of her chest and he felt it wrap around him.

“Shh,” he said softly. “Breathe through it. You doin good.” His hips kept moving, shallow to deep, slow to slower, a pace that made her body melt even while it overwhelmed her. Spit ran freely now, coating him, dripping down onto her chest, “Damn,” he breathed, biting his lip, “You see that shit? That’s your mouth workin exactly how I like.” He pulled out again, slapped his dick against her lips once more, then let it rest there, heavy and slick, “Stay right there,” he said, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “You ain’t done til' I tell you to.”

Erik pulled back just enough to look at her.

Really look.

Her mouth was wrecked. Lips swollen and shiny. Chin slick. Eyes glassy and obedient, breathing heavy through her nose like she’d been holding herself together on willpower alone. He liked that look on her. Liked that he put it there.

“Stick your tongue out,” he said all calm like he knew she’d listen.

Sanaa did it immediately. Tongue extended, trembling just a little, glossy with spit. Pretty. Pink. Waiting.

He slapped his dick against it.

One heavy slap.

The weight of it made her gasp. The head pressed flat against her tongue, warm and leaking, precum smearing across it. He did it again. Slower this time. Let it rest there for a second so she could feel how heavy he was. How real.

“Yeah,” he said low. “Just like that.” He slapped it again, firmer, the sound wet and obscene, watching her tongue flatten under the weight of him, “Open wider.”

She did. Jaw dropping, tongue still out, eyes flicking up to his face like she wanted approval. His hand slid to the back of her neck. Fingers spread. Grip solid.

“Now show me,” he said, “Show me you want my nut.”

He guided her forward and she took him back in, lips closing around the head, tongue working immediately, slow and focused just like he told her. She sucked like she had something to prove. Drew him in inch by inch, throat relaxing, mouth warm and slick, spit coating him thick.

Erik groaned. Not a word. A sound. Low. From his chest. Like he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.

“That’s it,” he said, breath heavier now. “Yeah. Fuck. Just like that.”

He started moving his hips. Slow at first. Shallow thrusts, letting her mouth adjust to the rhythm. His hand stayed firm on her neck, guiding and controlling the pace. She moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight through his body.

“Mm,” he sounded, eyes narrowing, “You feel how you pullin it outta me?”

She did. She knew.

Her mouth got sloppier. Wetter. She pulled back just enough to drag her tongue along the underside, then swallowed him again, deeper this time. Her throat flexed around him and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he said, hips stuttering for half a second before he steadied himself, “You doin that on purpose.”

She was. She bobbed slow, steady, eyes locked on him, hands still obedient in her lap. She let him thrust now, matching his movement, letting him slide in and out of her mouth while she kept her tongue working the head every time he pushed back in. His breathing got rougher. Chest rising faster. His free hand clenched at his side, fingers flexing like he was holding himself back from grabbing her hair harder.

“Yeah…that’s it,” he said, voice thick, strained now, “You draggin that shit outta me.”

She moaned again, tears slipping free from how full her mouth felt. How deep he was. How badly she wanted to finish him.

“Keep suckin, slut. You look real cute when you don’t think—just choke.” He grinned down at her, “That’s all you good for right now.” He thrust a little deeper, a little slower, savoring it. The sounds she made were obscene. Wet. Desperate. Perfect, “That’s my nut you workin for,” he said quietly, “Don’t rush. I wanna feel every second.”

And the way his hips kept moving, the way his voice shook just a little now, told her she was doing exactly what he wanted. To make his thighs tighten and his voice start slipping into that ragged, desperate edge even he couldn’t hide. His grip stayed locked at the back of her neck, anchoring himself in the wet heat of her mouth while she kept sucking like she needed it. Slow strokes. Controlled sucks. But his body was rolling now. Sanaa had her tongue working that underside with purpose, lips locked tight, cheeks hollowed every time he pulled back. And when he slid back in, deeper, letting her throat hug the head, her moan vibrated so deep around him it made his stomach jump. Erik’s eyes fluttered. He bit down on his bottom lip hard. Head tipped back. Shoulders flexing. His whole body rippled, abs twitching under the tight strain of control he was seconds from losing.

“Fuck…stay right there. Don’t move. Don’t fuckin play wit’ me now.” His voice hit her like weight, low and feral.

Her pace stayed nasty and obedient. Sloppy. And when his knees started to tremble, she knew it. Felt it. That thick dick was swelling even more in her mouth, leaking like crazy now, salty and heavy on her tongue.

“Fuckin’ mouth feel too damn good…” he choked out, hips stuttering, voice low and wrecked.

He looked down at her, head falling forward, eyes wild. Sweat beading at his temples. Veins thick in his arms.

Then he groaned.

Loud. Raw.

“Shit—Bri…” And with a slow thrust, balls snug to her chin, he lost it. “Empty my fuckin balls…” he gritted through clenched teeth, breath snatching, “Empty my balls, slut…suck it outta me.” His hips rocked into her mouth, slow but deep, dick  jerking on her tongue with each pulse of release. Cum spilled thick, hot, flooding the back of her throat. She moaned around him, not pulling back, not flinching—swallowed every drop, “Take it,” Erik groaned, voice shaking. “Take all that shit…yeah…”

His hand held her there because he wanted to feel her throat working while she drained him. She stayed there while he spilled. Stayed there while his thighs flexed, chest heaved, abs clenched with every twitch of pleasure rolling through him. Only when he finally pulled out, slow and spent, did he look down fully and let his eyes take her in.

Face wet. Mouth open. Breathing hard. She licked her lips. And he grinned. Still high off the nut. Watching her like she was a dream with a mouth built for destruction.

“Damn,” he panted, voice rough, “You really mine now, huh?”

Sanaa was already open before he ever put it in her.

That was the part that shook her the most.

She lay back on the bed, silk-pressed hair spread smooth beneath her head, gold hoops warm against her neck, chest rising fast. Her skin glowed. Brown. Soft. That deep, rich tone that caught the light like polished wood. Her pussy was slick enough to feel the air hit it when her thighs parted. Wet enough to shine. Tight enough to throb. Erik kneeled between her legs, towering, solid, body made to fold bitches up. Scars ridged over his chest and arms, catching the light as he flexed. His locs brushed his shoulders. Gold canines flashed when he smirked, slow and dangerous. That big, thick dick sat heavy in his hand, already hard and leaking. Veins thick along the shaft. Heavy head. Fat. Balls tight. He dragged the head of it through her slick, slow. Let it slide between her lips without pushing in. Just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Mm,” he said low, “That pussy talkin’.”

Sanaa whimpered, hips lifting without permission. She reached down, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow like she needed something to hold onto. Her toes curled, thighs trembling.

“Hold your ankles,” Erik told her.

She did it instantly. Hands slid down her legs. Ankles in her grip. Wide open. Exposed. Vulnerable and ready. Her mouth fell open as she breathed, chest heaving.

They locked eyes.

Erik leaned forward just a little, dick still rubbing through her slick. He tapped her pussy with it once. Twice. A wet, teasing slap that made her gasp. Kissed her lips sloppy like he was sucking the breath out of her.

“You ready to get fucked?” he asked, voice calm but heavy with promise.

Her fingers circled her clit faster,  “Yeah,” she breathed, “Yeah.”

“I’m ready to fuck you, I know that,” he said, rubbing the head of his dick right at her entrance, letting it press there without going in, “Tired of playin’. ‘Bout to dig you out, girl. Give you what you always wanted.”

Her whole body buzzed. Like static. Like she was plugged into something too strong. Her pussy clenched around nothing, slick dripping down, soaking the sheets beneath her. Erik angled his hips, lined himself up, and pushed the head in just a little.

Just enough.

Sanaa’s eyes rolled. A broken sound fell from her lips. Her toes curled so hard they damn near cramped.

“Shh,” he said, watching her face closely, “Breathe. Let that pussy relax. You want it. I feel you.”

He pushed again. Inch by inch. That fat head stretching her open, slow and deep, her tight walls gripping him like. She was holdin’ that dick like it owed her somethin'. She gasped, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, staring straight at him.

“Oh my—” Her voice cracked into a moan.

“That’s it,” Erik said, jaw tight, teeth flashing as he watched her swallow him, “That’s how you take a big dick. Slow. Let it open you.”

Her fingers rubbed her clit harder now, breath shaky, little sounds slipping out of her with every inch he sank in. Her pussy was tight. Tight as hell. Hot. Wet. Pulling him in because it needed him.

“Damn,” he groaned, “You tight as fuck. Grippin’ me like you been waitin’ your whole life.”

He paused halfway in. Just sat there. Let her feel it. Let her body adjust around him. Let her pussy throb and flutter and leak. Sanaa was shaking. Legs still wide. Ankles in the air. Eyes locked on his because she didn't wanna miss a second of this. Her lips parted. Chest heaving. Sweat starting to gather at her temples.

“Move,” she breathed, barely louder than air.

Erik tilted his head, smirk deepening, “Nah. Sit wit’ it. Feel that stretch. Feel what you been askin’ for.”

He rolled his hips just a little. Enough to make her gasp again. Enough to make her pussy clamp down.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, toes curling again, “It’s so big.”

“Yeah,” he said, finally pushing deeper. Slow. Controlled. Taking his time sinking all the way in until his hips met her thighs. Until she was full. Stuffed. Opened up around him, “That’s daddy dick,” he said quietly, “Ain’t rushin’. Just sittin’ where it belong.”

She cried out then. A real sound. Raw. Her body arched, fingers still working her clit as her pussy clenched hard around him, creamy and dripping.

Erik stayed still, buried deep, watching her face twist with pleasure and shock and need, “Now,” he said, voice low and steady, “Now I’ma fuck you.”

The first stroke took her breath. deep. And so slow. Erik dragged out of her inch by inch, dick thick and heavy, every ridge of his shaft pulling against her walls like he was scraping the memory of anybody else out. Her pussy clung to him, creamy and tight, pulsing around that slow exit like it. That pussy kept catchin’ his dick on the way out, holdin’ him right at the base. Sanaa’s mouth fell open, lips parted in shock. Her hips tried to lift with him, like her body was chasing what was leaving. He stopped right at the tip. Let it rest there. Slick and twitching.

Then he slid it back in.

One long, smooth push. Deep. Full. Her pussy stretched again, swallowed him whole. That grip got tighter every time he pulled out, like her pussy was beggin’ to stay full. A messy whimper slipped from her throat, back arching, legs trembling as she held her ankles just like he told her to.

“Right there?” he said, voice deep and calm like a threat, “Here?” He pulled back again. Slow. Let her feel the drag. That stretch. That pressure. All that thickness working her from the inside out. Then pushed back in. Another slow grind. Deep. Deep, “How you like it?”

Sanaa’s answer was a cry, broken and high, her voice cracked open from the inside. Her hands barely held onto her legs now. Ankles shaking in her grip. Titties bouncing soft under the rhythm he set.

“You feel all that?” he said, lips barely moving, eyes locked on her face, “Feel how I’m fuckin’ this lil’ pussy?” He moved again. Same speed. Same power. That controlled thrust that kissed her spot and punched a gasp out her lungs at the same time. Her eyes rolled. Sweat broke out across her chest. Her thighs quivered, “Say it,” he growled, hips rocking, “Say what you need. Talk to me.”

Sanaa was breathless, voice caught in her throat, fingers slipping from her thighs just long enough for Erik to grip the backs of her knees and press them toward her chest, folding her even deeper. Pussy opened up wider. Gripped tighter.

“Push it in,” she whispered, eyes glossy, “Please—”

Erik laughed. Low. Nasty.

He pulled back again. Dick dragging slow, thick veins rubbing all along her walls. Cream shining on him when he looked down. Then he rocked back in deep, pelvis kissing hers, thighs clapping soft.

“This what you been wantin'? Want this dick pushin’ up in you? Stretchin’ this tight lil’ thing out?”

She nodded fast, mouth open, whining now. Body shaking under him.

“Want this dick slidin’ up in you? Stuffin’ this tight lil’ pussy full?”

Sanaa’s back arched, head tipped back, mouth open. “Nnngh—f-fuck…”

She moaned loud, fingers clawing at his back, trying to grind, but he pinned her with his weight.

“Stop movin’. This pussy gon' get this work. You feel that pulse in your stomach? That’s your pussy holdin’ me in. I can feel it…beatin’ on this dick.”

She bit her lip, head rolling, helpless.

He bent down just enough for his chest to brush her tits, still rolling his hips, smooth and deep, “Yeah, you like that,” he said into her ear, “You been actin’ like you ain’t ready, like I’m too much…but this pussy takin’ it. All of it. She know who she belong to.”

He straightened up again, gold shining in his mouth as he licked his lips. He was breathing harder now, sweat sliding down the middle of his chest, scars flexing across his arms. And he was still in control. Still feeding her slow, powerful strokes that rocked her whole body, that made the bed creak and her hands claw at the sheets.

“You makin’ a mess,” he grunted, “Drippin’ all on me. Fuckin’ cream just pourin’.”

Sanaa could barely speak. Her face said everything. Eyes low, mouth open, a whimper riding each stroke. Her body was begging. Pussy wetter, messier. Squeezing tighter every time he pulled back.

“You gon’ cum like this?” Erik said, voice dark, “I can feel it. She twitchin’. That creamy lil’ explosion waitin’ for me.” Another thrust. Then another. Each one dragging her closer, “You ready?” he whispered, “Ready to let that pretty pussy bust all over me?”

And the way her body shook said yes before she could even speak it.

Sanaa let out a broken sound, halfway between a whine and a moan, fingers twitching uselessly in the air. Her clit throbbed. Her pussy fluttered hard around him like it was begging to be let loose.

Erik reached down and took her ankles again, firm hands wrapping around them. He lifted her legs and rested them on his shoulders, one smooth motion. Her small feet dangled against his broad back, toes curling as he leaned forward and tilted her hips just right.

That angle hit different.

So deep it made her gasp sharp, eyes flying open.

“Fuck,” she breathed, staring down between their bodies, watching his dick disappear into her. Watching her own slick stretch around him. Cream shining.

"You got me so open," she spoke soft and breathless.

Erik started moving again.

Not wild. Not sloppy. Just a quicker pace. Steady. Relentless. Each thrust deep and sure, dragging through her slow on the pull back, then pressing right back in where she needed it most.

“There,” he said, voice low and steady. “Right there. You feel that shit?”

Her answer was a soft cry, lip caught between her teeth as she nodded, eyes locked on where he was fucking her. She couldn’t look away. Sanaa couldn't believe how full she looked. How much of him was inside her. How her body took it.

“I know you feel it,” he went on, breath heavier now, “This dick sittin’ all up in you. Spread open wide now, huh? Got you laid out lookin’ real fuckin’ good.”

The bed creaked under the rhythm of his hips. The wet sound between them got louder. Slicker. Every thrust pushing air out her lungs. Her titties bounced with the motion, nipples tight and aching. Sweat rolled down her chest and between them. Sanaa’s hands fisted in the sheets. Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled again, feet flexing against his shoulders.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, voice shaking, “Oh my—”

“That pressure hittin’ you right?” Erik asked, thrusting again, a little harder now, “Got you starin’ down at it like you can’t believe what it doin’ to you.” He leaned in closer, chest hovering over her legs, dick still sliding deep and slow-fast, that perfect in-between pace that made her whole body buzz, “Pussy just openin’ up for me,” he said, “Squeezin’ when I pull back. Clutchin’ when I push in. You feel how deep that shit go? shiiit”

She whimpered, eyes glossy, jaw slack. Her body rocked with every stroke, ass lifting just a little off the bed when he sank all the way in.

“I see you,” he said, “I see that look on your face. That ‘I ain’t never felt no shit like this’ look.”

Her lip trembled as she bit it again, trying not to make too much noise, failing every time he hit that spot that made her pussy jump.

“You not cumming yet,” Erik told her, voice like gravel soaked heat, “I’m holdin’ you right here. Letting this dick sit. Letting you feel what it mean to get fucked for real.”

He kept that pace. Deep. Measured. Consistent. Filling her over and over again until her thoughts blurred and all she could focus on was the way he felt inside her. Sanaa stared down at their bodies moving together, chest rising fast, eyes wide with disbelief.

She had never imagined it would feel like this.

And Erik could tell.

He smiled slow as he fucked her, knowing exactly what he was doing to her.

He felt it change in her.

That moment when her body stopped fighting the feeling and started chasing it. Erik pulled out slow just enough to make her gasp, then hooked an arm under her thighs and dragged her closer to the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked as he stood tall between her legs, feet planted wide. One big hand came up to cradle the back of her neck, fingers spread, firm but steady, keeping her bent just right. Curled beneath him like a fuck doll.

Her head tipped forward. Chin slightly tucked. Chest caving. Legs wide open and shaking.

“Stay right here,” he told her quietly.

Then he pushed back in. Harder this time. All hips. All big dick from tip to base.

He fucked her standing up, deep strokes snapping into her with sharpness. Every thrust dug into her pussy like he was carving his name in it. The sound changed immediately. Wet. Heavy. Nasty. Her ass slid just a little on the sheets with every drive of his hips. The bed thumped softly against the wall. Her breath came out in sharp, broken moans she didn’t even try to hold back. Erik leaned forward, hand still at her neck, thumb pressing just enough to keep her right where he wanted her. His other hand grabbed her thigh, spreading her wider, giving himself more room to work her.

“This how you get fucked,” he said low, voice tight now, “Ain’t none of that playin’ shit no more.”

Her body responded instantly. Pussy gripping him harder. Cream slicking up his shaft, making each thrust glide smoother, deeper. He could feel how tight she still was even after taking him. How every stroke made her clench. Sanaa dragged a hand down his chest, fingers splayed over raised scars, nails dragging slow across his abs like she needed something solid to hold onto. Her brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as sound after sound spilled out of her. No words now. Just moans. Real ones. Loud and shameless. Gasps. Strangled cries.

Her toes curled. Thighs shook. Her head pressed back into his hand as her whole body rocked with his rhythm.

Erik watched her fall apart.

Watched the way her lips parted. The way her chest rose and fell fast. The way her pussy sucked him in every time he pulled back and begged him back when he pushed in.

“I know,” he said, eyes locked on hers, pace picking up, “I know what this dick doin’. I know I’m stretchin’ you deep. Breakin’ you in right. I know baby girl.” 

She moaned louder, hand sliding down his stomach, gripping his hips now, nails biting into his skin as her body tried to meet every thrust.

“Yeah?” he groaned, “I know. I feel you squeezin’ me. Tryna pull me deeper. Daddy know, baby.”

He fucked her good. No rush. No wasted movement. Just deep, clean strokes that made her body jolt and her pussy throb around him. Sweat dripped down his chest, spotted her skin. His breathing got heavier, chest flexing with every thrust.

Sanaa couldn’t think.

Couldn’t compare this to anything she’d ever had because nothing came close. This wasn’t just sex. This was control. Weight. Pressure. The type of dick that made your legs weak and your mind go quiet. Her moans filled the room now. Pretty and broken. Her body answering him before her thoughts ever could.

“You ain’t used to this,” he said, “That’s why you actin’ out. Why you so fuckin’ loud right now. This dick hittin’ different, huh?”

Her mouth trembled beneath his grip. She tried to moan but it came out shaky, broken. Just a mess of sound, face twisting as her pussy pulsed again, creamy and loud between them. Wet. Soaking wet. Erik pulled back just an inch, then slid right back in at a snails pace—deep. Her body jolted. She clawed at his abs, nails dragging across scarred skin, searching for something to hold on to.

“I said look at me,” he growled, giving her jaw a squeeze, “You takin’ it so good. But you gon’ remember this stroke.” He rolled his hips again. Slow grind. All of him inside. Her moans hitched, “Yeah…uh-huh.” he whispered, kissing the side of her mouth, still fucking her slow and deep, “That’s it. Let me see what a good girl sound like when she get ruined.”

And she did. All moans now. Loud, messy, undone. Pussy soaked. Face caught somewhere between disbelief and addiction. She didn’t even know how to ask him to stop—because she didn’t want him to. She wanted him to live in her pussy. It was that good. Good enough that words couldn’t even describe.

“Uh uh,” he said low, hips rolling again, pulling out slow just to sink back in, “Ain’t no escape in this room. Just me givin’ you some shit you don’t know how to handle yet.”

Sanaa’s head was tipped back, mouth open, eyes unfocused. She couldn’t even make words—just breathy gasps, little “uhh—uhh—ohh” sounds, tears caught in the corners of her eyes. That dick was fat. And it felt like it reached every inch inside her. Like he was claiming shit. Bruising pleasure into her walls. He dropped one fist and palmed her throat, not squeezing, just holdin’ it while he fucked her slower, deeper. His thumb under her chin to make her look at him.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head like she was pathetic for what she’d become under him, “Pretty lil’ thing. Can’t even talk. Can’t even move. All that mouth you had… now I’m in it, huh? In that sweet, warm, squeezin’ ass pussy?” He leaned in, lips brushing her cheek as he fucked her slow, but hard. Real strokes. Deep dips. His abs flexed. That sweat from his chest dripped onto her titties, slid down between them, “Gon’ make a mess all over me,” he whispered against her ear, “I feel that pussy twitchin’. You ‘bout to squirt? Cream? Gimme that shit then. Let it go. Gimme all that sweet lil’ mess. You nasty fuckin’ slut—”

Sanaa tried to hold it, tried to breathe, but her body had other plans. Her pussy clenched up on him, hard. That creamy wet exploded in a rush. Her whole body shook. Back arched. Toes curled. She screamed loud. A long, dragged out moan that had her damn near crying, “Daaaaddy—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, biting his bottom lip hard as her cream gushed around him. “There she go. So fuckin’ messy. That’s mine. All that shit belong to me. Mine. My pussy—”

He didn’t stop. Kept stroking. Controlled. Deep. Watching the way her body seized up with every thrust. The way her face crumbled, lips parted, eyes crossed just a little. She was spent. Fucked dumb. But he wasn’t done.

She had been asking for it. The teasing. The walking past him in them little ass shorts with no bra. The smart-ass grin, the way she bent over slow like she ain’t know he was behind her. Like he wasn’t built to catch that shit. Built to correct it. Put her lil’ ass in her place.

Now she was where she needed to be.

Bent at the edge of the bed, back dipped low in a deep arch, slim thick body laid out perfect. Espresso brown skin already kissed up with sweat, glowing under the low lamp light. Long silk press damp and clinging to her spine, gold hoops swinging every time she breathed too hard. Her hands gripped the sheets in front of her like she was bracing for impact, thighs twitching already from anticipation. She wasn’t saying much now. Just soft little whimpers, little gasps, trying to hold still while Erik stood behind her, letting that heavy dick drag over her soaked lips like a warning.

He was tall, solid, strong in a way that made everything feel smaller around him. That skin of his golden brown, gleamed with sweat across scarred shoulders and cut arms, every muscle flexing in slow control. His locs hung wild, swaying with each breath he took, some brushing against his cheek as he rolled his hips forward just enough to tease her slit. His jaw was locked tight. Dimples barely showing under the shadow of his beard, lips full and parted, watching her with heat in his eyes. That look he got when he was done playing.

The room was heavy with that tension. That wet, nasty tension that made you sweat before the fuck even started. The sound of her breathing came in soft stutters, then caught sharp when he eased the tip of his dick in, slow, just enough to make her feel the width. That first little push pulled a moan straight out her chest—high-pitched, pretty, needy.

“Nnnnnhhh—”

Her thighs shook. Her hips twitched. He gripped them firm and kept her still.

His dick slid in deeper, inch by long inch, slow and controlled. Thick, veined, heavy with heat. Her pussy welcomed it, parted soft and creamy, sucking him in greedy. The sound was nasty—wet, slick, obscene. Skin to skin contact filled the room in low slaps as he sank into that tightness. She gasped loud when he bottomed out, pussy clenching, juice spilling out and down his dick, running slick down to his balls.

“Ahhh—fuck—”

Her back dipped harder, ass bouncing from the force, body trembling as he held still, buried deep. Letting her feel the weight. Letting her feel how deep it went. The pressure in her belly was immediate, hot and thick like she’d been split open from the inside. She whined again, softer this time, body trying to pull back but his grip stayed firm. Erik leaned over her, chest hovering over her back, heat rolling off his body. Sweat dripped from his skin to hers, mixing where their bodies touched. His lips brushed her shoulder as he sucked a slow breath through his nose. His locs swayed forward, brushing her neck. She could hear his breath now—heavy, steady, that deep male grunt rising in his chest as he pulled back halfway and pushed in again, slow but harder. Purposeful.

“Unhhh—”

Her moan cracked open in her throat as he started moving. Deep strokes. Slow drag out, then all the way back in, hips snapping against her ass with a sharp clap. The bounce of her cheeks echoed through the room, flesh meeting flesh, wetness coating everything. Her pussy clenched again—tight, messy, too responsive—and that just made him go harder.

She cried out again, hands bunching the sheets, gasping loud as her body rocked forward with every thrust.

“Ahhh—ahh—nnnnn—”

Erik’s hand slid from her hip to the front of her throat. Not choking. Just holding. Making her feel how deep he was, how controlled he was, how owned she was. He bent his head, kissed her jaw, bit it slow, sucked on her skin until she shivered and clenched even tighter around him. His other hand slid up, grabbed a handful of titty, squeezing her soft brown flesh, palm wet with sweat and cream.

Then he popped her ass—sharp, loud.

She squealed, whole body jumping as he slammed into her deeper. The pressure started building before she even realized he was changing pace. His thrusts stayed deep, thick strokes dragging through all that creamy wet, but there was something in the way he paused—right there, buried inside her. Like he was deciding how bad he was about to break her down.

Then his voice cut through the slick sound of skin and sex, “Sit up.”

Just like that. Blunt. Firm. No softness in it. That deep, calm tone that left no room for hesitation. Sanaa’s breath caught in her throat, and she pushed up slow on shaky arms, her back still arched, ass still high. Her long hair stuck to her shoulder and chest now, damp from sweat, sticking to the curve of her breasts. She tried to breathe, but that dick was still buried so deep, all she could do was pant. She knew her pussy hole had to be stretched to capacity with how stuffed she felt.

“Sit…up,” he repeated, voice tighter now, hand gripping her hip, “Arch that back. Stay just like that. Don’t make me say that shit again, Bri.”

She obeyed, gasping when he rolled his hips again, slow at first, the weight of him grinding right into her from behind. She whimpered when his hand slid up her back, gripped the nape of her neck.

Then came the next command, low and rough behind her, “Look back at me.”

She turned her head, eyes fluttering open through the haze, lips trembling as she looked over her shoulder. And there he was. Erik. Sweaty, scarred-up motherfucker with that big dick sitting inside her.. His locs swung loose around his face, clinging to the thick muscle of his shoulders. Sweat ran in slow trails down his chest, catching the shine in the light. His lips were parted, that sculpted jaw clenched tight. And his eyes—locked on hers, low and dangerous. Sanaa whimpered, her face twisting as another slow, hard stroke made her body jolt forward. That dick dragged against her walls so deep and thick it felt like it was curving inside her, making her pussy clench down again, hard. She couldn’t hold it.

“Mmmf—ahh—fuck… Erik…”

He smirked, then popped her ass again—sharper this time. The clap echoed through the room, “Don’t run now, lil’ slut. You wanted this, right?”

And then he started fucking her for real.

Hips snapping forward with sharp, Erik drove into her with hard, grinding thrusts, dick drilling through wet, creamy heat like it owned her insides. The sound was filthy—wet slaps, heavy balls smacking against her clit, the sharp clap of flesh to flesh every time her cheeks bounced back on him. Her pussy gushed around him, creamy and hot, dripping down to the bed, mess soaking everything under them.

“Ahh—ahh—uhhh—f-fuck—”

She was breaking, voice stuttering, face twisted up, brows tight, lips trembling as she tried to keep her eyes on him. He grabbed her jaw from behind, fingers strong and possessive on her face, turning her chin even more so she had no choice but to stare at him while he kept pounding.

“Keep them eyes on me,” he growled, voice deep and close, his lips at her cheek now, “You feel this dick? That’s what you get for playin’ in my face. Now you gon’ learn.”

She cried out again, soft and desperate. Her body trembled with every stroke, thighs shaking, nails digging into the mattress. Her tits bounced with every hit, back dimples flexing. Erik’s hips moved fast now, but still controlled, like he knew exactly how deep to go to make her lose her mind. His thrusts hit that swollen spot inside her over and over, his thick dick pushing against her walls so deep her whole pussy fluttered in response.

“Unghhh…Daddy—please—”

He grunted low, rough, grinding in deeper.

“Nasty lil’ thing,” he said right in her ear, voice ragged now, his breath hot on her neck, “All that attitude. All that mouth. Now you over here whimperin’, creamin’ all over me like a good lil’ slut.”

She gasped, crying out again, that pleasure bubbling high and fast inside her. Erik didn’t let up. He kept her head turned, kept his body crashing into hers, all muscle, all grit, sweat dripping onto her back with every stroke. Both of them breathing heavy, biting their lips, eyes locked.

Sanaa stayed right where he put her—back arched, hands down, head still turned, mouth parted on a whimper. That dick had her wide open. Her whole body felt like it was on fire now, tingling from the inside out. She could feel every part of him—every thick inch, every slow drag, every deep slam that pushed up into places she ain’t even know could feel that good. Her thighs were shaking, hips twitching with every thrust. But Erik wasn’t letting her go nowhere.

He had her by the shoulders now, those strong-ass hands gripping tight, thumbs pressed into the back of her traps, arms flexed as he used his whole body to pull her back into each stroke. Feet planted. Muscles locked in. That perfect stroke rhythm starting to build again—steady, brutal, unrelenting.

No words now.

Just dick.

Just that thick, wet clap of his hips smacking against her ass over and over, the sound getting nastier, wetter, louder with every bounce of her cheeks. Just his grunts—low, throaty, deep in his chest. And that smug-ass “mhmm,” that came out when he bottomed out so hard she let out a full cry. That sly ask smirk coupled with that bite of his lip.

“Auhhh—uhh—daddy—fuck—”

Her voice broke every time he hit it. Her pussy clamped down again, tight and fluttering around him, slick coating his dick in warm cream that spilled with every deep thrust. The pressure inside her was swelling fast, like her body was trying to catch up to what he was doing to it—like her nerves were sparking all over. That dick was heavy. Thick as hell. Every push sent heat rolling through her belly, made her gasp, made her grab the sheets like she could anchor herself against it. He gripped her harder. Pulled her back harder. Snapped his hips forward and made that ass bounce harder.

Her titties swung with every stroke, sweat rolling down her chest, her back, between her thighs. Her whole body was shaking now, nerves on fire, pussy so wet it sounded like he was fucking straight into a bowl of honey. The slick was everywhere—coating him, dripping to the bed, making a mess of her thighs and the back of her knees.

And Erik was loving it.

Didn’t say a word. Just kept watching her. Kept them eyes on her like he was memorizing how she looked with his dick buried in her. Lips slightly parted. Jaw clenched. Locs stuck to his shoulders and jaw, swaying with every hard stroke.

“Unnnh…mmmh…uh-huh…”

Those cocky-ass grunts and hums kept falling out of his mouth, like her pussy was answering a question he ain’t even ask. That deep, wet squeeze her body gave every time he drove in. The flutter when he slowed up. The shiver in her legs when he picked the pace back up and pounded harder. Sanaa tried to reach back, tried to brace herself on his thigh, but he wasn’t having that. He let go of one shoulder, grabbed her wrist and planted her hand back down. Grabbed her hip again and took her right back into that stroke. Deep. Fast. Wet.

“Auhh—uhhh—uhhhhnnnn…”

She was gasping now, moaning with every single thrust. Her pussy started convulsing again, leaking more, pulling at him because it didn’t want him out. That heat between her legs turned molten, had her legs trembling under him, had her thighs slick and trembling.

Still pounding. He was still controlling. Dickin’ her down like she was built to take all of him and only him.

“D-don’t stop… I need it like that…" "Right there, oh my god…keep fuckin’ me, just like that…” “You feel how deep you in? I’m so full… I can’t take it—no, wait—I want it…” “Talk to me while you fuck me like this…tell me it’s yours…” “This dick feel so good, daddy…you tryna make me lose my mind?” “You fuckin’ me dumb…I swear I’m finna—oh my god—Erik…” “Look what you do to me…look at how I’m shaking…you proud of that?” “Don’t slow down—uh-uh, no—keep goin’, fuck me open…” “I want all of it…don’t hold back…tear it up.” “Mmmf…I’ll take all that dick, just keep giving it to me…make me remember.”

Sanaa was begging. Nonstop. On a never ending loop.

Voice all breathy and broken, words spilling out between moans like she couldn’t help it. Like she needed to be fucked. Needed to be filled. Saying anything, everything—just to keep him deep inside her.

“I’ll be g-good…I swear…” “I won’t run no more…you can do whatever you want…” “I’m listening, I’m listening…I promise I’m listening…” “Please, I’m tryna be good for you…ain’t I being good?” “You got me, daddy…you got all of me, I swear…” “I won’t move, I’ll stay right here…just keep fuckin’ me…”

She started begging while throwing it back, Erik talking her through it. 

“I’ll be good…I swear…I just—I need it—”

“Then take it. Show me how bad you want it.”

“I’m tryna be good…tryna take it all—”

“You doin’ good. Now stay right there and keep archin’ that pretty back.”

“You fuckin’ me so good, I can’t think straight—”

“Good. That’s the goal. I don’t want no thoughts in that head. Just me.”

Her back dipped low, arms trembling where she gripped the edge of the bed, face buried in the pillow. Erik had her locked in, one hand braced heavy on her lower back, the other gripping her hip, pulling her into each stroke. He wasn’t slamming into her. Nah. He was drilling her. Real slow. Real deep. Erik was laying pipe in her soul. She was throwin’ it back in broken stutters, thighs shaking, sweat sliding down her spine. Cream slicked his dick, thick and wet, strings of it gluing to the base. He could hear it every time he sank back in. That nasty, obscene squelch that made his jaw clench.

Schhlllk—schlckk, shhcccclik

“You close?” he asked, voice low and dark behind her.

She nodded fast, whining. Couldn’t get words out. Just gasps and soft cries.

Erik leaned in, hips still grinding, still pushing all the way in. Then he slid two fingers into her mouth. Right between her lips. Like a pacifier, “Suck,” he said, “Be my good girl.”

And she did. Moaning around his fingers. Eyes rolling. Drool sliding down her chin as her body locked up. Her orgasm hit like a fucking car crash. Sanaa’s eyes crossed, jaw slackening around his fingers. Her legs gave out beneath her, back bowing as her body seized, pussy gripping and milking his dick. She screamed around his hand, whimpering and twitching, hips caught in the middle of the thrust.

“There you go,” Erik grunted, “That’s it. Cum on this dick just like that.”

Her cream spilled down his shaft in a thick, hot wave, soaking her thighs and the sheets beneath her. Erik didn’t slow. He fucked her through it, holding her mouth open with his fingers, thumb stroking her bottom lip. She sucked like she needed it to breathe. Eyes wet. Breath hitched. Body quivering like she had no control over her basic motor skills.

“You feel that?” he growled, stroking deep again, “You still cumming, baby. Let it out.”

Her moans were high and muffled, body twitching as he stayed buried inside her. Still fucking her and making her feel everything. No breaks. No mercy.

“You want daddy to stop?” he asked again, pulling her head back by the hair, “Or you want more?”

She tried to answer, but all that came out was a choked moan around his fingers.

“Mmhm. Thought so.”

He pulled his fingers from her mouth slow, strings of spit still clinging to them, and dragged the wet trail across her ass. Sanaa was trembling, cheeks flushed, pussy leaking from the last orgasm. But Erik gripped her waist again, pulled her back against him, and slid all the way in.

“Mmm…this lil’ pussy still wet for me?” he growled low behind her.

She whimpered, back arching. She tried to move but he pinned her down.

“Nah, keep still. I’m bout to fill you up.” His voice dropped, heavy and slow like a threat, “You feel that?” This me. All this dick. Stuffin’ this tight lil’ pussy.”

He started stroking again, deeper now, slow and punishing, his balls slapping against her soaked folds. Sanaa was crying into the sheets—moaning, choking, cumming all over again. And Erik was chasing his nut now.

“I’m gon’ breed this pussy.Drop this nut so fuckin’ deep, you’ll feel it in your stomach.” His hand slid up her back, gripped the nape of her neck, pushed her face down into the bed, “You hear me, baby? I’m the only one who get to fuck you like this.” He thrust harder now, hips slamming, the sound filthy. The sound of skin, of heat, of him claiming her. Possessive. Focused. Mean with it, “This slutty lil’ pussy… so good. Good pussy. My pussy. So fuckin’ tight I can barely breathe.”

Sanaa was gone. Babbling. Creaming again. Arching back into him even as her legs shook. And Erik was right at the edge. He grabbed both her hips, held her in place, and pushed all the way in—balls deep—and held it.

“Fuck…fuuuck—there it go—”

He groaned hard through clenched teeth as he nutted. Thick, hot, flooding her. Long spurts. Over and over. His dick twitched inside her as he emptied himself so deep, so full, he knew she’d be leakin’ when he pulled out.

“Mmm…there you go. Take all this nut, just like I taught you.” He leaned down, pressed his chest to her back, lips brushing her ear, This the only dick you know, baby. The best dick you ever had. And the last dick you gon’ ever get.”

Erik finally pulled out, slow and heavy, his dick slick with her cream and his nut. Sanaa whimpered at the emptiness, her thighs twitching. A thick stream of cum dripped from her used pussy, pooling between her legs, then more spilled when she arched slightly and pushed it out, her body still fluttering.

He watched it, eyes dark.

Then he leaned over her back, one hand spreading her ass, the other braced beside her head. His lips brushed her ear.

“Say my name.”

She swallowed a moan, still dazed, open, used.

“Killmonger…” she breathed.

Soft. Shaky. Ruined.

[yourleogf]

heyy, i love your fics. do you mind doing one with cameron cade and the reader is upset abt how he hasnt been making time for her and it turns into this big argument. but then he makes up for it and it turns into smut?? hope this isnt too muchh.

luv u better ❥ tyriq withers

PAIRING: tyriq withers as “cameron ‘cam’ cade” from “him (2025)” x black!fem!reader

SUMMARY: inspired by “Luv U Better” by LL Cool J + in which Cameron hasn’t been making time for you anymore because of his football schedule and it causes a rift between the two of you that he eventually makes up for. 🩷

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hi, honey, thank you so much! this wasn’t too much at all, i hope you enjoy! 🩷

you were always supportive of Cameron and his football dreams, even if they technically were his father’s dreams for him instead of his own. you showed up to every game dressed in a custom ‘football girlfriend’ shirt with a different design each time, listened to him vent his frustrations or talk about football whenever he needed to, and whenever he needed some encouragement, you were right there supporting him and giving him a shoulder to lean on.

so why did it feel like he left you when you needed him the most?

granted, the two of you were still dating, but as time progressed, Cameron started spending time with you less and less, and eventually, he stopped coming by your on-campus apartment. he even stopped calling as much as he used to, but he’d occasionally send you a simple text saying he was busy whenever you tried calling him — other times you’d try calling and your call would go straight to voicemail without him texting you why he wouldn’t pick up the phone.

your mind instantly jumped to cheating, but your heart didn’t want to believe it. would Cameron really do something that heinous to you? you didn’t want come to terms with that being a possible reason why things between you and your supposed boyfriend were shifting before your very eyes, so you did what any other college student would do and you started burying yourself into your schoolwork.

you’d work and study your ass off for assignments and upcoming exams to the point your mind couldn’t even think about Cameron or what was happening between the two of you because you were hyper-focused on your classes, but that didn’t stop the lingering thoughts in the middle of the night before you’d drift off to sleep.

deep down inside, you were hurting, and you didn’t want to admit it. you didn’t want to admit that the man you loved the most hurt you so deeply by practically changing into someone you could no longer recognize, so you didn’t speak up about it.

it’s not like he’d text or call you back anyway since he seemed so preoccupied with other shit that was presumably more important than you and your relationship.

it was now Saturday, which was the one-month anniversary of when Cameron started becoming distant. ironically enough, he also had a home game today at 2 o’clock, but you made up your mind that you weren’t going to go, which would be the first time you weren’t in attendance at a game since the two of you started dating.

part of you didn’t want to go because you couldn’t bare to sit in those stands and watch him play as if your heart wasn’t aching for his love and affection that you had been alienated from for some unknown reason. the other part of you didn’t want to go because you were studying for your final exam in one of your classes pertaining to your major and you wanted to score at least a C on it so you could pass the class.

you felt like it wouldn’t be a big deal if you didn’t show up because you thought Cameron wouldn’t notice your absence because of how absent he’s been in your relationship, but he noticed it immediately. he could feel it in his spirit that you weren’t there, and once the game ended and he didn’t see you running towards him with open arms like you always do, it only confirmed his suspicion that you weren’t there.

it pained him that you weren’t at his game, but it pained you that he stopped coming to see you, so maybe it was his turn to feel what it was like to want someone to show up for you, but they ultimately don’t.

after the game ended, which was around 5:30, Cameron immediately made his way to your apartment, oblivious to how long it’s been since the last time he’s even been there. before you knew it, three firm knocks sounded off at your door, and your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up from the coffee table and over at the door with confusion displayed all over your face.

you had textbooks, stray papers filled front to back with notes, a notebook also filled front to back with notes, pencils, and pens sprawled out across your coffee table as your laptop sat in your lap with tabs pulled up of your previous exams and quizzes to refresh your memory of previously learned material just in case some of those same questions popped up on the final.

your silk-pressed hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and a claw-clip pinned it to the back of your head as your body adorned a random oversized sweatshirt and a pair of Hello Kitty pajama pants. you weren’t expecting any company and it was evident in your appearance.

nonetheless, you sat your laptop to the side and stood up from the couch as you walked over to the door and unlocked it before pulling it open, your eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at the sight of the one and only Cameron Cade standing at your door.

“C…Cameron?” your voice was soft and held disbelief-like tone as you stared up at him and felt multiple emotions hit and flow through you at once, the prominent ones being anger and hurt.

“why wasn’t you at the game today?” Cameron’s question flew out before you could say anything else other than his name, his colored eyes staring at you intently while his hands sat in the pockets of his hoodie.

you were momentarily silent, a small furrow forming between your eyebrows as you looked him up and down for the first time in a month. eventually, you let out a soft bitter chuckle and crossed your arms as your jaw clenched a little.

“that’s why you came over here? because i wasn’t at the game today?” you asked in bewilderment as the furrow between your eyebrows deepened and you let out a soft scoff of amusement, “for someone who ain’t been showin’ me the time of day, i didn’t think you’d actually care that i wasn’t in the stands this time.”

“what you talking ‘bout?” Cameron’s eyebrows furrowed and his expression contorted into one of confusion as he studied your face and searched your eyes, noticing the fire building beneath your pupils.

you parted your lips to speak but quickly shut your mouth once you realized he was still standing outside your door and that if you went off on him while he was in the hallway, someone could potentially come by and see the heated discussion. so, without thinking twice, you grabbed his arm and pulled him into your apartment as you shut the door behind him.

“Cameron, you’ve been distant as fuck for an entire month and the one time you come see me again it’s ‘cause i wasn’t at your fuckin’ game?” you seethed as you scoffed and crossed your arms, “what, yo’ other bitch wasn’t there or somethin’?”

Cameron’s eyebrows swiftly furrowed and his neck slightly jerked back, his body reacting offensively to your accusation, “you think i’m cheatin’ on you?”

“well, it’s either that or football, so which one is it?” you retorted as you slightly narrowed your eyes at him and raised an eyebrow, “which one got you thinkin’ you too good for your girlfriend?”

“Y/N, it’s not even like that—”

“then, tell me what the fuck it’s like!” you exclaimed, flailing your arms a little, as your hurt started to boil over and your anger started to intensify, “you ain’t been comin’ to see me no more, you barely return my phone calls or text me back, and i’m lucky to even catch a glimpse of your ass on campus, so tell me what in the fuck is it like, Cameron!”

“look, i been busy, a’ight?” Cameron retorted, his eyebrows furrowing, as he crossed his arms, “football started gettin’ hectic and i started losin’ track of time and didn’t have no more free time like i used to, it’s not that deep.”

this time your neck jerked, but it was more noticeable than when his did. you went quiet for a moment as you looked down at the floor, the phrase ‘it’s not that deep’ practically burning a hole into your chest from the nonchalance of it.

“you— Cameron, i swear to God—” you cut your sentence short and let out a bitter laugh instead as you raised your gaze from the ground and looked up at him, “it’s not that deep? it’s not that deep?! that’s what you think?!”

“how the fuck would you feel if i just stopped comin’ to see you? how the fuck would you if i just stopped returnin’ your texts and calls? how the fuck would you feel if i just started switchin’ up on you and actin’ like i didn’t want to be with you anymore?” your voice could no longer contain how hurt you felt and it was evident in every single question you threw at him, “if that’s not ‘that deep’, then me not goin’ to that fuckin’ game today isn’t ‘that deep’ either, nigga.”

you were tired of being pushed to the side by the man who supposedly ‘loved’ you and it was obvious. you had been brewing in those feelings for a while, but the moment Cameron showed up at your door, they instantly boiled over and ripped through you without a second thought.

“you know how this football shit is, Y/N, i thought you’d be able to understand that sometimes a nigga ain’t always gon’ have time for you!” Cameron huffed as you let out a loud scoff and shook your head, briefly pinching the bridge of your nose before lowering your hand.

“yeah, well, if you would’ve told me that shit and communicated properly, maybe i would’ve been able to fuckin’ understand, Cameron,” you scoffed as you crossed your arms, “but randomly disappearing on me wasn’t the way to go about that shit—”

“Y/N, me disappearin’ on you wasn’t that fuckin’ deep, stop bringin’ that shit up!” Cameron suddenly shouted, catching you off guard, as your eyebrows furrowed deeply and you went quiet from his outburst, “i got my own life and you got yours! sometimes we not gon’ be able to see each other and that’s just how that shit go, so stop bein’ so fuckin’ clingy and understand that you can’t be attached to my fuckin’ hip all the damn time!”

you were speechless from his words as you stared up at him quietly, completely baffled that he’d raise his voice at you and dismiss your feelings by calling you ‘clingy’. you didn’t know what to say, but the way your throat started burning and becoming scratchy, you knew you were close to bursting out in tears, and you refused to cry in front of the man who made you feel that way.

you swallowed hard — audibly hard — and you looked away from him as you took a small step back and to the side, “Cameron, get out.”

your voice was quieter than before and sounded defeated, but you refused to let him see it on your face. you didn’t care that your body language and the sound of your voice practically snitched on you and told him you were hurt, you refused to verbally admit it — at least, not now.

Cameron didn’t put up a fight. once the weight of his outburst hung in the air like a chandelier, he immediately regretted saying those words as quickly as they flew out, especially since it was evident that his words hurt you more than his actions have. his eyes lingered on you for a moment before he walked past you and headed to the door, opening it and gently closing it behind him before walking down the hallway away from your room.

as soon as the door closed, that’s when your tears fell. you clenched your jaw to keep your sobs in but your tears still quickly and quietly ran their course, the salty substance running hotly down your melanated face while you turned on your heels to go lock the door.

you weren’t sure where you and him would go after this, but after what he said to you, you definitely needed some time alone — even if you having so much time alone was part of the problem you had with him.

it was now around 10PM and you had finally decided to end your studying session so you could get ready for bed. your head was starting to hurt from all the studying you were doing anyway, so you took that as your sign to call it a day.

you closed your textbooks, slipped your note-filled stray papers inside the cover of your notebook, and slipped your pencils and pens inside a cosmetic bag where the rest of them where as you cleaned up your living room and put your school supplies back into its rightful place, some of it in your backpack and the rest of it on your desk in your bedroom.

your laptop was the last thing you grabbed, mainly because you didn’t want to risk dropping it. you carried it to your bedroom and sat it on your desk as you plugged the charger in and double-checked that it was actually charging before walking away to the living room again.

just like every night when you were finished working — or studying, in this case — thoughts of Cameron plagued your mind, and your face contorted into a small grimace as you took a seat on the couch and let out a soft sigh, allowing your racing thoughts to flow instead of blocking them out like you’d usually do.

memories of your earlier argument flooded your mind and a frown found its way into your face as you crossed your arms and sat further back into the couch, practically trying to stuff yourself between the cushions. Cameron had never yelled at you like that before — or at all, really — so hearing him talk that way to you hurt more than his absence ever could.

you knew — or at least, hoped — that he didn’t mean the things he said to you. Cameron was known to flash out whenever he was overwhelmed with frustration, but he’d never flashed out on you before, so you were kind of stumped and didn’t know how to go about things.

the sound of three soft yet firm knocks at your door pulled you out of your thoughts and your eyes flickered over to the door before your body eventually stood up from the couch and made its way to answer the door. reaching the door, you unlocked it and pulled it open as your eyes landed on a remorseful-looking Cameron Cade, his usual cocky and confident demeanor overshadowed with guilt and sorrow.

neither of you spoke when you pulled the door open, but you knew why he had come back to see you. whenever you and Cameron would get into fights, you’d give each other space to calm down and think rationally before either of you spoke to each other again. he’d never want you to go to bed angry at him and you’d never want him to go to bed angry at you either, but considering how he’s been acting lately, you’ve been going to bed mad at him every damn night.

reluctantly stepping to the side, you allowed him to come in and you shut and locked the door behind him as the two of you walked towards the couch and sat down on it, a small distance between the two of you while your hands sat in your lap and his hands sat in the pockets of his hoodie.

“look, Y/N… i’m sorry ‘bout all that shit i said to you earlier. i was being a dickhead and i shouldn’t have came at you sideways when you didn’t deserve to be talked to like that,” Cameron apologized, his voice softer than it was when he first came to see you, “i didn’t mean to yell at you or make you feel like how you felt didn’t matter and i’m sorry for all of that. i should’ve just listened to how you felt and talked to you about your feelings like an adult instead of flashing out on you like a lame ass nigga.”

“the reason i been so distant lately is ‘cause of football and i should’ve told you that instead of just disappearing on you. my coach been on our asses and been makin’ practices longer and harder for everybody and i get so exhausted and worn out after ‘em that i stopped havin’ time for anything else. i know i should’ve told you that before shit got this bad and it ain’t no excuses for that or the way i been actin’ towards you, so all i can say is that i’m sorry, baby — and i promise you that i mean that shit.” Cameron concluded, his colored eyes fixated on your face, as your eyes studied his face and the tension in your shoulders gradually disappeared from his words, causing them to drop while a soft breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in fell from your mouth.

“i forgive you, Cam,” you admitted softly as a smile spread across Cameron’s face and you ultimately ended up smiling with him, “next time your schedule starts gettin’ too busy, you let me know somethin’, okay?”

“i promise,” Cameron reassured you as he reached out and gently grabbed one of your hands, pressing soft kisses against the back of your hand and your knuckles, “i ain’t gon’ leave you in the dark no more, i promise, baby.”

“good.” you grinned as you watched him grab your other hand and do the same thing he did with the other one, his soft lips gently pressing against the back of your hand and your knuckles and making you relax at his touch.

“a’ight, since we on good terms again, don’t call me ‘Cameron’ no more.” Cameron added, pulling away from your hand, as you raised your eyebrows in amusement and your grin widened, a small laugh coming from your vocals.

“nigga, that’s your name, what you talking ‘bout?” you laughed as Cameron smacked his lips and let go of your hands before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap.

“you only call me my full name when you mad at me and you know that,” Cameron chuckled as he rested his hands on your hips and looked up at you, “can i go back to being ‘Cam’ and ‘baby’ now?”

a smile crossed your face and you rested your hands on his shoulders as your thumb rubbed small circles on them, “mm, you gotta’ earn the ‘baby’ title back, but i guess i’ll go back to calling you ‘Cam’.”

“so what i gotta’ do for my lady to call me ‘baby’ again?” Cameron inquired, raising his eyebrows a little, as he leaned his head back against the back of the couch to get a good look at you and a small smirk pulled at the corners of your lips, a soft knowing chuckle falling from your mouth while you tilted your head a little.

“i think we both know what you need to do, Cam.”

you didn’t know if it was because you missed him or because you hadn’t had sex in a while, but something about the way Cameron was fucking you felt like he was snatching your soul and sending you away to a whole different universe.

your legs were thrown over his arms and the back of your knees rested in the crease of his elbows as he fisted the sheets to keep them pulled back and to support his body weight, his hips bucking wildly into yours while the bed rocked beneath both of you. your hands firmly held onto his upper arms to ground yourself and your mouth sat agape as your loud moans and cries bounced off of the cream-colored walls and harmonized with Cameron’s groans and the sound of skin slapping that your bodies created, his dick deep inside your walls and hitting all the right spots he knew would have you weak.

simultaneously, Cameron was leaving soft kisses against your face and neck, his lips pressing against your melanated skin while he murmured apologies and sweet nothings that vibrated through you. his soft tone and loving words completely contradicted the way he was fucking you, but it was one of the things you loved about him.

he could be pounding you through the mattress and would still kiss you tenderly as if his quick strokes weren’t sending you overboard.

“Caaaam!” you cried out, your nails sinking into his skin and leaving crescent-shaped markings, as Cameron hummed softly against your neck, his tongue gliding across your pulse point before he teasingly kissed it.

“i know, baby, i know,” Cameron cooed softly against your neck before raising his head and looking down at you, his eyes low and filled with desire mixed with adoration, “you always told me actions speak louder than words, so you should know by now that i meant every apology i said and i’m standin’ on all that shit right here, right now. you gon’ forgive me, pretty? huh?”

“i-i—fuuuuck!—i forgive you, baby! i f-forgive youuu!” you cried out, turning into mush underneath him, as a small cocky smirk pulled at the corners of Cameron’s mouth and he pressed his forehead against yours, resulting in your dazed eyes meeting his intense ones.

“yeah? you forgive me, pretty girl?” Cameron cooed, his eyes studying your face, as you vigorously nodded your head and a loud squeal ripped through your vocals, your eyebrows furrowing deeply while your grip on his upper arms tightened.

“y-yes! yes, yes, yes!” you squealed loudly as your eyes rolled back and your head fell back, your breathing turning ragged while your legs started to tense up on Cameron’s eyes, “i-i forgive you! fuuuck, daddy, i missed y-you so much!”

“mhm, daddy missed you, too, baby,” Cameron murmured as he pressed kisses against your jaw before switching to the other, “missed feelin’ the way this good ass pussy hugged my dick when i’m deep in it. missed watchin’ them pretty eyes roll back and yo’ eyebrows scrunch together when you close to cummin’. missed makin’ them legs shake and lock up when i hit yo’ spot and make you squeal real loud. missed watchin’ yo’ pretty face scrunch up when i go deeper and deeper in this good pussy ‘til you feel this dick in yo’ stomach… damn, i missed everything about yo’ beautiful ass, mama.”

you couldn’t speak after that. your words started becoming jumbled in your throat and all you could do was moan and occasionally cry out his name through the thick lustful fog clouding your mind. your eyes squeezed shut and your legs started to tremble on his arms as the bridge of your nose scrunched up a little and your jaw dropped further, your noises growing higher in pitch and louder in volume to indicate your impending orgasm.

“you love me, baby? hm?” Cameron murmured against your chin as he pressed two kisses there before kissing down the front of your neck, sending chills down your spine and eliciting a whimper from you, “tell me you love me. i wanna hear you say it.”

“y-yessss! o-oh, daddy, i l-love you soooo fuckin’ much!” you cried out, your voice wavering slightly, as the trembling in your legs started to intensify and your body suddenly jerked, your walls tightly clamping down on Cameron’s dick while your climax rushed through you, “i-i’m cummingggg! fuuuck, i l-looove you, babyyy! i love y-you so m-muuuch— shit, shit, shit!”

Cameron raised his head from your neck and stared down at you as he watched your orgasm rip through you, your body writhing underneath his while you laid there filled with desire and dick. his eyes wandered down your figure and stopped once he reached your pussy, a cocky smirk finding its way onto his face as he watched his dick push in and out of your slick walls, your essence coated every inch of him and dripping down to your sheets and his balls.

“i love yo’ pretty ass, too, mama — more than anything in the world. shit, you so fuckin’ beautiful when you cummin’ for me like that, baby.”

[yourleogf]

groupies ❥ tyriq withers

PAIRING: tyriq withers as “cameron ‘cam’ cade” from “him (2025)” x black!fem!reader

SUMMARY: in which you and Cameron go to a frat party together and when the two of you separate, you overhear a girl thirsting over Cameron with her friends, which eventually pushes you to act out of character. 🩷

you were never one to act out of character when you were angry — you actually stopped doing that in high school. however, there was something deeply infuriating about listening to some random broad talk about all the tricks she wanted to do on your boyfriend’s dick that hit such a deep nerve within you that acting out of character was 100% inevitable once you got your hands on her.

you and Cameron walked into the party side-by-side, his arm draped across your shoulder while yours sat around his waist. everybody knew you two were dating, so any time someone spotted the two of you together, they’d greet you both or hype up your relationship — or both, of course. you didn’t really like the spotlight on you too much, but Cameron helped you get used to it and you eventually started liking the attention.

but not all attention was good attention.

you were sat on one of the many couches in the party occupying yourself on your phone while Cameron disappeared off to the kitchen to get you both something to drink. you knew it’d take a few minutes because he was bound to see someone he knew and wanted to talk to in the midst of his quest, which ended up being true because five minutes had passed and he still hadn’t come back.

the music in the party was loud, but it wasn’t unbearably loud — meaning it was at a high volume, but it wasn’t high enough to burst your eardrums or drown out the chatter from the large crowd of college students. you’d occasionally glance up from your phone to check your surroundings and make sure you could see still Cameron, who was leaned up against the kitchen counter talking to some guy who you assumed to be his teammate since he looked like someone who was on the football team.

“…i’m tellin’ you, girl, i would take that nigga down through there!” the sound of a girl’s exclaim caught your attention and you glanced over to where it came from, your eyes locking on a trio of pretty girls standing by a nearby wall.

you chuckled under your breath at the girl’s comment and shook your head as you turned your attention back to your phone, resuming your scrolling. you knew exactly how she felt because that’s how you would talk to your own friends before you started dating Cameron, so it was amusing to you to see other girls act in the same way.

but after listening to their conversation a little more, you were no longer amused.

“girl, you know he got a girlfriend, right?”

“shit, i don’t give a damn! you know how many famous athletes have girlfriends and still be fuckin’ off on other hoes?!”

that made you pause. your thumb halted in place and you were no longer interested in whatever social media app you were interested in. however, you couldn’t blow your cover and reveal that you were practically eavesdropping on their very loud conversation, so you continued scrolling and kept your ears open for something that would send off alarms in your head.

“and you really think Cam gon’ cheat on Y/N for you, huh?”

“shit, why wouldn’t he? i’m sure i look better than that bitch anyway.”

your jaw clenched almost instantly and your breathing caught in your throat as you slowly raised your head and looked over at the trip, beginning to really pay attention to them since it was obviously they didn’t realize you weren’t too far from where they were standing.

“okay, Niya, now you actin’ real outta’ pocket.” the short, light-skinned woman with hip-length boho braids chuckled as she shook her head and crossed her arms.

“and ain’t Cam here? i’m sure his girlfriend with him, too, and you sayin’ all this wild shit.” the tall, dark-skinned woman with a honey brown lace front added as her eyebrows furrowed a little and her eyes flickered between her two friends.

“what, i’m ‘posed to be scared of her or something?” the average-height, brown-skinned woman presumably named ‘Niya’ with a black afro puff sitting atop her head scoffed as she raised an eyebrow, “ain’t nothin’ wrong with a lil’ friendly competition.”

“you wanna compete with her over her nigga?” the dark-skinned woman asked in surprise as her face scrunched up and her eyes narrowed a little in amusement, “you sound stupid as fuck right now, girl, i can’t even lie to you.”

“what, you think i can’t get him?” Niya laughed as she raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, her dark brown eyes flickering between her two friends, “give me five minutes and i’m sure i could have that nigga eatin’ my pussy in the backseat of his car.”

looks of surprise mixed with amusement splayed across the light-skinned girl and the dark-skinned girl’s faces and the light-skinned girl covered her mouth as she laughed heartily into her palm while the dark-skinned girl remained starstruck, her face displaying a bit of confusion as to why Niya was acting like Cameron wasn’t happily taken by another girl.

that was the moment that made the dark-skinned woman realized she needed to pick better friends.

“y’all think i’m playin’, huh? i’m tellin’ you right now, i could do so many tricks on that dick that he wouldn’t even think about Y/N no more. like, he’d pay that bitch dust!” Niya exclaimed as the light-skinned woman laughed harder and Niya smacked her lips, “alright, Connie, you laughin’ too damn hard.”

“what— w-what kinda’ tricks you said you was gon’ do?” the light-skinned woman presumably named ‘Connie’ squealed through laughter as the dark-skinned woman groaned and ran her hand down her face.

“damn, Con’, stop eggin’ her on, her ego already big as shit.” the dark-skinned woman groaned as Niya cockily smirked and stuck out her tongue.

“stop bein’ a hater, Laila, damn,” Niya huffed before giggling and crossing her arms, “anyways, like i was sayin’, i’d do hella’ tricks on that dick. ridin’ it before he goes to sleep, suckin’ as soon as he come to my dorm after practice — like, i’d make that nigga love him some me! and don’t even get me started on how i’d throw this pussy in this face ‘cause i shol’ heard through the grapevine that that nigga can eat some pussy!”

yeah, you lost it after that.

you stuffed your phone in your purse and stood up from the couch as you slung your purse over your shoulder and walked over to the trio of girls, who were oblivious to you approaching them until Laila saw you first.

Laila’s eyes widened at the sight of you and she slyly nudged Connie since she was standing next to her, making Connie look at you, too. the only one who was oblivious to your presence was Niya, who was still going on and on about how well she could fuck and suck Cameron and how he wouldn’t want to leave her alone and would leave you to be with her.

your boyfriend. your Cameron. and here she was talking about him like he was a piece of meat.

you stood quietly behind Niya while she continued her ranting, your arms crossed and your jaw still clenched from earlier. Laila and Connie were trying to signal that Niya needed to be quiet, but she was oblivious to their attempts to shut her up, so you decided to make an attempt of your own.

you purposely cleared your throat as loud as you could and Niya instantly cut her rant short as her head instantly swiveled around and her eyes landed on you, flashing a fake smile at you while you raised an eyebrow in response.

“oh, hey, Y/N. girl, i ain’t even know you was here,” Niya fake-smiled as she turned around to face you and you kept your unamused look on your face, not succumbing to her fake-ness, “how, uh… how long you been standin’ right here?”

“long enough to hear all the tricks you wanna do on my boyfriend’s face.” you retorted, your tone sharp and leaving no room for fuckery, as you returned her fake smile and kept your jaw clenched and your arms crossed.

“look, don’t be insecure—”

“insecure?” you swiftly interrupted her with a scoff as you let out a laugh of amusement, “you over here talkin’ about fuckin’ on my damn boyfriend, suckin’ his dick, and puttin’ yo’ pussy on his face and you got the nerve to call me insecure?”

“what, you can’t handle some competition?” Niya snapped back as she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, “you that delusional over him that you think he can’t be took from you?”

“bitch, you got a lot of muh’fuckin’ nerve to be standin’ in my face tryna’ call me delusional like yo’ hoe ass ain’t over here fantasizin’ about somebody else’s man like a weak ass dirty lil’ slut,” you spat as your eyebrows furrowed and you took a step closer to her, your body moving on instincts while your brain switched over to autopilot, “find yo’ own nigga instead of thirstin’ over mine, alright? i get enough of hoes like you on the regular.”

“bitch, who the fuck you talkin’ to?” Niya scoffed as she stepped closer to you and the two of you were now chest to chest, “that nigga shol’ got your head hyped up, don’t he? got you thinkin’ you the baddest thing out here or some shit. girl, you ain’t shit, a’ight, stop lettin’ that nigga boost yo’ head u—”

your fist went across her face before you knew it, shutting her up instantly and making her stumble back towards Laila and Connie, who were quietly watching the scene unfold between their friend and their friend’s crush’s girlfriend. you managed to split Niya’s bottom lip with your knuckles, causing a bit of blood to spill from the wound while Niya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked down at her hand before looking over at you with fury.

“bitch, i’ma beat yo’ ass!” Niya shouted before pouncing on you and sending both of you to the ground, her right hand coming smooth across your face and slapping you as hard as she could.

“ohhh, shit! it’s a cat fight in this muh’fucka’!” a random onlooker announced, garnering more attention to the fight, as you felt nails scratch into your cheek and you hissed at the painful sensation, but it honestly only amped you up more.

you pushed Niya off of you and swiftly rolled on top of her as you tossed your purse off your shoulder and started sending blows to her face, some of which she blocked and managed to hit you instead. as the two of you fought, you could hear onlookers start to surround you and hype up the fight, majority of them cheering for you since you were more known and they knew who your man was.

flashes from cameras shined on the two of you, but you didn’t move. you kept sending punches and didn’t let up, even when Niya managed to punch you square in the bottom lip and pull on a few of your locs. you were about to send the meanest blow to her nose when two strong arms suddenly wrapped around you and yanked you up from the ground, but before you could put up a fight, a familiar scent of cologne filled your nose and you almost instantly went limp.

it was none other than Cameron Cade. your Cameron Cade.

“aye, everybody back the fuck up!” Cameron yelled as he held your purse in one hand and held you against his chest with one arm and started roughly shoving his way through the crowd to get outside, “and stop fuckin’ recordin’ before i break all y’all goddamn phones!”

you were like a ragdoll in Cameron’s grasp, just swaying back and forth between his body and arm while he effortlessly carried you outside. your jaw was clenched, one of your cheeks had faint scratches, your bottom lip was split and small amount of blood seeped out, your locs were all over your head, and your knuckles were bloodied and bruised as you leaned quietly against Cameron’s chest, letting him lead you away from the chaos inside the frat house.

once he reached his car, he walked over to the driver’s side and set you down on the ground as he turned you around and made you face him.

“what happened?” Cameron asked, his question coming out more as a demand, as your eyes flickered over to the door of the frat house and Cameron’s hand instantly grabbed your chin and turned your head towards him, forcing you to make eye contact with him, “Y/N, look at me. tell me what happened, baby.”

your jaw slowly unclenched from his touch as you stared up into his colored eyes, the tension in your body slowly starting to melt away. you couldn’t stay mad in Cameron’s presence and he knew that, which is part of the reason why he was so keen on pulling you away from the fight and talking to you privately.

he wished he was there before the fight even happened. maybe he could’ve stopped it.

you parted your lips to speak but was cut off by the sounds of the frat house’s doors slamming open and loud chatter filling the quiet outdoors, causing you and Cameron to look over at the doors to see what all the commotion was about. as soon as you looked over, you locked eyes with Niya, who was trying to charge at you but was being held back by Connie and Laila, and your jaw clenched again as you tensed up for a second time.

“it ain’t over, bitch! it’s on sight every time i see yo’ ol’ insecure ass, you bird-brain ass bitch!” Niya shouted as you immediately tried to leap out of Cameron’s way but he quickly caught you and firmly wrapped his arms around you, keeping you tightly against him.

“fuck you, you hammerhead shark lookin’ ass bitch! i’ll suck my nigga’s dick in front of yo’ desperate ass and spit his nut on yo’ face since you want my sloppy seconds so bad, you nasty ass dirty trick!” you hollered back over Cameron’s arm, your eyebrows furrowing, as Cameron swiftly lifted you from the ground and walked around to the passenger side of his car, his jaw clenching a little while he tried to defuse the situation that clearly couldn’t be contained.

as you and Niya got into screaming match, Cameron was trying to get you to get inside his car, but you weren’t budging. you stood in front of the open car door with him standing right behind you as you continued shouting insults at Niya, your tongue sharp and your mouth blurting out any and every slick remark and harsh insult you could.

“Y/N, get yo’ ass in this car, man!” Cameron suddenly shouted over you and Niya as he abruptly picked you up bridal style and forced you into the passenger seat, quickly shutting the door before you could even think about leaping out of it.

as he walked around to the driver’s side of his car, he looked at Niya, Connie, and Laila with frustration mixed with disdain, a mug on his face while he stared the trio of girls down like they were his worst enemies.

“y’all need to take her lil’ thot ass back up in that party ‘cause she ain’t gon’ do shit else to my girl without me gettin’ involved, and i mean that.” Cameron sharply remarked as his eyebrows furrowed and he got inside the driver’s seat of his car without saying another word, starting the car and driving off to your off-campus apartment while the three girls stood stunned from his words.

“so let me get this straight,” Cameron chuckled as he stood between your legs and continued cleaning your bloodied bottom lip, “she was talkin’ all kinds of freak shit about me in front of you and when you called her out on it, she called you insecure, so you beat her ass?”

“mhm,” you hummed, making Cameron laugh, as a grin spread across your face and Cameron soon finished cleaning your lip, giving you a soft and brief kiss before throwing away the cotton swap he used, “she shouldn’t have been runnin’ her mouth, Cam, i’m tellin’ you.”

the two of you were in the bathroom and you were seated on the counter as Cameron stood between your legs nursing the wounds and marks on your face, your locs pulled back into a low ponytail to keep them out of his way. your anger was long gone by now and the atmosphere between the two of you was much lighter than it was when you were at that party, which you were honestly very grateful for.

you hated being angry, but you especially hated being angry around Cameron. you hated being in a bad mood around him in general because you didn’t want to unintentionally take it out on him, even though he’d be more than understanding if you did. you knew that it was unrealistic to never end up in a bad mood at least once or twice a week — or day — so whenever your bad mood struck, you’d ask Cameron for some space until you calmed down and you’d eventually tell him what happened.

unfortunately, that wasn’t an option for you tonight.

“man, i don’t even wanna hear the nasty shit she was sayin’ about me. that shit gon’ make a nigga throw up.” Cameron chuckled as he wiped your knuckles clean of dried blood and you let out a hearty laugh at his words.

“that thot was talkin’ about how she was gon’ ride your dick before you went to sleep, suck your dick when you got outta’ football practice, and how she was gon’ have you eatin’ her pussy in the backseat of yo’ car.” you repeated with a roll of your eyes as Cameron cringed and made a gagging sound, making you burst out into a fit of laughter.

“i’d rather cut my dick off and burn it before i ever put it near somebody that ain’t you.” Cameron grimaced, his eyebrows furrowing, as you laughed even harder and watched him massage ointment into your knuckles to help with your bruises, a wide smile of amusement on your face.

“it’s hard out here for a girl datin’ a nigga that every other bitch wants, you know?” you dramatically sighed as Cameron chuckled and put away the ointment, wiping his hands free of the excess while he looked up from your hands and at your face.

“shouldn’t be too hard when you know i only got eyes for yo’ pretty ass.” Cameron cockily grinned as he rested his hands on top of your thighs and you smiled at him, resting your hands on his chest.

“tell that to your groupies, boo.” you joked, letting out a soft chuckle, as you raised your eyebrows and Cameron smacked his lips, making you laugh.

“i ain’t worried ‘bout them thots,” Cameron murmured as he moved closer between your legs and gently squeezed your thighs, “i’m only worried ‘bout my lady.”

a wide smile spread across your face at his words and your hands moved from his chest to his sides as you studied his face, absentmindedly drinking in his features on his pretty face.

“your lady, huh?” you repeated softly with smile as Cameron hummed lowly and nodded his head before leaning down and placing two soft and brief kisses on your lips, “you keep kissin’ me like that hoe ain’t bust my lip, Cam.”

“so? the fuck that’s ‘posed to mean?” Cameron chuckled lowly as his eyebrows furrowed a little and he slightly tilted his head, “that ain’t gon’ stop me from kissin’ you, a lil’ blood in my mouth ain’t gon’ kill me.”

you laughed softly and lifted your hands from his sides to his face as you gently cupped his jaws and pulled him in, kissing him tenderly. your bottom lip slightly ached from the contact, but you couldn’t care less. it’d be fine once it healed in a day or two, but you weren’t about to let it stop your man from kissing you, especially when he didn’t even give a damn.

his lips moved in tandem with yours, keeping the kiss sweet to show how much love he had for you. his hands moved from your thighs to your hips and he pulled you closer as he deepened the kiss, not wanting to let you go just yet.

the two of you stayed like that for a good few minutes, his hands remaining on your hips and his lips pressed lovingly against yours while your hands stayed on his face and you kept him pulled close. after the wild night the two of you had at that party — especially you — some tender kisses really felt right, like it was something to completely make you forget about the trials and tribulations of your entire week.

suddenly, Cameron gently pulled away from the kiss and tightened his grip on your hips as he pulled you up from the counter and onto his hips, your legs wrapping around his waist while your arms wrapped around his neck.

“a’ight, i’m finna eat yo’ pussy.” Cameron murmured, catching you off guard, as a look of bewilderment mixed with amusement crossed your face and you laughed while Cameron carried you out of the bathroom.

“nigga, that was random as fuck,” you laughed as you looked down at him and watched a smirk slowly spread across his light-skinned face, “what you wanna eat my pussy for?”

“you think i need a reason to eat yo’ pussy, baby?” Cameron chuckled, walking into the bedroom, as he laid you down on the bed and towered over you, “i could eat that shit all day without needin’ to come up for air just ‘cause i want to.”

your eyebrows raised in amusement and you grinned widely as you watched him grab your ankles and pull you towards the edge of the bed, a girlish giggle falling from your lips while he unbuttoned your jeans.

“look at yo’ ass, over here blushin’ just ‘cause i’m ‘bout to eat that pussy,” Cameron teased as you smacked your lips and laughed before raising your hips, allowing him to take off your jeans and toss them aside, “you eager as fuck, ain’t you?”

“you annoying as hell, you know that?” you chuckled, raising an eyebrow, as Cameron grabbed your thighs and spread them apart, opening you up for him while he tilted his head a little.

“shit, i can’t tell by this wet spot on yo’ panties,” Cameron cockily smirked as he took a hand off your thigh and pressed his thumb against the wet spot, making your hips slightly buck, “seems like this pussy don’t think i’m annoying ‘cause she drippin’ for big daddy.”

you snorted and let out a breathy laugh as you watched him pull your panties to the side, “i’m never callin’ you ‘big daddy’, Cam.”

“you think i can’t make you?” Cameron enticed, raising an eyebrow, as he held your panties to the side with one hand and used his other to run a finger up and down your slit, sending a shiver down your spine, “stop all that frontin’ like i don’t know yo’ sweet spots.”

“alright, damn, i was just playin’,” you whined breathily, your core starting to ache from his teasing, as you propped up on your elbows and looked up at Cameron, who was already looking down at you with a smirk, “c’mon and eat my pussy, big daddy.”

Cameron’s smirk widened and his dimples poked through his cheeks as he let out a soft chuckle and hooked his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your melanated legs and tossing them aside where your jeans were discarded. sinking down to his knees, he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled them further open as he pulled you closer to his face and hungrily eyed your pussy up and down before his colored eyes flickered up to you.

“remember when you said you was gon’ suck my dick in front of that thot and spit my nut in her face?” Cameron asked, breaking the momentary silence in the room, as you laughed softly and nodded your head, a small smile of amusement pulling at the corners of your mouth at the memory, “next time she try some shit with you, i’ma eat yo’ pussy in front of her and make you cum ‘til you pass out.”

and those were the last words he said before he dug into his meal.

he didn’t move in a hurry either. he ate your pussy real slow and real sensual, taking his time with you like he had all night to make you cum — and technically, he did. his tongue moved with precision and his lips followed in pursuit, the two of them working in unison to savor your pussy like you were a fragile piece of art while he kept a firm grip on your thighs to keep them pulled open.

you were a whimpering mess underneath him, your hands cradling his head and holding him close while you watched him relish in the taste of your essence. his eyes were closed and his eyebrows were furrowed a little, concentration written all over his pretty face while his tongue explored your pussy as much as it possibly could.

“Cam… shit, baby..” you whimpered softly, your jaw dropping a little, as your fingers caressed his buzzcut and Cameron’s eyes flickered open at your whimpers, his colored eyes staring up at you and meeting your gaze.

Cameron hummed softly against you in response and his lips locked around your clit as he sucked on it, his tongue occasionally swiping over the throbbing bud to add to your pleasure. one of his hands left your thighs and moved between your legs as he pushed his middle finger inside you, making your jaw go slack and your back arch while a semi-loud moan ripped through your chest.

“this my pussy, baby?” Cameron murmured against you, keeping his eyes trained on your face, as he thrusted his middle finger in and out of you at a steady pace, matching the speed he was eating you out.

“y-yesss,” you whined, your eyebrows furrowing, as you rolled your hips against his face and fingers, your lips ajar with shallow and choppy breaths falling from them, “t-this your pussy, big daddy..”

Cameron moaned against you at your words and added another finger inside of you, curving both of them against your walls, “say that shit again, pretty girl.”

“fuuuck, this your pussy, big daddy!” you squealed, feeling his fingers graze your spot, as your eyes rolled back and your head fell back against the bed, a furrow forming between your eyebrows while your hips stuttered.

“uh-huh, that’s what i thought,” Cameron murmured as he let your clit go with a wet ‘pop!’ and start slowly swirling his tongue around it, keeping his slow pace while his fingers deeply stroked your walls, “all this shit for me, baby. you ain’t ever gotta’ worry ‘bout no other bitch gettin’ my attention when you look and taste this good. these hoes can’t top you, not even on they best day. you one of one, mama.”

your eyes squeezed shut and your breathing started to pick up as you felt your stomach muscles tighten up and knew your orgasm was impending, causing a high-pitched whine to fall from your lips while your legs started trembling.

“C-Caaaam,” you whined desperately, your back arching for a second time, as your eyebrows furrowed deeply and the bridge of your nose scrunched up a little before you suddenly gasped, your body jerking with the loud noise, “ooh, fuck, baby!”

you came before you could even announce it, your orgasm ripping through you while your essence coated Cameron’s fingers. he continued stroking you through your orgasm, his digits digging you out and pushing you through your aftershocks. Cameron placed a sweet kiss on your clit and pulled his head back a little as he looked down at his fingers and watched your juices coat them with every push and pull of his wrist, a small growing smirk onto his face while he licked his lips and watched your cum ooze out of you.

“i swear i could never get tired of makin’ yo’ pretty ass cum, baby. this shit always gon’ be my favorite sight to see.”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

As an introvert and a virgin, Stack would just completely break me down😭

🤭🤭🤭

Listen. Stack Moore? With that mouth? That swagger? That deep, dimpled grin like he already know what you sound like when you fall apart? That man would have your knees knocking before he even touched you.

He’d take his time, too. That’s the worst part. He’d talk you out of your own shy little shell. All slow and easy with that drawl, all sweet on you like “Don’t look away now, baby. I want you to see who doin’ it to you.”

You wouldn’t even realize how far gone you were until it was too late. Until you’re laid out somewhere you shouldn’t be, still trembling, still holding his wrist like you need to breathe through it. And he’s still down there, still saying things like “You gon’ let me finish, ain’t you? Be real good fa’ me?”

And if you tried to act nervous or pull back?

He’d catch that chin in his hand, ease your face back toward his, eyes soft but voice so filthy it’d ruin you.

“You scared? Hm? Don’t be. I ain’t even start takin’ you apart yet, baby.”

😭😭😭

Stack would absolutely wreck the introvert in you. And he’d love every second of how soft, shy, and undone you get under his hands. Ain’t no coming back from that!!!!

Legs locking around his shoulders.

Your body arches.

You scream. Not loud, but raw. Guttural. Like something sacred got torn out of you.

He holds you through it.

Never stops licking.

Keeps tasting you like your pleasure is dessert.

He lifts you up and lays you back on the bed like you are something precious and dangerous at the same time. Your legs are still trembling. Your thighs slick. Your body warm and open from what he just did to you. He climbs over you slow. Heavy. Solid. His hands slide under your hips and pull you closer to the edge of the mattress.

“So I can see you,” he says quietly.

He spreads your legs and settles between them.

You see it now.

His dick thick and hard. Veins standing out. Head wet from his pre cum. Heavy in his hand when he wraps his fingers around it. Your breath stutters and he notices.

Of course he does.

His thumb brushes over your clit once. Soft. Almost sweet.

“You safe. But you gon’ feel me. All of me.”

He lines himself up. The head presses against you.

Warm. Firm. Insistent.

You gasp at just that.

He leans down and kisses you slow. Deep. Tongue in your mouth. Holding you there while he starts to push.

Just the tip.

You tense. Your hands grab his shoulders.

He does not stop.

He slows.

“Relax that body. Let me in.”

He pushes again.

A little more.

Stretching you. Opening you.

You whimper into his mouth. It burns. It aches. It is too much and not enough all at once.

He pulls back just a fraction.

“Breathe. Do it with me.”

He breathes slow against your lips.

You follow without thinking.

In.

Out.

Then he pushes again. This time deeper.

A broken sound falls out of your mouth.

He holds your hips down. Like he is saying: Stay right here. Take it.

“That’s it. Right there. Take that.”

Another slow push. More of him slides in.

You feel stretched. Filled. Split open around him.

Tears gather in your eyes.

He kisses them away.

“I know. I know. Stay with me.”

He stays still for a moment. Buried halfway inside you. Letting your body adjust. Letting you learn his size. His forehead rests against yours. You feel him breathing hard now too.

He wants it.

Bad.

But he waits.

When you finally loosen just a little, he moves again.

Slow. Deep. Controlled.

Inch by inch.

Until his hips meet yours. Until he is all the way inside.

Every damn inch.

You cry out. From being full. From being taken.

From knowing you are changed now.

Stack groans low in his chest.

“Fuck…you fit me too tight.”

He stays there. Deep. Pressed into you. Making sure you feel him. Letting you feel how stretched you are around him. His hand slides between you and rubs your clit slow.

“You still with me?”

You nod. Barely.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Then he starts to move.

Not fast. Long strokes. Pulling out almost all the way. Then pushing back in slow. So you feel it every time. The stretch. The fullness. The way your body learns him.

Over and over.

“You takin’ me so good,” he whispers against your neck, “Virgin pussy wrapped around me like it been waitin’.”

Your nails dig into his back. Your legs hook around his waist without you meaning to.

He smiles against your skin.

“Yeah. Hold me like that. Don’t let me go nowhere.”

His pace picks up just a little. Deep. Slow. But stronger now.

More confident.

The bed starts to creak. Your breathing gets messy. Your voice breaks when you say his name.

He answers by thrusting deeper. Hitting something inside you that makes you gasp.

Again.

Again.

“There it is,” he says quietly, “That spot.”

He keeps finding it. Keeps pressing into it. Keeps making your body respond whether you want to or not.

Your fear melts into need. Your shyness turns into moans. Your body starts to meet his strokes.

Rocking back.

Taking him.

Learning how to take him.

Stack grips your thighs and spreads you wider.

“So I can get deeper.”

And he does.

He sinks into you again and again until you are crying his name and shaking beneath him.

Until being a virgin feels like something that happened a lifetime ago. Until all you know is him.

Inside you.

Claiming you.

Teaching you.

Breaking you open and building you back up in his arms. He fucks you deep. Not fast. Not cruel. But heavy. Every stroke. One hand on your spine, the other around your throat from behind, pulling your head back so you can’t go anywhere.

“I could fuck this shy little cunt ‘til the sun come up. Let every room in this house hear how sweet you give it to me.”

“You gon’ give it to me from up here,” he says. Low.

You whimper. Nod. Your body’s already pulsing, open and wanting. Stack shifts his hips. Uses one hand to guide himself. And then he slides back in. Deep. All at once. One slow stroke that presses your whole body to the wall. You choke on a sound. Your head drops to his shoulder. He fuckin’ fills you to the hilt.

“Feel this dick?” he whispers, lips to your ear, “That’s what you been needing.”

His hips pull back. Then slam forward. And now he’s fucking you standing. Strong arms holding you in place. Your body bouncing against his chest. Your pussy clenching tight around every stroke. He’s moaning low now. Gripping your thighs tighter. Slamming up into you from under.

“Drippin’ down my fuckin’ dick. So fuckin’ sweet.”

You whine. Eyes shut. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just feel. His thrusts start getting deeper. Harder. The sound of skin slapping. The slick suck of your pussy every time he drives in. Your nails dig into his back.

“Come on, baby. Let that pussy talk for me. Let it do what it need to do.”

And then he grinds. Slows down just enough to roll his hips. Grind that dick into you with every upstroke.

His pubic bone pressing your clit.

His dick hitting that spot inside.

His chest keeping you pinned.

“Right there. Right fuckin’ there,” he growls.

You’re crying now. Your body going tight.You feel it rise like a tidal wave. Unstoppable.

“I can’t. It’s too much—”

Your words break.

He grabs your chin. Kisses you deep. Keeps fucking.

“You will. You this pussy now. I opened this shit.”

And then it happens.

Your whole body locks up.

Pussy clenching hard.

That wave crests.

And you snap.

Eyes roll. Mouth open. You scream into his shoulder. Legs shaking around his waist. Your orgasm ripping through you like your whole body gave in.

Stack don’t stop.

He holds you through it.

Fucks you through it.

Deep, greedy thrusts that draw it out, make it last longer, make you ride that climax until your pussy’s fluttering and leaking and soaking his dick.

He’s talking shit the whole time.

“Look at you. Cummin’ all on this dick like you forgot you was shy.”

He finally slows down. Lets you breathe.

You’re twitching in his arms. Face buried in his neck.

Whimpering. Drenched.

He lays you down on the bed again, kisses your shoulder, and runs his hand over your thigh while his dick still rests inside you.

“That’s me all the way in you. That’s what you gon’ remember every time you close your legs.”

You nod, tears still clinging to your lashes.

And he smiles.

You ain’t never cumming like that for anybody else.

He made sure of it.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

How do you think each twin would deal with a girl running or putting her hand on his stomach during sex?

If she tries to run from Smoke dick:

Smoke wouldn’t let her get more than an inch. The moment he feels her hips shift or her body try to re oil from the sheer size and thickness of his dick his reaction would be instantaneous and physical. He wouldn’t shout or ask why, he would simply react.

He’d reach out with those large, calloused hands and seize her hips in a vice grip. He would haul her back against him with a brutal, singular motion, pinning her firmly against the mattress or the wall. He’d lean in close, his chest hard against her back because we know this man love to bend you over. Then he would speak in a low gravelly rumble against her ear or her neck.

“Where you think you goin’?”

He would use his weight to anchor her, ensuring she feels every inch of that dick pressing into her. He’d slowly drive that thick dick back in her. Smoke doesn’t do “gentle” when he feels her slipping away or trying to run. He takes control. There is no exit until he’s finished.

He’s keeping that stroke, he wants you crying on the dick.

When she presses her palm against his stomach or chest to push back:

It’s a signal, her saying “daddy, it’s too much.” Or “I can’t take it.” When he’s stretching her past her limit.

Smoke don’t react with hesitation he only gets triggered by her body fighting the girth and length of him. It makes his deepest, most possessive instincts come to life. Smoke ain’t a man of many words, and he isn’t one for gentle reassurance. To him, her resistance isn’t a request to stop it’s a sign that he successfully claimed every single inch of her.

Smoke will lean his full, heavy weight forward, pin her deeper into the mattress or the wall with either his hands on the backs of her thighs/knees. He may even bear hug her while he in it. He catches her wrists in one of his large hands with a steel grip and pin her arm above her head or firmly against his own chest.

Smoke would say little to no words. He’ll grunt, growl, breath heavy through his nose. He’ll look down at her his expression hard and neutral (😩😩😩) though the intensity in his gaze is scorching! He wants her to see that he knows exactly what she’s feeling.

“You mine…take it.”

He would hold her there, frozen and stretched, letting her feel the thickness of him pulsing deep inside her. Then with a slow, brutal efficiency, he would begin to drive back into her, he’d use his hips to grind his dick directly against her most sensitive spots, forcing her body to accommodate his size. Every thrust is a heavy, thudding impact that reminds her exactly who owns her. He won’t stop until her nails start to claw at his shoulders, his chest, his abs.

If she tries to run or pull away from his dick:

Stack wouldn’t react like Smoke. Instead, he’d treat it as a challenge, a playful game of cat and mouse. The moment he feels her recoil from his big dick he wouldn’t just grab her he’d tease her about it.

He might let her slide back just an inch, only to catch her by the waist with a low, melodic chuckle. He’d pull her back toward him with a sliding, sensual friction that makes her skin tingle. He’d lean in, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice a smooth, honeyed tone that vibrates through her entire body.

“Now, where you goin’, sugar? We just gettin’ to the best part,” he’d whisper.

Stack uses his charisma to coax her back, kissing her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers to distract her from the intimidation of his size. But once he had her settled, the “pretty gangster” disappears and the predator emerges. He’d grip her thighs, hoisting them higher over his shoulders to open her up completely. He would slide back in her with a slow, agonizing pace, watching her face with a smug, knowing grin. He wants her to feel the stretch to feel the way his dick sits perfectly against her spot.

When she presses her palm against Stack’s stomach, that frantic, trembling push that tells him it’s too much:

That his girth is stretching her to a breaking point. Stack don’t react like Smoke. Instead, he’d treat reacts with that chuckle and that smirk. To Stack, her resistance isn’t a signal to stop it’s a compliment. It’s the ultimate validation of his masculinity. He treats her struggle like a game he’s won.

Stack doesn’t pin her down either force he uses his charisma to dismantle her panic. He leans back just a fraction to look in her eyes. He’s got that predatory grin with deep dimples popping as he watches her expression of overwhelming desire. He’ll let her hand stay there for a moment, feeling the heat of her hand against his flexed muscles before slowly wrapping his fingers around her wrist and kissing the inside of it with his eyes still locked. Then he makes his voice sound all smooth and sexy.

“Now, baby…you know you want every single of this. Don’t lie to me. I can feel how tight you grippin’ me. You just a little overwhelmed by how big I am, ain’t you?”

Then he’ll guidance her hand down from his stomach, sliding her palm over the hard ridge of his hip and then directly into the base of his dick, forcing her to feel the thick, pulsing vein and the heavy weight of him as he remains buried deep inside her. He wants her to acknowledge the size of him, to feel the way his dick sits deep.

Then he moves, driving that dick at a slow pace. He pulls back until he’s almost out to tease her with the sensation of emptiness then he’s sliding back in with a steady pressure that makes her toes curl. All while watching her face and savoring every reaction.

“Just breath for me…open up for daddy. Take it all. I’m gon’ fill you up so full.”

Now she’s begging him to stop teasing and only then will Stack hammer into her 😩😩😩

[otakufilms]

‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀𝓸𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓶𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰…..‧₊˚﹒♡﹗₊˚⊹❀

forever ever. onyankopon.

𓊆ྀི warnings .ᐟ + word count— 16.5K, southern coded!black characters, original!blackfemreader, pouty!blackfemreader, southernbelle!blackfem reader, shy!femreader, mortician!blackfemreader, fiancè!blackfemreader, fiancè!onyankopon, firefighter!onyankopon, southerncoded!onyankopon, aggressive!onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, slightly tipsy sex!, dirty talk, aggressive pet names, pussy eating, squirting, creaming, doggy style, standing missionary, slightly submissive ony during sex? teehee, wedding!, family issues and drama, talks of religion, minors are not welcome! 𓊇ྀི

メモ。—hi, lol. so i’m not even gon’ hold you, i worked my ass off on this fic. ‘think this is probably my best wedding fic fr. seeing that it’s a little longer than any recent fic i’ve done, bear with me. blood, sweat, + tears—hours of editing, just to get this out for y’all. this is the second part to hot to go! first part, here. anyways, this is actually inspired by one of my favorite comfort films, jumping the broom. and the title is inspired by trippie redd’s song. y’all better give me love, long reviews, and long commentaries, and long comments for this one, lol ! i need you to be taking notes ! love y’all so much. this is for you.

ビジュアル。 ビジュアル。 ビジュアル。ビジュアル。

YOU WERE THE DELINEATION OF BEAUTY. Caramel skin with a mixture of umber freckles dusted across your flushed cheeks like cinnamon, Burmese curl pattern cascading in a flip over of deep ginger tresses—you were like autumn itself—mixtures of browns, oranges, vanillas and spices being your imagery wrapped into one southern belle. 

You stand before the full length mirror, honeyed gaze tracing every delicate curve and contour of your reflection. Your baby pink vintage milkmaid dress hugs every sinful dip of your body, sweetheart neckline threatening to surrender under the weight of your heavy tits, plush and begging for attention. A dainty satin bow sits at the center, tugging just enough to tease—like it knew its purpose was decoration before destruction.

Louboutin ballerina heels gleam under the light, each satin silk ribbon wrapped around your ankles like a lover’s whisper—delicate yet possessive. French tipped nails ghost over the golden charm bracelet resting on your wrist—his first gift to you—a silent testament to softness amidst all this luxury. And finally? Eyes frame kittenish lashes—long enough to cast shadows when you blink— deep, pink lips as crushed as rose petals part in quiet awe.

“Baby, yo’ phone ringin’ off the hook.” 

His voice rumbles from downstairs, thick and syrupy like molasses poured over gravel—the kind of tone that settles warm in your belly before it even hits your ears.  

You glide down the stairs, the satin bows at your ankles fluttering with each step like they’re trying to keep up. 

And there he is.

Onyankopon—sprawled at the kitchen table like a king holding court over paperwork. Cornrows neat and tucked back, his deep umber skin is a canvas of ink—tattoos crawling up his neck, swirling along his collarbones, that one stark on his temple—a relic from another life etched in permanence. 

His goatee frames full lips— reading glasses perch low on his nose. A black tee strains around his shoulders, muscles flexing as he scribbles something on paperwork while murmuring First Person Shooter by Drake that plays lowly within the back; pajama pants loose but still managing to outline just enough. Bully—his hulking Cane Corso—flops lazily at Onyankopon’s feet as he usually did. 

He doesn’t even look up yet. When those heavy lidded eyes finally drag over you—they stop. A smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth as he leans back in the chair. 

“Lookin’ too muhfuckin’ pretty, Mama.” 

“Really?”

 You playfully twist your fingers against your dress, “You like it?” 

He then grunts, “You know a nigga like it.”

Bully barks approval beside him like even he knows better than to lie about perfection.  

That’s when Onyankopon then rasps, “C’mere.” 

 You giggle as you do a slow spin for him, “You’re distracting me from my fashion show!”

You bite back a smile as he adjusts the heavy tip of his dick subtly in those pajama pants, clearing his throat hard enough for theatrics before muttering something about "Damn Louboutins gon’ get you in trouble. Should’ve never bought em’.” 

But instead, he nods towards the counter where your phone buzzes again.

"Forreal’ though," he grunts through half-hearted annoyance, "’Shit soundin’ like an alarm."

Your heels click clack against the hardwood as you bounce towards him, hips swaying with each step like you’re putting on a show just for him—because let’s be real, you are. 

You then bend over right in his face, your plush ass jiggling temptingly close to his lap as your manicured fingers stretch for the phone. The dress rides up just enough to give him a sinful peek of your lacey thong—your greedy ass man doesn’t even blink. He growls low in his throat at the sight—his hand flying up quick to smack your ass so hard it echoes through the kitchen. 

“Onyan—!” You squeal, scrambling away from him with breathless laughter while he leans back looking way too satisfied with himself.  

Still pouting playfully, you swipe answer on FaceTime—instantly greeted by Ruya's honeyed voice—“Damn, bitch. Why yo’ titties out like that?"  

Kimora cuts in before Lola even gets a word out, “The Louboutins’ are eating, sis!” 

Laughter and compliments flood the screen as they all gush over how soft and pretty you look. It’s positive energy from your best friends at a constant, your excitement bubbling at spending time with them. Until—

"About bouquet class? We can’t make it.”

Your smile falters, lips twisting into a pout that would make a grown man weak. 

"All of you? Why?” 

Ruya is the first one to speak up, “I’m busy with the baby," she says apologetically.

Kimora adds in, "My husband needs me to drive him to the airport because of some out of town business." 

Lola chimes in last, “I’ve got a stomach ache, sorry babe. I can already feel the diarrhea coming on."

Your eyes narrow, disbelief creasing your face as you throw a hand on your hip. 

“Reservations are in one hour—this is a private class! Y’all are really gonna leave me sitting there alone like some loser with no friends?" Your voice lilts in exasperation, the pitch climbing with every word.  

Ruya’s smirk pops up on screen, her brows wiggling mischievously. 

"Sorry, bookie. Maybe you can take that fine hunk of chocolate sitting behind you?"

You scoff dramatically, twisting around to glance at him still sprawled at the table like a content jungle cat—pen between his fingers now paused mid air as he watches this unfold with quiet amusement.

“Oh please,” you dismiss, “He would hate sipping wine and listening to me yap about stupid shit while arranging peonies.”  

Onyankopon smacks his lips from his seat, leaning back enough for his chair to creak under his weight.

“Lawd, twist my arm harder next time. A nigga would rather do anythin’ else than spend time with his woman, huh?” 

Ruya smirks, “See? Problem solved."

"Text us pictures of him holding baby’s breath’s!” 

Lola chimes in last, “And don't forget pictures of you in that pretty outfit!”

You open your mouth to protest, but they all evil cackle and hang up before you can even get a word out. A heavy sigh blows through your lips as you dramatically roll your eyes heavenward—traitors. 

Defeated, you shuffle over to Onyankopon and plop right into his lap, legs dangling off the side as he barely flinches beneath your weight. 

Your bottom lip juts out in an exaggerated pout, “You don't have to go if you don't want to.”

“A nigga would go to hell an’ back if that meant bein’ somewhere wit’ you.” 

You giggle when his lips playfully suck a kiss into the soft skin of your throat—his way of leaving an invisible claim, a sense of love. Always. 

“If you behave today,” you whisper mischievously into his ear, fingers curling in the back of his braids, “Maybe you’ll get to pull the string on my dress later.” 

That does it. 

His whole body tenses under yours before he suddenly snarls, lunging for you like a beast unleashed—hands gripping your waist as he stands abruptly from the chair with you still clinging to him. You shriek laugh his name as Bully takes off down the hallway, gravity betraying the both of you and—BAM! 

You hit the floor in a tangled mess of limbs and laughter.

An hour later, you step into the rural area of Bush, Louisiana. But today feels different—the winery vineyard sprawls ahead like something out of a fairytale. 

The vineyard is bathed in golden afternoon light, the kind that makes everything look like it’s been dipped in honey. Petals—peonies, roses, baby’s breath—are scattered across the ground like a painter flicked them there with delicate precision. The archway of flowers ahead is lush and dreamy, dripping with blooms in soft pinks and creamy whites. It must be some kind of event, you think absently, admiring how much effort they put into decorating today.  

A woman approaches—her apron dusted with pollen, her smile warm as she greets you both.  

“Welcome to Bloom & Vine! We’re so excited to have you today for our private bouquet session.” 

You beam back at her instantly—because of course you do—excitement sparkling behind your lashes, “Hi, love. Thank you so much for having us! Um—my friends actually couldn't make it last minute—” 

You glance up at Onyankopon briefly, hand palming his chest while his bigger palm settles low on your waist to keep you steady in those heels—“But I brought my sweet man instead, if that's okay?"

And oh, does he look good enough to eat. 

Like summer personified; country boy charm wrapped up in muscles and mischief—his cornrows are freshly laid back against his scalp, goatee sharp enough to cut glass, snug white tee stretching over his stacked frame like second skin. Dark jeans hug thick thighs and those damn cowboy boots? Deadly. That heavy belt buckle glints in sunlight every time he shifts his weight—sinfully distracting as always.

“That’s more than okay,” she says smoothly, “Let’s get you seated.”

She motions towards a pair of woven chairs nestled beneath the floral archway. Handing you both delicate menus—gold trimmed parchment listing elegant wine choices and dainty hors d'oeuvres, before clasping her hands together.  

You glance up at Onyankopon from under your lashes, curiosity humming in your chest as you wait to see what he’ll pick. But of course? He just tilts his chin down at you, voice a deep murmur that always rumbles right through your ribs.

“Anythin’ you want, Mama.” 

Your lips part in amusement—predictable man. So instead, you order for the both of you; something crisp and sweet to sip while chatting over petals. The lady nods brightly before gliding away with a promise to return soon with the first round of stems—leaving the two of you wrapped up in the sun’s golden hour.

You let your gaze drift across the vineyard again—the light spilling over rows of grapevines, the way petals seem to glow where they've fallen along your path, the sheer romance of it all humming in the air like a melody. It feels—too perfect. Too intentional. Like someone plucked this moment straight from a daydream and tucked it into reality just for you.

With a soft tilt of your head, you reach across the small table and lace your fingers with Onyankopon’s much larger ones—stroking absent minded circles against his knuckles as you hum, “Isn’t this nice, baby?”  

“Yeah,” he rumbles simply; squeezing your fingers as his lips twitch into something too fond to be called anything but love, “Real nice. ‘How long you been comin’ out here?”

“Five years now," you murmur softly, “My girls and I always talked about owning a vineyard one day—no good luck finding anythin’ like this back home."

Your thumb traces absent circles over his knuckles before continuing, “But even if we never got our own little slice of Tuscany, I’m happy just sitting somewhere pretty with flowers.”

“‘You ‘was successful either way, baby. Although—yo’ ass could’ve been a florist instead of playin’ with dead folks all day."

That pulls a real laugh from deep inside your chest; bright and unguarded enough for him to know he won. It’s like listening to sunshine.

“I'm just really glad school is over," you admit quietly—fingers tightening ever so slightly around his palm, "All those late nights of studying, all those times I couldn't give us time we deserved because my head was somewhere else…”

You exhale a sigh that’s equal parts relief and nostalgia, but then your lips curve into a warm smile as you look at him—really look at him. The way the golden light catches the sharp line of his jaw, how his dark eyes soften just slightly when he thinks you’re not paying attention.  

"It was all worth it," you finalize, "Look at us now—me with my mortician license, finally, after all those years of school and embalming labs. And you," you continue proudly, “Associates in business management done so they can't even deny your lieutenant position anymore—and now Boston might be calling?" 

You shake your head as if still trying to wrap your mind around it all, “Who knew we'd turn out this official after just two years?”

The way Onyankopon stares at you—it’s different. Heavier, more affectionate than you’d ever seen.

But before he can speak, the vineyard worker returns with a tray balanced expertly in her hands— two glasses of chilled wine catching sunlight, delicate charcuterie boards dotted with fruit and honey drizzled cheeses, and most importantly—two pristine vases paired with spiky metal flower frogs waiting to be pressed into place.  

"Ooh! Okay, watch me.” 

You instruct Onyankopon seriously—as if demonstrating advanced surgery instead of floral arranging—your fingers pressing down on the frog until it clinks securely against the bottom of the vase.

"That's how?"

"Yes!" You insist proudly, before pausing—“Now put yours in."

His much larger fingers press down clumsily on his own flower frog until it crumples half crooked into place.

"My shit straight," he deadpans smoothly—lifting an eyebrow at its lopsided position.

Your playful clap echoes lightly as you giggle, shaking your head at his crooked flower frog. 

“At least you tried," you tease, eyes sparkling with affection.  

The vineyard worker floats by periodically, leaving fresh bundles of stems and blooms—peonies spilling open like crushed silk, roses still tight in their buds, delicate sprigs of baby's breath like scattered snowflakes. Your vase quickly transforms into a dreamy masterpiece while his? A struggle. 

Each attempt to arrange the flowers ends with him snapping stems too forcefully or jamming them haphazardly—his large hands far more accustomed to wielding fire hoses than dainty petals.  

Each time he fumbles though? You just smile softly—rescuing broken stems with careful snips before nestling them into place among his sparse bouquet. 

“Papa—can I tell you something?”

Onyankopon hums around a sip of wine just as another stem audibly cracks under his grip—his gaze flicking up sheepishly when your fingers gently take it from him to fix yet another casualty.

"Talk to me." 

You try to keep your voice smooth, but a sense of guilt arises on your face. 

"I know we've—only been intimate once these past two years.” 

His expression doesn’t shift at your words. 

“…And I need you to know how much I appreciate how patient you've been,” your throat bobs once, “Not making me feel guilty or pushing. I made a promise to god that if someone loved me? It wouldn’t be because they got something out of my body first, and I felt like I had broken my own commitment. Marriage would sanctify that, and just knowing you stayed without complaining means everything to me.” 

Onyankopon doesn't let silence linger long enough for doubt to creep anywhere near this moment. 

"Ain't shit t'apologize for,” He grunts roughly, “You think a nigga love conditional?”

"Of course not," you murmur, “I just—if you ever feel unhappy—I need you to tell me, okay? Even if it’s small." 

You press your lips together briefly before adding with painful sincerity, “Especially if it's small."  

Onyankopon doesn't hesitate. Doesn't blink or soften his tone into something easier to digest—just rasps out truth like gravel spilling from an open palm—

"’Rather eat glass than let a day pass where my woman questionin’ how much she mean t'me." 

And there it is—raw and unpolished but so fundamentally him. His thumb swipes roughly over the hinge of your jaw as if erasing any doubt left clinging there, nodding toward his disastrous bouquet suddenly. 

"Now please, fix my shit 'fore I embarrass us both worse than this."

The tension in your shoulders melts like sugar in warm tea, your almond eyes flickering with quiet reassurance as your fingers graze over his flawed bouquet. The silence between you now is soft, comfortable—right.  

Then, his voice breaks through—low and certain like a steady drumbeat. 

"I got it," he admits gruffly, watching how still your hands go against a peony's velvet edge, “Boston."  

Your lips part instantly—not in shock, but in delight, laughter bubbling up before you even process it fully. 

"Ony—oh my God, baby! That’s—” Your voice cracks under sheer excitement as you clutch his forearm tightly, “I’m so happy for you. I love that.”

The words slip out before you can stop them—“I love you.”

He doesn't get to respond before another bundle of flowers is placed between you both by the returning employee —only this time? Something clinks softly against porcelain when it lands.

You don't notice at first; too busy stealing sips from his wine glass while absentmindedly rearranging carnations into something presentable—until sunlight catches on something nestled among lavender stems.

A ring box.

Your breath lodges itself somewhere behind your ribs, forgetting how your lungs work entirely. 

“…Baby?

The word floats from your mouth unbidden, staring down dumbly at where black velvet glints innocently among blossoms.

Onyankopon doesn't falter—just reaches across without hesitation to pluck that little box free himself before standing abruptly—His knee hits the ground hard enough for dust clouds to kick up around polished cowboy boots. 

And suddenly, there he is; broad shoulders swallowing sunlight whole, holding up eternity between calloused fingertips looking at you like you hung every star in his own sky. 

"’Knew within two weeks,” He rasps bluntly, "Two fuckin' weeks ‘round yo' ass 'n knew ain't no way out alive after that." 

Time moves slowly. 

 “‘Rather cut my own fuckin’ pulse than try n' find somebody who’d fit me right ever again.” 

The vineyard employees linger just out of sight, but you catch glimpses—whispered smiles from behind vine covered trellises, hands clasped over mouths to muffle delighted gasps. The golden light seems to thicken around you both, wrapping the moment in something sacred and honey warm.  

Tears well up instantly—your lips quivering between breathless giggles and tiny sobs as you stare at Onyankopon’s face like it might vanish if you blink too hard. His expression is so painfully familiar—the same stubborn set of his jaw, those heavy lidded eyes—but beneath it? Something new, something terrifyingly tender that makes your pulse thrash wildly in your throat.

He exhales roughly through his nose before tilting the ring box toward you properly; a delicate diamond nestled inside catching fire under sunlight.

"’Built my whole life 'round keepin' shit steady," he admits gruffly, "You? You’re the only person who ever made me wanna jump without lookin' first. So—” 

His voice drops lower suddenly; rough with unsaid things as he lifts the ring carefully between thick fingers, “You gon’ marry me, or what?” 

And then comes the collapse.

A whimpered “Yes!” tears free before thought catches up with motion—your body launching itself into his arms hard enough to nearly knock him backward had he not braced instantly against impact. 

His chuckles rumble against your cries as faces press together messily mid kiss; all teeth clinking briefly before softening into something slow searing beneath afternoon heat.

"My friends are so sneaky,” you complain wetly, fingers twisting the fabric with every hiccup, “You knew I was gonna cry!” 

Onyankopon's laughter rumbles right through you; deep and warm like an earthquake. One hand rubbing your back soothingly while the other smooths along the plane of your hip.

His voice is uncharacteristically soft as he tucks a curl behind your ear, murmuring, “A nigga love you somethin’ stupid, girl."

Your damp lashes flutter as you grin into his chest, exhaling the words back like they're something sacred. 

“I love you too. So much." 

"Even if I'm terrible at makin' bouquets?"

Your nose scrunches between tear stained cheeks before giggling weakly—  

“…We'll work on that."

ビジュアル。

THE SCENT OF AGED PARCHMENT and warm candle wax lingers in the air as sketches of Troja Palace sprawl across the table, transforming day by day into your dream envision. Candlesticks dripping with wax, chandeliers casting golden light over oil painted murals, fabric-wrapped menus tied with silk ribbon—every detail whispers eternity. Your wedding theme? Renaissance Romance. 

Your parents had been ecstatic when they heard the news about Onyankopon’s proposal—so much so they immediately offered to foot the bill for everything. Not out of obligation, but sheer joy; their only demand was seeing their daughter happy—and maybe ensuring no expense was spared for their baby girl's big day.

Their relationship with Onyankopon had always been solid despite his rough edges. He respected them deeply, while they adored him for how fiercely devoted he was to you.

On the other hand—his family?

Well, that was another conversation entirely. 

But today? Today marks a day before the wedding,  soft breezes and clinking glasses on a terrace suspended above Prague’s spires—your bridesmaids Ruya, Lola, Kimora draped lazily over plush lounges while your mom sips wine beside you. The wedding planner flips through swatches of embroidered linens when Ruya snaps her fingers playfully near your face—  

“Earth to blushing bride,” she teases, “You keep zonin’ out like this and I’ll map out my own dream wedding.”   

“Sorry! Just…” Your fingertips brush the edge of a sketch, “It all feels surreal.”  

Kimora snorts into her drink while Lola leans forward—“Wait ‘till tomorrow when we shove you into that corset for final fittings,” she grins wickedly as panic flickers across your face—“Then it’ll feel real.”

The terrace is drenched in golden light, the warm breeze carrying the faint scent of blooming gardens from below. The wine glasses glint as fingers absently trace their rims—silence settling for just a moment too long after your mom’s gentle question.  

“You got more on your mind, babygirl?"

You exhale softly, your fingers toying with the stem of your glass before setting it down. Your voice is quiet when you finally speak, tinged with something uncertain—something you hadn’t voiced aloud until now.  

“It's Onyankopon’s mother."

Your friends exchange glances—Kimora shifting forward in her seat while Ruya sets down her drink with deliberate care. 

Lola arches a brow, “Why? ‘She think you uppity or somethin'?"

“I don't know. When we first met? She barely looked at me.”

Ruya scoffs into her champagne flute while you continue quietly, “But as soon as Onyankopon walked up? Suddenly she was all smiles—grabbing his face, going on about how proud she was to have birthed him. Then he mentioned I was a mortician—” You mimic her expression perfectly; nose scrunched like someone handed her spoiled milk—“And all I got was 'What kind of woman picks that job?'”

And then comes the final dagger.

“I had to beg her to come to Prague. She refused to fly unless I booked an entirely different flight than the rest of his family, just for comfort.”

The air thickens with the weight of unspoken truths as Ruya tilts her head, swirling her wine before locking eyes with you.  

“Mama seems real in love with her son,” she muses, “Like—wifey type beat. Not motherly.”

You shoot Ruya a sharp look—but before you can scold her properly, Kimora leans forward like an academic uncovering a case study.

“Psych degree speaking? Sounds like emotional enmeshment. Some mothers get weirdly possessive when their sons find partners because they feel replaced, you know?”

Lola’s brow arches as she pops an olive into her mouth.  

“And what does Mr. Firefighter Lieutenant say about all this?"

You hesitate before answering.

“…Nothing."

Kimora sighs, “Dead silence is compliance.” 

Your mom stays quiet beside you—her expression carefully neutral but fingers rubbing your arm comfortingly. 

“You gotta talk to him about this before walking down that aisle because trust me—we did not all come out here just for Mama Dukes to be side eyeing vows while plotting how reclaim her man.’”

Her teasing includes her nasally humming A Song For Mama under her breath by Boyz II Men, which makes you snort despite your irritation. 

Ruya nods solemnly, “This is your wedding, Pooh. Don’t let anybody take away your happiness between you and Daddy Lieutenant!” 

Your lips curve into a soft smile, your heart swelling with gratitude for the women around you—your mother’s quiet strength, Ruya’s bold honesty, Lola’s sharp humor, Kimora’s thoughtful wisdom.  

“Love y'all,” you murmur, voice thick with emotion.  

Before you can even blink, they all surge forward in a tangle of arms and laughter—smothering you in a tight hug that smells like expensive perfume and spilled champagne. The warmth of their bodies pressing close makes your chest ache in the best way possible.  

The wedding planner clears her throat gently from the corner of the terrace—her professional smile betraying just a hint of amusement at yet another derailed meeting.    

“Shall we—continue?"

A chorus of sheepish giggles erupt as everyone pulls away from the embrace—your mom waving off the conversations, while Ruya dramatically plops back onto her lounge chair.

"Sorry! We're done being chaotic now,” she declares, lying.

Your friends' laughter trails away as they planned to go out for breakfast, your mother finding her way back to her bedroom with her own husband—but your feet carry elsewhere entirely; to him, your home.

Pushing open carved oak doors leading into the largest bedroom within the villa feels like stepping through time itself; high ceilings molding over antique mahogany furniture, warm candles flickering shadows along tapestries woven centuries ago. 

And right there? Your fiancé lays—sprawled beneath silk sheets, revealing miles of brown skin adorned by ink telling stories only your hands traced. His sleeping face is soft—dark brows not furrowed for once, letting handsome features rest completely unguarded despite the permanent scowl he carries.

Then—his eyes open the moment your palm drifts with his own, slow and heavy lidded, drinking in the sight of you above him. Your off-white ruffled top clings to the curve of your breasts; mahogany red skirt flowing so perfectly around full hips and plush thighs that it might as well have been painted on; those thin chocolate pumps elongating legs above French tipped toes waiting to be kissed.  

Your hair spills around your face in curls, wild and untamed like something out of an oil painting. Freckles stand darker against caramel skin under Prague’s honeyed morning glow, full lips curving into a smile so tender it makes his chest ache without permission.

“Time moves differently in Prague," you whisper.

Onyankopon doesn't grace that with words—just grunts before dragging you fully onto his bare chest without warning or care for clothing barriers. Then, he promptly tips his head to go back to sleep.

“Your family landed safe?” 

Onyankopon hums low in his chest without opening his eyes, a rumble that vibrates through your palm where it rests against his jaw. 

“Spoke to my brother ‘bout fifteen minutes ago," he rasps sleepily, “Car’s on its way." 

You pause for half a second before quirking an eyebrow playfully—“And yet here you are, still butt ass naked.” 

His response is immediate—an unbothered grunt muffled by Egyptian cotton as he burrows deeper into its embrace. You exhale through your nose but don’t press it further—just let your fingers drift lower along the column of his throat when suddenly—something flickers in cadence despite yourself. 

“And…your mom?”    

It's subtle but unmistakable now; slight tension seeping in syllables meant to sound casual.

“C’mon,” His voice is sleep rough , “Don’t start this shit.”

You stiffen slightly under his eyes that open—lips parting in reflexive defense.  

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

His thumb swipes along your hip bone where your top rises up, “You still think my momma ‘don't like you."

“She doesn’t.” 

Onyankopon grunts dismissively into his pillow—face nuzzling deeper into fabric as if physically rejecting this conversation before murmuring, “Ain't just you. She like that wit' everybody." 

You frown, “That doesn't make it okay, Onyankopon.” 

Your attempt to move off of him gets abruptly halted when thick arms lock around your waist—calloused palm landing a solid smack against your ass cheek. 

“Fuss all you want...you still gon’ marry a nigga come Sunday.”

“Tell yo' momma you said that,” you mutter under your breath, standing up fully now, irritatedly searching for your phone on the nightstand. 

Onyankopon smacks his lips behind you—already out of bed and moving like a shadow across the room before you even realize it. You turn—and there he is, completely unbothered by his own nakedness. 

Broad shoulders slope into back muscle carved from firehouse labor; dark ink swirling over skin stretched taut over abs so defined they could’ve been chiseled from stone. And then there’s that —heavy and half swollen already, curving proudly against his thigh as he steps closer like none of this is an issue at all.

“Onyankopon, Clothes!” you throw your hands over your eyes, “We talked about temptation!” 

He just chuckles low in his throat—deep enough to make heat prickle on your skin—before making another lazy grab for you with those massive hands. You twist away with a whine, batting at him weakly while trying to sound stern. 

“Papa, I’m serious!” 

With one last amused exhale through his nose at how flustered he’s made you, Onyankopon snatches up a discarded towel off of the floor before walking towards the bathroom. 

“‘S gon' be fine.” 

His voice carries certainty only men who've walked through literal fires can conjure so effortlessly.

"...She'll be cool once I tell her ‘bout Boston."

“What?” your frown cuts deep, “You haven’t told her?"

Onyankopon reaches for you again—slow, deliberate—but you sidestep him with a sharp glare. 

“Boy, back the hell off me. Why wouldn’t you tell her we’re moving to Boston? That’s kind of a big deal!" 

He exhales through his nose, “She was already doin' too much just comin' to the wedding. ‘Wasn't tryna’ make shit worse.” 

“Lying isn’t helping either! It makes me feel like some secret in my own relationship!” 

Your voice cracks at the edges despite trying to stay firm—betraying hurt more than anger now. Turning away sharply toward the window only lasts seconds before strong arms encircle from behind; relentless warmth pressing into stiff posture. 

“Remember what song we picked for our first dance?”

A slow sway mimics a phantom melody just between you two—already muscle memory, even though you haven't lived it yet. You lean into him despite pride protesting, but whisper your truth instead of fighting him. 

“I don’t want us starting our marriage like this, Ony. I don’t.”

His deep voice rumbles against your ear, warm and steady, “This ‘our wedding. Ain't nobody gon' take this love from us."

His words settle over you like a comforting weight, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your hip. You let out a slow breath, tension easing from your shoulders as you murmur back—  

“…Okay.”

A sudden burst of noise erupts outside. The sound pulls you both to the window where you see Onyankopon's family spilling out of cars onto the cobblestone courtyard below—already loud, already filling every inch of space with their presence. His brother claps hands on shoulders; younger cousins dart around suitcases; uncles arguing about whose luggage is whose. A symphony of home in a foreign place.

“You gon’ join me in the shower now?" 

You shove at him halfheartedly, even as heat prickles up the back of your neck.

“Go shower, dork. Your people are here." 

He smirks but obeys, pressing one last kiss to your temple before disappearing into steam. The second he’s gone? That small smile flickers like candlelight fighting wind as you watch below—especially when she arrives, Onyankopon's mother stepping out last in dark sunglasses despite overcast skies.

Here we go. 

His mother is the first to spot him as you step outside—her face lighting up like fireworks as she rushes forward, arms already wide before she even reaches him. 

“Baby boy!” 

Her voice rings out above everyone else’s chatter, and just like that—she’s got him wrapped in a smothering hug, Onyankopon chuckling as he hugs her back. She doesn't even look your way—barely acknowledges you standing right there with a stiff smile clinging to your lips.

But then—

A loud “AYE!” cuts through as Onyankopon's older brother—and best man—breaks away from the crowd, grinning wide as he pulls you into a bear hug that nearly lifts you off your feet, “Damn near married now! My lil sis in law!"

His younger sister squeals before launching herself at you too—hands already fawning over your outfit while rambling about wedding details. Onyankopon’s uncle claps heavy hands on your shoulder with approving nods; his father giving you one of those firm but warm handshakes that New Orleans’ men have perfected—and cousins? They bombard you with questions about Prague, groomsmen dragging both of you into some half hearted group selfie attempt.

And all the while? 

Onyankopon's mom still hasn't so much as glanced in your direction. Being surrounded by this hurricane of love from everyone else? It stings less than it should've.

“Mrs. Osei—" your voice is just a little too bright, “So glad you made it safely! How was the flight?" 

For half a second, time slows—the world narrowing to the way her shoulders stiffen at your hug before forcing her own arms up in something between a pat and retreat. It lasts all of two seconds; loose limbed, perfunctory, as if hugging an acquaintance she barely tolerates rather than her son’s future wife. That's when the smile happens—lips stretching without warmth, darting right past yours toward Onyankopon. 

“The flight could’ve been better,” she dismisses, “But what matters is seein' my baby boy, standin' tall."

Onyankopon smirks, but instantly notices the way your smile fades. His palm slides down discreetly along your forearm where no one else sees; callouses skimming goosebumps to comfort your skin.

Just then, the villa doors swing open, and your parents step out—looking like they stepped straight off the pages of a high society magazine. Your mother is draped in a flowing silk kaftan embroidered with gold thread, you father cutting a sharp figure in his tailored linen suit and polished loafers—both of them exuding effortless elegance that instantly commands attention.

“The Osei family—finally!"

Your mom gushes, pulling people into tight hugs like she’s known them for years, “Look at all these beautiful faces! We’re so happy you're all here!" 

Your dad claps hands firmly on shoulders while trading booming laughs with uncles and cousins like long lost friends. But then your mom turns to Onyankopon’s mother, beaming as she reaches for her hands—“It's so wonderful to finally meet you properly, Mrs. Osei.” 

Onyankopon’s mom gives a once over at your parents' pristine outfits, “I guess our side didn't get the memo about being overdressed?” 

Silence.

Your mother just laughs it off smoothly while adjusting one of her bangles, “Oh honey—there's no dress code here! Just come as you are."

“Hm,” Mrs. Osei gives a flat smile, “‘Coulda fooled me."

Your father, ever the diplomat, steps in with a booming laugh and claps Onyankopon on the shoulder.  

“This man right here—" He shakes his head with admiration, “We've had some real good talks. Man to man. Strong head on his shoulders."

Your mother smoothly interjects with effortless grace, “We only want the best for our children’s future. That’s why we insisted on handling everything—flights, hotels—all of it covered so both families could just relax and enjoy this beautiful moment!” 

"So you’re saying you don’t think we could’ve afforded this ourselves?” 

Onyankopon stiffens beside you immediately—his voice low but firm as he reaches for his mother's wrist lightly.

“Momma—“

She waves away his hand, “I'm just asking a question!” 

You see it then—the brief flash of irritation tightening your mother's jaw. 

That’s when you quickly step in, “Um—Mrs. Osei! I was actually hoping we could do your dress fitting while everyone gets settled? I know last minute isn't ideal,” you smile,  “But I wasn’t able to schedule yours until now— Ony said you were busy with work?”

Her eyebrows shoot up, “Busy?” Her chuckle is hollow, “Don’t know why he would tell you that. I haven't worked since ’09.” 

Your eyes instantly look at Onyankopon's. 

Why would he lie?

“It'll get figured out,” she dismisses, waving another hand like she's swatting away a fly, “I'm just happy to be here for my son—that's all that matters."

Then, as if to punctuate the unspoken divide between you and her world, she reaches into her oversized purse and pulls out a neatly wrapped tin box tied with twine—the kind you've seen in photos from Onyankopon’s childhood. She taps the lid once before pressing it into his hands.  

“Your favorite. Just like how you like 'em."

You see him soften—just a little—as his fingers brush against hers. 

"’Preciate it, momma."

You try—desperately—to bridge this invisible gap with lightheartedness, nudging closer with what you hope is an easy grin, “Maybe one day I can steal that recipe he loves so much.” 

Her chuckle is dry, adjusting the straps of her purse higher on her shoulder without looking at you—

“Family secret.”

Silence drops over everyone again. 

So you do what feels safest, and retreat under practicality.

“Baby, how about you help everyone get settled in their rooms? I gotta call Ms. Emily about last minute fittings.”

No one stops or questions it because they don't have to; even his little sister winces when their mom hums approvingly at him while deliberately stepping around your presence entirely.

And then, you’re gone.

The next few hours are an exercise in patience, each passing minute chipping away at your resolve.  

The bridal fitting is a sanctuary—soft light streaming through sheer curtains, the clink of wine glasses punctuating laughter as Ruya twirls dramatically in her wine red gown, the rich hue perfectly complementing her deep umber skin.  

“This waistline is sinful," she groans playfully while adjusting the corseted bodice, raising her glass toward you with a wink, “Remind me to strangle you later for making us look this good."  

Lola—ever the perfectionist—is already nitpicking every stitch on hers, Kimora laughing beside her as they debate whether their slit should be “Dangerous or deadly."

Meanwhile, Onyankopon’s little sister beams at herself in the mirror before spinning around eagerly.   

“This is the prettiest thing I’ve worn since my Prom.” 

For a fleeting second, their joy almost makes you forget earlier tension until—

“Absolutely not.” 

Mrs. Osei’s voice slices through warmth like cold steel.

She stands rigidly in front of the tailor who holds up her dress—a rich merlot chiffon wrap gown with delicate gold beading along the neckline—lips curled distastefully as she prods fabric between two fingers like it personally offended her.

“This color washes me out,” She frowns, “And what is this cut supposed to be? A cheap Halloween costume?”

Your throat tightens. 

“We can adjust anything,” you hum, “Maybe if we—”

She cuts off eye contact by turning towards a rack behind the designer instead—where spare fabrics hang neatly organized—before plucking out random swatches that clash violently against each other. Bright teal satin, to even a mustard yellow tulle.

The designer, Ms. Emily, is the picture of professionalism—soft spoken but firm as she gently explains—

“Mrs. Osei—with all due respect, these colors and fabrics wouldn’t quite mesh with the Renaissance romance theme we’ve established for the wedding.”

Onyankopon’s mother scoffs dramatically before turning to her daughter—the only person in this room still willing to engage her at this point.

“Renaissance what now?" 

His little sister perks up immediately— “Oh! It's like Old World elegance meets romance! Deep reds, purples and greens, with gold accents! Very regal—”

“I didn't ask for a history lesson.”

Then—her gaze lands on you like a guillotine dropping.

“You couldn't ask what colors look good on me? Or did my opinion not matter?"

Your smile tightens dangerously at the edges. Instead? You turn your full attention back toward Ms. Emily.

“Let's brainstorm another dress option for Mrs. Osei,” you exhale, “I'll cover whatever extra cost there is." 

“Good.”

The air in the bridal suite feels thick with unspoken tension, though you try to swallow down your frustration like it’s just another sip of wine. Ruya—ever observant—catches the way your fingers tighten around the stem of your glass.

“Alright. Enough about dresses!”

She grabs an uncorked bottle of merlot from the side table, waving it like a victory flag as Lola stifles a laugh behind her hand, “Who needs another glass? Because I do not believe in suffering sober.” 

Even Onyankopon’s sister manages a small giggle through secondhand embarrassment as she flops onto the seat beside you—your only ally in this mess today.

Later that night, you stand framed by the open window of your bedroom as it’s minutes away from your rehearsal dinner—the air brushing bare skin where silk parts around your thighs. Your robe slips slightly off one shoulder; Soon to be bride stitched delicately across its back. 

Your hair spills past shoulders now— ginger layers tamed by bristle brushing earlier—lashes casting shadows over cheeks where freckles seem darker than usual beneath light makeup applied absently hours ago. 

Your fingertips trail slow circles against the open window as strangers pass below unaware; laughter carrying up from streets alive without care while inside this room? You feel miles away from everything including yourself.

You step back from the window with a sigh, your fingers fumbling with your delicate charm bracelet—the golden charms tinkle softly against each other, a fragile sound in the quiet room.  

Then—rustling.

A sharp scrape of branches against stone, leaves shuddering violently just outside. You freeze, eyes darting toward the sound. Before you can lean out to check? A large hand grips the windowsill. 

“Jesus!” 

Onyankopon’s head pops into view like some dangerously handsome thief in the night. He hoists himself up effortlessly—muscles flexing beneath his perfectly tailored suit that clings to every hard line of his frame. Your heart races as you exhale shakily—one trembling hand pressed over your chest while the other swats at him weakly, “You scared me! What the hell are you doing?”

Onyankopon’s wolfish grin flashes, voice a low rasp—  

“Yo’ mama said we can't share a bed the night before the wedding. Lust before vows bein’ sinful an’ shit.” 

His hands are already sliding around your waist, fingers digging possessively into your hips, “I’m not too good with listenin’.” 

You back up instinctively—only for him to stalk forward with a predatory grace. Your voice wavers, “I—we have rehearsal dinner in twenty minutes!” 

But his gaze drags down your body like a physical touch, lingering on where lace clings to every curve before his hands push open your robe. The silk pools off your shoulders as he growls low in his throat, “Goddamn. Who ‘you wearin’ that for?” 

Before you can blink? His mouth crashes against yours in a kiss—tongue sweeping past lips like he owns them. You whimper, losing sense instantly as one hand fists into freshly done braids while the other grips his bicep hard enough to feel muscle twitch beneath suit fabric. And when your tongue slides hot between his lips? It's not gentle at all—just greedy, thrusting mimicry of how badly you want him, two years pent up to this moment. 

“Baby girl? ‘You ready yet?”

You gasp. Your fingers fly up to cover your swollen lips, cheeks burning as you whisper, “Fuck—I’m sorry,” breathless and flustered.  

Onyankopon just chuckles—deep and rough—as he drags his tongue over his bottom lip like he’s savoring the taste of you.

“Baby girl, everyone’s downstairs waiting for you!” 

A choked whimper escapes you as you shove against Onyankopon’s chest, whispering frantically, “Go! Now!” 

But this man? This smug man? Just smirks, leaning in so close his breath ghosts against your mouth, “You playin’. After kissin’ me like that? You tryna’ have a nigga bounce you all on this muhfuckin’ dick before vows.”

The sinful promise in those words sends an electric shudder straight down your spine—your thighs pressing together instinctively at the filthy image flashing behind clenched eyelids. But reality crashes back when your mother knocks again, louder this time.   

Breath hitching, you grab Onyankopon’s face between trembling hands and press one last desperate kiss to his lips—soft compared to what just happened but no less devastating, “Go, Papa. Please.” 

“Baby girl, we’re all waiting!”  

With a shaky exhale, you finally tear your gaze from Onyankopon’s sinful smirk and call out, “I’m coming!” voice laced with breathless laughter as he reluctantly pulls away. 

He shoots you one last smoldering look—slipping back out the window with the agility of a man used to climbing through danger. You slam it shut behind him, biting your lip to stifle another giggle before smoothing your hands down your flushed cheeks.  

“Jesus be a fence...”

The moment you and Onyankopon step into the hall together, hands intertwined, the room erupts in applause. Long banquet tables draped in blood red linens glisten under flickering candlelight; golden centerpieces overflow with ivy-wrapped grapes and aged wine bottles sweating in anticipation of being uncorked. 

An olive-drab halter gown cut from charmeuse silk clings lovingly to your every dip and curve—it cinches at those full hips before cascading fluidly down to brush against gold Giuseppe heels, so delicate they might as well be made for Cinderella herself. 

Onyankopon’s fingers tighten around yours as he suddenly spins you in a slow, dramatic circle—your dress flaring like liquid silk around your legs, laughter bubbling from your lips. You both take your seats at the head of the table—onyx plates gleaming, golden cutlery twinkling against deep red linens. His parents sit directly across from yours; his father chuckling at something your dad says while his mother stares stiffly at her untouched fig and prosciutto salad.

You notice—of course you do—but before you can overthink it? Onyankopon’s lips brush against your temple possessively, his voice a low rumble meant only for you. 

“Keep smilin’ jus’ like that.” 

And so you do.  

Dinner flows smoothly; clinking glasses blending into laughter as stories weave between courses of herb crusted lamb and truffle dusted potatoes. Ruya stands abruptly with her champagne glass raised high, tapping on it for everyone’s attention. 

“Okay! Time for my toast!” 

She grins before clearing throat, “To my best friend, from your maid of honor. I’m so happy you found someone as genuine, caring and amazing as Onyankopon. To my best friend, the woman who made this man wait two years!—“

A chorus of “OH!” erupts immediately—your throat nearly choking on wine, Onyankopon’s side splitting chuckle echoing through the room. 

“I'm just teasing," she softens, “I see the love you two share—it's real. And when you finally say 'I do,' God’s gonna bless y’all with a bond like no other. Cheers!” 

The room erupts in applause, glasses clinking together as the warmth of the moment spreads through the table. You blow dramatic kisses at Ruya while she curtsies playfully before plopping back into her seat—wine sloshing dangerously in her glass but not spilling, a miracle of sorts. 

Conversation flows again—fork scraping plates between bursts of laughter, joy within the room until Onyankopon’s older brother leans forward with a smirk tugging at his lips.  

“Aight, serious question.”

He points between you two with his fork still clutched in hand, “Whose idea was it? The no sex ‘til marriage rule?” 

Onyankopon cuts him off immediately with a warning glare that says don’t start—But you just wave it off sweetly despite your heated cheeks; fingers smoothing down your dress as if grounding yourself for this answer all over again. 

“It was my decision," you admit openly, “And he never once complained, my sweet man.” 

His cousin whistles from somewhere down the table, “Man—I’d have lost my damn mind!” which earns roaring laughter across most attendees. 

All except one.

  “…Seems like everything is always exactly how you want it to be.” 

The moment his mother’s words land, you feel your spine stiffen. The table falls silent—some glances flickering between you two like a tennis match while others suddenly find their wine very interesting. You force a smile—too tight, too controlled—before dabbing your lips with your napkin and rising from the table with deliberate calmness.  

“Excuse me.”  

Onyankopon’s chair scrapes back as he stands, throwing his mother a sharp look—before striding after you with purposeful steps. 

“Mama,” he calls after, “Hollon’—let me talk to you.” 

Your mother—ever protective but understanding—steps in front of him as she’d followed behind you, “You should be talking to your mother right now, Onyankopon.”

Sighing, you say— “It's fine, Momma. Go ahead.” 

With one last lingering touch on Onyankopon’s shoulder—a silent plea for him to fix this—she walks away reluctantly, heels clicking down the hall until it's just the two of you standing alone.

“Look. I'm really trying to be patient here. But this? This is becoming disrespectful, Onyankopon. I let it go today at the fitting when she acted like our entire theme was beneath her—when she straight up dismissed everything we planned together. And now she has the nerve to sit at my rehearsal dinner and imply I'm some selfish brat demanding my way in connection to my personal choices?” 

You shake your head in disbelief, “What kinda bullshit is that?”

Onyankopon drags a hand down his beard before exhaling heavily through his nose—his expression conflicted as he looks back toward the dining room where his mother sits, completely unbothered by the chaos she just stirred up.  

“What am I supposed to do?" His voice drops lower, frustration lacing each word, “That’s my momma.”

Your brows shoot up.

“Are you a child, Onyankopon? Or my man?”  

His jaw tightens.

“Chill,” he warns lowly, chest rising with restrained irritation, “I ain't no fuckin’ kid. You know that.” 

“I need to chill? Your momma gets to sit there throwing slick shit all night and you just—” You mimic his silence with an exaggerated shrug, pointing back toward the dining room, “Tell your mother to chill!”

Your chest rises and falls with the weight of unsaid frustrations, lips pressed tight as you swallow back the urge to really go off. Then—your voice drops dangerously low, raw. 

"Are you gonna do something?” 

Silence stretches between you. Onyankopon's jaw works like he's chewing on his own tongue trying not to say the wrong thing, but his hesitation speaks volumes. 

“Yeah,” you humorlessly chuckle, “‘Thought so.”

You turn to leave—gold heels clicking against marble as you stride away without another word. His hand darts out to catch your wrist, but you wrench free with a violent jerk that makes his fingers twitch, now charged with everything you aren’t saying anymore tonight.

Hours later, moonlight bleeds through the sheer curtains of your bedroom—silence now heavy where rage once vibrated through clenched teeth. The villa sleeps except for the glow of your laptop screen painting shadows across bare legs tucked beneath silk sheets. Your oversized graphic tee slips off one shoulder where bra straps should be if you bothered wearing one; reading glasses perched low on your nose as your mouse clicks on your laptop. Troja Palace glows amber across the screen in final venue photos—ivy crawling stone archways exactly where you'll say vows tomorrow—that’s if your heart still fits the words after tonight’s fracture.

The soft rap rap rap against your bedroom door cuts through the quiet hum of late night stillness. You pause mid click, brows knitting together as you glance at the clock—3:47 AM. 

Sliding your reading glasses off, you pad barefoot towards the door, tugging your tee back up over your shoulder last minute before pulling it open.

And there he is.  

Onyankopon stands under dim hallway light—a muscular silhouette barely contained in a black tee. But what catches you? The bundle of flowers wrapped clumsily in brown paper—a glass vase tucked under his arm, and a flower frog dangling from his fingers. 

"You said you was gon’ help me make the perfect bouquet ‘fore marryin’ me."

Your reluctance comes first—but then? You open the door a little wider. 

Onyankopon moves toward the open window, carefully placing each item on the ledge. His eyes linger on you—freckles scattering beneath candlelight and ginger hair starting to coil wild again after a long day.  

“Do you remember how to put the frog in?”  

“Nah,” he shrugs, “Don’t remember nothin’." 

You exhale through pressed lips before reaching for it anyway—“Okay, liar.” 

You crumple metal prongs inward with practiced fingers, guiding it smoothly into place at the bottom of the vase. That’s when his hands suddenly slide over yours—palms rough against your knuckles as they follow along like some student failing intentionally. Your giggle comes out unbidden—his calloused thumb brushes ticklish spots near your wrist, making petals rustle between both your hands from sheer proximity.

That’s when it hits—you were supposed to be mad at him, weren’t you?

"You gotta be gentle about it," you tease softly, "These flowers have feelings, y'know."

"My lil' flower of a fiancé got feelings too," he murmurs, voice rough with affection—just for you.  

You sigh, half-hearted as you step back slightly.

"Go to bed, Onyankopon."  

He doesn't though—finding your hip, he tugs gently until your palms press flat against his chest. His free hand lifts yours slowly to wrap around the back of his neck like some unspoken surrender as he murmurs, “Gotta practice our first dance one more time.” 

The words are honey sweet mischief despite everything—his body already swaying yours effortlessly against him, no music filling the space while tomorrow looms heavy over both heads. 

And yet? You don’t pull away. This is how fights always end with him—fingertips trailing promises along the spine while disagreements dissolve beneath touch alone.

He spins you once, slow enough that French tips dig into his shoulders for balance before laughter bubbles free. He sets you down carefully—like something precious worth protecting, something so his. 

"Love yo' ass so fuckin’ much.”

Your breath hitches, vulnerability spilling over a whimpered, “I love you too,” fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his shirt.  

A soft plea slips past your lips before you can stop it—“Please fix this tomorrow.” 

“Promise. Nothin’ matters more than walkin’ down that aisle to make you mine.” 

The words rumble from his chest like scripture; absolute in their truth.

Your thumb brushes along the sharp curve of his cheekbone, tracing ink-stained skin as you exhale in shaky relief. 

“Wanna cuddle?”

“Only if you don't tell yo' mama I was in here." 

Giggles burst free as he suddenly lifts you clean off your feet—flower petals scattering forgotten onto moonlit floorboards as you both hit the bed. 

And for tonight? That was enough.

The morning sun spills gold through sheer curtains, painting everything in warm, honeyed light—the kind of glow that makes even the air feel thick with love.  

Onyankopon lingers at your bedroom door, his rough palm cradling your face as he steals one last kiss—slow and deep enough to make your toes curl against cool tiles. You giggle against his mouth when he nips playfully at your bottom lip once more, slipping out into the hallway like a thief in broad daylight.  

And just like that? The excitement for today comes rushing back—butterflies fluttering wild beneath your stomach. 

Your wedding day. 

You float into the kitchen where Ruya and Kimora nurse espressos while Lola scrolls through her phone beside them. Your mother stands near, reading a newspaper with knowing eyes already lifted toward yours.

“Morning everyone.” 

You hum this sweetly before leaning weight onto your momma’s shoulder—content as cat lazing sunshine.

Ruya doesn’t hesitate—“Somebody ‘real giddy this morning.”

Your mother sips her coffee pointedly without looking up from her newspaper, “Her and that man made up last night.” 

Your lips part dramatically—“And how would you know?” 

“‘Caught him sneaking out. Said somethin’ about a talk with Mrs. Osei before the ceremony.”

A pout forms, because of course she saw. Still—he kept his promise, and that’s what really mattered to you.

The kitchen hums with light chatter—Ruya recounting some ridiculous pre wedding mishap while your mother stirs cream into her coffee, shaking her head. The moment Onyankopon’s mother steps into the room, the air shifts slightly, like a subtle breeze cutting through warmth.  

You offer a polite smile anyway. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Osei.” 

“Good morning,” she replies smoothly, “Onyankopon said you wanted to talk?” 

Your brows knit together slightly. But before you can overthink it, you nod slowly and say, “Actually—yeah, we do need to talk.” 

Then? She drops it so casually that at first—you think maybe you misheard.

“He said you wanted to apologize for how you’ve been acting since I arrived.” 

A beat passes where everyone else in the kitchen suddenly stops.

And then?

“I'm sorry…"

Your voice is dangerously sweet now—the kind reserved solely for people who have severely fucked up without realizing yet, “What exactly would I be apologizing for?”

“I haven’t felt welcomed since I got here," she snips, chin lifting with defiance. 

“Not by your uppity family—not by this gaudy wedding theme I still don't understand—and definitely not by you,” her voice sharpens with every word, “You think just because you call yourself trying to be a daughter in law that means something? You aren't loving at all—cold as a mortuary table, and twice as stiff."

She crosses her arms tightly over her chest before delivering the final blow—“I told Onyankopon once I received my apology? Then I’d accept this wedding."

For a moment, it feels like the air had been sucked from the room entirely. Your mother goes to open her mouth when Ruya gently holds her back, allowing you to take the floor. 

Then—

“Mrs. Osei.” 

Your voice is quiet; eyes blazing even though your tone remains frighteningly calm.

“Let me get this straight. I do everything in my power to accommodate you. Flights, dresses—I endure every sideways comment about everything being ‘too extravagant’—I smiled when sneer comments were made at every corner about me—and you come in here demanding an apology?”

Behind you now stands Onyankopon himself having entered mid sentence alongside his father, including his nosey older brother.

Your head turns sharply toward Onyankopon, your eyes burning with betrayal as the words leave your lips like a whip crack—  

“You told her I’d apologize?”

Silence stretches for half a breath before he exhales sharply through his nose.  

“I just ain’t want no more bullshit—” 

“What does this look like to you? Instead of telling her to respect me—you dismissed every single moment of disrespect because what? She's your mother?” 

Your hand slams against your chest, “I'm your fucking woman!” 

His mother flinches slightly when you turn back toward her with venom lacing every syllable that follows— 

“It seems I’m not the only one he's been lying to. Did he tell you we were moving to Boston?"

For the first time? Mrs. Osei looks completely blindsided. 

Tears sting but refuse to fall yet; pride won't allow it. And over your shoulder? You conclude icily—

 “Don’t be too upset about it, though. He’ll be going alone.” 

Your fingers deliberately pull your gold band free from where it sat snug against skin since engagement day. It lands atop of the marble counter, loud. 

“The wedding’s off.”

The second you storm out of the kitchen, the air shatters.  

Your mother is on your heels first—“Baby girl, wait!—" 

Ruya nearly knocks over a chair scrambling after you both, Lola right behind her with Kimora close at her hip. Your father lingers just long enough to shoot Onyankopon one last look, jaw clenched in disappointment before following suit. The villa’s grand foyer echoes with hurried footsteps and overlapping pleas—your name called desperately between attempts to calm the hurricane inside of you.

But back in that kitchen?

Onyankopon stands rooted in place—chest rising and falling too fast for someone who hasn’t moved an inch. His fingers flex at his sides like he might punch through stone, guilt carving itself deep into every rigid line along his shoulders.

His mother barely gets out, “I knew we shouldn’t have come!—“

“Enough.” 

The word cracks like gunfire as he levels her with something sharper than anger now—finality. 

"You not gon’ make this shit about you.” 

He grinds through clenched teeth before forcing volume down into something perilously measured—“Look. I love you, Momma. I’m always gon’ be yo’ second born.”

He inhales sharply, “But I can't keep lettin’  you control my life—or sabotage who I let into it. I should've never allowed disrespect towards my woman—the love of my fuckin’ life." 

A muscle jumps along his jaw when she opens her mouth again, but he gives her a look.

"You need to change.” 

It isn't a request; it's a warning wrapped around a plea, no less desperate for its quietness—“Or lose me.”

His mother’s face flickers—eyes widening for just a second as if she hadn't expected this version of her son to ever stand before her. Her lips part, trembling slightly, voice barely a whisper as she reaches out—  

“Baby boy—" 

But he's already stepping back, hands raised like he can't bear to hear another word from her right now. 

“I gotta go find my wife."

The words are thick with urgency and something deeper—regret that clings to each syllable like bloodstains on wedding vows meant to be pure.  

BANG, BANG, BANG. 

“Baby," his voice is rough with pleading even through the door, “Please open up.”

On the other side? You lean back hard enough that you feel every vibration of him knocking travel through your spine. A shaky exhale leaves you; eyes squeezed shut while fingertips press into eyelids trying desperately not to cry. 

“No, Onyankopon. I can’t do this.”

The sound of your pained whimper from behind the door sends a brutal wave of helpless rage through him—his muscles coil like he could force his way through solid wood. His fist slams against it once—harder than intended—before he catches himself with a sharp inhale, forcing restraint into trembling limbs that want to tear shit apart until there’s nothing left but you in his arms again.  

"I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” 

Silence answers him though; no rustling fabric or shuffled footsteps signaling forgiveness. Just quiet, thick enough to choke on while standing too still. 

“Aight then," rasps past clenched teeth, “I ain't movin'. Right here.” 

Onyankopon slides down the length of polished oak until he sits on the floor unceremoniously—back resting heavily  against the door.

 He waits.

Time drags on—agonizing and slow.  

The villa hums with muted chaos around him. The rustle of silk as bridesmaids shuffle in and out of rooms, low murmurs between family members coordinating delayed timelines, hushed phone calls to vendors stalling what was supposed to be the most sacred day of their lives. 

All of it happened while he remained rooted there, back pressed against the door like a man holding up the weight of his own mistakes. His jaw aches from how long it’s been clenched, teeth grinding together in self loathing. Every second that passes is another reminder—He let this happen. He let his mother’s words fester unchecked because it was easier than confronting her. He failed you when you needed him most.  

Then—finally—the door creaks open behind him.

You attempt to sidestep past without so much as looking at him —as if walking through ghosts might not hurt if ignored long enough.

“Baby—” His arm shoots out instinctively, blocking the path towards the hallway—“Please…jus' gimme one fuckin’ second.”

“What could possibly be left for you to say?” 

Your voice cracks mid sentence; raw emotion clawing its way free whether you wanted it or not, “You didn’t defend me—” A sob wrenches itself loose, “You didn't protect me!—“

"Breathe,” he growls, yet somehow achingly soft all at once, “C'mon—breathe f'me.”

Your chest rises and falls in ragged bursts as you try to steady yourself, but the trembling doesn’t stop—hands shaking violently at your sides, shoulders quivering like you might collapse under the weight of your own heartbreak. When you finally speak, it comes out stripped bare—no walls left to hide behind—

“I just want to be with you, Ony. It shouldn't have to hurt this much." 

Onyankopon grunts deep in his throat—his hands come up instantly, cradling your face like something sacred before he presses his forehead hard against yours. 

“It won't. Never again."

The words are rough with conviction, “I fuckin' promise you."

And then? He seals each shaky breath by covering your trembling mouth with his own—kissing away salt on tongue, swallowing down every last whine until all that remains is them tangled together tighter than vows you  were supposed to make hours ago.

The tension in the air finally softens, replaced by the quiet comfort of his arms wrapped around you, his heartbeat steady against your ear. You exhale, melting into him for just a second before murmuring weakly—  

“…You’re not s’posed to see the bride before she walks down the aisle…”  

Onyankopon huffs a low laugh against your hairline, lips brushing your temple as he replies—“I’ll repent later.”

“OH MY GOD, THEY MADE UP!” 

Before you can even blink? Three manicured hands latch onto either arm, yanking backwards with all the force bridesmaid strength can muster while Kimora snaps at Onyankopon like he forgot how weddings work. 

“GO FIND YOUR FATHER AND BROTHER RIGHT NOW, SIR! Y'all got plenty of time to be all lovey dovey at the altar!"

Your giggles mix with protests as they whisk you downstairs, while behind them? Onyankopon just watches your silhouette disappear until turning himself—determined to get this ceremony started already. If waiting meant more seconds passing without calling you his wife out loud? It wasn’t going to fly anymore.

The air inside the Troja Palace is thick—giggles bouncing off gilded mirrors, the rustle of delicate fabrics against polished floors, and the sweet scent of blooming roses mingling with warm vanilla.  

Sunlight streams into the bridal suite, casting a golden glow over your girls, your mother, even Onyankopon’s sister—they flutter around you in their Merlot hued gowns, each tailored to their own unique beauty. 

And then?  

You. 

You’re wrapped up entirely by white champagne fabric—your silk chiffon gown dripping off your shoulders shamelessly where ruffled tiers cascade down your frame like liquid meeting earth for the first time. The bustline grips at your tits threatening spillage hotter than any fantasy aloud, while the bodice cinches your waist into something blasphemously sinful despite pure colors. It clings until your silhouette forms the perfect hourglass, every inch screaming vintage straight out of renaissance paintings. 

Your veil floats behind, illusion tulle trimmed with rose lace spilling floorward into the perfect train—and finally? Your hair falls past collarbones now unfettered, yet styled versatile enough to flip to any side revealing Burmese curls kissed by ginger cinnamon hues. You were romance.

When your mother steps forward, cupping your face in her hands with a whisper of, “My sweet girl," you nearly crumble—giggling to keep the tears at bay as she presses a kiss to your forehead, “You look like the dream I always had for you.” 

Then—three sharp knocks against the door. 

All eyes turn as it creaks open to reveal Mrs. Osei standing there—but different now. Gone is the cold disapproval from earlier; instead, she wears the deep merlot dress originally chosen for her, elegant and regal against her rich brown skin.

“…May I speak with you alone?" 

A beat passes where no one breathes. You give a small nod toward everyone else that has them shuffling out with lingering glances, Ruya squeezing your hand extra tight before the door clicks shut behind them.

For what feels like forever? His mother just looks.

“You look breathtaking, baby girl.” 

You give a weak smile, “…Thank you.”

Another heavy silence. Mrs. Osei exhales, slow and shaky.

“When I lost my youngest boy…"

Her throat works around the words, “I held onto what was left of my family. So tight—I think I forgot how to let them breathe." 

Your own chest aches at the mention of him—knowing Onyankopon still carries that grief in his bones, how some nights he wakes up sweating from nightmares, his own guilt eating him alive no matter how much time passed. 

“Ony wasn't easy growing up,” she admits, "Wilder than fire one minute then cold as stone next. ‘Started running those same streets his brother did before—“

Her hands tremble slightly, “It terrified me watching him step out into this world. Losing another child? It would have killed me."

But then? 

 “He became a man despite my fear,” her voice thickens around pride , “And once he did? I should’ve trusted him enough to make choices without me clutching reins anymore.” 

She steps closer then—wrapping her hands around yours, squeezing. 

“…But watching him with you? You bring light outta darkness inside that boy like nobody else can.” 

Her eyes go down, squeezing your hands even harder. Meaningful.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I was cruel to you, and you didn’t deserve any of that. You’re my daughter.”

The weight of Mrs. Osei’s words settles over you like a warm embrace, melting away the last traces of lingering tension. Without hesitation, you pull her into a tight hug—feeling the way her breath hitches for just a second before she relaxes into it.  

“It’s okay,” you murmur against her shoulder, “I’m so happy you’re here.” 

A soft laugh bubbles up between the two of you as she squeezes back—like maybe this moment was always meant to come. That’s when your father appears in his own deep merlot suit—rich fabric perfectly tailored against broad shoulders, adorned by gold cufflinks with an endeared look on his face. 

“Don't wanna rush y'all…" his voice carries gruff affection while adjusting his tie one last time, “But baby girl? It's time.” 

Onyankopon's mother lets go first —pressing a kiss between your trembling fingers now clutching your bouquet tightly, “You look beautiful, don’t be nervous.”

Your father offers his arm immediately; steadiness personified despite how violently yours shakes when taking hold of him—a nervous giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Daddy—“ 

You exhale, “You think I'll fall?” 

His answering chuckle is low and warm, weathered hand patting yours once— twice—three times, “Not a chance.”

The first haunting notes of Young and Beautiful swell through the grand hall, and your breath catches—heart plummeting straight into your stomach as the towering double doors begin to glide open. 

Before you, a vision of Renaissance romance unfolds—ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes of cherubs dancing among swirling clouds, gold leaf glinting under cascading candlelight. The air is thick with the scent of white roses and aged parchment, every detail painstakingly crafted to look like a painting sprung to life.

The guests blur into a breathtaking tapestry—your family draped in deep merlots and rich plums, Onyankopon’s side in earthy drab greens that contrast like autumn leaves against silk clad chairs. The bridal party stands poised at the altar in their flowing gowns while groomsmen mirror them in tailored suits so sharp they could cut glass.

And then—

Him.

Onyankopon stands in his own suit—clothed in a merlot fabric that hugs every ridge of muscle beneath it; broad shoulders straining against perfectly stitched seams, dark cornrows gleaming under flickering chandeliers framing his face—and then? He sees you. 

Your flushed cheeks beneath your lace veil, bouquet clutched between shaking hands brimming blood-red calla lilies. 

His older brother grips his shoulder roughly when that first ragged sob tears free from somewhere deep inside him—it’s nearly shocking, his fists balling uselessly at his sides trying desperately to stop this unraveling, but the love he feels for you is like no other.

Your father presses a kiss to your damp cheek—whiskers scratching gently as he murmurs “Love you, baby girl,” before guiding your hands into Onyankopon’s trembling grasp. 

The moment your palms cradle his tear streaked face, his breath hitches audibly. His skin is warm under your fingertips, facial hair rough against the pads of your thumbs as you wipe away the evidence of his shattered composure. A soft giggle escapes you—lips parting in whispered adoration. 

“Hi.” 

He exhales a broken chuckle and immediately leans in, pressing his forehead hard against yours like he can fuse himself into this moment forever. His fingers dig into the silk at your waist—bruising in their desperation—before pulling back just far enough for the officiant to begin speaking through their own watery smile.

Vows spill between you two like sacred confessions—each word laced with promises sharper than any blade could ever carve; deeper than marrow deep devotion carved bone by bone over time spent loving without condition or pause. 

And when it comes?  

“You may now kiss your bride.” 

Onyankopon doesn’t wait another second before crushing his mouth against yours with possessive reverence—swallowing every gasp left behind while cheers erupt loud enough to shake crystal chandeliers dangling above.

The reception hall is plucked straight from a Baroque painting—golden candlesticks flickering atop tables draped in lush, their surfaces adorned with clusters of grapes, figs, and pomegranates spilling out of gilded bowls like offerings to the gods. The menus are pressed onto heavy parchment tied with silk ribbons, each chair gleaming under the warm light of chandeliers dripping with crystal. 

At the center of it all? Them.  

Onyankopon’s hands are possessive on your waist as Frank Ocean’s Seigfried floats through the air—his voice wrapping around you both like another layer to this moment neither wants to end. You melt into your husband effortlessly; his grip tightening when he spins you once—twice—before suddenly lifting you clean off your feet just because he can. 

Then? Chaos. The good kind. 

Bridal party photos turn scandalous after one too many champagne flutes being emptied— your tongue strokes his past grinning lips mid capture, his hands smacking your ass enough for gasps— every flash immortalizing stolen kisses and bitten off growls meant for no one else but each other. 

Ruya slinks past more than once throughout the night, slipping glossy prints into Onyankopon's palm without breaking stride. Polaroids taken pre wedding session she'd sworn secrecy over until now—you stretched across satin sheets biting a necklace between teeth; back arched beneath sheer lace as your slender eyes looked deep into the camera. 

His pupils blow wide every single time, “Fuck,” before tucking evidence inside his breast pocket religiously, playing it off with an awkward cough.  

Then comes the garter removal ceremony.

Onyankopon kneels before you in front of everyone—your leg draped over his shoulder as he slides rough fingers beneath the delicate lace garter hugging your thigh. His beard scratches against your skin as he drags slow kisses up your calf before nipping playfully at the tender spot behind your knee—just to hear that breathy giggle escape you.  

“Hurry uuup,” you whine halfheartedly between flushed cheeks, seeing your parents dramatically shield each other’s eyes nearby. 

A deep growl vibrates against silk fabric—Onyankopon feels how his mouth makes goosebumps rise across your thighs gripping tighter on instinct alone—when finally? His teeth tug satin free, cheers erupting instantly followed by more drinks poured faster than anyone can keep track anymore.

The air is now thick with laughter, clinking glasses, and the warm hum of families weaving together—his people learning yours, yours embracing his. Stories are swapped over plates of decadent food and too much wine; bonds forming like they were always meant to.  

You changed into something lighter but no less breathtaking—an off the shoulder satin gown clinging just right where ribbons cinch tightly along backside, creating an hourglass silhouette impossible to ignore even if tried—tiny bow resting perfectly atop of your heavy tits while a golden heart pendant nestles deep between cleavage glowing under soft lights. 

Dolce & Gabbana heels flicker with every step taken toward where he's seated lazily, surrounding groomsmen nursing beers passed between them all sharing memories loud enough to shake walls themselves. 

“Papa.” 

Your hands slide across his chest, “Need help re-tying my dress."

The reception's distant hum fades to a murmur as Onyankopon guides you through the opulent hallways of Troja Palace, his large hand swallowing yours with possessive warmth. The walls are lined with gilded candelabras, their flickering glow casting dancing shadows across your intertwined fingers.  

“C’mon," he rumbles low in his throat—the words vibrating against your skin even from just that simple touch of his voice. 

When you reach the bridal suite, golden light spills from an ornate vanity mirror framed in intricate carvings—roses and ivy twisting up its edges like something out of a dream. You press your palms against its cool surface, leaning forward just enough for him to loosen the delicate satin ribbons running down your back.

“I’m so happy,” you whisper into the quiet; words soft, carrying more weight than anything shouted ever could. 

Onyankopon only hums—deep and distracted, pulling loose silk before knotting it back into place, your waist dipping inward perfectly under the careful ministrations of his palms. 

But then?  

He feels it—pressure building uncomfortably behind his zipper. He’s hard.

The air in the bridal suite is thick with the lingering scent of roses and champagne—soft light flickers against gilded mirrors, casting warm, honeyed reflections across your intertwined forms. Onyankopon’s arms snake around your waist from behind, his palms splayed possessively over the silk cinching you together. He sways you gently—just enough for your dress to whisper against his legs like a secret shared only between you.

“You think our dance looked good?” he murmurs into the curve of your ear, voice rough.

Your lips part around a giggle that drips honey sweet satisfaction, “It did.”

“Look at you,” he grunts, “So muhfuckin’ pretty.” 

And just like that? You lean back into him—head tilting until lips meet messily; tongues sliding past teeth without hesitation or apology against spit slicked kisses growing deeper by second. You’re stroking your tongue against his, almost as if you’d waited for this exact moment—to be alone.

Onyankopon's hands slide up slowly, fingers pressing into the satin corset of your dress before he drags the neckline to free your heavy tits. The moment his palms cradle them—rough skin against softness—he groans into your mouth like a starving man finally fed.  

“Missed these muhfuckin' titties," he growls between wet, open mouthed kisses that leave you both breathless and messy. His thumbs roll over stiffened peaks as he kneads you possessively— lips never breaking apart even when the obscene smack of skin on skin echoes through the suite.  

You whimper at the sight—his thick fingers digging into plush tits while his tongue thrusts deep past yours in filthy rhythm—your head tilting back to take him deeper, drool dripping down chins unwilling to part for air alone anymore. 

And then? That's when it feels hotter than hellfire itself—hips grinding backwards against where hardness strains his zipper impatiently, waiting for release too long denied now.

The kiss deepens, turning feverish and desperate—mouths fused together in a wet, molten dance of tongues and teeth. When Onyankopon suddenly catches your lower lip between his teeth and sucks slowly, you whimper long and high—the sound dripping with needy surrender.  

“I want you so bad," you murmur against his lips, voice trembling as you arch further into him.  

With a grunt that rumbles through his chest like thunder before the storm breaks, he pins you towards the vanity in one fluid motion—palms slapping down against polished wood as he yanks the hem of your satin dress up to expose delicate white lace clinging to slick curves beneath. 

Your fingers hook into the waistband of those soaked panties; tugging them aside just enough for swollen pink folds to peek out under dim candlelight—already glistening with sinful proof that this was inevitable from jump.

You wiggle back against him shamelessly now, watching your reflection blur behind steam fogged glass while words mewl through pouty lips—

“‘S all yours now, baby.”

His breath ghosts over your slick folds, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his lips. A deep, guttural growl vibrates against your dripping flesh as he tilts his head—inhaling your scent like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.  

“’S mine, huh?"

His voice is gravel and sin—rough enough to make you shiver before he seals those words with action—snatching your clit between his lips in one brutal suck. Your thighs tremble violently as a punched out whimper tears free from your throat, hands scrambling for purchase on the vanity's edge.  

”A—Always been yours… baby," you mewl, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth.  

Onyankopon pulls back just long enough to glare up at you through hooded eyes—spit stringing from beard to pussy in a lewd bridge of pure filth before he barks, “You gon' drop this shit on my tongue?”

You nod fast—and like that, his tongue spears past swollen folds—slurping ensues in seconds, his head knocking up and down as he’s dragging spit all around your inner thighs and clit, your hips wagging his face side to side as he buries his jaw even deeper.

“That’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” he snarls between messy schlicks, devouring every part of you without hesitation.

The room is thick with the sound of him feasting on you—slurps, licks, and wet, greedy schlicks that echo off the walls. Drool drips from his beard, glistening strands connecting his mouth to your pussy as he devours you like a man starved.  

“You taste so muhfuckin’ good," he groans against your folds—the vibration sending a shockwave up your spine. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he spreads you wider, licking messily from clit to asshole before burying his face even deeper between your cheeks. 

“Need this bitch drownin’ my fuckin’ jaw.” 

Your fingers knot violently into his braids at the crown of his head—grazing just enough to hear him grunt into your pussy before doubling down. The obscene squelch of how wet you are fills every inch of space between panting breaths; each lick louder than the last until it’s all just slick skin and spit sloppy desperation.

And when he sucks your clit right between the fat of his lips? Your eyes roll back as a full body tremor takes over—legs shaking violently while muffled whimpers escape through clenched teeth, “O—Ony…”

His tongue doesn’t let up though; if anything? It gets meaner now that he feels how close you are—his nostrils flare as he watches your pussy cream all over his tongue—your slick glazing his beard like honey as he snarls through the mess.  

"This shit creamin’.” 

His voice is guttural, wrecked from how deep he’s been buried between your thighs, “Why you ain’t tell a nigga you needed it this bad?” 

Before you can even whimper an answer, his palms hook under your hips—yanking them back hard until your folds smear across his nose and lips with filthy purpose.  

“Move."

You’re shaking your ass on his face like a dance, a sultry giggle bubbling past swollen lips. He growls at the tease, landing a sharp spank against plush skin just to feel you jolt before grinding back onto him greedier than before.

You tuck your face into the vanity for balance but peer over one shoulder through hooded eyes anyway— both of your own palms rise up, only to come down again with two echoing slaps against each cheek, spreading yourself shamelessly wider for him.

“Keep playin' if you want to,” he growls, “‘Promise imma’ have you in this bitch hollerin’.” 

Your thighs tremble violently as his mouth works—wild, sloppy sucks on your clit pulling desperate whimpers from your throat, “Fuckkk, baby..." you gasp, toes curling against the floor as pleasure threatens to split you apart.  

Before you can catch yourself, something hot and heavy slaps against your folds—thick veins dragging up and down as he ruts against you shamelessly. 

His growl rumbles through your back, "Gon' give yo’ lil’ ass a real reason to whine." 

Then his palm snakes around from behind—calloused fingers catching under your jaw in one firm grip. He tilts your head up by force until all you see in the mirror is a freckled face, sweat slicked curls clinging to temples, and him. 

You try bucking forward—but his hips pin yours firmly behind, mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear roughly—“You missin’ me?”  

You whimper, “Yes, baby.” 

The shudder swells past bitten lips weakly—a sudden, sharp smack blooms across your freckled face—your eyes rolling back as he grunts, “Say you missed this big ass dick,” another squeeze tightens around your chin possessively, “Mean that shit.” 

Your voice is a breathy, whining plea—“I want it so bad, baby…” 

You nod frantically as if to convince him, grinding your ass against his fattened tip straining between the two of you. You needed this.

Onyankopon tightens his grip on your chin, tilting your face toward him just as he begins sinking in—slow at first, savoring the way your pussy flutters around him before swallowing every inch without hesitation.  

"You feel this shit goin' in?

His teeth grit behind every word like restraint is hanging on by a thread, "Feel this muhfucka stretchin’ yo’ greedy ass walls?”

You choke on air—because yes, you feel it. Every thick inch carving its way inside after two long years of aching emptiness without him. It burns just enough to be pleasure bordering on pain; that delicious pinch of being claimed all over again like your very first night together when he ruined anybody else for good.

And then?  

You're unraveling right there—you tremble as you breathe in, losing it as you give a weakened sob—"I'm cumming, baby. U—Ugh, fuck.” 

Onyankopon snatches a kiss onto your mouth, "’Cummin’ ‘cause my dick back where it belong’, huh? Keep fuckin’ cummin’. I’m not gon’ stop.” 

And he doesn’t—he’s tugging you back, slick noises filling the room alongside broken moans you can’t hold back anymore. He watches your reflection closely now — seeing how tears prick at the corners of your eyes while plush thighs shake uncontrollably beneath him—they're joined together sloppily now with every slam of his tip growing heavier in your walls, your pussy dripping onto the floor beneath him. It’s nearly insanity.

Your eyes roll back, stuck in pure ecstasy, the pleasure too overwhelming to even blink. The room spins—or maybe it's just your head—you dig your nails into the thick muscle of his forearm still locked around your jaw. His grip keeps you from collapsing forward entirely as every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs in ragged gasps. Deeper, deeper. 

“Oooh my god. Oh myg—god.” 

The words spill out like a prayer—shaky, breathless whimpers breaking between each moan as he pistons mercilessly from behind. Each snap of his hips splits apart every rational thought until all that’s left is him—the stretch, the fullness, the way his dick swells inside when he bottoms out so deep you feel him in places no one else has ever touched.

And Onyankopon?  

He’s relentless—grunting ”Mhm,” with every brutal drive forward like it's a confirmation; an oath sealing how well he knows you, how perfectly you fit together despite years apart.

“Look at this shit,” he growls, “Look how I’m tearin’ yo’ ass up. You know how long I been waitin’ for my fuckin’ pussy?”  

Your mouth falls open—a silent gasp stolen by another brutal thrust that knocks loose a shuddering exhale instead. No words come, just shaky breaths as his hips snap forward again and again; thick length splitting you apart like it was made to ruin anything else that ever tried to take its place.  

You can barely focus past the sound of your own ass clapping against him—wet flesh meeting unforgiving muscle in a rhythm so filthy it drowns out thought entirely. Until suddenly? That soft whimper slips free anyway—barely more than a squeak beneath sweat slicked curls stuck to trembling shoulders—“L—Love you... so much, Papa.”

His arrogant chuckle rumbles against your parted lips, tongue flicking out to taste the desperate whimpers spilling from you. 

“You love me, huh?” he taunts—You nod fast, biting back another moan when his free hand slaps hard against your ass—marking skin already flushed red with proof of how much he’s claimed you tonight.  

“‘Bounce on my shit. Show a nigga how much you love him.”  

The command is rough-edged; a challenge wrapped in heat that makes your thighs quiver before you even move. But when his palm grips the nape of your neck suddenly—pressing you down over the vanity again until silk and lace crumple beneath trembling elbows? You don’t hesitate anymore.

Slow at first, then quicker—your hips roll backward onto him with each shaky exhale; slick walls gripping every inch as if trying to keep him buried forever.

You’re losing composure—your rhythm catches right where need burns hottest—ass clapping roughly against his abdomen now while broken gasps spill past kiss bruised lips, “O—Ooh, fuck.” 

“I ain’t movin’. Don’t fuckin' stop.”

The room fills with the lewd, wet symphony of your bodies joining—each time you bounce back onto him, your pussy farts obscenely around his girth, folds clinging and sucking at his shaft before releasing with a filthy schlick. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull as pleasure overrides everything else, a breathless whimper breaking free—“Ughhh, fuck!” 

Then? A sharp squeal tears from your throat when his heavy balls slap against your clit—thudding in rhythm with every reckless drop of your hips. Your moans turn ragged and unhinged, voice cracking under the weight of bliss as you grind down harder.  

“I missed bouncing on your dick like this,"—you whimper almost frustratedly—as if two years without him had been some cruel injustice now finally corrected.  

Onyankopon doesn’t ease up; instead, his palm presses firmer against the back of your neck—forcing you to arch deeper into each thrust while murmuring darkly, “Louder.” 

And when that familiar coil snaps inside you? The words spill in shattered gasps between claps of skin on skin, “…Yes…God, baby!”

"’Pussy cryin’ all on my dick," he growls at the sight of your soaking folds, voice rough and edged with arrogance—like he knew this was inevitable from the moment you reconnected. Your lips quiver into a silent pout through each punishing stroke; brows knitted together like even you're surprised by how good it feels to be ruined by him again after so long.  

But he wasn’t having that soft shit now—not when your cream is dripping down his thighs from how hard you're clenching around him. He yanks your wrist back behind you, trapping it against the small of your back while leaning forward to snarl in your ear, “Nuh uh. Cut allat’ poutin’ shit out.” 

You can't hold back anymore.

A raw cry rips free when a particular thrust sends you spiraling—your walls pulsing violently around his length as warmth gushes between tangled bodies without warning or apology, squirting all over him that it coats his thighs.

His body presses forward with a commanding weight, forcing your back to arch impossibly deeper against him as he cages you between the vanity and his chest. Your palms flatten beneath his larger ones—fingers twining together in a bruising grip as he leans down until you can see him looming above you in the mirror—all dark eyes, sweat slicked skin, and that cocky smirk playing at his lips.  

“Keep fuckin’ lookin’ at me,” he orders through gritted teeth. His fingers tighten around yours like an unspoken threat—daring you to break eye contact even as pleasure threatens to swallow you whole.  And when another sharp thrust sends your lashes fluttering shut for half a second? He growls low enough for only you to hear—“Keep them sexy fuckin’ eyes on me.”

You obey instantly—your gaze snapping back open despite how dizzying it feels; how overwhelming it is being stretched so wide while watching yourself unravel under his control.

His dark gaze never wavers, watching you with a possessive intensity that burns hotter than his thrusts. His voice is a low, arrogant purr as he murmurs, “My freaky ass lil' bitch. Ain't need me to fix yo’ dress—just wanted me to rough yo’ ass up." 

Your giggles come breathless between pants—cheeks flushed and lips swollen as you stick your tongue out teasingly. Without missing a beat, Onyankopon spits right onto it before grabbing your chin and twisting your face toward his—claiming your mouth in a filthy, open mouthed kiss that steals what little air you had left.

His hips keep driving forward relentlessly; each snap of his pelvis punctuated by the screech of the vanity being shoved against the wall from sheer force alone. The wood groans beneath you both as flesh meets with every brutal stroke—his grip on you tightening like he refuses to let either of you come up for air until this is done. 

He breaks away just long enough to snarl against wet lips—“‘Know this whatchu’ been waitin’ on.” 

Then? He buries himself deeper, again—“This my shit. My fuckin’ pussy. I’ll kill a nigga behind you.” 

And when your back arches helplessly under him? His teeth sink into your shoulder, feeling as you just moan. 

Frenzied movements slow to a near stop as your lips collide again—desperate, hungry kisses replacing the brutal pace from moments ago. Onyankopon exhales roughly against your mouth, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he murmurs, “I’m missin’ yo’ pretty ass face, girl.” 

With that, he turns you in his arms effortlessly—legs instantly wrapping around his waist as you melt into him. He slides back inside at this new angle—so deep it forces both of you to break the kiss just for a tremble of air.  

He doesn’t let go of your face though; thumbs brushing over tear stained cheeks, searching your gaze with a rare softness undercut by lingering possession—“You breathin'?”  

You nod shakily, chest rising and falling in time with his now steadier rhythm—the slower drag letting you feel every inch without hurry or urgency. Your arms loop around his neck before you nuzzle close enough for lips to ghost over his again between whispers—“...Love you so much.” 

The kisses between you soften—no longer bruising, but slow and syrupy, lips moving in tender synchronicity as your hips begin to roll with deliberate slowness.  

"Mmm—" 

His groan slips into your mouth before he can catch it, rough edged but there, and the sound makes your stomach tighten. You're not used to hearing him like this— raw, this responsive— it sends a thrill through you that's just as potent as the pleasure coiling low in your belly. 

You grind down again, "’That feels good?" 

Onyankopon exhales sharply through his nose like he's annoyed by how much he’s giving away—one hand sliding up the middle of your back to scrunch fabric there possessively while the other grips your thigh tight enough for fingers to leave marks later. He tries grounding himself deeper inside of you instead of answering properly —grunting, “…Can’t be doin’ allat’,”—but you ignore him entirely; tongue tracing along his bottom lip before swirling your hips down once more.

“‘It’s okay, Papa. Jus’ let it feel good…”

And then? After another few agonizing seconds where Onyankopon tenses his jaw stubbornly—his forehead knocks roughly against yours; breath stuttering out one singular broken moan.

The moment his moan slips against your lips, something inside you melts—fingers tightening in his hair as he grips the back of your curls, allowing himself to be guided by the slow, sinful roll of your hips. His breath hitches—so raw and vulnerable that it sends a shiver down your spine.  

"I know how patient you've been," you murmured against his mouth—words laced with tenderness and understanding, “Missed you too… so much.” 

Onyankopon exhales sharply before burying his face into the crook of your neck like he's ashamed of how badly he needed this—his palm slapping against the mirror for support as a weak whimper escapes him. The sound is muffled by soft skin beneath his lips but you hear it anyway, smiling through your shared heat as you rock deeper onto him, whispering—

"I know it feels so good, baby."   

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest at that—somewhere between defiance and surrender—before he finally gives in completely; hips stuttering forward weakly as if unable to resist chasing that perfect friction any longer. You nod encouragingly when your foreheads press together again; lips brushing teasingly over his before sealing you both in a kiss so sweet even he can’t fight back anymore. 

And when that vanity starts knocking harder against the wall from each unsteady thrust? 

Onyankopon whines. Your little giggle vibrates right into where you’re connected —high pitched, yet warm all at the same time.

His thrusts turn messy—desperate, almost frustrated as if he can’t control the way his hips jerk forward or how his breath keeps shaking between gritted teeth. Every sloppy grind pulls another helpless moan from him, rough and unguarded in a way that makes your chest ache with tenderness.  

You cup his face gently—thumbs brushing over high cheekbones flushed darker than usual—your own little moans soft against his lips as you murmur between kisses one last time, “Love you so much, Onyankopon.”

His noises grow louder at that; more wrecked than before—like hearing those words unraveled something primal inside of him. The vanity screeches violently against the wall now, wood groaning under your combined weight as pleasure builds to its peak for both of them.  

A whimper slips past Onyankopon's clenched jaw—raw and quiet but so unmistakable—

“...L—Love yo’ ass too,” he rasps, pressing open mouthed kisses along your throat—“Gon’ c—cum...” 

He’s burying himself deep one last time with a moan so guttural it vibrates—forehead dropping onto your shoulder while thick warmth spills inside filling places only he could ever reach. It’s warm, full of love.

Breath’s mingle in the quiet aftermath—foreheads pressed together as you both come down from the high, wrapped in each other’s scent, sweat and satisfaction thick between you. You trace a gentle finger along his temple, voice barely above a whisper as you ask, “You okay?"

Onyankopon huffs through his nose—half embarrassed by how soft he got—murmuring against your lips before stealing another kiss, “Don't embarrass a nigga more than he is already is.”  

Your giggle is light but satisfied; kissing him again until another sound cuts through the haze—knock knock knock. 

“Baby girl?”

Your mother’s voice lilts sweetly through the door, “ Are you alright? That ‘dress givin’ y'all trouble?” 

Your breath catches for half a second before you force composure into your tone—“We're just... talkin’, Momma! Be out in a minute.” 

A pause lingers on the other side of that door.

“…Should I be expectin’ grandkids soon?” 

Onyankopon huffs out an abrupt chuckle at that; deep and unapologetic while you nearly choke, “Momma, please!” 

With an amused hum from your mother fading down the hallway, Onyankopon catches your left hand; pressing a slow kiss to the golden band resting snugly around your ring finger. 

"’You bet' not ever take this shit off again."

You smooth the silk of your dress back into place, giving yourself a once over in the mirror—lips still swollen, skin still flushed, curls tousled just enough to tell your secret—but you’re satisfied. 

“Don’t make me upset again and I won’t have to. C'mon,” you say with an excited little bounce—already halfway out of the moment, "I wanna go taste our cake!" 

Onyankopon raises a brow as he adjusts himself back into his pants—a slow smirk playing at his lips when he grunts lazily, “Huh? Whatchu’ say?" 

The challenge in his tone is unmistakable; that familiar arrogance lacing every syllable like he already knows how this ends. But you don’t give him time to retaliate properly—just throw a grin over your shoulder, slipping toward the door like smoke between fingers.  

“Did I stutter?” 

And then? You’re gone before he can even snatch air between teeth laughing at audacity alone; squealing loud enough for the whole palace to hear when heavy footsteps thunder after down hall seconds later. Why? 

Because he loved running after you like this, with an eternity of catching left to do.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

GROUP MEETING

Summary: She shows up to her first group meeting, nervous and unsure if she belongs. But the moment the Moore twins lay eyes on her, the tone shifts. What starts as anonymous recovery becomes something else entirely: charged, intimate, and impossible to walk away from.

Warnings: SMUT. EXPLICIT. ONE-SHOT. Degradation. Cream pie. Dirty talk. Heavy sexual themes. Plus sized/dark skinned/baddie. Pet names used. Daddy Dom. Threesome. Slut praise. ⚠️

The smell hit first. Something between hospital soap and dollar store lavender. That overcleaned scent meant to mask something raw underneath. A man’s cheap cologne maybe. Old carpet. Last week’s potluck clinging to the walls.

She stepped inside, tugging her cardigan down over her hips, pretending she wasn’t already sweating through the satin beneath it. Of all the nights to wear satin. She’d stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes before leaving the house, fighting with herself over whether to go at all. Face beat but not too beat. Black pants hugging a little too tight over her hips. Curves she’d tried to downplay, but they never really went anywhere. And now every inch of her felt too much for a room like this.

The community center was plain. Mismatched chairs arranged in a loose circle. Fluorescent lights overhead casting everyone in a cold, too-honest glow. A folding table sat near the wall with a half-empty coffee pot, powdered creamer, a crumpled box of tissues. Nobody looked up at first. One woman dabbed her eyes with a napkin. Another man stirred his cup too long, like he was buying time. She hesitated at the door, clutching her water bottle tight enough to bend the plastic. Her knuckles were stiff. She took a step inside.

“Come on in,” someone said. A woman. Middle-aged, soft voice, tight afro, gold hoops. The facilitator, maybe.

She gave a small nod and walked toward the only empty chair. It squeaked when she sat. Of course it did.

That’s when she saw them.

Two men, sitting across from each other with a few empty seats between them, but their presence filled the whole side of the room. Twins, clearly. Same bone structure, same rich brown skin, same wide chests that made folding chairs look like toys. But they held themselves different.

The one on the left—Elijah—sat still, forearms resting on his thighs, palms open. His face unreadable. Tall frame folded forward just enough to look like he was ready to pounce if needed. But the way his jaw was tight, his fingers twitching slightly against his denim, told a story. This was a man holding something in his mouth he didn’t know how to say. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The other one—Elias—had a lighter air to him. Still big, still coiled up with something, but he wore it behind a smirk. Spoke earlier, she could tell by the looseness in his posture. He leaned back, legs wide, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee. There was a small laugh line near his mouth, but it didn’t look fresh. Looked worn-in, like he’d been forcing that expression too long.

She tried not to stare, but they were fine in a way that made her chest tighten. Not just good-looking. Built. Cut from something that had seen damage and made it out, barely. And she felt that part of herself—the one that craved the wrong kind of comfort—stir. She didn’t like it. Not here. Not tonight. But there it was.

People spoke. She half-listened. Stories of things they lost. Wives. Control. Sleep. Dignity. One man had been clean for two months and said it like it was ten years. A woman spoke of silence in her house so loud she couldn’t breathe. A younger guy nodded through tears. Everyone took their turn, passing the talking stick—literally, a piece of driftwood polished smooth—and giving their name, what brought them here. A few people went before them. The stick passed to Elijah.

He exhaled once through his nose, slow, then looked up at no one in particular. Voice deep. Southern. Measured, “Name’s Elijah. I don’t usually talk in these.” His leg bounced once. He stilled it with a palm to his thigh, “I was over there twice. Iraq. First time I came back, I stopped sleeping. Second time I came back…I stopped speakin’. People thought I was just quiet. But I was trying not to feel nothin’. Couldn’t talk about what I saw. What I did. What we all did.”

Someone across the room nodded.

Elijah went on, “I got these dreams now. Loud. Bloody. Sometimes I wake up and don’t know where I’m at. Or I do, but I don’t feel safe in my own skin. So I started showing up here. I don’t need fixing. I just need…a place to sit where nobody’s lying to themselves.”

He handed off the stick. Straightened his shoulders. His fingers twitched again. The stick moved a few chairs over to Elias. He spun it once in his palm, like he was about to tell a joke. But his eyes weren’t laughing, “I’m Elias,” he said, “Most folks call me Stack.”

A few raised eyebrows. Someone chuckled, “Served too. Same as him,” he nodded toward Elijah. “Different units, same war. They sent us back out there after it was already bad. I tried to lighten it. Joked around. Played music. Bought everybody rounds. And it worked for a while.” He paused, looking down at the floor like something was still there, “Thing is, when it got quiet…that’s when it got dangerous. You ever feel like your body come home, but your mind still overseas? That’s me. I’m good at faking it. Still laugh. Still flirt. But inside? Everything’s stuck. Like time don’t move forward. Just flashes. Blood. Screams. That smell that don’t wash off, even when it’s just memory now.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, flexing his jaw, “So I come here. To try and unstick the reel in my head. Don’t know if it’s working, but I keep showing up.”

He passed the stick off with a wink, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And just like that, the weight in the room changed. The air shifted around their stories, drawing everyone in tighter. She hadn’t realized her thighs were pressed together or that she was holding her breath.

Eventually it landed in her lap.

The stick felt warm. Too light for how heavy her chest suddenly got. Her throat worked once. Twice. Her mouth opened but nothing came out right away.

She looked up.

Both of them were watching her. Elijah’s stare was direct. Not pushy, not soft. Just there. Like he was listening before she even said a word. Elias tilted his head, brow raised slightly like he was ready to crack a joke if she needed it. But he didn’t speak. Neither of them did.

She cleared her throat and tried again, “I’m here…because I got tired of lying to myself,” she said. Her voice sounded smaller than she liked, but it was steady, “I been putting this off for a long time. Told myself I didn’t need to be here. That I could handle it. But that was bullshit.”

A few people smiled at the word. She pressed on.

“I’ve used a lotta things to quiet stuff. Food. Sex. People. Guilt. I kept thinking if I just stayed busy enough or pretty enough or quiet enough, it would go away. But it don’t. It just sits. Right here.” She placed her hand over her chest, then her stomach, “And I’m tired. I don’t want to live like that no more.”

The stick trembled in her grip. She passed it quickly to the next person and dropped her gaze.

Nobody clapped. That wasn’t the kind of space this was. But the quiet that followed was different now. Heavier. Not judgmental, just full. Like her words had actually landed somewhere and made room. When she peeked up again, Elias was looking at her with a slight tilt to his mouth. Elijah hadn’t looked away once.

She shifted in her chair and pressed her thighs together, heart racing.

God, she hoped they didn’t see that.

The meeting wrapped without ceremony. Just a few nods, a chair scraping, a soft clap on the back from one man to another. Nobody hugged. Nobody rushed. That was the thing about rooms like this. People stayed behind as if walking out too fast might break the spell. Or worse, the silence outside wouldn’t feel as kind.

She sat still for a moment longer, pretending to organize her things. Twisting her water bottle cap open then closed. Tugging at the strap of her purse. She didn’t trust her legs yet. Her chest felt open, too exposed, like she’d peeled something back and forgot how to cover it.

Her eyes moved across the room, not meaning to search but doing it anyway. Elijah was still in his chair, leaned back now, one arm slung over the foldout beside him. His head tilted just a bit like he was listening to something nobody else could hear. His thumb tapped slow against his thigh. A steady rhythm. That same twitch from earlier. The man didn’t move much, but when he did, it felt like the whole room shifted to accommodate it.

Elias was already standing. Taller than she expected, broad and loose-limbed, like he’d filled out in all the right places and knew it. His voice floated across the circle in a low chuckle while he talked to an older woman with grey locs and a soft wheeze to her laugh. He said something else, made her smile wider, and then handed her a Styrofoam cup from the table. Gentleman. Charmer. That was the mask. But even behind that smile, his eyes kept darting back.

Back to her.

She turned quick, pretending to check her phone, though the screen was black. Her thighs pressed together under the table, not consciously. Her body moved first. It always did when something got under her skin like this. And they were under it. Those two fine-ass men who carried war in their shoulders and shadows in their throats. Everything about them was wrong for her healing. And everything about them made her mouth dry. The things they’d said. The way they’d looked at her while she spoke. The stillness of Elijah’s gaze. The slow drawl of Elias’s voice. It stirred up the part of her she tried to sit on like a live wire, the part that got her into trouble, the part she hadn’t satisfied in too long. She stood and reached for her bag, trying to move like nothing was happening. Like she wasn’t wet. Like her fingers weren’t trembling just enough to make her phone slip when she tried to slide it into her purse.

The sound of it hitting the floor felt louder than it should have. She bent to pick it up. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. By the time she straightened, Elias was already a few feet away. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel. That grin sat lazy on his mouth, a little crooked, like it got there by accident and stayed too long.

“You did good in there,” he said, voice low, warm, and dipped in something syrupy.

She swallowed. Her lips parted, but the words got stuck.

“I’m serious,” he said, “Most folks come in and just say their name and bounce. You said something real. That shit matter.”

She finally found her voice, “I didn’t plan to say all that.”

“I know. That’s why it worked.”

He took a step closer. Not touching. Not even hovering. Just making her aware of his size, his scent. There was something peppery on him. A little citrus. And something underneath that made her stomach flip. Her response caught in her throat again, not from shyness but from the way her body reacted to him. She didn’t want to flirt. Not here. Not now. But her hips tilted, weight shifting to one side like it wanted to show itself off. Elias noticed. His eyes dragged down, slow, from her painted lips to the outline of her chest under that too-thin fabric. His gaze stayed there longer than polite. Longer than it should have. When it lifted again, he didn’t apologize.

That’s when she felt it—another presence behind her. Bigger. Hotter. Closer.

Elijah.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just let his body speak. The air shifted when he stepped up behind her, and her knees nearly gave. She didn’t even have to turn to know it was him. She could smell him—clean skin, cedar, that faint hint of something metallic like blood that never washed off war. He wasn’t touching her. Not even breathing loud. But the way he stood there, quiet and close, made her feel like he was reading everything in her pulse.

Elias glanced at his brother and smiled like he’d been expecting him, “Man always shows up when I start talking too much,” he said.

Elijah’s voice came soft. Low. Rough like gravel in molasses, “Because you always talk too much.”

That made Elias chuckle. Her eyes flicked between them. Mirror images. One warm. One cold. Both dangerous.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but Elijah finally looked at her, and her body short-circuited. His eyes were dark, still, focused. No smile. No lift in the brow. Just pure, concentrated attention like she was the only thing in the room worth watching. Her breath caught and her knees locked.

“You got a name, baby?” he asked. Slow. Careful. Like each word had weight.

Her name fell out in a whisper. She hated how breathy it sounded. Hated more how Elias repeated it, like he was trying it on for size.

“Pretty,” Elias said, “Suits you.”

Elijah just kept staring.

“Real pretty,” Elias said again, like he wanted to taste the name, roll it over his tongue.

She shifted her weight, nervous but not scared. She should’ve stepped back. Should’ve excused herself and walked out into the night, but something about the way they watched her made her feel still. Caught. Like a rabbit that wanted to be snared. Elijah stood behind her like a shadow, arms folded across his chest now. His shirt stretched over muscle that didn’t move unless he told it to. His silence didn’t make her feel unsafe. Just watched. Understood. Judged in a way that felt…thorough.

“You from around here?” Elias asked, eyes roaming again, but slower now. Not just looking—mapping, “Don’t think I seen you before.”

“Not originally,” she said, clearing her throat, “Moved here a couple years ago. Still feel new though.”

Elias nodded, “Welcome to the South Side. She’ll get in your bones before you know it.”

“She already has,” she replied, lips twitching, “Even the air here thick with attitude.”

Elias grinned wide, “That ain’t attitude, baby. That’s character.”

Behind her, Elijah let out a quiet sound. A breath that almost became a laugh, but didn’t. It brushed the back of her neck like wind. She stiffened, the heat crawling up her spine, flushing beneath her skin. She could feel the shape of his body behind her without even turning around. Felt the size of him. The quiet power. Like a wall with a pulse.

“What do you do?” Elijah asked finally, voice brushing low against her nape. It made her swallow too quick.

She tucked a curl behind her ear, fingers shaky, “Admin work. Office job. It’s decent. Pays enough. Boring enough.”

“You like it?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder and caught his eyes. Still dark. Still heavy, “Some days. Some days I just do it because it’s something to do.”

Elijah nodded once. Nothing else.

Elias leaned in a bit, hands in his pockets, “How’d you hear about this place?”

“My therapist,” she said, her voice softer now, “Been seeing her a minute. Kept pushing me to find community. Somewhere to say things out loud.”

“You picked the right spot,” Elias replied, tone dipping, “People don’t bullshit in here.”

“No,” she said, glancing between them, “they don’t.”

A pause stretched between the three of them. She could feel her pulse in places she didn’t want to admit. Her chest. Her thighs. Deep in the place she usually ignored unless it screamed. They were so damn close now. She hadn’t realized how much they’d shifted. Elias at her front, leaning just enough that her eyes landed on the line of his throat, the way his chain rested against brown skin. Elijah just behind her, not pressing, but her back tingled like it wanted him to.

She was sandwiched.

Soft and thick between two men who looked like they were carved from pressure and violence. Her body wasn’t small by any means—hips full, thighs plush, arms thick with the kind of softness that some men called too much and others never shut up about. But between them? She felt tiny. Felt like a marshmallow fluffed up in the middle of a storm. Like they could close in at any second and there wouldn’t be a damn thing she could do but take it. And the thought made her squeeze her thighs again.

“You really served?” she asked, trying to ground herself in words.

“Twice,” Elijah said.

“Same,” Elias added, rocking on his heels, “Army. First deployment was mostly patrol. Second was messier.”

“What’s it like…coming back from something like that?”

Elijah spoke first, “Noisy.”

Elias followed, “Then quiet. But not the good kind.”

They weren’t looking at each other. Only her. That twin language didn’t need glances. It moved through them like a current.

She nodded, not sure what to say to that, “And now? What do you do?”

Elias shrugged, “I bounce around. Security gigs. Freelance stuff. Keep a side hustle or two.”

Elijah answered with a slow blink, “I do less.”

“Less?”

He nodded, “I work when I need to. Sleep when I can. Stay out the way.”

She caught the flicker in his eyes then. That weight again. He didn’t need to explain it. She understood it in her bones. There was another long silence. Nobody moved. Not the inch that separated her from Elias’s chest. Not the breath that kept her from backing into Elijah’s frame. They were bigger up close. Broader. The kind of tall that felt supernatural. Her head barely grazed their shoulders. Her hips wide enough to brush both of theirs at once if she turned just slightly. She didn’t. Didn’t breathe too loud. Didn’t speak another word. 

Just stood there. Between them. Feeling her control slip…one heartbeat at a time. A few more people filtered out. The room thinned until only a handful remained, lingering near the coffee table or shuffling their coats on. The facilitator gave her a wave, soft smile, then vanished down a side hall. The hum of the night slipped through the glass doors. She finally pulled herself back from the weight between them and exhaled slow. Her bag felt heavier now. Body slower. Skin more aware than it had any right to be.

“I should head out,” she said, forcing a light tone into her voice. “Thanks for, um…the company.”

Elias tipped his chin, “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Elijah gave one small nod. His arms still crossed, his eyes still on her like he’d memorized something. She stepped into the night with careful feet. The chill hit her arms through the cardigan, but it wasn’t the cold that slowed her. It was the tingle on her spine. The weight of their stares following her all the way across the parking lot. Her car sat crooked under a flickering streetlight. She unlocked it, climbed in, tried to start the engine, and of course, nothing.

Dead.

“God,” she whispered, slamming her head lightly against the steering wheel, “Not tonight.” She got out, phone in hand, already debating who to call. AAA? Her brother? A stranger?

That’s when she heard the footsteps again. Elias reached her first, holding up his hands like he meant no harm. That smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Everything alright?”

She sighed, a little embarrassed, “Car won’t start. Battery’s been giving me problems.”

Elijah joined, hands in his pockets now, expression unreadable.

Elias turned to him, “You got the cables in the truck?”

Elijah nodded, “Pop the hood.”

They moved like it was nothing. Like it was routine. Elias leaned into the hood latch while Elijah walked back to the edge of the lot where his truck sat in a shadow. She glanced toward it—tall, matte black, tires thick, body clean but clearly used. A man’s truck. Practical. Solid. Powerful.

“Want me to wait inside?” she asked.

Elijah’s voice carried back, “Yeah. Keep warm. Driver side’s open.”

She didn’t hesitate long. Something about being told what to do, quiet and plain like that, flipped a switch she hadn’t touched in years. She climbed in and settled into the soft leather, the scent of them thick in the cab—cologne, sweat, weed, something metallic and faintly sweet. The seat was pulled far back, and she had to scoot up to sit right. The wheel large in her grip. The center console cluttered with small signs of life—a lighter, a receipt, a pack of gum, keys on a worn black loop. She let herself breathe there. Let the window fog a little while she watched them work. They moved in sync. No words needed. One connected clamps. The other leaned under the hood. That twin rhythm again. Like they were built from the same pulse. The truck rumbled to life under her touch. A few minutes later, her own engine followed, Smoke behind her wheel.  Elias waved her out and she joined them again under the hood, heart warm now from something she didn’t have a name for.

“You good,” Elijah said, shutting the hood with one clean swing, “Let it run a few.”

“Thank you,” she said, hugging her arms, “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Elias replied, voice thicker now, “Still chilly though. You wanna sit a minute while it charges up?”

She hesitated—then nodded. This time, she climbed into her own car. They didn’t leave. They opened the back doors and slid in like it was theirs. Elijah stretched out behind the passenger seat, long legs knocking against the one in front of him. Elias settled behind her, quiet as always, hands on his knees. No fuss. No noise.

“You bring that indigo?” Elias asked.

Elijah nodded, “Always.” He pulled something from his jacket. Rolled tight. Green. Dense.

“Good. That’s that smooth shit. Not the kind that make your brain spin. The kind that just—” he whistled low, “—melts you.”

“Okay if we smoke a lil’ baby girl?” Elijah asked.

She gave them the okay. He sparked it up, eyes half-lidded as he pulled. The window cracked just enough to let the smoke drift.

“You smoke?” Elias asked her, eyes drifting over her lips.

She shook her head, “Nah. I’d be laid out in five minutes.”

Elijah almost smiled, “That’s the point.”

She laughed, “I’m tryna make it home in one piece.”

Elias exhaled and passed it to his brother, “Fair enough. We’ll keep it light then.”

The scent wrapped around her anyway. Thick, earthy, sweet. A deep floral note she hadn’t smelled before. Her eyelids lowered without her permission.

“What you do for fun?” Elias asked after a pause, head resting back.

She blinked, “Fun?”

“That thing people supposed to have in their lives.”

She gave a soft laugh, “I don’t know. Read. Cook sometimes. Go to movies alone like I got friends.”

Elias smirked, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. I like movies too. Especially the trash ones—Smoke, don’t,” he added.

Elijah replied without looking up, “Because most of them are trash.”

She grinned, “So what do you do for fun, then?”

A pause.

Elias shrugged, “I smoke. Eat good. Find soft places to land when life get heavy.”

That answer felt like it meant more than it said. She didn’t push it. Elijah said nothing. Just passed the blunt back and looked out the window. The red glow from the tip lit the edge of his jaw, the line of his throat. Her thighs shifted again. The air filled with silence and secondhand smoke. Her limbs started to loosen. The nerves she’d been holding onto fell away, one by one. They didn’t crowd her. Didn’t try to flirt. They just were. Letting her soak in the moment. Eventually she sighed and sat up straighter.

“I should head out,” she said, soft but certain, “Gotta be up early.”

They didn’t protest. Didn’t try to keep her. They opened the back doors in unison. She put her car in drive.

“Wait.” Elias asked. 

She turned in the drivers seat, rolling down the window.

He held out his hand, “Lemme see your phone.”

She hesitated, “Why?”

“So you can text me when you make it home. That’s all.”

Her heart thudded hard in her chest. She handed it to him, screen unlocked. He typed something quick. Saved it. Before she could reach for it, Elijah took it next. Said nothing. Typed slower. Saved. When he handed it back, their numbers were stacked side by side in her contacts: Elias “Stack” Elijah “Smoke”

Two names. Two men. Two fires waiting to burn her in completely different ways.

“Drive safe,” Elias said, voice deep and easy.

Elijah didn’t speak. Just gave her a salute.

But she could feel both of them watching her as she pulled off. Still warm and lit up. Still trembling in the center of her seat. And she already knew next week wasn’t coming fast enough.

The apartment met her with stillness. Not peace. Not silence. Just the kind of quiet that made her too aware of herself. Of her breath. Of the damp place between her legs that hadn’t stopped aching since they left her. She locked the door behind her, turned the deadbolt, and leaned there for a second. Purse dropped on the floor like her fingers forgot how to carry anything else. Her keys hit the counter with a sharp sound, but it didn’t pull her out of it.

She could still smell them.

It wasn’t just fragrance. It was body and tension. The stretch of their legs in her passenger seat, the low drag of Elijah’s voice when he leaned in close. Elias laughing behind her shoulder, knuckles brushing her neck whenever he clutched her headrest like it was an accident. That scent had clung to the fibers of her shirt, soaked into the seatbelt, braided itself into her skin. She stood there, staring into the dark of her apartment, not moving. Her thighs shifted once, a slow grind as she exhaled hard through her mouth.

“Get it together,” she said, barely above a whisper.

But her body didn’t listen. She moved through the apartment like she was trying to walk off a fever. That worn black cardigan tugged from her arms and tossed across the back of a chair. Shirt peeled slow over her head. Her bra unhooked with a practiced twist, sliding off her shoulders and falling to the floor. Her breasts sighed when they were freed, heavy and soft, nipples dark and already pebbled from friction and memory. The cool air in her apartment kissed her skin, but it only made everything worse.

In the full length mirror, she caught herself. Curves stacked like survival. A body shaped by softness, by meals that soothed and touches that lingered. Breasts full and low, heavy with the kind of weight men either worshipped or shamed. Arms round. Belly warm and plush. Thick thighs that didn’t apologize for anything, always brushing when she walked. She stared at herself with a kind of quiet hunger, like she finally understood why men looked twice. Why they circled back. Why they didn’t leave empty-handed.

She looked like the kind of woman you lose your mind over. And she was still soaked. The drive home had made it worse. That long stretch of road. That last look Elijah gave her before he stepped out of the car. The way Elias leaned in and let his knuckles trace her thigh one last time before grinning and saying, “We’ll wait on you.” They hadn’t even touched her properly. Not yet. But her body had stored every sound, every shift of breath between them. Every moment of being surrounded by men who watched her like they already knew how she tasted.

She stepped out of her leggings and panties together, sliding them down her legs slow, bending at the waist. The air touched her pussy and she inhaled sharp, startled by just how wet she still was. Her thighs gleamed. Her folds were slick, swollen, open like a mouth begging to be fed. She climbed into bed without turning on the lights.

The sheets were cool at first, then too warm. Her skin felt tight all over. Too sensitive. Too much. She kicked the covers off, let her thighs fall open, and let her hand find that space that hadn’t been touched all night but felt used anyway.

She started soft. Just fingers tracing down her belly. Grazing the top of her mound, dipping slow through wetness that glistened even in the low light of the hallway lamp. She breathed out, slow and shaky.

It was Elias she pictured first.

His hands looked like they could hold her still by the hips and lift her off the bed if he wanted to. She imagined him between her thighs, chin glistening, one hand keeping her legs apart while the other pressed against the softness of her belly like he wanted to feel everything. He looked like the type to talk while he ate. Tease while he stroked. Thumb her clit while he said things like, You like that? You look good stretched open for me. Dripping all down your thighs, mama.

She bit her lip and let her fingers mimic his mouth.

Slow circles. Up. Down. Press. Pull. Her other hand came up and cupped her breast, tugging at the nipple until it ached. She pictured Elias pulling her down to ride his tongue, then spreading her lips wide with both thumbs just to watch her tremble.

But Elijah. Elijah came next.

Quieter. Hungrier. The kind of man who didn’t say much because he meant everything. She saw him holding her ankles in the air while he fed her strokes deep and slow, eyes locked on hers, jaw tight like he was fighting the need to break her in half. She saw herself pinned against the wall with her legs wrapped around him, nails in his shoulders, sweat on his neck. He fucked like he didn’t believe in breaks. Like he’d been hungry his whole life and finally got a taste.

Her fingers sped up.

She cried out once, head turning into the pillow, body arching into her own hand.

She didn’t slow down.

She kept going. Kept pushing. Kept pulling. Rubbed her clit like she was chasing something that had been running from her since sundown. Her body trembled under the weight of it. Her thighs clenched. Her pussy pulsed, slick spreading all over her fingers, leaking down into the sheets as her orgasm hit sharp, then melted.

But it didn’t stop there.

She rolled to her side, breathing ragged. One leg cocked up. Her hand still between her thighs. Her body wouldn’t quit. It wasn’t done with her. It needed more.

Needed them.

Guilt tried to creep in.

She pushed it away.

Instead, she reached for her phone, screen lighting up the shadows around her. Their names sat there, side by side. Still new. Still unfamiliar. But heavy with possibility.

She opened a new thread. Added them both. Typed slow.

hey. made it back safe. thanks again ❤️

Sent.

A few seconds passed. Then another.

No reply yet. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was the flutter in her stomach after pressing send. The thread was open now. The line was there.

She dropped the phone beside her on the bed and closed her eyes, Elijah’s silence still clinging to her skin. Elias’s smile burned into her thoughts.

Next week couldn’t come fast enough.

Sleep took her quick after that. Loose and full-bodied. Her hand still smelled like her own skin. Her mouth curved into the faintest smile, body stretched out like she’d finally let go of something that had been holding her tight for weeks.

She didn’t hear the buzz or  feel the soft light flicker across the room.

1:12 AM – Stack: good. i was gon come knock if you didn’t text fr. sleep good, baby girl.

1:16 AM – Smoke: glad you made it. get some rest.

_______

The chairs were set up the same way. Metal legs scraping old linoleum. The circle slightly lopsided, like it’d been rearranged too many times by hands that didn’t care about symmetry. Same off-brand coffee scent hanging in the air, mixed with that generic floral lotion somebody always overapplied.

She stepped in quiet, scanning without trying to look like she was. The room wasn’t full yet, but it was more crowded than last week. More noise. A low buzz of nervous laughter, soft conversation, people catching up on things that couldn’t be said in daylight.

They weren’t there.

Her stomach dipped.

She kept walking anyway, choosing a seat near the edge of the circle, but not too far out. Close enough to be seen. Far enough to pull back if she needed. Her thighs stuck to the foldout chair a little as she sat. She adjusted her sweater. Re-crossed her legs. Tried not to fidget.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard from them.

The week had been full of light touches.

Morning, sweetheart.

Sleep good, mama.

Don’t let that job drain you.

Text messages.

Just enough to keep her in orbit.

Elias was the more consistent one. His texts came with emojis sometimes, made her laugh when she didn’t expect to. Told her when he was eating something good. Sent her a song link with a “this feel like you” attached. She didn’t tell him that she played it three times back-to-back before bed.

Elijah didn’t text often. But when he did, it was sharp. Clean.

You up.

You working today?

That picture you posted. You looked good.

That one stayed with her. Especially because he hadn’t liked the post. Hadn’t commented. Just sent the message with no fanfare and disappeared for the rest of the night.

But that was the thing.

They’d both found her socials.

Elias first. He followed fast. Liked a few photos in a row —one of her Sunday fit, one where she was laughing in the passenger seat of her cousin’s car, one full-body mirror shot she nearly deleted because her stomach looked soft. He left a comment on that one.

Curves sittin’ nice, baby girl

She had to sit down after reading it.

Then Elijah came. No follow. No likes. No comments. Just views. Story watches. Quiet profile visits. The kind of presence you didn’t see unless you were looking for it.

But she saw.

And if he was lurking, it meant he wanted to see. It meant he was curious. And that was worse than all the compliments in the world. She tapped her nails against the water bottle in her lap, pretending to focus on a crack in the wall near the clock. The facilitator was setting out the talking stick and a box of Kleenex like she always did. A couple she hadn’t seen before slid into the seats across from her. The woman looked anxious. The man just looked tired.

Still no Elijah. Still no Elias.

She took a breath, long and slow through her nose, and pushed it out through her lips. Don’t be pressed, she told herself. She came for herself. Not for them.

Then the door creaked open behind her. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to. Their presence moved through the room like gravity. She heard the shuffle of boots on tile, the low cadence of Elias’s voice as he greeted the woman by the coffee. Heard the silence that followed behind it. That still weight Elijah carried like a second skin.

She felt it before they even reached her.

“‘Scuse us,” Elias said, smooth as ever, stepping up beside her chair, “Traffic had me on ten. My fault.”

Then Elijah was on the other side of her.

Just like that, she was boxed in again. Elias dropped into the chair on her right with a sigh, knees wide, arms stretching back over the top rail like he was settling into his throne. Elijah took the one on her left quieter. Slower. The metal groaned a little under him, but he didn’t shift after. He just sat. Still as always.

They didn’t look at each other.

“Hey,” Elias said, voice pitched just for her now, “You good, sweetheart?”

She turned her head slightly, “Yeah. You?”

Elijah answered first, “Living.”

Elias nodded, “Week was long, but manageable. You?”

She hesitated, then let a soft smile curve her lips, “Same. Just trying to keep myself together.”

Elias’s eyes dropped to her legs for a second, slow, then back up, “You look like you holdin’ together just fine.”

She didn’t respond. Not out loud. But her thighs pressed together under the table again. Subtle. Instinctual.

“You ain’t text back the other night,” Elias added, voice dipping low, “We were waitin’.”

“I was sleep,” she said, “Didn’t see it till morning.”

“I figured,” Elijah said, “You needed it.”

She inhaled. Short. Sharp.

It was the way he said it. Not as some throwaway observation, but like he’d been paying attention. Like he’d been reading between her lines all week. Every good morning. Every late night response. Every gap between replies. Like he’d felt the weight in her texts even when she didn’t name it.

Elias leaned in a little, voice pitched low just for her, “So how you sleep, huh? One of them big ol’ t-shirts with a hole at the bottom? A moo-moo from your auntie’s drawer? Or…” His eyes dragged slow over her face,  “Nothin’ at all?”

She turned toward him, lips parted just enough to let a breath out, “You askin’ for a mental picture or just tryna be messy?”

His grin curled, slow and wicked, “Both.”

She leaned in just enough to meet his energy—not more. Her lashes dropped a little as she let the answer roll off her tongue.

“For me to know, and for you to wonder.”

Elias let out a low laugh, that kind that comes from the chest, like she’d said something worth chewing on. His smile didn’t drop, but something in his eyes shifted. Like he’d just added her answer to a list he planned to revisit.

Elijah hadn’t said a word. But his hand had moved. Not toward her. Not obvious. Just from his thigh to his knee, fingers flexing once before curling into a loose fist. Like he needed somewhere to put all that stillness.

The talking stick passed. Another story started. This one from the young guy with the frayed hoodie and tired hands. He spoke with eyes on the floor, about a girl he used to love. About the way she left without saying goodbye. About how it wasn’t even the leaving that broke him, it was the way he’d never hear her voice again.

The circle went quiet. She tried to focus. But all she could think about was how Elijah shifted in his seat just enough that his shoulder grazed hers. The contact was soft. Unintentional. But he didn’t move away.

And neither did she.

The breath caught in her throat felt too heavy to swallow. Her eyes stayed locked on the middle of the circle, but her body…her body was answering to something else. Every inch of her was tuned to the rhythm of the men beside her. The way Elias moved when he crossed his legs. The way Elijah breathed through his nose. The low scent of weed on Elias’s hoodie. The faint cedar that clung to Elijah’s skin like it came from the inside out.

They were just sitting there. Doing nothing.

And she was soaked.

Her thighs flexed again. Slow. Deliberate. Just enough pressure to ground herself.

She could feel Elias glance at her.

Not with his head, with his mouth. The corner of it twitched like he was holding something back. Like he knew what she was doing. Like he approved.

Her fingers tightened around the water bottle in her lap.

The stick passed again. Someone else started speaking. A woman this time. Voice strong. Steady. Talking about learning to forgive herself. The word forgive echoed too loud in her head. Made her jaw clench. Because she knew damn well if she kept walking this edge—the edge she was on right now—she was going to need it.

Forgiveness. Grace. A reason to keep pretending this wasn’t getting out of hand.

The meeting ended like it always did. No applause, no hallelujahs, just a slow uncoiling. Chairs scraping. Deep exhales. People rubbing at their eyes, stretching their backs, pulling on coats heavy with memory.

She stood slower than usual. Took her time collecting her water bottle and slipping her phone into her purse. She felt Elias rise beside her first, his body heat peeling away like a layer of something she hadn’t realized was covering her. Then Elijah—silent, steady—pushed back his chair with a single sound and stood like a question she hadn’t figured out how to answer yet.

The three of them hovered near the exit, caught in that familiar float after hard truths had been shared and nothing felt quite real yet. The night air hit sharp when the door opened, cool on her cheeks, biting at her neckline. The parking lot looked quieter than it had last week. Streetlamp flickering overhead, pavement still cracked from some long-gone winter.

“You straight?” Elias asked, turning toward her.

“Yeah,” she said, pulling her sweater tighter, “Just waiting on my ride.”

“Uber?” Elijah’s voice was low, almost lost in the wind.

“Yeah. My car’s still on bullshit. Been giving me hell since last month.”

Elias nodded slowly, “You hungry?”

The question caught her mid-step. She looked at him.

“I’m starving,” he said, then glanced to Elijah, “You good to hit that spot on 63rd?”

Elijah didn’t answer with words. Just a short nod and a look that said always.

Elias turned back to her, shrugging one shoulder, “We were gon’ stop and grab something. Nothing fancy. Greasy spoon, hole-in-the-wall type. Good as hell though. You tryna come?”

She hesitated. Thought about her Uber being five minutes away. Thought about her fridge with nothing but condiments and regret inside. Thought about how warm Elias looked in his hoodie and how Elijah kept watching her with that still silence that spoke louder than anything Elias could say.

She said yes.

The black SUV sat in the lot like it had been waiting for her. Big, clean, lifted just enough that she had to brace herself with one hand on the console when she climbed in. The inside smelled like skin, cologne, and something earthy like smoked wood and something sweet left in the ashtray too long.

Elias drove. Elijah took the passenger seat. She buckled in behind them, legs pressed together, heart already beating too fast for no damn reason.

The music came on low. A bassline humming beneath a song she didn’t know but wanted to, the kind of track you only played when the night wasn’t over, just shifting.

“You picky?” Elias asked, turning the wheel with one hand, knuckles flashing under the dash lights.

“No,” she said, settling deeper into her seat, “As long as it’s hot and seasoned.”

Elias grinned, “You speakin’ my language.”

Elijah glanced back once, his profile sharp in the reflection of the side mirror, “That’s what she said.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling anyway, “Y’all are real smooth when you want to be.”

Elias chuckled, “Ain’t gotta be smooth when you tell the truth.”

They drove in silence for a few blocks. Not awkward, just quiet. Comfortable. The kind of silence that let her breathe, let her body loosen without realizing it. She felt herself relax into the leather seat, fingers idly tracing the stitching in the door, head tilted just slightly as she watched the city slide past.

“You always come alone?” Elijah asked after a while.

“To the meetings?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just wonderin’,” he said, “You don’t talk like somebody who’s been holdin’ it in.”

She considered that, “I been holding it. I just got tired.”

That earned a small nod from him.

The SUV eased to a stop under a flickering streetlamp, the faded sign overhead humming against the night. A red awning curled over the door of the diner, corners wind-worn and cracked. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the ‘90s — chipped paint on the bricks, yellow light leaking through blinds that were permanently tilted.

 It smelled like fries and something fried in love. And that was enough.

Elijah got out first.

Before she could even reach for the handle, he was there —pulling her door open with one smooth motion, stepping back so she could swing her legs out. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, holding the space like it was made for her. She placed a hand on the frame and began to step down, but Elias appeared, already reaching. His hands slid around her waist—not rushed, overdone—but steady and sure. His palms warm through her sweater. He helped her down like she weighed nothing.

“You got it?” he asked, low and close.

“Yeah,” she said. But she didn’t move right away.

Not until he released her. Slowly.

They walked up to the door, her in the middle again without thinking. Elias stepped ahead and pulled the door open wide. Elijah stayed at her back, a quiet presence that made the hairs on her neck rise.

She stepped inside.

The warmth hit immediately—fryer grease, old coffee, lemon cleaner. The lights were low, booths cracked in places, walls lined with faded pictures of food that no longer looked like the real thing. Two people sat at the counter, arguing softly over a plate of pancakes. The cook was behind the grill, face half-covered with a hair net over cornrows, eyes watching them from beneath a tangle of steam.

“Sit anywhere,” he called.

They chose the corner booth. The kind that wrapped around in a half-circle, all leather and low light, tucked away from the rest of the room. Elias slid in first, gesturing for her to follow. She eased in after him, letting the seat shift under her hips.

Elijah slid in from the other side.

And just like that, she was surrounded again.

Pressed in leather and warmth. Tension curling low in her stomach. Their bodies not touching hers, but close enough that she could feel the pull. The table had a paper menu under a glass top. Sticky in places. Two napkin dispensers. A cracked bottle of hot sauce.

Elias leaned his elbow on the table and grinned, “You look like you still don’t believe we can eat.”

She smirked, easing back in her seat, “Y’all don’t seem like the kind to get excited about greasy burgers and soggy fries.”

“Shit,” Elias laughed, tapping the menu, “This the kinda place that keep you grounded.”

Elijah picked up a napkin and wiped something off the table that didn’t even need wiping.

“They got peach cobbler here and 7-up cake,” he said, low, “Best in the city.”

She turned her head toward him, “That right?”

He didn’t smile. But the way he said it, like it was a fact, like he’d tested it and would stake something on it, made her thighs press together again under the table.

A server shuffled over. Young. Distracted. Took their drink orders—water for her, strawberry lemonade for Elias, a passion fruit lemonade for Elijah. No pen. Just memory.

The moment he walked off, Elias turned to her, “You don’t talk much outside of them text messages.”

“I’m observing,” she said, “Y’all are…interesting.”

“Interesting good? Or interesting like don’t-trust-that-man-with-your-wallet?”

“Still deciding,” she teased.

Elijah cut his eyes toward her, “You trust too easy?”

“Not even a little.”

He nodded slow, “Good.”

Elias reached over and adjusted the salt shaker like it was in the wrong place, but really, his forearm just brushed hers. On purpose. Not obvious. Not hidden either.

They settled into a silence that wasn’t really silence. The kind of stillness that hums. The kind that’s all breath and body and what-if.

The drinks came. The menus stayed unopened. Nobody was really hungry for food yet. Not with the way their knees brushed under the table. Not with the way her thighs were warm again, and she was right where they liked to keep her.

Between them.

The food came fast.

Baskets of fries steaming on contact, burgers stacked sloppy between toasted buns, syrup glossed over pancakes on a chipped plate. The kind of food that didn’t need to be plated cute just hot and greasy and worth licking off your fingers.

Elias clapped once when the server dropped off the tray, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Bless that nigga behind the grill.”

“Bless?” she teased, “That’s a strong word for a greasy spoon burger.”

“You ain’t tasted it yet,” Elias said, unwrapping his sandwich like it was holy, “You gon’ see.”

Elijah just reached for the hot sauce. Poured it slow across his plate like this wasn’t his first time doing it. His burger already sliced in half. Neat. Intentional. Just like him.

She watched his hands while he worked. He caught her watching.

Said nothing.

Just dipped a fry in ketchup and popped it into his mouth like he didn’t just catch her slippin’.

“Got you quiet now. Food must be hittin’.” Elias asked around a bite.

She sipped her water slow. “I’m savorin’.”

He licked a spot of sauce off his thumb, eyes still on her, “Yeah. That’s my kinda energy.”

“You tryna turn dinner into something else?” she asked, brows raised.

He smirked, “I ain’t tryna do nothin’ you don’t already want done.”

Elijah shook his head, low and dry, “Here you go.”

“What?” Elias grinned, “She grown. She got that look like her thoughts louder than her words.”

She smirked, “Maybe I just like the sound of my food more than your mouth.”

That got Elijah to smile. Not a full one. Just a pull at the corner. But it was there.

Elias leaned in a little, elbow brushing hers, “I like you. You quick.”

She dipped a fry in hot sauce and sucked the tip clean before biting, “You just slow.”

“Ooh,” Elias chuckled, “Okay. So you wanna go tit for tat tonight.”

She shrugged, “I’m just tryna eat.”

But she wasn’t. Not with the way her thighs stayed tight together and the way both of them kept inching closer— Elijah’s knee brushing hers every time he shifted. Elias’s arm resting behind her on the booth like it belonged there.

The jokes slowed. The food disappeared one bite at a time. Then the silence hit.

Not awkward. Just…loaded. The kind of quiet that made you breathe different.

Elias wiped his hands slow with a napkin, “Lap tense as hell. Thought this was just dinner.”

She turned her head, gave him a lazy look, “What makes you think it’s tense?”

He leaned in, “Cause you ain’t moved since we sat down. You sitting too pretty for someone who ain’t feeling it.”

Elijah’s voice came low beside her, “You been quiet ever since you slid into this booth.”

“I been listening,” she said.

“To what?”

She turned toward him, voice lower now, “Everything y’all not sayin’.”

Elias’s tongue wet his bottom lip. Elijah just blinked slow, like her words landed somewhere deep behind his eyes. Elias scooted closer. Not much. But enough that their thighs were flush now. His arm brushed hers when he moved. Rested heavy behind her shoulders. He didn’t touch her. Not yet.

“You cold?” he asked, voice softer now.

She looked straight ahead, “Not really.”

“You sure?”

“Why you askin’?”

He leaned in, mouth near her ear, “Cause you tryna sit still, but your body keep tellin’ on you.”

Elijah was still on her other side. Closer now. His hand resting on the table, close to hers. His fingers didn’t touch. But they were right there. His knee pressed against hers. Firm. Intentional.

And she felt it. She felt everything. The booth wasn’t that big anymore. The air wasn’t light anymore. Her breath wasn’t steady anymore. And nobody said a damn thing about what was happening.

It just was.

The diner noise faded into a soft background blur — plates clinking, somebody laughing near the back, an old radio humming from behind the grill. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. In her wrists. In the space between her legs.

Elijah tilted his head toward her, finally speaking again, “You sure you don’t wanna finish that cobbler?”

She didn’t look at the plate. She looked at him.

And her answer barely made it above a whisper.

“Depends how y’all serve it.”

The cobbler sat untouched.

Sweet peach halves, still steaming, rested beneath a golden crust glazed in syrup. It bled across the plate in amber puddles, warm and slow, curling into the corners like it had nowhere else to be. But nobody at that booth gave a damn about dessert anymore.

Not her.

Not Elias.

Not Elijah.

Not when Elias kept looking at her mouth every time she bit her lip. Not when Elijah still hadn’t moved his leg from where it pressed up firm against hers.

She shifted slightly, spine brushing back against the cracked vinyl of the booth. It hissed beneath her, hugging her wide hips, clinging like it didn’t want to release her. Space was tight. Too tight to run. Too tight to pretend she didn’t notice how Elias’s thigh was all up against hers on the left, and Elijah had boxed her in on the right. When she leaned, her shoulder slid across Elias’s chest, his shirt cotton-soft and stretched tight across a frame that didn’t give. Not one inch. She exhaled through her nose. Tried to focus on the table. The butter knife. The half-finished drinks. Anything but the way both men were just sitting there—still and quiet—like they didn’t already know what they were doing.

Until it happened.

Elias shifted his weight, leaned back, and let his hand fall beneath the table. Slow. Smooth. No rush. No warning. His fingers curved wide before settling heavy right on her thigh.

Not her knee.

Not the edge of her skirt.

Her thigh. The thick, bare meat of it.

Her body jerked slightly. Gasp caught somewhere between her throat and her lips. It was soft, almost inaudible—but he heard it. He felt it. Because his hand didn’t move. Just sat there like it belonged.

Warm. Big. Familiar.

Possessive without apology.

His thumb started tracing lazy circles, slow and low, like he was drawing something sacred. Her breath hitched. Her thighs tensed but didn’t close. She could feel the heat spreading beneath his palm, the way the skin there started to thrum with awareness.

“What you doin’?” she whispered. Tried to laugh. But her voice wavered—half-giggle, half-beg.

Elias’s grin spread slow, “What you lettin’ me do?”

She opened her mouth. Thought of a smart reply. A tease. A deflection. But nothing came. Not a word. Just a breathy sound that damn near sounded like she was already giving in.

His fingers squeezed with intention. Then he started to rub again. Up and down. Thumb grazing the inside edge. Not high enough to make her shift, but close enough to make her need to. She leaned back harder now. Not to stop it. To feel it more. Her thighs pressed together, soft skin flexing. Elias’s hand didn’t stop. Didn’t rush.

He just kept touching her. Calm. Playful. Confident.

“That’s wild,” she said under her breath. Her lip caught between her teeth now, “Y’all ain’t got no sense.”

“You laughin’,” Elias said, voice dipped low, “but your legs ain’t moved once.”

She almost answered.

But then Elijah moved.

His hand came down quiet, like he’d been waiting. His palm landed on her other thigh—same spot, opposite side. He didn’t tease. Didn’t rub. He just pressed his hand flat. Claimed the space. His touch ran cooler. Firmer. No play in it. Just pressure. A quiet grip.

“Yeah,” Elijah said, voice so close to her ear it made her stomach tighten, “She tense.”

Elias let out a low laugh, “Told you.”

Elijah slid closer, thigh against hers now. His fingers flexed once. Then again. Slow. Deliberate. His thumb dragged toward the inner edge of her thigh and stopped just shy of the warmest part. Just enough to make her blink fast. To make her thighs twitch.

“She so soft,” Elijah said, his voice steady, no teasing, “Look how she leanin’ into it.”

Elias leaned in, his lips ghosting near her jaw, “This what you needed, huh? Couple hands on you. Tight little booth. Not enough space to think?”

Her breath left her like she forgot how to hold it. She was full. Caught between them. Nothing but thigh, thigh, thick thigh, and the deep, syrupy ache building right between her legs.

They talked like she wasn’t sitting there pulsing.

Like they didn’t feel her squirm.

Like they weren’t making her come apart in public.

“Bet she act shy when she get out this booth,” Elias said. His hand moved now, rubbing tighter, slower, “But I bet soon as she get home, she gon’ lay back and think on this.”

Elijah didn’t blink. His palm tightened just a little, “She already wet.”

It wasn’t a question.

She gasped, sharp and soft. Her hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles not white but clenched just the same.

Elijah tilted his head, “Ain’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Her eyes dropped to the table, chest rising and falling quick now. Both their hands were still on her. Elias tracing his circles, slow and greedy, fingertips creeping closer to the place she was trying hard not to twitch toward. Elijah’s hand holding her steady, thumb tapping once, just enough to make her swallow hard.

They knew. They always knew.

Elias leaned into her shoulder, his breath kissing the shell of her ear, “Say the word.”

She turned her head toward him, lips parting, heart racing like somebody caught in the act. She wanted to say something. Anything. But all that came out was a low sound—guttural, helpless, and real.

And both of them smiled.

Because that was enough.

Her thighs stayed open. Her back arched just enough. The booth creaked low, wood groaning beneath Elias’s weight as he leaned in. The vinyl seat gave under him, guiding her thigh right over his without permission, without apology. Just presence. His other hand pried her open inch by inch, the hem of her dress slipping higher on instinct, breath catching in her chest before she even knew what it was reacting to.

Then Elijah shifted beside her—quiet but heavy, the kind of weight that didn’t need sound to make itself known. He did the same from the other side, trapping her in place. Boxed in. Legs spread. Palms resting casual on either side of his thighs like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

But she could feel everything.

The table shielded what eyes couldn’t see, but not what she could feel. Not the way the air changed. Not the way her breath grew tight in her ribs.

Elias moved first. His hand came low and slow, fingertips dragging up her bare thigh like he had all night to get there. He didn’t rush. He felt. Sank into every curve of her skin with the kind of appreciation that felt close to hunger. His thumb rolled slow as he moved higher, brushing that tender strip of skin just beneath her panties like it was his alone. And when he pressed, it wasn’t fast or frantic. It was mean. Curious. Dirty. His thumb rolled up and traced the soft, soaked fabric between her legs like he could read it. Like her body was saying something, and he was trying to catch every syllable.

 Elijah followed, rougher but just as patient. His palm pushed her thigh wider, fingers spreading across the soft give of her skin, gripping the plush curve above her knee and dragging up. He felt for the thickness beneath his hand, rubbed his thumb over the seam of her panties and caught the way her muscles jumped. He didn’t pause.

She tried to breathe. Tried to laugh, “Y’all really wild,” she whispered, voice cracking from where it got stuck behind her teeth.

Elias didn’t laugh. He didn’t need to. He made a low sound in his throat, all gravel and approval, then dragged his thumb hard and slow across the full shape of her pussy again. “Mmm,” he grunted, voice dropped low, “You got a fat pussy.”

The words hit harder than she expected. Her laugh spilled out wrong—high and helpless, trying to escape the way her thighs clenched, the way her hips rocked forward without her consent. Her fingers twitched like she didn’t know where to place them. Lifted, dropped, useless.

Elijah’s voice stayed calm. Steady. Close to her ear like it was meant for nobody else, “That must mean you take well, huh?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer.

She couldn’t.

Her hips tilted just a little, but it was enough. That slow shift gave them everything they needed to keep going. Elias let his palm settle flat against her pussy, thumb still dragging slow lines up the soaked cotton. His hand was broad, heavy, unforgiving. His grip dared her to keep still.

“Don’t need your words,” he said, low and gravel-slick, “Your body loud enough.”

Elijah didn’t move fast. He just nudged her panties aside, slow and disrespectful. Didn’t ask or hesitate. Just let the pad of his thumb press right where she pulsed. His fingers spread across her thigh again like he was proud of what he found.

“Yeah,” he breathed, lips brushing her ear, “She feel ready.”

Her head rolled back against the booth wall. Her breath shook. The lights above blurred and scattered. She blinked, but it didn’t help. Her whole body was aware now. Too aware. Every nerve was standing up, every breath sounded too loud in her chest, and the slick sound of their hands working her over was starting to cut through the diner noise.

Elias didn’t stop. He cupped her pussy full in his palm, fingers sliding lower to press under, thumb circling up top, slow and nasty. Her thighs kept trying to close. He kept prying them back open. The strength in his hand was too much and just right. He dragged that cotton to the side harder to the point of shredding it and dipped his finger down, groaning low as he felt the mess she’d made.

“This how you act when we just touchin’? You gon’ show out when we fuckin’?” He rasped. 

She swallowed a sound she couldn’t name. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. Elijah just looked down, eyes hooded, rubbing slow with two fingers now. Middle and ring. Up and down, steady pressure, tracing the shape of her without putting them in. Teasing. Watching her hips chase his hand. Watching her lose track of herself.

“Soft,” Elijah whispered. “All this thickness sittin’ pretty. She feel like she need breakin’ in.”

Her thighs jolted. Elias grinned wider.

“Yeah she do,” Elias said, his voice tight now, like his jaw was locked. “She need handlin’. Like a big ol’ plate. Meant to be held with both hands.”

Elijah leaned in again. His nose brushed her jaw. His breath fogged the shell of her ear.

“Or shared.”

She made a sound then. A real one. A whimper choked back behind clenched teeth. Her hand dropped under the table, fingers grasping Elias’s wrist. Not to stop him. Just to hold on.

Elias dipped his finger in.

Just one. Just enough to feel the slick, hot clutch of her wrapped around him. She pulsed. Squeezed. That warm, wet flutter that made his mouth twitch in a nasty smirk.

“You hear that?” he whispered. “She talkin’.”

Elijah watched. Lips parted. One hand still on her thigh, the other creeping up now, pressing low against her stomach like he needed to hold her down while she took it.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he muttered, dragging her panties down slow. “Sit still.”

And she did.

Because she couldn’t move.

Not with Elias’s thick fingers pumping slow. Not with Elijah thumbing circles just above, steady and cruel. Not with both of them focused like that. Hungry. Calm. Dirty with it. Touching her like she was dessert and they had time.

They weren’t playing.

They were getting started.

Elias didn’t rush. His thumb worked over her pussy again, dragging lazy through the wetness that had already spread across his fingers.

“Still drippin’, girl,” he said low, voice thick with approval, “You like this nasty shit, huh?”

She clenched around nothing, her eyes fluttering half-closed.

Elijah touched next, smoother. His fingers pressed into her slick skin with a patient curiosity that made her pulse stutter. He slid upward, thumb grazing the soft shape of her lips, then dragged back down again, feeling how swollen she was. It made him shift in his seat, jaw tightening.

“My shit hard,” he said, almost to himself.

Elias grinned without looking up, “She makin’ my dick jump.”

Her thighs trembled between theirs. She tried to angle her hips, desperate for more pressure, more friction, anything. But they controlled the pace. The rhythm. They always did.

“You like fuckin’ this much?” Elias asked, voice unbothered, damn near thoughtful, “What made you like this?”

She couldn’t answer. Didn’t know how. Didn’t know what to say to a question like that with their thumbs working her slow, rubbing circles that got tighter each pass.

“Must’ve had dick so good it rewired your brain,” Elijah said near her ear, deep and calm, “Had you chasin’ the memory of that nut.”

Elias pinched lightly, right over her clit, and she jerked in place, hand slapping the edge of the table. He rubbed it right after, soothing it.

“Prolly pounded your thick ass so good,” he whispered, “left you seein’ stars. And now you out here tryin’ to find that same high.”

Her breath hitched. Her pussy ached. It throbbed under their hands, soaked through, lips plump and full against their fingers. Her head tipped back against the booth, eyes closed. They didn’t stop.

One rubbed. The other pinched. Then switched.

Elijah teased the lips now, his fingers spreading her, pressing in to feel the curve of her, the way she opened up, puffed and needy.

“Pussy got my dick on brick,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

She whimpered. Tried to press her thighs together, but Elias nudged them wider with his knee again.

“Don’t run now,” he said with a laugh that held no mercy, “You sat your ass in this booth.”

Elijah leaned forward again, his hand palming her inner thigh, “Body beggin’ for it. You hear how wet this pussy is?”

He slid his fingers down again, pushed harder, rubbed those wet lips like he wanted it to stain the seat. Elias looked at her face, her mouth open and breathing shallow. He tilted his head.

“You ain’t answer me,” he said, “What got you like this? What made you crave it so bad?”

She blinked, then looked away.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice cracking, “I just…I just do.”

Elijah’s hand slid higher. He pinched her clit softly again between his fingers and tugged, just enough to tease.

Elias pressed his thumb down hard, slow circles now, grinding steady, “Nah. Somebody started it.”

Elijah leaned in closer, speaking into her ear, “Bet you let somebody tear it up real young. Fucked the sense outta you. Made you a fiend.”

Elias grinned, “A pretty little fiend with a fat-ass pussy. Got us sittin’ here rock hard in the middle of this booth.”

She whimpered, face buried in her elbow now, her thighs shaking from how much it all pulsed—pressure building, nerves lit. They didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Didn’t let her breathe without feeling something.

Elijah rubbed lower, pressing through the folds, dragging slickness down, smearing it. Elias kept his circles going, pushing firm against that swollen spot until her body tensed all the way up.

“Don’t hold back,” Elijah whispered, “Go on. Let that pussy talk.”

Her stomach jumped. The tension broke.

She came under the table with her legs spread, hips rocking helplessly while they held her open.

Nobody in the room knew.

But they did.

And they weren’t finished.

-----

They left the diner under neon glare.

Elijah opened the door for her again. Said nothing, just stepped aside like he was used to making space for people who mattered. Elias placed a hand on her lower back. Just enough to say you feel good right here. She took the back seat without being told, thighs still humming, panties still damp from the booth.

They slid into the SUV like the night wasn’t over.

Elias behind the wheel again, one hand resting easy while the other adjusted the rearview mirror. Elijah climbed in and leaned back slow in the passenger seat, his profile catching the glow of the streetlight just enough to make her stomach flutter. The engine came alive with a low growl, and the music started up behind it—that same heavy-lidded rhythm from earlier, bass riding low, drums scattered like footsteps on concrete. Something Southern and slow. 

They pulled off smooth, no rush.

The city slid past the windows in long strokes of orange and blue. Storefronts shuttered. Neon signs blinking through half-closed eyes. A couple sitting on the curb outside a corner store passed a bottle back and forth, laughing about something that would only be funny at 1AM.

Inside the car, the silence was thick. Not stiff—just aware.

She sat still, pressed against the door, watching the lights paint the leather seat beside her. Her legs stayed closed, but her breath told the truth. Shallow. Controlled. Like she was holding something down just to make it through the ride.

She felt them both up front, even without looking. Elias tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. Elijah shifting his weight slightly, just enough for his arm to flex against the window. Neither of them talked. Not yet.

But she knew they were waiting.

Waiting to see what she’d say. What she’d do.

The memory of their hands still lingered on her thighs. On her pussy. Their voices still curled behind her ears. That booth had stripped away something quiet in her. Peeled it back, opened her up. She hadn’t stopped shaking since. Not visibly. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But inside? She was trembling.

The car slowed at a light. The red glow painted the dashboard. Her building sat four blocks away now, tucked off the main road. No doorman. No security. Just her name on a mailbox and stairs that creaked when the wind hit wrong.

The closer they got, the harder it became to sit still.

Her fingers tapped softly against her thigh.

They turned down her street.

Elijah finally looked over his shoulder. His voice was low. Steady, “This it?”

She nodded once.

The car pulled up to the curb. The engine didn’t cut off.

She looked straight ahead. Stared at the entrance. The hallway upstairs would smell like bleach and old air. Her apartment would be quiet. Dark. Still holding her heat in the sheets.

And if she went in alone tonight, she knew what would happen. She’d lie there with her thighs tight and her breath ragged. She’d touch herself again. Maybe twice. Try to remember the way Elias’s fingers had circled her through her panties. Try to recreate the pressure of Elijah’s hand pressing her open. And it wouldn’t be enough.

Not this time.

Not after what they started.

She looked down at her hands. Then up at the mirror.

Elias met her eyes there. No smile. Just stillness.

She turned her head toward Elijah. His eyes held hers for a moment. Dark. Knowing.

She took a breath.

Then another.

And said it.

“I want y’all to come up.”

No giggle. No shy smile.

Just a truth laid bare in the space between them.

Elijah nodded once. His door opened. Elias put the car in park, engine still humming.

Her heart thudded in her chest as the back door opened. Elijah reached for her hand, helping her out like they were stepping into something sacred. She didn’t look around or check to see who might be watching. She just walked.

Elias stayed close behind. Elijah beside her, silent as ever.

And when they stepped into the building—one stair creaking under Elijah’s weight, the other catching Elias’s boot—she felt it rise in her like smoke.

Not nerves. Not fear.

Just need.

Real. Present.

Ready.

And she knew before she even reached her door…nothing about this night would let her go untouched.

The lock clicked with a hushed finality as she turned the knob and stepped inside first, the quiet shuffle of her shoes brushing the worn entryway rug. It was dim, only a small light on the kitchen counter glowed warm, catching the gold trim on a frame, the curved lip of a wineglass left to dry, the amber gloss of hardwood that creaked beneath her step. She didn’t look back at first. 

She couldn’t.

Keys hit the tray on the table by the door. Her cardigan came off next, folded over the nearest chair. She walked slow, like her body had to remember it was her space, not theirs. The apartment wasn’t large, just a one-bedroom on the third floor of a brickwalk building with no elevator. The kind of spot you could fill with incense, sweat, and moans and it’d take days to air out.

But it was clean. Lived in. A throw blanket tossed over the couch, one corner half-folded. A half-dead plant leaning toward the last bit of light from the blinds. Some novels stacked on the ottoman like they’d been touched and abandoned in a hurry. There was a chipped mug on the counter. A faint scent of body lotion and something warm that clung to skin.

She felt them behind her before they even crossed the threshold.

Elias came in first, slow and wide-shouldered, eyes sweeping the space like he could already picture the places he’d fuck her. Elijah followed, silent, hands in his pockets, gaze tracking her legs as she walked toward the kitchen like they were guiding him somewhere he already knew. They moved smooth, but heavy. Like they didn’t belong inside something so soft and quiet, but they weren’t about to leave either.

Elijah pushed the door until it clicked again. Stack turned the lock. Then nothing.

No one spoke.

Just movement. Low, deliberate.

Elias slipped his jacket off. Set it over the back of the chair with hers. He scanned the space with his chin up, nostrils flaring once like he smelled her—beneath the fabric, in the air. His chain caught a flicker of that kitchen light, swinging slowly. Elijah leaned against the counter, his arms thick beneath a black long sleeve, one sneaker-clad-foot pressed to the cabinet like he owned the place.

“You live good,” Elias said after a beat. His voice held something low in it. Something that edged too close to approval.

“Cozy in here,” Elijah added, dragging his knuckles once across the counter before resting his palm flat. His eyes didn’t move from her, “Smell like you.”

Her hands reached for something—anything to do. She opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of chilled wine and held it out without turning around.

“Wine?”

Elias gave a tilt of his chin. “Yeah I’ll take some. Thanks baby girl.” 

She opened the cabinet. Pulled out glasses. Fingers trembled just slightly when they touched the base of the glass. Elijah noticed. Watched. The glasses filled, she turned, handed one to Elias, and placed the other beside Elijah. He didn’t drink yet. Just leaned closer. Close enough to smell the perfume layered in her clothes. Not sprayed. Rubbed in. Smeared into the inside of her elbow and that part behind her ear you only got close to during a kiss or while fucking.

Elijah pushed off the counter. Slow. He looked at the books. Touched the melted wax of the low-burned…light source on the shelf. Eyes landed on a framed photo, maybe a childhood shot or something sentimental. But he didn’t comment on it. Didn’t need to. He looked back at her instead.

Then he saw it.

The bedroom door.

He didn’t walk to it. Just paused long enough for her to notice where his eyes landed. And she did.

Elias caught that too. His lips curved a little.

“I been wonderin’ what it’d feel like,” he said, taking a sip from the wine glass, “Us. In a space like this. Real low. No lights. Just bodies.”

Her breath hitched. Barely.

Elijah still hadn’t said a word to her directly. The look in his eyes was doing all the work. He walked forward and leaned over the counter now, one hand down, the other inching toward her waist like he was daring her not to move. His voice dropped lower, a grind of gravel dipped in smoke.

“You nervous?”

She nodded again. Still no words.

Elias grinned like he’d won something. He came up behind her then. Not close enough to press, but close enough to feel the warmth from his chest behind her spine. His breath touched the shell of her ear when he spoke.

“We ain’t in no rush. Unless you want us to be.”

Her knees softened. She reached for the counter for balance.

“I…need to change.”

Elias stepped back slow, hands loose at his sides like they were waiting to touch something soft. Elijah tilted his head, jaw tight, eyes dragging over her like he was taking stock of everything—the sway in her hips, the bare press of her thighs, the hush of her feet against the floor as she eased away.

“Go on,” Elijah said, voice low.

She turned toward the bedroom.

Elias voice followed. Deeper. Rougher, “Leave that door open.”

She paused.

Then did.

But she didn’t need to change. For what? They didn’t come to see lace. Didn’t need no lingerie or frills. They wanted her just like this—skin bare, body honest. Whatever she had on could come off. Slow. In front of them. With that door wide open.

The space was dim. Soft light from a lamp in the corner made her skin glow deep. There was a full body mirror propped in the far corner, tilted just slightly. It caught the movement of her dress. The shape of her curves. The panic behind her eyes. The bed was king-sized. Dark gray sheets, fluffed comforter. Pillows stacked high, some shoved to the side like she’d napped there earlier. She stood in the middle, facing the mirror, breathing hard.

She paced like she couldn’t help it. Light steps at first, then a full loop near the bed. She rubbed her palms against her thighs, then pushed one hand into her hair like it might help settle her nerves. It didn’t. She kept talking. Nothing useful. A string of sentences that fell flat in the air. About the walk up the stairs. About how hot it was in the hallway. About how the wine must’ve gotten warm.

“Stop all that,” Elias said, calm but final.

They’d come in without a word.

Both of them barefoot now. Elijah’s shirt was gone. Elias had his unbuttoned halfway, showing thick brown skin and the wide shelf of his chest. They filled the doorway like a warning. Too big. Too built. Too much.

She swallowed hard.

“Go on,” Elias said behind her, “Take it off, baby girl.”

She blinked. Froze in place.

Elijah’s tone came next. Deeper. Meaner.

“You knew what it was when you let us come up.”

Her mouth parted. Then closed again. Like she was chewing on whether she could really say it out loud. She glanced at the floor. Then at Elias. Then Elijah. Like they were too much to take in at once. Like they weren’t gonna move until she did.

“I want y’all,” she said.

Low. But strong.

“I been wantin’ y’all.”

The air in the room turned dense. Every breath sounded louder. The quiet between them stretched long, thick, charged. She shifted like she wanted to walk again, wanted to hide. Her gaze slipped off their faces, down toward her feet.

Elias’ voice came slow.

“You sure you can handle that, baby?”

She nodded. It wasn’t confident, not all the way. But she meant it.

She swallowed hard.

“Go on,” Elias said behind her,“Take it off, baby girl.”

Her fingers moved slow at first. Reached behind to unzip her dress. Tugged it down her hips. The straps slid from her shoulders, and the whole thing pooled at her feet. She stood in her bra and panties, stomach rising with breath. Thick arms folded across her midsection, unsure.

Elijah moved first, “Uh uh,” he said, “Move them arms. Let us see what’s ours.”

She hesitated. Then dropped her arms.

She was thick all over. A deep brown beauty with stretch marks shining down her sides like they were drawn on. Her belly had a soft curve, a roll under the bra line and another where her panties hugged too tight. Her hips spread wide, thighs thick and touching. She had that kind of body that could ride dick without lifting a foot off the floor. Soft. Plush. Real.

Elias licked his bottom lip, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Elijah came closer, “Been wantin’ to see this body with nothin’ on it but sweat.”

Her legs pressed together, but it only made her hips bloom wider. Her panties were wet. The cotton clung to the split of her pussy like a mouth open, ready.

Elijah touched her chin. Tilted it up, “You still nervous?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared up at him, breath shallow, lips parted.

He touched the strap of her bra. Slid it down. Let it hang.

Elias came up behind her now, close enough to make her sway. His chest brushed her back. She felt his dick hard, thick, pressing into the curve of her ass through his jeans.

“You a lil’ slut, huh?” Elias whispered against her ear, “Standin’ there so quiet…drippin’.”

He ran two fingers down the center of her back.

“Go ahead,” Elijah said, still in front of her, “Take off them panties. Let big daddy see what you been hidin’.”

Her knees shook. But she obeyed. Hooked her thumbs in the sides and eased them down, slow. Her thighs jiggled. Her pussy came into view—fat-lipped, glistening. A perfect mess. Full. Bare.

Elijah grabbed himself through his pants, “Damn, mamas. You wet like this just from us talkin’?”

She looked away, embarrassed, but Stack caught her chin from behind.

“Look in that mirror,” he said, voice sharp, “Don’t run from it.”

She did.

What she saw made her gasp. Two tall, dark men on either side of her. Elias behind, dick throbbing against her ass. Elijah in front, chest bare, reaching for his zipper. Her body was thick between them. Dark thighs. Glossed lips. Nipples poking through her bra like they needed pressure.

“Say it again,” Elijah said.

“What?”

“That you want us. Say it again.”

She swallowed, “I want y’all. I want you in me.”

Elias growled low, mouth on her neck now, “Where you want us, baby girl?”

“Wherever y’all want to be.”

Elijah palmed her face, kissed her hard. Tongue deep, hand heavy on her jaw.

Elias pushed his palm down her spine. Then lower. One hand sliding between her cheeks.

“She talk like that again, I’ma nut before I even get in.”

“You gon’ get in,” Elijah said, “We both are.”

Elijah brought his hand up slow. The pads of his fingers touched her chin first. Then the rest of his hand cupped her jaw like it was made for it. His touch was warm. Steady. But his eyes? They burned.

“Look at me when you say it,” Elias said, deep and even.

She tried to blink, but he held her there. So she spoke, just above a whisper.

“I want y’all to touch me.”

Elijah made a sound behind her. Something like a groan, dragged low and heavy from the chest. She could feel him moving now. Closer. His body a slow, steady force until the front of him pressed right up against her back. His hands came to her hips, fingers spreading wide like he meant to hold her in place.

Elias leaned in closer, nose brushing her cheek, still watching her, “Where?”

Her lips parted again. Sound stuck in her throat.

“Where you want us to touch you first?” he asked, voice sticky with hunger, “Say it slow.”

Her chest rose, then fell. She breathed through it. Her legs started shaking again, but she didn’t move. Didn’t run. The words took effort. She had to dig for them. But they came.

“My titties,” she said, voice cracked open and real, “Wanna feel y’all on my titties.”

Elijah’s palm dragged up from her hip, grazing the underside of her breast. Not cupping it yet—just teasing. Elias moved his hand to the back of her neck, gripped it light.

“And after that?” Elijah’s breath hit the shell of her ear, “What you want us to touch next?”

Her eyes darted to the mirror. She could see all of it now. Her reflection between them, framed by two men with big hands and darker intentions. She saw her nipples stiff, her pussy leaking onto her thighs. She saw Elijah’s chest rising behind her. Elias’s bulge thick and long, pressing behind the zipper like it couldn’t wait to be free.

“My pussy,” she whispered, “I want y’all to touch my pussy.”

Elias exhaled, sharp and dark, “That’s right, baby.”

He stepped in, brought his mouth down to her neck. Licked slow from the edge of her shoulder to the space just under her jaw. Meanwhile Elijah’s hand moved higher, thumb brushing her nipple through the bra, then slipping under the cup. She gasped. It was rough. Not soft. Not delicate. They were done playing sweet.

“Take that bra off,” Elijah said, voice thick now, “Wanna see them titties when I suck ‘em.”

Her fingers fumbled at the back clasp. Elias helped, one hand sliding under to unhook it while his lips stayed close to her throat. The bra fell. Her breasts bounced free, full and plush, dark brown nipples stiff and swollen. Elias stepped back to look. Elijah stayed pressed against her, hands gripping both tits now, thumbs circling her peaks.

“She got fat ass nipples,” Elias said, licking his bottom lip, “They taste as good as they look?”

“Better,” Elijah muttered, then bent low and latched onto one. His mouth pulled deep, tongue swirling as he sucked hard. Wet sounds filled the room. Sloppy. Nasty. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder with a moan.

“Damn,” he breathed low, voice gravel-wrapped, dick hard as concrete behind his zipper, “These titties talkin’ to me.”

She chuckled, but it caught in her throat when he bent down.

Six feet and some change, folding at the waist, face first into her softness like he needed air and her titties were the only way to breathe. His mouth caught the left one first—wet, open, greedy. Lips pulled that areola in slow, thick and fat and sensitive. He wrapped his mouth around it, sucked until the noise echoed off the walls, let it slip out with a pop, then slapped the underside of it with his tongue. Dark brown nipple turned darker, swollen with his spit.

He took his time. Switched to the right. Left hand holding the left tit like it was his favorite dessert. He sucked hard, then soft. Fast, then lazy. Alternating patterns like a man who liked to test limits. She let out a sound that made his dick jump—deep, guttural, trembling from the base of her belly. Her thighs pressed tight. Her feet shuffled like she needed a wider stance just to keep standing.

His hand squeezed the weight of both, lifted them, bounced them just to feel the jiggle. “Shit…these titties got some bounce to ‘em. Gone make me lose my damn mind.”

He dragged his teeth slow along the curve, then bit. Not hard, just enough to make her hiss. His spit shined all over them now. He spread it with his palm, slicked that nipple up, then sucked it back down again like a man who couldn’t stay away.

“You like me tearin’ ‘em up like this?” he rasped against her skin, “Got me hard as fuck, girl. I could eat on you all fuckin’ night.”

His mouth stayed moving—sucking, licking, dragging across her chest like it was his playground. She swore, fingers trembling as they went to his head, palming the back of his head, guiding him back and forth across her breasts like she was trying to give him a map of pleasure and ruin.

He popped off one nipple and spit on it, slow. Let it drip. Watched it slide down her belly while she squirmed.

“Ain’t even slid my dick in you yet,” he said, rubbing the side of his face against her left tit, smiling lazy like a devil in the flesh, “But you drippin’, huh? Soaked already. That pussy clenchin’ on nothin’, just from me suckin’ these titties.”

She whimpered, grinding her hips on air.

She whimpered, legs tightening, hands braced against the wall behind her. Her body jolted when he tugged her nipple with his mouth and popped it free, just to lick it again in slow, wet circles.

“Damn, baby,” Elijah rasped, voice thick and low, “You feel that? Daddy suckin’ this big ass titty just like you need.”

Her head fell back. Her pussy throbbed.

Then Elias stepped in. Cool and slow, licking his lips, eyes locked on the untouched right titty like it was his turn to eat.

“You hold them titties up for us,” he said, voice deep enough to drop into her bones, “Hold ‘em up like a good lil’ thing. Let us feed.”

Her hands came up without hesitation. She cradled the weight of her tits and lifted them like an offering, her arms trembling from the size and weight of them, but more from the need. She looked down and watched both men dip low, faces vanishing into her chest.

Elijah on the left. Elias on the right.

Twin tongues—warm, slick, relentless. Suckin’ and flickin’, takin’ turns draggin’ their tongues over her swollen nipples. Long, thick lips pulled and twisted, mouths locking down with filthy, wet sounds that echoed in the quiet room. Her pussy pulsed, sticky and wet between her thighs, clenching on nothing.

“Shit…” she whispered, watching them, “Oh fuck…”

Elijah reached up, slapped the side of her thigh, “That feel good, baby?”

Elias followed it up with his own brand of filth, “These titties so fuckin’ good. Look at ‘em jump when I suck ‘em. You lettin’ both your daddies eat like this? Dirty lil’ fuckin’ girl…”

They had her trapped in the sweetest kind of way—two tall, broad-backed men bent at her chest, each with a mouthful of her. Saliva slicked her skin. Their hands came up, thumbing her nipples, pinching them while their tongues rolled across the tips again and again.

She moaned out loud, toes curling against the carpet, mouth open.

“That’s it,” Elijah growled, switching nipples with his brother so they could taste each side, “Let us feed, girl. Let us fuckin’ taste them titties. You know we need it.”

Elias licked her all the way around her areola, then sucked the nipple so deep into his mouth she cried out.

“Say thank you,” Elias said, tongue dragging wet across the underside of her tit, “Say thank you for both your daddies suckin’ on these fat ass titties.”

“Th-Thank you—fuck—thank you…”

They groaned in unison. Elijah reached down to grip her ass in both hands, fingers digging into the soft thickness there while he sucked again, hard. Elias pulled her nipple between his teeth and let it go with a pop, then dragged the flat of his tongue across both tits just to feel the weight of them bounce.

Her thighs were trembling now. Pussy soaked. Their breath hot against her skin. Her arms were getting tired but she didn’t dare stop holdin’ ‘em up. Not when they were still suckin’ her like she was dessert and they hadn’t had dinner.

“Lil’ nasty bitch,” Elijah mumbled, licking up her tit and circling the areola with slow precision, “Drippin’ all down your thighs while we feed on you.”

“You wet?” Elias smirked against her nipple, his teeth grazing just enough to tease, “You got that pussy leakin’ just from gettin’ these titties sucked?”

She nodded, helpless.

Elijah grinned, eyes sharp now, “You know what that mean, right? We ain’t even touched that pussy yet. But she ready for both of us. Ain’t that right, girl?”

Her voice barely worked, “Yes, Daddy…”

“Good girl,” Stack said, and sucked again.

her mouth parted, forming a moaning. And that’s when Elias leaned in from the right, one hand on her cheek, the other with a handful of her right titty, mouth crashing into hers with no warning.

He kissed like a man starved. No build up. No permission. Just hot tongue, lips parted, tongue sliding past hers with heat and pressure. Their mouths opened and met again—wet, sloppy, lips smacking. He licked deep into her like he wanted to taste the nut she still had in her throat. Their heads tilted, breath tangled, his hand wrapped in her curls, pulling her to stay on his mouth. She moaned into him, kissed him back messy, mouth greedy, spit thick between them.

Then Elijah grabbed her jaw and yanked her face toward him, “Uh uh,” he growled, “Mine now.”

He swallowed her mouth whole. Hot. Wet. Tongue pushing in deep, lips sealing around hers while his fingers gripped her face like he needed to hold her together. Their mouths moved fast—no rhythm, just hunger. Tongue twisting, licking the inside of her lips, lips slapping, breath hitching from how nasty it felt. He kissed her like her mouth was a pussy and he needed to fuck it slow.

Elias wasn’t having it. He grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her away from Elijah’s lips with a string of spit trailing, and kissed her again but harder.

“She mine too, nigga.” Elias said against her lips, then kissed her like he wanted to claim her taste. Mouth open. Teeth brushing. Tongue thick and wet, sliding along hers with no shame.

They kept switching her back and forth. Like a war. Like a game. Elijah slid his hand to her throat and kissed her sideways, taking her mouth from a different angle, swallowing her moan. Elias bit her bottom lip. Tugged it. Elijah sucked her tongue. Elias licked under it. Their lips kept smacking against hers, back to back to back, like a filthy rhythm section in a blues club nobody was supposed to talk about. One gripped her face. The other held her hips. One took her top lip. The other buried his tongue so deep she choked. Wet sounds filled the room—spit, lips, tongues, moans. Her mouth was soaked, her chin wet, her lips swollen.

They weren’t done yet.

Not even close.

Elijah straightened up slow, body pressed close. He grabbed his dick through his jeans, eyes still locked on her chest.

Elias dropped to his knees in front of her, hands dragging down her hips to her thighs. He spread her legs wider and leaned in close.

“Pussy still drippin’, ain’t it?”

She nodded, dazed.

“Let me see,” he said, “Let me see what kind of mess we made.”

Elijah let her go long enough for Elias to pull her forward, guiding her foot up onto the bed just enough for her folds to part. Below, Elias was already on his knees. Broad shoulders between her legs, eyes trained on the fat drip sliding down the inside of her thigh. His gold chain swung a little when he shifted, tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was staring down his next meal. Her pussy lips were thick and full, shining with slick. Cream lined the crease, dripping down to her inner thigh.

“Damn,” Elias said, “Look at all that. This shit glossy.”

He spit on it. Slow and wet. Dripping down his chin. Then rubbed his thumb through it. She jerked, almost buckled, but Elijah caught her.

“Stand still,” Elijah warned, hands gripping her waist.

Elias licked up the middle of her pussy like he had all night. Tongue flat and wide, dragging slow before circling her clit. She hissed through her teeth. His mouth locked on, sucking, licking, tongue dipping inside. Her legs trembled harder now.

Elijah held her tighter. One hand wrapped around her throat. Not choking. Just enough pressure to keep her from floating off.

He spit on it again—slow and messy—watching it roll down over her clit, catching on the curve of her pussy before dripping onto the hardwood. Thick, nasty. He rubbed his thumb right through it, pressed into the wet like he owned it, and she jerked forward. Her belly tightened, knees buckling for a split second.

Elijah gripped her harder, “Didn’t I say stand still?”

A soft whimper slipped from her lips. Her head fell back against his shoulder. His palm shifted from her throat to her chin, turning her head toward him.

“Keep your eyes open, babygirl. I want you to see what your nasty ass let happen tonight.”

Elias didn’t waste time. Tongue flat and wide, he licked her slow from the bottom up—long stroke like he was trying to taste the whole damn day off her. The tension in her belly snapped like elastic. Her hips twitched. A moan poured out, low and broken.

“Ohhh—shit—”

He licked again. This time slower. Then circled the tip of his tongue around her clit in a tight spiral, never breaking contact. His lips wrapped around it and sucked—sharp and wet—then pulled back to slap it with his tongue again. She trembled. Her legs were screaming now, body betraying her with every pulse and shake.

“Nah, keep still,” Elias said, voice muffled against her pussy, “You wanted this, right? Don’t run now.”

He gripped the backs of her thighs and pulled her down onto his face like he needed her seated there. Like she weighed nothing. Like she weighed everything. His mouth got filthy then—slurping, sucking, tongue dipping in deep and curling. He buried his nose, pushed his whole face against the fat of her pussy like he’d been starving for her. It was loud. Sticky. Echoing off the walls. That mix of spit and slick that sounded obscene, wet enough to make the room humid.

Elijah groaned behind her, “Look how she jumpin’. You feel that?”

She nodded, barely. Her throat was tight, her eyes glassy. She whimpered again, higher now. Her hands reached behind her, searching for him—fingernails digging into his wrist where it pressed to her stomach. He didn’t move. He just gripped her tighter.

“Talk to my bro,” Elijah said, voice in her ear. “Let him know what that mouth doin’ to you.”

Her lips parted. Soundless at first. Then breathy, “F-fuck, Elias. That feel so good…”

“Louder,” Elijah growled, “Let him know.”

Her stomach jumped,  “Please. Please don’t stop.”

 Elias cut in, voice slick with spit. “You gon’ stand here and take this tongue like the good girl you tryna be.”

He spit again, directly on her clit, and watched it run down like syrup. Then he closed his mouth around her whole pussy and sucked hard. Loud. The noise of it made Elijah chuckle low.

“That’s it,” Elias said, tongue darting between her folds again, “Don’t close them legs. Keep that foot up. Let me lick all this rich-ass pussy.”

He started stroking her thighs while he ate, dragging his nails gently along the crease where her body folded, tongue still swirling around her clit. Then down again. Inside. Fucking her with it. Curling it deep. Pulling moans out of her like she owed him sound.

Her eyes rolled. Her hands shook.

Elijah’s grip moved back to her throat, “Don’t you dare cum yet.”

She gasped. “But—”

“I said no.”

Her whole body was shivering now. Elias kept licking. Relentless. Like he was licking a memory into her skin. Like he wanted her body to remember this every night after. He pulled back for a moment, lips wet and glistening, beard soaked. He tapped her clit with two fingers, soft but fast, then leaned back in and sucked it hard again.

“Shit,” he groaned, “She taste like she been sittin’ in honey all damn day.”

Elijah laughed once behind her, dark and low.

“She been waitin’ for this. All that attitude, all that frontin’—this what she wanted.”

Elias eased a finger inside her—then another. Twisting them slow while his tongue teased the top. Her body stuttered. Hips jolted. She keened.

“Elijah—Elijah, please—”

He leaned in close to her ear again.

“Go ‘head, babygirl. Make a mess on your sheets. We gon’ keep eatin’ through every one you got.”

Elias buried his face again, one hand gripping her ass, the other working inside her like a key. She cracked. Her pussy fluttered around his fingers, then gushed. Hard. Messy. Loud.

She wailed.

Her knees buckled, and Elijah caught her just in time.

“That’s it,” Elias said, licking slow through her aftershock. “That’s that good girl nut.”

Elijah turned her chin toward him and kissed her lips—slow, with tongue—like he was tasting the mess on her mouth through her breath.

The room still carried the noise of her climax—wet, ragged, drawn straight from her gut. Her thighs trembled where they spread wide, and the dark brown of her skin glistened under the low gold lamp by the bed. One foot was still propped on the edge, calf twitching, nails digging into the sheets like she was scared to fall through the mattress. Elias backed up, mouth slick, beard damp, and gave her pussy one more drag of his tongue before smirking.

“She said my name,” Elijah muttered, kneeling low behind her.

Elias wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “She said it loud, too. Sounded pretty. You gon’ let her say it again, or what?”

Elijah didn’t answer. He just grabbed her hips and turned her, slow and firm, until she was on all fours. Her back dipped with the weight of what they’d done to her already, arms trembling under her. The curve of her ass rolled soft and wide, her pussy peeking back between her thick thighs—fat, swollen, and still leaking from Elias’s tongue.

“Arch that back,” Elijah said low.

She whimpered and pushed out, spine bending deeper. He gripped her ass, spread her open, and buried his face.

The first lick made her cry out. She dropped to her elbows, mouth open, body jerking forward like it was too much. Elijah held her steady, one hand wrapped around her waist while his tongue dragged from the bottom of her slit up to her clit. Long. Slow. Intentional.

“Good girl,” Elias said from the side, voice deep, low, proud, “Takin’ it like that.”

She let out a moan that broke halfway, breath hitching when Elijah pushed his face in deeper. His nose rubbed her hole, his lips wrapped around that puffy little pearl and sucked hard enough to make her ass clap back against him. He didn’t let up. Slurped loud. Ate like he was tryna make her cum again before she caught her breath.

“That’s it, eat that shit,” Elias encouraged, fisting his dick through his jeans slow while watching her melt.

Her pussy was a mess. Plump, dark lips glistening with spit and slick. Elijah tongued through every fold, licking so deep she buckled forward and tried to crawl away.

“Where you goin’?” he growled, dragging her back, “Didn’t fuckin’ say you could move.”

She gasped, knuckles white against the bed, legs trembling again.

“Keep it poked out. Just like that,” Elias told her, palming his shit and watching her arch back up like she needed it more than air. Elijah buried his face again, wet noises filling the room. His tongue pushed into her hole while his thumb rolled her clit in slow, filthy circles. Her whole body shook.

“You gon’ give me that nut, ain’t you?” he asked against her pussy, “This the one I want. From the back. Let me hear you cry when I suck it out.”

She choked on a sob, jaw hanging, body swaying. Elias got up in front of her, grabbed her chin, and made her look up, “Look at me while he suck that pussy,” he ordered. “You told me you wanted him. Say it again.”

“Elijah,” she panted, “Goddamn—Elijah…”

“That’s it,” Elijah growled, “Say my name while I drown in this shit.”

He sucked so hard she screamed. Spit ran down her thighs. Her clit pulsed like it was gonna explode. He spit on it, let it drip, and licked it back up with slow, thick strokes of his tongue. His fingers dug into her cheeks, spreading her wider.

Elias groaned and gripped himself harder, “She clenchin’ like she ready. You feel that?”

Elijah didn’t respond. He moaned into her pussy and kept sucking, tongue flicking against her clit like it was punishment. She bucked once, twice—then squealed. A high-pitched, broken sound that cracked the silence wide open. Her thighs locked around his head, her whole body convulsed, and her cum gushed straight into his mouth.

He didn’t stop.

Just stayed right there—face buried, nose pressed deep, tongue fucking her through every wave.

Elias laughed dark, “She squirted in your face?”

“Fuck yeah,” Elijah growled, pulling back just enough to talk, his mouth shiny, beard dripping, “She taste like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Flip her over,” Elias said, voice hoarse with lust, “She need dick now.”

“I want that throat first,” Elijah said, wiping his mouth and stroking himself hard.

“She gon’ take both.”

She was limp, wrecked, breath hitching in sobs that sounded like pleasure soaked in pain. But when Elias pulled her up, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “That’s my good girl,” she smiled through it.

And opened her mouth.

Elias stepped closer, his hand shooting out to grip her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

“Down, baby girl,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her core. 

She sank to her knees without a word, her heavy breasts swaying with the motion, nipples hardening even more. Her pussy throbbed, slick and aching from the way their presence filled the space, demanding her submission. Elias loomed over her, his bulge straining against his jeans, while Elijah pushed off the wall, closing in from the side, his own arousal evident in the thick outline pressing forward.

“Get to work, little slut,” Elias growled, guiding her trembling hands to his belt. 

Her fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, popping it open with a soft click that echoed in the charged silence. She tugged the zipper down slowly, tooth by tooth, her breath coming in shallow pants as the fabric parted. Hooking her thumbs into the waistband, she yanked his jeans and briefs down in one motion, his big, fat, long dick springing free, heavy and veined, the dark shaft curving slightly, the swollen head already beading with precum. It slapped against his thigh before she caught it, her palm wrapping around the girth that her fingers couldn't fully encircle.

Elijah chuckled darkly, stepping right up beside his brother, “Don't forget Daddy number two, princess.”

She turned her head, eyes wide with that mix of nerves and raw need, and repeated the ritual on him—unbuttoning his jeans with shaky precision, dragging the zipper down to reveal the matching monster beneath. His dick was just as massive, almost as thick as her wrist and stretching long, the skin smooth and taut over rigid muscle, pulsing in the open air. She pulled it out fully, both hands now occupied, one stroking Elias's length from base to tip, the other doing the same for Elijah, feeling the heat radiate into her palms as they hardened even more under her touch.

“Look at you, handling this big dick like a good girl,” Elias praised, his hand tangling in her thick curls, not pulling yet but holding firm. 

She leaned in toward Elias first, her tongue darting out to trace the underside of his shaft, licking from the heavy balls up to the flared head in one long, wet swipe. The salty tang of his skin exploded on her taste buds, making her mouth water as she swirled her tongue around the tip, lapping at the slit to collect every drop of precum. Slurping sounds filled the room as she sucked the head into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with effort, lips stretching wide around his thickness. She bobbed slowly at first, savoring the way he filled her, her tongue pressing flat against the vein that throbbed along the bottom.

Elijah's patience snapped quick.

 “My turn, baby doll,” he grunted, fisting her hair and tugging her head sideways with a firm yank. 

She gasped, releasing Elias with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening dick, before her mouth engulfed Elijah's. She dove in deep, sucking hard on the head while her hand pumped the base, twisting slightly to add friction. Her tongue flicked rapidly under the ridge, then flattened to lick broad strokes along the length as she took more of him in, slurping greedily, the obscene noises mixing with her soft moans. Her big ass shifted, pussy clenching emptily, juices building as the tension built, her body screaming for more.

“That's it, suck Daddy's dick like you mean it,” Elijah rasped, thrusting shallowly into her mouth, watching her saggy titties bounce with each movement. 

She gave it everything, hollowing her cheeks tighter, slurping louder as she worked her way down, gagging slightly when the head hit the back of her throat but pushing through, tears pricking her eyes from the stretch. Her free hand reached back to fondle his balls, rolling them gently while she licked and sucked, coating every inch in her spit until it dripped down her chin onto her cleavage.

Elias wasn't waiting idle. He grabbed her hair from the other side, pulling her back to him with a possessive tug.

 “Share that nasty mouth, slut,” he demanded, and she switched again, her lips wrapping around his dick once more, sucking with renewed vigor. 

She licked the shaft sloppily, tongue dragging in messy circles, then took him deep, her throat relaxing to let him slide further, slurping as she pulled back only to plunge down again. The swinging of her titties grew wilder with the back-and-forth rhythm, nipples tingling, sending jolts straight to her dripping core. 

Elijah stroked himself lazily, smearing her saliva along his length, his eyes dark with lust. “Keep going, princess. Make that dick shine with spit.”

She alternated faster now, driven by their guiding hands in her hair, each tug switching her focus, her mouth a relentless machine of licking, slurping, and sucking. On Elias, she focused on the head, tonguing the slit relentlessly while her hand jerked the shaft in tight, slick strokes. Then Elijah pulled her over, and she deepthroated him as best she could, gagging wetly, saliva bubbling at the corners of her mouth as she sucked hard, her tongue undulating along the underside. Her pussy pulsed with every filthy sound, the ache building to a fever pitch, thighs pressing together for any friction. 

“Fuck, you're a messy little thing,” Elias groaned, watching her work, “Dripping all over yourself for this fat dick.”

Elijah nodded, yanking her back to him, “Suck harder, baby girl. Show us how bad you want Daddy's load.”

She obeyed, redoubling her efforts, lips sealed tight around his girth, slurping voraciously as she bobbed, her head twisting side to side for extra sensation. Her titties heaved, swinging low and heavy, brushing her arms with each eager motion. The room pulsed with their grunts and her muffled whimpers, the urban night outside forgotten in this raw, gritty haze of dominance and surrender. They kept her bouncing between them, hair pulled taut, mouths demanding more, the tension coiling tighter toward the inevitable explosion of filth.

She was on her knees, thighs spread wide, soft stomach folding just right, titties hanging free—dripping from the sweat between her curves. Her mouth was glistening, lips swollen from working Elias over like she was born for it.

Elias exhaled through his teeth, head tilted back as he grunted through the rush building in his gut. She had both hands on his thighs, digging into that muscle like she needed anchoring. But her mouth? Her mouth was a problem.

“Fuck,” he growled, jaw locked tight, “Damn, she gon’ make me nut.”

He looked down at her, watched the way she took him in slow, then pulled back, tongue slick and eyes low like she knew what she was doing to him. Like she wanted him shaking. His thighs flexed. His whole face twisted up. He gripped the arm of the chair he was in, his voice rough.

“She keep suckin’, look at her,” Elias said low, voice full of tension, “Greedy lil thing…that shit buildin’ in my balls, fuck.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t even blink. She made love to his dick like she was hungry and full at the same time. Like she was tryna prove she knew what men needed before they did. And that mouth? That damn mouth—warm, sloppy, obedient and filthy.

When she switched to Elijah, he was already standing close behind her, dick hanging heavy, glistening at the tip. He didn’t need no invitation. Just stepped forward and let her take him again. She opened wide and wrapped those lips around him like she was home.

“Damn,” Elijah groaned, his voice deep and jagged, “You can suck some dick. That what you love, huh? Love suckin’ dick? Fuck…”

He palmed the top of her head, that wide hand spreading over her scalp like a man possessed. She kept going, messier now, spit stringing from her chin down to her chest. She gagged a little but didn’t stop. Just breathed through her nose and let him push in deeper. Elijah didn’t give her no break. Not with the way she was suckin’ like she wanted every drop.

“Ain’t no way I’m stoppin’ you,” he muttered, voice shaking with need, “You want it? Here it go.”

He shoved in harder, whole dick damn near down her throat, holding her there like she was made for that. He watched her throat work, eyes damn near rollin’ back at the way she handled him. Like she didn’t need air. Like she didn’t care. He held her in place a little longer, watching her struggle and take it, eyes watering, tits bouncing from the motion.

Elias was watching the whole time, licking his lips, dick still wet and leaking from her earlier attention, “Greedy fuckin’ mouth. You suckin’ him like you sucked me. You tryna empty both us out, huh?”

She moaned around Elijah’s shaft and that shit sent a vibration straight through him. He groaned loud, hips jerking, slapping against her face. He pulled out for just a second, letting her catch one breath—just one—before shoving back in. She didn’t flinch. She welcomed it.

“Look at this nasty lil slut,” Elijah hissed, “Takin’ dick like it’s the last.”

“She don’t need nothin’ else,” Elias said, stroking himself slow, his tip still shiny, “Not when she suck like this. Got my dick twitchin’ again.”

Her knees were sore now. Thighs sticky from where her own arousal had leaked down. But she didn’t complain. Didn’t stop. Just kept working that throat like a profession. Like a mission. Like she wanted to wear them both out and still have ‘em beggin’.

Elijah yanked her off for a second, spit trailing from her lips, “C’mon now, say that shit. Say what you is.”

She looked up through those lashes, face slick, voice raspy, “I’m y’all’s nasty bitch tonight. Don’t want nothin’ else.”

Elias groaned. Elijah smirked.

“Open up,” Elijah said, tugging her hair, “We ain’t even started.”

They passed her back and forth like smoke and sin. One hand on her scalp, the other around the base of their dicks, guiding her mouth like it was theirs to use. Her throat stayed busy—raw, stretched, soaking wet—and she didn’t flinch. She took it. Jaw wide, spit bubbling, eyes glazed over like she was high off the taste of them.

Elias held her there longer this time.

Thick fingers gripped the back of her neck while his other hand rested on the slope of her back, keeping her in place. His hips rocked slow but deep, watching her throat flex around him. She gagged, eyes watering. He didn’t ease up.

“Yeah, hold that shit,” Elias growled, “Let it sit in your throat, baby. You know what you doin’.”

She whimpered around him, wet and choking, the sound only making him harder. He eased out with a groan, strands of spit clinging to the tip, and let her breathe. Just for a second.

Then Elijah stepped up. Already hard again, veins throbbing along the shaft, his whole body humming with tension. He grabbed the sides of her face, thumb rubbing a streak of wet from her cheek.

“Ain’t done with that mouth,” he rasped, before pushing in, slower than Elias but deeper.

He filled her up. Kept going until his hips were flush to her face and her nose was buried in his groin. She whimpered again, and his fingers tightened.

“Hold it,” Elijah ordered, voice low, “Greedy lil throat—keep it. I feel that shit squeezin’ me. Damn…”

She held him there. Shaking, drooling, thighs twitching. He stayed buried in her, his head tilting back as he hissed through clenched teeth. When he finally pulled out, her lips were red and swollen, chest heaving, whole face a wet mess.

Both men stood over her, breathing heavy, dicks dripping, watching her on her knees like a feast laid out and tasted, but not finished.

Elias stepped in first. Grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up to her feet like she weighed nothin’.

“Get on that bed,” he said, “Hands on the edge. Arch that big ass for me.”

She obeyed, stumbling toward the bed, legs shaky, throat sore but pussy throbbin’. Her hands braced the mattress, soft belly hanging, ass pushed out and wide like a gift unwrapped. The room was thick with breath and the musk of fuck. 

“Ain’t even gotta ask if you ready,” he chuckled, voice dark. 

------

The bed was wide, low to the ground, draped in wrinkled sheets that matched the state of her body—undone, slick, trembling. Her thick thighs trembled beneath two sets of hands. Her dark skin gleamed under sweat and spit, kissed raw from mouths that hadn’t stopped feasting.

Elijah was behind her again, kneeling deep in the dip of her lower back. His beard was glistening, gluing to her skin as he tongued the mess between her legs like he was trying to live in it. His arms flexed, forearms soaked from where her pussy kept leaking down them. He grunted into it, tongue slipping inside her, then dragging up to suck her clit hard.

“She talkin’ with this pussy,” Elijah growled, voice ragged from how long he’d been eating her, “Sayin’ don’t stop.”

Her body jolted each time he pulled her clit into his mouth again. Elias was in front of her now, holding her up by her big, soft breasts, his hands full and greedy. Her knees were shot. Her spine had no say in anything. She sagged between them, tears beading in her eyes from the intensity.

Elias let go of one tit to stroke his dick slow, watching her melt like butter. Her eyes drifted down, dazed and hungry.

“You ready to be filled, baby girl?” he asked low, his tone a warning wrapped in need.

She nodded.

He tapped the swollen head against her lips.

“Put it in your mouth then. Let daddy feel that throat again.”

She opened up for him, tongue flicking the tip first like she needed to taste every drop he gave. Then she pushed deeper, moaning softly as she let it glide across her tongue and past her lips. Elias groaned, deep and low, his hips shifting forward with rhythm, not force—just enough to sink in and stay.

Behind her, Elijah stood, eyes locked on her dripping cunt. He gripped his own dick, fat and smooth, veins like raised tracks against his brown skin. He let the weight of it drop across her back first, a thick thud that made her flinch. She could feel how solid it was—how long.

“You gon keep this pussy open like a nasty lil slut,” Elijah muttered, dragging the head through her folds, wet sounds loud in the room,,“Let me stretch you like you need.”

And then he pushed in.

Slow.

Mean.

No remorse. 

He didn’t ease up. Didn’t tease. Just slid in with a steady press, dragging every inch until his hips met the curve of her ass. 

Her walls stretched slow around him, swallowing dick like she was made for it, like her body knew exactly what to do with him.

Elijah paused once he was buried, groaning through gritted teeth as her pussy gripped him tight and hot. His stomach clenched. His jaw locked. He hissed out a breath.

“Fuck…”

Then he popped her.

A sharp smack to her ass—first one cheek, then the other. Her thick body jumped under him, skin jiggling with each slap. He did it again, just to watch the bounce. Then both his big hands came down to grip and juggle the flesh, spreading her wide so he could see the way her pussy stretched around him. Creamy and plush. Still leaking from the head of his dick.

“Goddamn, girl,” he rasped, voice getting rougher with every second, “You so fuckin thick I’ma lose my mind in this shit.” He slapped her again, rougher now, then gripped her deep, “Got this wide ass sittin’ up beggin’. Pussy all fat tryna hold daddy hostage.” He rocked into her once, just a grind, then dragged out halfway before sliding back in, “You feel me ‘bout to knockin’ a whole new hole in this pussy, huh? Stretchin’ it out ‘cause you too fine to be fucked soft. Big girl like you? You need dick that rearrange shit.”

She wailed into the sheets, body trembling. He caught her hips tighter.

“Uh huh. Take this shit. Let this dick sit up in you.”

He angled his hips and stroked deeper, long and slow, grinding at the end like he wanted to fuck her into the mattress. Like her body was a problem he planned on solving all night.

“Gon’ leave this pussy talkin’ different by the time I’m done,” he growled, balls slapping wet against her soaked folds as he started moving again.

Her throat let out a cry, muffled by Elias’s dick. Her walls clamped tight, tears slipping down her face from the stretch. Elijah hissed.

“This what you wanted?” he said, digging in deeper. “That full feelin’? All this dick sittin’ inside you?”

He started stroking, slow but with weight. Each thrust made her body rock forward, mouth sucking harder like the pleasure was too much and not enough. Elias grabbed the back of her head, moving in and out of her mouth steady, his grip firm but not rough.

Her moans were caught in both men, muffled, soaked. Elias was sweating, jaw clenched as he fucked into her throat.

“Nasty ass girl,” Elias groaned, “Letting us fuck you like this.”

“She wanted it though,” Elijah said from behind, hips slapping now, faster, “Brought us up here to do just this.”

She was gone. Eyes rolling. Pussy fluttering.

Elijah felt it.

“She close.”

“Let her cum.”

Elijah gripped her ass, pulled her back onto him harder, deeper. The sound of their bodies smacking was slick and loud. She moaned deep around Elias’s dick, body tensing. Her pussy clenched so hard Elijah stilled, teeth gritted.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “She creamy as hell.”

Elias pulled out her mouth, jerking his dick just inches from her swollen lips, watching her pant and drool.

She was bent at the center of the bed now. Arms limp. Face slick. Ass arched, spread open by the stretch of Elijah still inside her. Her pussy twitched around him, pulsing in aftershocks. His balls were sticky from how wet she was. He leaned forward, hands gripping her hips, and began to stroke again. Slow. Filthy. Deep.

Elias watched from the front, stroking himself harder now. The tip of his dick bounced against her chin, smearing precum across it. As Elijah pulled out, Elias stepped behind her, dragging the head of his dick between her folds.

She moaned, backing into him just enough to feel the weight of it.

“Hold still,” Elias told her, gripping her hips.

Then he pushed in.

All at once.

Thick, hard, stretching her walls around him, feeding her every inch like he meant to stay there. Her back arched, mouth open but no sound came. Just a sharp gasp as her pussy swallowed him whole.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling back slow then thrusting again, “This pussy too wet, too fat, fuck…”

She tried to breathe but couldn’t.

Elias had her bent just right—hands still braced on the mattress, back arched deep, stomach soft and hanging, while his thick dick dragged in and out of her with a purpose. His strokes were ruthless. No rhythm. Just raw need. Each thrust hit the back of her pussy with a sound that echoed off the damn walls. He had a fist wrapped tight in her hair, pulling her back into every stroke like he owned the whole lower half of her body.

“There you go,” he growled, sweat dripping from his neck down her spine, “Takin’ this dick like a real bitch supposed to.”

Her body rippled with every stroke—ass clapping back, thick thighs quivering, folds shaking from the sheer force of him. That pussy sounded like somebody stirrin’ macaroni in the next room. Gushy. Wet. Talkin’ back every time he slid in. She wasn’t saying much. Couldn’t. Just soft, breathless moans spilling from her lips like she was drunk on dick.

“Yes…yes…yes…”

Every word broke in her throat.

Elias leaned in, yanked her hair harder, hissed in her ear, “You feel that? That’s me fuckin’ the bottom out this big ass pussy. Tearin’ through it.”

Her eyes crossed. Her knees buckled.

But he held her up.

“Yeah, don’t run,” he said, voice heavy with sweat and dirt,  “Don’t run from this dick, mama. I’m deep in your shit.”

Elijah was still standing at the edge of the bed, stroking his dick slow. It was shiny with spit and still heavy. Her mess was on it from earlier when she choked on him, and he wasn’t lettin’ that slide.

He grabbed her jaw and guided her mouth to him while Elias kept fucking from behind.

“Clean it,” Elijah said low, “You left all your nut on me, now suck it off.”

She opened her mouth without a sound. Eyes dazed, mouth open. She wrapped her lips around him, tongue working over the shaft while Elias punished her pussy. Every push forward shoved her mouth deeper onto Elijah. She gagged, drooled again, moaned around his dick.

“Look at this shit,” Elias groaned, hips snapping hard, “She suckin’ your dick while I fuck her? Fuck.” He let out a thick grunt, voice cracking from the pressure in his body, “She gon’ make me bust so deep in her, bro. Pussy so fuckin’ good…so fuckin’ good…”

His hand slid from her hair down to her ass, gripping it rough, pulling her cheeks apart so he could see her swallow him all the way. That good fat girl pussy was creamy, stretching around him with every inch. Warm and wet like heaven if heaven had a mouth and a grip.

Elijah hissed through his teeth, “She nasty, man.”

Elias snapped his hips again. The sound of it made Elijah groan.

“Nah, she somethin’ else,” Elias said, voice thick, “This big ass fuckin’ me back. You feel that? That pussy keep squeezin’. She fuckin’ love this shit.”

She was sobbing now—but from pleasure. From being too full, too stuffed, too taken. Her moans were high and soft, broken up by Elijah’s dick in her mouth and Elias’ dick in her pussy.

“Yes…yes…y-yes…”

Elias’ hand landed on her ass with a slap so loud it echoed, then gripped both cheeks, using them to pull her back onto him deeper.

“This what you want, huh? Gettin’ your plump ass beat out in front my brother?” He laughed, wild and messy, sweat shining on his chest and brow, “You gettin’ fucked like you supposed to. Like you need to.”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even think about stopping.

His strokes were deep, punishing, purposeful enough to make her feel every vein. He watched her ass jiggle with each thrust, the bounce hypnotic. He slapped it once, the sound loud and sharp.

Elijah was watching from the side, stroking himself again, eyes locked on where Elias disappeared inside her.

“Fat lil pussy eatin’ you up, huh?” he said.

Elias grinned through his teeth, hips snapping forward, “She fuckin’ back, that’s what she doin’.”

Elijah couldn’t wait any longer.

He walked over, hand on her lower back, pressing her down so she took it deeper. Then he leaned in close, voice gravelly.

“Soon as he bust, I’m feedin’ you next,” he said, “You gon’ take both our nuts tonight. Pussy thick enough for it.”

Elias picked up pace, slapping into her loud now, sweat dripping down his chest.

“Talk to her,” Elijah said, gripping her ass while she trembled under both their hands.

“You takin’ this dick,” Elias grunted,  “Say it. Say you takin’ this fuckin’ dick.”

She cried out, legs shaking, voice hoarse. “I’m takin’ it. I want all of it.”

Elias growled, pulled her back on him harder.

“That’s it. That’s what I like. Greedy ass pussy, loud ass mouth. You gon’ get all this nut now.”

Elias let out a ragged groan, hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside her, his nut flooding her insides. His strokes got sloppier but the grip on her hips stayed firm—like he didn’t wanna leave that warmth just yet. He stayed buried, breathing hard, hands sliding up her back to palm those sweat-slick rolls with a low satisfied chuckle. He buried his face in the crook of her back, grip tight on her waist

Elias stayed in her for a beat, catching his breath, then pulled out slow. Her pussy pulsed around nothing now, fluttering from the loss of him.

“Shit…” he exhaled, pulling out slow, watching his nut spill from her like cream-filling, “Look what you done to me, girl.”

She collapsed forward, arms trembling, pussy still twitching from the onslaught. Her face was glazed, moaning soft into the sheets, legs shaking from being beat open so long.

But it wasn’t over.

Elijah was already there—grabbing her soft body with strong hands, flipping her over like she didn’t weigh a thing.

“Uh uh. Don’t get shy now,” he said, voice low, heavy, “You know what this is.”

He pulled her to the edge of the bed, hooked both thick thighs back, folding her into herself. Her knees were damn near at her chest, ass hanging off the mattress. She was all open now—pussy glistening, swollen, creamy from Elias. Elijah lined himself up and spit down on her, rubbing the head of his dick through the mess.

“You gon’ feel me now.”

And when he pushed in, it was slow and brutal. Her body stretched wide again, her mouth falling open, nothing but air leaving her lungs. Elijah wasn’t playin’. That first stroke went deep. Real deep. And he didn’t stop.

He adjusted his stance, knees bent, back tight, and drove into her.

Hard. Deep. Again. And again. And again. That pussy was warm and slippery, but he knew he had to put power behind it. She was a big girl—soft, thick, plush—and he needed her to feel everything. Every vein, every stroke, every inch like a damn lesson.

Her voice cracked under the pressure, “Ahh…ohh…yes…fuck—yes…”

She was gone. Mind gone. Just a mess of moans and sweet pussy sounds while Elijah worked her open from the inside out. Elias was off to the side, still stroking himself, watching her face, watching her body bounce under his brother’s weight.

“Look at her,” Elias grinned, “You got her folded like laundry, bruh. That’s how she like it.”

Elijah wasn’t saying much now. He was focused. Locked in. Sweat rolled down his chest, jaw clenched, brows furrowed. He was deep in it and hitting her so good she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even hold eye contact. Her tits bounced with every slam forward. Her belly jiggled and her pussy gripped like it was tryna keep him in. He leaned in, body pressing down into her, her knees still pinned back, dick plunging deep.

Her mouth trembled, “Y-yes…oh God, yes…”

“Yeah,” Elijah grunted through clenched teeth, still drilling her, “Say that shit. Love gettin’ fucked, don’t you?”

She nodded fast, voice high and thin, “I love it—I love it—please—”

Elias stepped in, leaned down beside her ear and whispered dirty, “Don’t you ever be ashamed of needin’ dick, baby. Don’t you ever hide from that. You want it, we got you.”

He ran his tongue along her throat, then sucked one tit into his mouth while Elijah pounded her from below. That dick kept hitting the same spot—deep, deliberate, controlled.

“Fuck,” Elijah bit out. “This pussy too good. She ain’t gettin’ up right tomorrow.”

Her whole body shook. She was full. Fucked. Loved the way they handled her like she was soft and strong, worthy of being devoured. Elijah’s strokes slowed just a touch, then deepened again, hips clapping against her thighs with thick, meaty slaps.

“You feel that?” he groaned, “I’m in your stomach, girl. You gon’ remember this shit.”

And she would. She’d walk different. Think different. Dream different. Because Elijah Moore fucked her folded, made her pussy sing, and didn’t let her run from how bad she wanted it. Elijah Moore was deep. Hips grinding, sweat dripping, thighs flexing. His dick stayed inside her like it belonged there. And from the way her pussy clung to him, kept sucking him back in like it didn’t wanna let go—maybe it did. Her legs started shaking. Not just from the pressure of being folded—though one leg was tucked up high, damn near to her ear, the other held back by Elijah’s hand gripping her ankle like a damn handlebar—but from what was building. She could feel it rising. That rush. That quiver in her gut. But her mouth wouldn’t move. She couldn’t talk. Couldn’t get the words out. But Elijah knew. He could feel it. The way her pussy gripped tighter, got slicker, warmer. Like it was about to erupt.

“Oh yeah?” Elijah said, voice all grit and hunger. He slowed the stroke just for a beat, then slammed in again, “That’s it, baby? You bout to squirt for me?”

She whimpered. Nothing but air and moans coming out her mouth. Her eyes rolled back.

He smiled, “Uh huh,” he growled, picking up pace, “Gimme that shit.”

He yanked her ankle higher, pushed her knee deeper into the mattress, practically folding her into a pretzel. His body dropped over hers, and his dick drilled her—deep, hard, controlled chaos. Her tits bounced against her chest, stomach rippling with every thrust, whole body giving in. And then it hit. Her whole core tensed, mouth falling open—but still no words. Just that release. A gush of wetness sprayed between them, coating Elijah’s dick, her thighs, the sheets. She twitched, legs trembling like she was being exorcised by dick alone.

“Fuuuck,” Elijah hissed, “You squirtin’, mama? Shit…”

She pushed him out, body convulsing. Her pussy fluttered, still leaking. Elijah pulled back, dick glistening, shaking his head like he just got blessed.

“She fuckin’ soaked me,” he said low, lips curling, “She squirted all over this dick.”

Elias was already on the move. Dick back up like it owed him money. He stepped up behind Elijah, licking his lips, eyes on her still-twitching, messy pussy.

“Move, bro,” Elias said, “Lemme feel that shit.”

Elijah backed up with a laugh, wiping his chest off, “She still pulsin’. She gon’ do it again if you touch that spot.”

Elias climbed onto the bed, grabbed her by the hips, and pulled her down to the edge again. Her body was limp, brain foggy, pussy still drippin’. But Elias ain’t care. He lined up, rubbed between her creamy folds, and slid in slow.

She gasped. Loud. He was thick, heavy, fresh again. And her pussy welcomed him like it didn’t just squirt all over the last man.

Elias moaned, “Oh hell yeah…this what I’m talkin’ bout. This pussy still twitchin’. I’ma make it flood again.”

He gripped her waist and went in deep. No warm-up. No hesitation. Just ownership. Elias had a fist full of her hair now. Not gentle. Not careful. He pulled her head back just enough so he could see her face. That look told him everything. Eyes heavy. Mouth open. Lips wet. Body gone loose like she didn’t have a single thought left in her head besides what was happening inside her.

“That’s it, pretty baby,” Elias said, voice low and slick, “Look how fucked out you is.”

He kept her folded tight, one knee pressed up, her body bent back on itself while he drove into her with long, punishing strokes. His hips snapped forward with intention, every thrust landing deep. He wasn’t rushing. He was aiming. Making sure his dick hit that spot over and over again until her whole body reacted without permission. Her ass bounced with every stroke. Thick. Heavy. Rippling from the force of him tearing through her. Her pussy stayed loud, wet, greedy, squeezing him back like it needed that pressure to breathe.

“Yes…yes…yes…” she whispered, voice weak, broken, barely there.

Elias grinned and tightened his grip in her hair, “That’s all you got? That’s fine. I’ll do the talkin’.” He pulled her harder into him and slammed forward again, harder this time, making her whole body jolt, “This big ass made to take dick,” he said, breath hot against her ear, “I’m in here rearrangin’ shit. You feel me hittin’ that deep part, huh?”

Her answer was a shaky moan. Her pussy clenched hard around him. Elijah stepped in closer, hands sliding over her chest. He pinched her nipples between his fingers, tugging them slow, then harder. Her back arched instantly, mouth falling open.

“Uh-huh, just like that,” Elijah said, voice smooth and approving, “Good pussy bitch. You takin’ all that dick just like you supposed to.” He tugged again and she cried out, legs shaking, “Good girl,” Elijah added, “This pussy doin’ exactly what it need to do.”

Elias felt it then. That change. That slick heat turning into pressure. Her walls tightening, fluttering, gettin’ wetter by the second, “Oh hell yeah,” he growled, “It comin’ again.”

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t pull back. He leaned over her, chest to her back, hand still locked in her hair while he fucked her harder. Deeper. Each stroke pushed her closer to that breaking point.

“I’m right on it,” Elias said through his teeth, “I’m finna make this pussy squirt again.”

Elijah kept tugging her nipples, rolling them between his fingers, leaning down to whisper praise straight into her ear, “Let it go,” he said. “Don’t hold that shit. Give it to us.”

Her body locked up. Her toes curled. Her breath stuttered. Then she lost it. Her pussy clenched hard around Elias and pushed back, releasing in a gush that soaked his dick, her thighs, the sheets beneath them. Her whole body trembled as she squirted again, crying out loud this time, voice cracking from how hard it hit her.

“Fuck,” Elias groaned, “There it is.”

He rode it out, still stroking through the aftershocks, letting her pussy milk him while she shook and leaked around him. Elijah laughed low, pleased, hands still on her chest, “That’s my good pussy bitch right there.” He gave both big titties a playful slap. 

She lay there wrecked. Open. Still dripping. Still twitching. But were they done with her? Nope. Elijah was laid back now, thighs spread, chest heaving, sweat streaking down the middle of his torso. That dick stood tall again, slick and waiting, glistening with her mess from the last round. He slapped it against his thigh once, twice, watching her crawl over to him on shaky knees.

“C’mon,” he said, voice flat, low, “Bring that big ass here.”

She moved slow, still trembling from Elias, still drippin’ from the last orgasm, but Elijah wasn’t feeling the delay.

“Nah. Don’t crawl like you scared. Sit on it.”

He grabbed the base of his dick, angled it up, and guided her over him. She hovered, thick thighs straining, trying to ease down slow, pussy lips brushing the head. Elijah sucked his teeth.

“Drop that fuckin’ weight.”

She whimpered, struggling to ease onto it—but he wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

POP. He slapped her ass hard. She jolted.

“Tryin’ to ride me like you a feather,” he growled, “You know better. Drop. That. Shit.”

She gasped, finally sinking down, that fat pussy swallowing him inch by inch until she bottomed out with a choked moan. Elijah threw his head back.

“Fuck…that’s what I’m talkin’ bout.”

She tried to bounce, but her thighs were trembling. Titties slapping together from the leftover tremors. Her rhythm was all over the place. Not enough force. Not enough pressure.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, “Aight. Bet.”

He planted his heels into the mattress, palms sliding up her sides, fingers digging deep into her waist — disappearing into the soft, slick folds of her belly and hips. And then he took over. From beneath. He fucked up. Hard. Deep. Repeated. Over. And. Over. Her mouth dropped open like she forgot what language was. Her whole body started to collapse, unable to control the shake. Elijah fucked her stupid from underneath, balls bouncing like ping pong under that phat ass, thighs slapping, bed creaking.

“This the ride I need,” he panted, jaw clenched, sweat dripping, “You feel that? You feel that dick knockin’ the soul out you?”

She couldn’t speak. Could barely sit up. Big titties bouncing wild, body jerking with every thrust like she was caught in a storm and he was the fuckin’ eye of it. Then Elias stepped in. Still hard. Still thick. Still greedy. He came around the side of the bed, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her forward. She had no choice but to open her mouth and he fed it to her.

“Put that mouth back to work,” Elias growled, pushing his dick between her lips, “Suck me while he fuck you.”

He didn’t let her find rhythm. He set it. Hand locked in her hair, he worked her head up and down, not caring how messy it got. Spit trailed down her chin, mixing with sweat and drool, while Elijah fucked her from below and Elias fucked her throat from the front.

“You hear that?” Elias said, voice full of filth, “That’s you. Gettin’ fed both ends. That’s what you need, huh?”

Her body couldn’t answer, just kept bouncing and choking and twitching. Elias stroked into her mouth slower, but deeper, letting the head hit the back of her throat over and over.

Elijah’s voice was darker now, guttural, “I feel her squirt buildin’ again.”

She started to shake. Again. That pressure building fast. Wet sounds. Moans. Slapping. Her body being used and praised and devoured like it was built for this exact moment.

Elijah pulled her down hard, “Gon’ make this pussy leak all over me again. Go ‘head, baby. Gimme that mess.”

And she did. Her body snapped, her pussy squirted again, flooding Elijah’s lap, soaking his abs, her thighs, the sheets, everything.

Elias pulled his dick from her mouth and groaned, “Fuck. She a fuckin’ fountain.”

Her body was trembling, soaked with sweat and spit and squirt, but something shifted. Something snapped. Like a switch flipped in her chest and lit up every muscle she had left. She was still on top of Elijah, his dick still deep, twitching, wet from the flood she’d just given him. But now? She started riding him like she was possessed.

No more slow. No more shy. She gripped the sheets with one hand, planted the other on his stomach, and bucked.

Hard. Over and over.

That fat pussy dropped down with weight and intent, clapping against his pelvis, wet and loud, thighs slapping, body rocking. Her stomach rolled with the rhythm, titties slamming together with every grind.

Elijah’s head snapped back. His jaw clenched. His hands gripped her ass, but he wasn’t controlling a damn thing anymore.

“Nnnghh—fuck,” he choked, voice rough.

Elias stood behind her now, one hand on her hip, the other raised high—smack—he slapped her ass, hard and sharp, watching that shit jiggle in time with her strokes.

“Goddamn,” Elias breathed, watching her bounce, “Look at this big bitch go…”

She gasped, still tossing that pussy down like it owed her money. Her knees burned. Her core screamed. Elijah was twitching inside her, hands now slipping from sweat and lack of control.

That’s when he sat up.

Smoke.

Elijah.

Whatever name she had in her throat—it didn’t matter.

He came forward, big hands gripping under her ass, helping her bounce while his mouth latched onto one of her soaked, bouncing titties. He sucked hard. Bit it. Growled into it. Then moved to the other. His tongue circled the nipple, then he looked up.

His eyes locked on hers.

Dark. Wild. Close.

“Pussy so good,” he said, voice shaking, “I’m right fuckin’ there.”

She rode him harder. He gripped the back of her neck, lips brushing her chin, his voice raw with filth.

“You want me to nut in this shit, don’t you? Want me to fill it.”

She moaned—loud.

“Yeah,” he hissed, licking sweat from her collarbone. “Gon’ be both our seed swimmin’ in there. You don’t even know which one of us knocked that ass up.”

She clenched hard around him. His whole body twitched. He pulled her down flush and held her there, dick buried to the base, thighs shaking under her weight. Eyes still locked on hers. Breath caught. Then—he came. Hard. With a deep, guttural grunt that dragged from his chest to her ear, he spilled inside her. His whole body rocked. Muscles clenched. Arms shook.

She could feel it. The throb. The warmth. The stretch.

Elias leaned in behind her, breath hot on her neck, voice slick and cruel.

“That’s my brother’s nut you sittin’ in…now it’s my turn again.”

[skvrpion]

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Camera 0ff...

Summary: Watching turns into wanting…and wanting turns into control.

Warnings: Obsession / Voyeurism / Possessive Male / Hood romance grit / Daddy kink / Provider dynamic / Dirty talk + cum fixation / Unprotected, raw, dominant sex / Slow burn tension / Crime Drama + Thiller / Stalking / Urban Erotica

Part Two (re-upload)

The first sound is breathing. Not hers.

Little puffs of air, warm and wet against her shoulder blade, followed by a sticky hand slapping down on her chest like he owns her heartbeat.

“Up, Mama,” Messiah mumbles, voice thick with sleep and snot, “Cartoo?”

Malaya doesn’t open her eyes right away. Her back hurts. Not sharp pain—just that deep, stretched ache that comes from sleeping on her side too long with a toddler pressed to her spine. The kind of ache that says you made it through another day, now do it again.

Messiah shifts beside her, his couls wild, matted, and damp from sweat. His tiny sock is halfway off. He kicks once, like he’s dreaming of something fast, then kicks again on purpose, hard enough to jar her ribs.

“I’m up,” she groans, voice cracked, “Damn, boy.”

She doesn’t curse in front of him often, but it slips sometimes in the early hours, when her bones are heavier than her body and her soul feels like it got folded in the wrong drawer. The bedroom is dim, a single strip of light cutting in through the crooked blinds. Her sheets are half off the mattress, tangled around one of her legs. The baby monitor on the nightstand blinks blue even though Messiah’s already beside her. On the floor by the closet door is a pair of leggings, a half-folded towel, and the old tripod she kicks out of sight with her heel.

They start slow. She sits up with him in her lap, lets him rub his face against her stretched T-shirt like it’s a napkin, lets him drool a little on the neckline. Her T-shirt smells like yesterday. Baby wipes, cocoa butter, and the faintest trace of strawberry lube.

He climbs down with a grunt and waddles toward the bedroom door, “Snack!” he says. A declaration.

Malaya rolls her shoulders, feels the stretch pop down her spine. Her belly—still soft and full under the fabric—shifts slightly with the motion. She tugs down her T-shirt. Doesn’t bother with a bra. She rarely does unless she’s heading to work or logging in.

The hallway outside her room creaks as Messiah darts toward the kitchen, Jurassic Park socks sliding. She follows behind, bare feet padding over the plush carpet that covers the real floors beneath—cheap laminate hiding older scars.

The duplex is quiet, but it’s not still.

The living room has toys everywhere, plastic food in the play kitchen, a blanket crumpled on the couch from when she passed out watching Bluey alone. One of Messiah’s juice cups rolls across the floor when she nudges it with her toe. In the corner, by the window, her plant is dying. The leaves are yellow at the tips. She waters it anyway. Out of habit. Or hope. The kitchen’s narrow, with cabinets painted the wrong shade of white and fake-new appliances that buzz louder than they should. The stove clock is flashing 12:00. She hasn’t fixed it since the last outage. There’s a small pantry beside the fridge, barely enough space for snacks and ramen and the box of wipes she keeps hidden from visitors.

“Cheerios?” she asks, already reaching.

Messiah nods like a king.

She pours a handful into a bowl, no milk. He eats standing up on the couch, balancing one foot on the cushion like a little rebel.

She leans on the counter, arms crossed, eyes on the small strip of sun now widening across the floor. Her stomach growls. She ignores it. Her head hurts. She swallows that too. Outside, the city’s already moving—sirens, tires, the deep rumble of bass from someone’s too-loud car speaker. Inside, it’s just her and him and the weight and the stretch.

Messiah crunches dry Cheerios from the couch while cartoons mumble in the background, and Malaya steps into the narrow hallway, barefoot. Her duplex is small, but it holds her. Two bedrooms, one bath, and a little more space than the rent should allow. Landlord slapped some vinyl flooring in the kitchen and called it “newly remodeled.” The carpet’s fresh too, though she can still feel the unevenness of the floor beneath it. Messiah’s dinosaurs and action figures are lined up along the hallway wall, like they’re guarding something ancient. Her bedroom door sticks a little when she pushes it open.

Inside, it smells like sleep and yesterday’s body oil. The blinds are uneven, casting warped shadows over the dresser where her worn makeup bag sits untouched. Clothes are everywhere. Not messy—just lived in. A hoodie draped over the headboard. Her favorite pair of leggings folded wrong at the foot of the bed. Her work bag slumped against the side of the laundry basket, zipper half-open, badge peeking out like it’s tired too.

She peeks in on Messiah’s room. It’s chaos. Blankets on the floor. Toddler bed messy. A book open to the wrong page. A half-naked stuffed Mickey Mouse wedged under a tiny chair. It smells like powder, juice, and the lavender spray she mists at bedtime. She’ll clean later. Or not. She never pretends for nobody.

“Messiah,” she calls gently, “Potty time. Come on, baby.”

He shuffles down the hall, chubby legs moving fast, and plops onto his training seat in the bathroom like he owns it.

“I poo poo,” he announces. Confident. Serious.

Malaya exhales a soft laugh and steps out of her T-shirt, then peels down her panties. The c-section scar pulls faintly when she bends. Her reflection in the mirror is blurred from the steam already building up. She avoids looking too long.

The shower is fast. Has to be. Water costs and Messiah gets antsy if she’s gone too long. She pins her long Marley twists up into a high, loose bun. Some strands fall free anyway—new growth coils acting as baby hair tight against her damp forehead. She turns the water on hot, tests it with her hand, then steps in slow. A low hiss slips through her teeth as it hits her skin.

Her body isn’t the same as before. Softer now. Heavy in new places. Her stretch marks shimmer like whispers in the steam—silver along her belly and hips. She scrubs her arms in hard, fast circles, suds slipping down to her elbows. Over her inner bicep, she moves slower—right where her ink reads: What doesn’t kill you breaks you soft.

Her hands move down. Across full breasts. Beneath them. Over her soft belly. Down thicker thighs. She cleans between her legs carefully—rinsing, pressing. There’s a deep, dull ache inside. She doesn’t linger on it.

Just something she lives with now.

She turns off the water before she’s ready.

The mirror’s fogged. Her face swims behind it. She wipes the glass with her palm but doesn’t look long. She’s got thirty minutes before they’re late. Messiah’s still babbling to himself on the potty. She dries off fast—body still dripping—pulls on a soft T-shirt with a cracked graphic print and thick socks. Her nipples poke through the fabric, but she doesn’t have time to care. She scoops Messiah up, wipes him down at the bathroom sink, wrangles him into a onesie with dinosaurs on it, then moves like clockwork.

She grabs:

Scrubs (grey today, slightly faded)

Her badge and lanyard (Parkside Outpatient— Midtown Campus)

Messiah’s bag with snacks, wipes, cracked tablet, and extra socks

Her work bag with her charger and the cheap deodorant she keeps forgetting to replace

Messiah’s starting to fuss, arms flailing as she zips his jacket.

“I don like it, mommy.” he whines.

“I know, baby. Just a little longer,” she whispers.

Her hands are full. Her throat feels tight. She presses her forehead against the front door for just one second before unlocking it.

Just one second.

Then she exhales and opens it to the world.

Her car is loyal. Ugly, but loyal.

A dusty gray 2015 Nissan Altima with a dented driver’s side door and a cracked back taillight covered in red tape. The radio only plays two stations without static. The air conditioner groans before it works. She keeps one of Messiah’s pacifiers on the dash like a totem. Dice hanging from the rear view mirror. The inside smells like apple juice and exhaustion—baby wipes, old fries, and whatever Black ice air freshener is losing its grip on the rearview.

The engine clicks when it starts. She waits, then reverses slow. Hollowell Parkway is already alive—school buses, mopeds, folks walking in neon uniforms toward the MARTA stop. Messiah kicks his feet in the backseat, half-asleep again, holding his stuffed Elmo like it might get snatched. The daycare is a small brick building tucked between a rundown convenience store and an old church that’s been boarded up for two years. A colorful sign above the door reads: Bright Futures Learning Center with faded cartoon animals dancing around the letters. The front windows are decorated with construction paper cutouts of autumn leaves.

Miss Tonya opens the door before Malaya can knock. She’s wearing a t-shirt with “Unbothered & Booked” printed across the chest and leopard print leggings. Her locs are pulled up in a pineapple. She’s got that voice that’s soft enough for toddlers and sharp enough for parents who test her.

“Morning, Mama,” she says, holding the door open.

“Morning,” Malaya spoke softly, lifting Messiah from the car seat. He clings to her neck.

Miss Tonya lowers her tone just enough, lYou got that payment?”

Malaya doesn’t answer right away. Just reaches for her wallet with one hand while shifting Messiah’s weight to her hip.

It’s all crumpled bills and quarters—cobbled together from tips, change, a ten from Tamra, and what she was supposed to save for groceries. She pulls out $150 and hands it over.

“That’s the rest from two weeks ago,” Malaya says, her voice quiet, “I’ll have the next one on time.”

Miss Tonya eyes the bills, then nods slowly, “Alright. I know you tryna keep up. But we tight this month, okay?”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You know I love that baby. Just…don’t make me chase you again.”

Malaya nods again, stiff. Swallows hard.

She kisses Messiah’s cheek before handing him off. He doesn’t cry, but he looks back once as Miss Tonya carries him inside. The door closes with a soft chime. Malaya just stands there for a second. Watching the sun rise behind the building like it might burn something clean.

Then she turns and gets back in the car.

Parkside Outpatient Clinic sits just off a busy Midtown intersection, wedged between a Walgreens and a dentist office with busted blinds. The building’s flat beige exterior does nothing to hide the tension inside. The moment Malaya walks through the glass front doors, the smell hits: antiseptic, old carpet, microwave popcorn from the break room, and a little sweat from patients who’ve been waiting too long.

It’s always bright in here. Too bright. Lights that make you look sick, even when you’re not. Reception sits in a U-shaped desk straight ahead. Behind it, the clinic opens into a long hallway with numbered exam rooms on both sides. There’s a small nurse’s station in the back with a fridge for samples and a clock that ticks too loud. Posters on the wall tell people to cough into their elbows and schedule flu shots nobody wants.

Malaya’s station is halfway down the hall, next to a filing cabinet that never shuts right. She has a drawer with her name on it, a chipped plastic label from a label maker that barely stuck. Inside: pens, gloves, a phone charger, and a half-used bottle of ibuprofen. She clocks in on a mounted tablet near the break room. The screen is greasy.

Patients are already piling in—coughing, complaining, slamming clipboards on the counter. One man with a limp is shouting about how long he’s waited. A woman with three kids and no appointment is pretending not to hear the staff asking for her insurance.

Malaya smiles like she means it.

Her boss, Miss Denby, walks past in nude flats and a too-tight blazer. Doesn’t say good morning. Just nods like a queen barely recognizing her court.

Malaya’s head starts to pound before 9AM.

She checks vitals, processes urine samples, logs notes into the system that always crashes mid-entry. She eats her granola bar while standing. Takes two sips of cold coffee from her tumbler before it disappears. Someone always needs something. At 10:42, she follows a coworker—Nisha—out the side door for a smoke break. Malaya doesn’t smoke, but she needs the air. 

Nisha lights up with the speed of a woman on edge, “Girl, you hear they tryna bring in some temp for front desk? Said we ‘undermanned.’ I said, ‘Bitch, we been undermanned.’”

Malaya chuckles, dry, “They gon’ pay her more than us, too.”

“Mmhm. Watch. Bet she can’t even spell phlebotomy.”

They stand in silence for a moment. The sun is warm on their forearms. The trash bins smell like old gauze and last week’s pot luck.

“You alright?” Nisha finally asks.

Malaya shrugs, “I’m breathing.”

“Let me know if you need help hiding a body.”

“Bet.”

She almost smiles. Almost. Then she tucks her badge back into her scrub pocket and heads inside.

The last four hours drag like wet laundry.

A man yells about his refill. A little boy throws up graham crackers on the waiting room floor. One of the nurses is crying quietly in the break room, pretending she’s just tired. Phones ring. The printer jams. Malaya’s feet ache. She walks the same hallway over and over. Exam room three. Back to station. Lab fridge. Front desk. Repeat. The armpits of her scrubs are damp. Her ponytail’s slipping, twists growing heavy. There’s a cramp starting behind her right eye, and she knows it’s the kind of headache that’ll outlast the sun.

At 2:08 PM, she gets a text.

Twan 🙄: u good? what time am I getting him?

Her jaw tightens. She replies quick, thumbs moving faster than her breath:

Malya: 5:30 at the latest. I paid the daycare fee u were supposed to handle. $150. You owe me.

Read. No response.

Of course.

She slides the phone into her pocket, breathing slow, swallowing back the heat bubbling under her tongue. That was grocery money. Gone. She’s tired of chasing men for things they should be doing without a prompt.

At 3:14, the notification hits. Just a soft buzz against her thigh. Her phone screen lights up under her badge.

[You have a new message.] 

Could I get a pic? Sent 200 for it. Just the top.

No name. No real context. But she knows exactly where it came from. Malaya doesn’t hesitate. Just grabs her phone, slips down the hall, and turns into the staff bathroom. Locks the door. 

She’s got two minutes.

The mirror hums under the fluorescent lights. The floor is cold tile. The soap dispenser’s busted. She sets her phone on the paper towel dispenser and rolls her shoulders back.

Then she peels her scrub top up and over. Her breasts fall naturally, full, wide-set, and soft with weight. The kind that don’t sit up on their own anymore, not since breastfeeding. Not since motherhood changed her body. Silver stretch marks lace along the sides like lightning beneath her dark skin. Her nipples are thick and dark, resting low, one slightly more sensitive than the other.

She cups them in both hands for a second. Lifts them gently. Tilts toward the light.

No face. Just chest. Just flesh. Just survival dressed up as seduction. She angles the camera. Clicks. The photo looks raw. Real. She doesn’t edit it. Doesn’t need to.

Upload. Done.

She breathes out.

Back on go the scrubs. She fixes her shirt, smooths the fabric, splashes water on her neck. One more look in the mirror—her eyes are tired, lips chapped, but her posture is solid. Stronger than most would guess.

She steps out like nothing happened.

Clock-out time hits at 5:37. She doesn’t stay a minute longer.

The city is dipped in honey light by the time she pulls out of the clinic lot. That slow, golden hour where the streets look soft even when they’re loud. People walking fast, leaning into their hunger or fatigue. Car horns echo. Somebody’s blasting trap gospel from their window. Malaya rolls hers down an inch to feel the air and doesn’t even notice when her eyes get glassy.

Her phone vibrates in the cupholder again.

Still no reply from Twan.

She lets the red light hold her in place, then taps into her private Instagram account. The one with less than 100 followers, no posts since last year. Her profile picture is blurry now, pixelated from too many crops and re-uploads. But it’s there. Him, too.

The last post still pinned.

A blanket in the grass. Messiah in her lap, cheeks shiny with drool and sunlight. Malaya looking off to the side, not quite smiling. No makeup. Curls pulled back tight. Tank top strap slipping off her shoulder.

The caption just said: “Everything I do.”

She remembers that day. The way Twan took the picture like he was doing her a favor. Like he wasn’t already texting some other girl ten minutes later. Like he hadn’t already decided he wasn’t staying.

She scrolls down and there it is—Keisha’s reel.

“It’s glow-up season, sis. Soft life only. If it don’t spoil you, it don’t deserve you.”

The music behind it is bass-heavy and fake happy. Malaya watches in silence, thumb hovering over the heart. She doesn’t press it. Just tosses the phone onto the passenger seat like it burned her.

Twan’s voice leaks into her head like rot water.

“I got you, Ma. I promise.”

“You stressin’ too much. Just sing, baby. Let me handle the rest.”

“You think I don’t care? Damn, why you always like this?”

She remembers the studio. Not the real kind, just a backroom with foam on the walls and a mic that didn’t work half the time. She remembers him standing behind her, hands on her hips while she tried to record. How she never finished a single track. How she wanted to sing, but all she did was swallow silence.

The car turns onto her street. Her duplex rises ahead like a tired sigh. She parks, engine ticking as it cools, and rests her head against the steering wheel for a second. She catches her reflection in the rearview—her twists loose around her face, her eyes heavy, lips dry.

That damn tattoo on her inner arm peeks out from her sleeve as she reaches for her bag.

What doesn’t kill you breaks you soft.

It was supposed to be strength. A reminder. But today it just feels like surrender.

Inside the house, the air is warm and quiet. Her dying plant looks a little deader. The lights stay off as she moves through the living room. She pulls off her shoes with one foot, lets them thud. Her scrubs feel glued to her skin. Her body is begging to collapse.

She hears her mother in her chest.

“You wanted to be grown. So be grown.”

“Always caught up in your feelings, girl. That’s your problem.”

The words cling to her ribs like grease. She opens the fridge. Stares. Closes it again. She exhales through her nose. Rubs her hands over her face. Then she moves. Messiah will be home soon and  tonight, the camera’s little blue light will blink again.

The knock is too light for a stranger.

Two quick taps, then silence.

Malaya opens the door with one hand still on the deadbolt. Messiah’s giggles burst through before she even sees him. He’s in Twan’s arms, gripping a juice pouch and sticky with sleep. Her son—all thick curls and cheeks and Velcro sneakers—reaches for her instantly.

“Ma-maaa,” he says, dragging the sound out like a song. Malaya softens without meaning to, arms already out. Twan passes him over too fast, like an item—not a child. Messiah’s bag hits the floor with a dull thud. His stuffed Elmo falls out, face-first.

“You good?” Twan says.

Malaya doesn’t answer. Her hand moves to support Messiah’s bottom, the other stroking the back of his head. His skin is warm, his breath sugary with whatever snack he was eating. She leans into him. Smells his hair.

Then looks past Twan.

His car is still running, headlights dim. In the passenger seat: her. The girlfriend. Baby hair gelled down, long lashes, scrolling her phone like this is a pit stop. She doesn’t look up.

Malaya’s voice dips low, “You owe me a hundred and fifty dollars.”

Twan blinks like he didn’t hear her, “What?”

“For daycare. You said you had it. You didn’t. I paid it. You owe me.”

Twan shifts his weight. Breathes in slow through his nose, “Damn, Malaya. You always—”

“Don’t,” she snaps, quiet but sharp, “Don’t start.”

He reaches into his pocket, exaggerated, like digging through gold. Pulls out crumpled bills and counts with a sigh.

“Eighty. That’s all I got till Friday.”

She stares at the cash. Doesn’t reach for it. Messiah squirms against her chest, tugging at her hoodie string. Her jaw clenches.

“Take it or not, damn,” Twan mutters, pushing the money toward her.

She snatches it. Not out of anger out of necessity. Their fingers don’t touch.

“I shouldn’t have to chase you,” she says, barely a whisper.

“And I’m here now,” he shrugs, “That count for something.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

She doesn’t look at the girl in the car. Doesn’t check if she’s listening. Doesn’t care. She just closes the door in his face. Not loud. Not petty. Just…final. Messiah hums against her chest, his thumb now in his mouth.

She presses her lips to his forehead, “Let’s get you a bath, baby.”

Bath Time

Messiah is perched on his little potty like royalty, cracked tablet in front of him playing some bright, chaotic YouTube Kids video about talking trucks and friendship. His chubby legs swing as he watches, juice-stained cheeks glowing in the dim hallway light.

Malaya doesn’t rush the bath. She never does. She crouches in the bathroom, legs already sore from the day, and turns the water on low. Checks the temperature twice with her fingers. Pulls the sweet almond bubble bath from under the sink, even though it’s halfway empty and not on sale anymore. She pours extra. Always does. The lights are dimmed, she screwed in a soft purple bulb a few months ago. It calms him. Makes the bubbles glow like clouds at dusk.

She arranges the toys.

The little slide suction-cupped to the tub wall.

Three plastic dinosaurs. 

Marvel superhero’s.

His yellow boat.

A cup he insists is for “water magic”.

And a rubber duck with a bite mark in the tail.

“Okay, baby,” she says softly, “Let’s wash the day off.”

Messiah comes running, butt-naked and wobbly, tablet still playing in the distance. He climbs in without hesitation, squealing at the warmth. Water sloshes. Bubbles rise. He starts throwing the duck like it’s in battle. Malaya kneels beside the tub, rolling up her sleeves. Her bones pop. Her knees ache.

But her heart…her heart swells. She takes the soft washcloth and begins gently scrubbing him—behind the ears, under his arms, between the little rolls on his legs. He splashes, cackles, yells “Mama look!” every few seconds. Her hoodie gets soaked. Her arms drip.

And still, she smiles. Through it all.

She watches him, really watches.

That goofy grin. Those long lashes. His coils, soft from the water. His little hands trying to pour one cup into another and missing completely.

Tears prick her eyes. It hits all at once. That swelling, stinging, proud ache. Because she made this boy. She’s raising him. Alone. And some days, it still doesn’t feel like enough. She blinks fast. Doesn’t let the tears fall.

Just whispers, “I love you, Messiah,” into the steam.

He doesn’t hear her. But that’s okay.

She lets him play for a few more minutes, then drains the water, lifting him gently into a towel—the one with the little bear ears. He’s still giggling, legs kicking as she carries him to the bedroom. She lays him down on the bed and rubs him down with cocoa butter, slow and sure. The scent fills the room—warm, sweet, nostalgic.

“Feet up,” she says, and he obeys, still watching her with bright eyes.

She slips on his Buzz Lightyear jammies, then the tiny slippers he insists make him “go faster.” He dashes off to his play area, crawling into the tent full of pillows and action figures like he’s on a mission.

Malaya exhales, heading for the kitchen. Dinner is what she always makes when she’s too tired to think but still wants him to smile. Baby carrots. Dino nuggets. Kraft mac and cheese with a little extra butter. She sets up his high chair in front of the TV, slides in the tray, and turns on Trolls. His plate is colorful and warm, and he eats with his fingers, humming between bites. She sits nearby with her own plate—leftover shrimp and broccoli, barely warm, eaten with a plastic fork because the others are in the sink. She watches him. She chews slowly. Doesn’t taste much.

For two full hours, she is only his.

They color. They stack blocks. They scream along to the Trolls songs. He falls twice. She kisses both elbows.

At 8:45, it’s time.

She scoops him up, already blinking heavy. They brush teeth, fight over the toothpaste, and finally settle with a hug that smells like cocoa butter and toddler sweat. She turns on his nightlight, the one with the little rotating stars. Tucks him in. Kisses both cheeks. Pulls the blanket up just right.

“Love you, stinka,” she whispers.

“Wuv you too,” he mumbles, eyes already shut.

She shuts the door halfway, then turns on the baby monitor. Blue light hums quietly in the hallway. She stands there for a moment. Just breathing. Then moves toward the closet.

The Mask Comes On

“No face. Just fire.”

The house is quiet. Not peaceful…just quiet.

Messiah is down, his soft breathing caught on the baby monitor’s faint static. Nightlight on. Stars rotating on the ceiling. His Mickey Mouse tucked into the crook of one arm. He had fallen asleep mid-sentence. She’d kissed his forehead, turned out the light, and shut the door with a whisper behind her teeth.

Now she moves like shadow.

Light off in the hallway. The small squeak of the closet door and the rhythm of her breath. She pulls the basket from the back corner—not Messiah’s toy basket, not the laundry one—the one with the handles wrapped in satin ribbon and the faintest hint of strawberry lube clinging to the lining.

Her cam gear is inside.

She lays each piece out on her bed like tools in a sacred ritual. Phone. Ring light. Tripod. Mic. Clip adapter. Oil. Her robe. Next, she wipes down her camera lens. Always. Doesn’t matter if she did it yesterday. The screen has to reflect clean. No prints, no grease. No traces of the real woman who held her baby thirty minutes ago and whispered lullabies. She undresses in silence. Hoodie first. Sports bra. Then the leggings that peel away like second skin, still warm from Messiah’s hug.

Her body is real.

Not porn-perfect, not Instagram-polished. Full. Heavy in places. Her stomach bears the stretch of motherhood— the soft belly with skin that doesn’t lie. Her navel pulled slightly lower now. A map of silver-gold streaks curves along her hips and the underside of her breasts, shimmering faintly under the ring light.

She oils her thighs. Slow. Not for pleasure. For the sheen. For the way the light dances over her dark skin, turns softness into spectacle. She rubs the oil down her legs, across her lower belly, lets a small moan slip—not arousal, just the relief of warm hands meeting sore flesh. Her breasts are next. She lifts one in her palm, squeezes gently. Full. Weighted. Her nipples darker now. Fuller. A little sensitive. She wears the bralette—the faded burgundy one. No padding, just lift from memory. Then the black thong with the rip on the side. She tugs it so the tear’s out of frame.

Over that, her robe. Black, silky, cheap, but drapes like money on camera. She doesn’t tie it. No perfume. Just the cocoa butter from earlier, mixing now with vanilla scented body oil. She glosses her lips—clear, thick, high shine. Checks the angle. Adjusts the mic. Pulls her twists up into a messy bun. Slips on clear strap heels. Her toes curl inside them. Not for them. For her. For balance. For the click when she stands and turns.

She turns on her VPN. Opens ObsidianPlay.

Logs in as LaceyBlaze69.

The screen flashes. “No face. Just fire.”

She exhales. Checks the angle again. Face cropped, always. Just collarbone down. A tease of jawline if she leans in too close.

Chatroom open. Room fills slow.

Camera0ff logs in within sixty seconds. 1,000 tokens drop. No message. No request. Just that sterile username sitting quiet like it always does. Watching.

Her breath hitches.

She clicks “go live.”

The screen floods with hearts, requests, messages she won’t read until they tip. She leans into the mic, lets her gloss catch the light, then whispers:

“Hey baby. Miss me?” Her voice is syrup. Low and breathy. Barely real.

Tips roll in. Thigh oil. 175 tokens.

Close-up bounce. 400 tokens.

Finger suck. 100 tokens.

“Ride for me?” 300 more.

“Do it slow.” “Say you need it.”

She smiles soft. Doesn’t break eye contact with the lens. Which is to say—she never really makes it in the first place. She turns. Straddles her riding pillow. Slides her hips slow, deliberate, until the bralette slips just enough to expose the top curve of one breast. She lets it. Doesn’t fix it.

More tokens. More noise.

She adds more oil. Lets it drip down the slope of her chest, across her belly, gliding over her stretch marks like a second skin. She lifts her breasts in her palms, squeezes them together. Lets her fingers roll over her nipples until they shine.

Another tip comes in. POV request.

She presses record.

No face. Just moans.

Fakes a climax at 47 minutes in. Loud enough to make them believe it. Quiet enough to hear her baby monitor if it changes pitch. Her thighs tremble. Not from pleasure. From holding the pose.

When it’s done, she clicks “end stream.” Tips: $638.

Not the best. But good enough to sleep on. She pulls the hoodie over her head. Wipes the oil from her chest. Sits on the bed, lets her feet breathe, then glances toward the hallway, the faint hum of Messiah’s nightlight still glowing through the crack under his door. She lies down sideways. One arm under the pillow. Eyes open.

She doesn’t cry. Not tonight. But her lips part, just barely. And the words slip out like breath.

“We still here.”

Twice. Always twice. She closes her eyes. Baby monitor steady. Phone screen dark. Oil still drying on her thighs.

LaceyBlaze is gone.

Malaya’s just a mama again.

Her Balance, Her Body

Time: 10:24 PM.

She was already exhausted before the day began.

Malaya had woken to Messiah’s whimpering cries from the bassinet beside her bed, her back stiff from sleeping half-curled with one arm draped over him like a shield. Her phone buzzed before her feet even hit the floor, a low battery warning and a string of unread texts from a co-worker asking to switch shifts. She ignored it. She scooped Messiah into her arms, kissed the warmth of his cheeks, and started the morning.

Bath. Oil. Pull-ups. Socks he kept kicking off. Feeding him oatmeal with mashed banana, wiping more from his chin than what made it in his mouth. He cried when she put him down to wash the bottles from the night before, and again when she tried to put on eyeliner with him on her hip. By the time she slid his diaper bag over one shoulder and balanced her lukewarm coffee in the other hand, she was already five minutes behind.

She dropped him off at the daycare off Hollowell, gave Miss Tonya a tight-lipped smile when she asked how things were going, and rushed out before the baby could start crying again. The only thing worse than the sound of it was leaving while it echoed behind her.

She made it to work just in time. Her badge didn’t scan the first time, and her manager raised an eyebrow when she clocked in two minutes before cut-off. The outpatient clinic was short-staffed again. She spent the entire day standing—prepping rooms, taking vitals, holding back a migraine while the phone rang, rang, rang. No time to eat. No time to breathe. She answered patient questions with a tight smile and a throat that burned from swallowing what she really wanted to say.

Her phone buzzed again at lunch. Miss Tonya. 

Need someone to pick up Messiah. You said his daddy would come today. He ain’t show.

Malaya stood in the alley behind the clinic, one hand clutching her phone, the other fisting the fabric of her hoodie. She called Twan. No answer. Called again. Straight to voicemail. She texted him once.

Don’t play with me. Come get your son. 

Then she called her mother.

That turned into a fight. Her mama picked up with a tone already steeped in judgment, talking about how tired she was, how she wasn’t the one that laid up with a no-good boy and made a baby. Malaya begged through clenched teeth, promised it wouldn’t take long, promised to send a little money from her next check. Her mother still sighed. Still made her feel like she was seventeen and stupid. But she went.

By the time Malaya picked up Messiah and got home, she was running on fumes. He wouldn’t settle down. He wanted to be held. He wanted to be rocked. He cried when she sat him down to change her shirt. She fed him applesauce and soft chicken with one hand while scrolling her bank app with the other. Overdraft. Her heart dropped low and heavy in her chest. Rent was due next week. Her phone bill was past due. The streaming platform would take their cut in the morning.

The only thing she could think of to eat was ramen. She gave Messiah his bath first, wrapped him in the softest towel they owned, kissed the curve of his damp forehead. She whispered soft nothings to calm him, slow him down. He giggled when she kissed his belly, and for a moment, she smiled too. But the heaviness didn’t leave. It sank deeper. She held him until he dozed. Slid him into his toddler bed with the quiet care of a thief. She closed the bedroom door partway, leaving the baby monitor screen angled toward the living room.

She ate her ramen standing up in the kitchen. No music. No TV. Just the crunch of the seasoning packet against the bowl’s edge and the echo of the microwave beeping long after the food was out. She cried halfway through. Not the kind that shook her shoulders or made her gasp. Just slow, hot tears running down both cheeks as she stood there, slurping noodles, tasting salt that didn’t come from the broth.

It was already 10:17.

Seven minutes later, she sat on the living room floor and pulled off her hoodie. Left it in a pile beside the book-stack she used as a camera stand. She peeled off her leggings, rolling them down to mid-thigh. Her tank top clung to her body, nipple outlines showing through the worn cotton. Her stomach wasn’t flat anymore. Her thighs had small stretch marks. She didn’t hide them.

She reached over and opened the laptop. The soft hum of it booting up was the only sound in the room. The hallway light buzzed faintly through the open door, washing just enough glow across her skin to be visible in shadows. The living room had been cleaned earlier—sort of. Messiah’s toys were pushed to the side. His water bottle rested on the coffee table beside a crumpled burp cloth.

She didn’t fix her hair. Her twists were hanging down her back heavy and dull. No gloss. No lashes. No perfume. She didn’t turn on the ring light. There was no soundtrack tonight. Just the low hum of the TV. A faint chirp from the dead battery in the smoke detector. The rhythmic click of her mouse. She stared at the login screen of ObsidianPlay for longer than she meant to.

It was a choice. Every time. And every time it felt like giving herself away one frame at a time.

She clicked the button.

LIVE.

The feed opened in silence. Her face wasn’t visible. Just the low-angle view of her thighs parted slightly on the floor, her stomach rising and falling with every slow breath. She shifted, sighing softly. No music. No smile. No show. The screen filled with viewers faster than usual. Notifications pinged silently on the side. She didn’t acknowledge them. Didn’t wave. Didn’t ask how anyone’s night was.

She just let them watch.

Her hands moved slow. She didn’t spread herself wide or arch her back in some performance-ready pose. She rubbed soft, absent circles over the fabric of her panties, then slid them down one leg at a time. Her breaths were audible now. Shaky. Tired. Real. She leaned back slightly, legs bent, her heels pressed into the carpet. Her head tipped back. Her fingers moved again—slower now, slower than any clip she’d ever sold. Her other hand reached up, held the hem of her tank to her chest. Her nipples were stiff against the fabric, her lips slightly parted.

Comments poured in, but she didn’t read them. Her eyes barely opened.

“Yeah,” she said, so quietly the mic barely caught it, “Right there.”

Her voice cracked just a little.

There was no moaning tonight. No over-the-top gasp. Just breath. Her body rocked gently, thighs twitching from effort. Her brows pinched at one point. She came without warning—low, quiet, like a tremble passing through her. She exhaled, shivering a little, and then she stilled. She didn’t thank the tippers. Didn’t flash a smile. She sat there for a while, still breathing hard, eyes locked on the baby monitor screen in the corner. And then her face turned, just slightly, toward the lens. For one fleeting second, she let them see the pain that came after.

She shifts her weight on the carpet and reaches just out of frame, fingers curling around silicone still cool from the air. She brings it back into view slowly, not teasing, not presenting it like a prize. Just honest. She doesn’t look at the screen when she settles it between her thighs. Her lips part as she guides it against herself, her free hand bracing on the floor. The first press makes her flinch. She exhales through her nose, steadying. There’s no rush. No theatrics. Just the slow push as she sinks down, inch by inch, her brows knitting together while her body adjusts.

Her hips roll once, experimentally. Then again.

She’s not fully gone yet. Her mind is still on rent. On the number she saw in her bank app. On the way her mother sighed like Malaya was a burden she never put down. But her body responds anyway. Her thighs tense. Her shoulders drop a fraction.

She starts moving with more intention.

Not fast. Just deliberate. Her tank rides up slightly with the motion, exposing the soft stretch of her stomach. The toy glides easier now, slick with her warmth. She presses her lips together, a quiet sound catching in her throat when it finally starts to feel good in that slow, sinking way that makes everything else blur.

Then the notification hits.

A large one.

Her eyes flick to the screen before she can stop herself.

Camera0ff tipped.

The number makes her inhale sharply. Her hips stutter. Her grip tightens. Something shifts in her chest, not joy exactly, but relief mixed with pressure. She sits up straighter. Rolls her shoulders back. Gives more than she was giving before.

“Okay,” she breathes, barely audible.

She rides it now. Still restrained, still tired, but present. Her movements grow steadier. Her thighs lift and fall. Her hand slides to her chest, fingers brushing beneath the hem of her tank. Her nipple presses against the fabric, dark and obvious now.

Her breathing deepens. Her eyes close.

She comes again quietly. No cry. Just a sharp exhale and a tremor that moves through her whole body. She stills with the toy seated deep, her head bowing forward as she rides out the sensation. When she lifts it, thick slick clings and stretches before breaking. It drips down the length, catching the dim light from the hallway.

She watches it for a second.

Calculating.

She swallows, then looks toward the screen.

“Y’all want me to,” she starts, stops, clears her throat, “Want me to clean it?”

The chat explodes.

She doesn’t wait for confirmation. She leans forward and wraps her mouth around it, slow and deliberate, lips slicking over what she just left behind. Her cheeks hollow slightly. Her tongue traces. She keeps her eyes down, lashes casting shadows on her face. It’s intimate in a way that feels almost too much. When she pulls it free, she doesn’t wipe her mouth.

Instead, she shifts position.

She sets the toy aside and spreads herself open with both hands, silent. No smile. No commentary. Just showing. Her folds glisten. Wet, messy, honest. She lifts one leg high, knee bent, opening herself further. The angle changes everything. Her tank slips again, revealing the curve of her breast, the edge of her nipple peeking out fully now.

She stays like that.

Breathing.

The chat goes wild.

Another tip hits.

Camera0ff again.

Her lips part in something close to a smile this time, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. She glances once at the baby monitor, then back toward the lens, holding the pose just a few seconds longer. Then she lowers her leg, reaches forward, and ends the stream without a word.

She clicked end stream.

And the screen went black

$700. 

She stares at the screen a moment longer than she needs to, index finger resting on the corner of the trackpad. Her thighs are still sticky with drying oil, her tank top clinging to her back where the sweat gathered. The light from the TV fades as she clicks it off, and the room dips into shadows. The baby monitor hums. Messiah turns over in his sleep. A rustle. A sigh. Then stillness.

Malaya exhales.

She doesn’t cry tonight. She doesn’t smile either. Just drags the oversized hoodie over her head, its hem brushing against her thighs. It smells like cocoa butter and detergent. Safe. Quiet. Not sexy.She wipes the toy down in silence, the towel already stained from the last few shows. She puts everything away like she’s locking up the register. Phone in hand. Screens closed. Earnings saved. She crawls into bed sideways. One knee bent. One hand beneath the pillow. The hoodie slips slightly at the neck, exposing the damp slope between her shoulder and chest. Her fingers scroll out of habit. Nothing to see. No one to talk to.

But then—the a message appears.

One new DM.

From a name she doesn’t recognize.

GodbodyAnon.

No icon. No bio. No posts. Just a message.

You always look tired after the ride. I’d take care of you if you let me.

Her thumb freezes above the glass. Something about the message stills her. Not the words, but the weight behind them. It doesn’t read like a demand. It reads like… observation.

She clicks the profile.

New account. No followers. No comments. Just silence and that single message. Not even a token trail. He’s either smart or watching from a distance. Possibly both.

Her first instinct is to block him. A man noticing her fatigue isn’t always kindness. Sometimes it’s just strategy. A soft angle to slip in before the hard push. But something holds her there.

She rereads it.

You always look tired after the ride...

Ride. Not show. Not bounce. Not “stream.” Ride. Like he was really watching. Her stomach tightens. Not fear. Not desire. Something more complicated. Something that coils near the ribs and stretches under the skin like memory.

She taps her nails against the glass. Types.

You new?

Waits. A full minute passes.

Not really. Just never had something to say until now.

She shifts on the bed. The baby monitor clicks once, then settles. Her legs are bare beneath the hoodie, toes flexing against the sheet. She tells herself this is curiosity. Not need. Not attention-seeking. Not loneliness.

Just curiosity.

You talk like you know me.

Another pause. Then:

You looked beautiful tonight. But your shoulders dropped when you thought nobody noticed. That’s what made me write.

She stares at the message. Her throat tightens.

She types, then deletes. Types again.

I’m not really the fantasy tonight. That’s what made it better.

He doesn’t ask for anything. No photos. No tip menu tease. Just stillness.

Then another message.

You ever let someone rub that oil in for you?

She clenches her legs together. The robe beneath her shifts. Her body remembers how long it’s been since hands touched her with care instead of cost. Since someone asked without expecting a transaction in return.

You don’t even know my name.

I don’t need it. I see you.

The lamp on the nightstand flickers low. Her chest rises once, slow. Then again. She looks at the monitor. Messiah is still. Peaceful. The one pure thing she’s managed to protect.

She shouldn’t keep typing.

She does anyway.

Don’t catch feelings over fantasy, baby. It’s dangerous in here.

He doesn’t respond right away. And that  somehow feels worse than if he had. She leaves the thread open. No block. No warning. Just a flick of her thumb, a glance at the time, and the quiet breath she holds too long before she lets it go. In the dark, across town, Smoke watches the screen light up. He doesn’t type again tonight. He lets her linger.Malaya pulled her hoodie to her chin, closes her eyes without realizing she never locked her heart back up.

She doesn’t know who GodbodyAnon is.

Saturday Morning —8:12 AM

Messiah’s soft whine was what woke her. Not a cry, not a scream, just the slow, rising sound of his discomfort. Malaya stirred before she opened her eyes, hand instinctively reaching across the sheets for her phone. The screen glowed. Almost 8:15. The sun was already pressing light into the corners of the room, filtered through crooked blinds and dust in the air. She sat up slow, blinking the crust from her eyes. Her body ached— not sharply, but in that dull, mother-worn way that clung after days of doing too much with too little.

“Hey, baby,” she said quietly, voice still cracked from sleep. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded to his bed. 

Messiah kicked his feet at the sight of her. One sock missing. Pull up full. She kissed his forehead and lifted him into her arms, holding him against her chest as she moved into the kitchen. The floor creaked under her heel. There was no rush today. No badge to clip. No scrubs to wear. No clock to race. She changed him on the couch, humming something low as he babbled broken words at her. After, she set him gently into the high chair and snapped the tray in place.

She had $650 in her account. It wasn’t enough, not for everything, but she pulled out her phone while the water boiled for grits and she prepped the eggs and bacon. She’d push it towards rent anyway. Left herself with $42 and change. She’d get the rest on Friday. They ate together, him clapping his hands when the spoon danced in front of his mouth, her smiling soft between yawns and bites of toast.

It was their ritual.

Saturdays were slower.

Quieter.

After wiping his mouth and setting the dish in the sink, Malaya glanced toward the front door.

Something felt…she didn’t know. Just felt.

She opened it to check the mail, barefoot on the step in her oversized tee. The morning was cool, but not cold. Dew still clung to the railing.

That’s when she saw them.

Boxes.

A stack of them.

Three piled neatly, two others just off to the side, like the driver had run out of balance. Her name was printed on each label. Correct apartment number.

No mistake.

Malaya blinked. Looked up the street, then back down. Nobody was around. She gathered them slowly, carrying two at a time. Had to nudge one inside with her foot. Her chest was tight with curiosity. She hadn’t ordered anything. She slid a knife from the drawer and sliced through the first box.

A new cam stand. Adjustable. With a ring light mount and USB adaptor. The kind she bookmarked months ago but never bought.

Her brows lifted.

The second box had a sleek tablet. For kids. Protective case. Preloaded with learning games. She swallowed. The sound stuck in her throat.

Third box: LED lighting strips. New webcam. Velvet throw blanket. Microphone with a pop filter.

The fourth was smaller. Labeled discreetly. She opened it in her bedroom.

The air changed.

Inside was a Bluetooth toy, still in its high-end packaging. Glossy black. Remote-enabled. Retail price burned into her memory from all the nights she window-shopped it. Two cute plugs in pastel pink. One with a gem at the base. Another with a rose-shaped tip. There was a note card tucked between tissue paper. No words. Just a barcode. Underneath that was a small glass bottle of perfume. Soft, powdery, with notes of honey and sandalwood. It smelled expensive. A new lip gloss. High shine. Nude brown.

And finally…

Lingerie.

Wine-colored lace, sheer with delicate embroidery. Her size. Malaya sat on the edge of her bed and stared at it all. Her hands were shaking a little. She reached for her phone, opened the tracking app she used to monitor wishlist deliveries.

MoTh3rL0ad88

All of them. Every single one. Whoever they were, they’d spent good money. On things she needed. On things she wanted but would never admit out loud.

Not just for the camera. For her.

Malaya blinked hard, the sting behind her eyes catching her by surprise. She turned away from the boxes and glanced at the monitor. Messiah was still in his high chair, gumming his spoon, humming to himself. She pressed her palms to her thighs then back to her chest then over her lips.

She smiled. Just a little.

She stood slowly, still half-dazed. The boxes were open now, contents spread across her bed like a strange altar, one of softness and pleasure, of being seen in ways she hadn’t felt in months.

Her phone buzzed in her palm.

Venmo.

She hadn’t even remembered checking it lately. Wasn’t expecting much. A few tips here and there. Maybe a stray twenty if someone had been generous during the last show. She opened the app without thinking.

And froze.

$2,175.42

Her heart stopped. She stared. Closed the app. Opened it again. Still there. Still real.

Messiah let out a squeal from the kitchen, banging his spoon like a little drum. She turned and looked at him, stunned. He burst into a giggle—that full-body kind that made his curls bounce and his nose scrunch.

Malaya laughed too, hand pressed to her chest like she needed to catch her breath.

“You see this, baby?!” she called, walking back to him with the phone raised, “You see this?”

Messiah just slapped his tray, beaming.

She glanced down at the payment note. It was split across three transactions. Anonymous tip amounts. No cute messages. No emojis. Just a username:

MoTh3rL0ad88

Her brows furrowed. She’d never seen that one before. Sounded like some old man. Some sugar daddy behind a burner account. Probably watched her show in silence. Probably the type to jerk off slow in a recliner while calling her “baby girl” in his head. Still, she didn’t care. She was grateful. More than that, she was lit up inside. The kind of lit that felt like fresh oxygen after being underwater too long.

Rent was covered now. Groceries too.

She could even stop at Marshalls, get Messiah a few new onesies, maybe that paw patrol blanket he pointed to last time. Malaya scooped him out of the chair and held him close, kissing the side of his head.

“Somebody lookin’ out for us,” she whispered, “Somebody out there…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Just closed her eyes and let the moment settle.

8:42 AM–Smoke’s House, West End, ATL

Silence. Darkness. That’s the way he liked it, dim and disciplined, still holding the scent of eucalyptus from the cold steam that hissed under his bathroom door earlier. Fog lingered in the mirror, but not on his skin. His muscles glistened faintly, the sharp lines of his back twitching each time he flexed his grip around the mug.

He was shirtless now, black durag tied clean and flat, a soft knot resting at the nape of his neck. Black joggers hung low on his hips, waistband folding as he sat deep into the black leather sunken couch, one leg stretched long across it, the other braced against the floor.

His place was all restraint and ritual. Nothing cluttered. Nothing soft except the weight of the silence. The living room was curated in Smoke’s image—sharp, sensual, unbothered. Framed black-and-white photography along the wall, most too dark to read unless you studied them. The biggest one? A nude Black woman, faceless, her back turned to the camera, spine like a soft blade beneath skin. Strong. Still. Private.

The vinyl in the corner hadn’t been touched this morning. But the D’Angelo record stayed propped against the turntable like a holy book left open. He didn’t need the needle to move to hear the rhythm. He sipped his coffee slowly. No cream. No sugar. Mug heavy in his hand, warm against his rings. Silver kissed ceramic every time he drank. His other hand held a book—“Black Skin, White Masks.” Worn spine. Pages dog-eared, underlined, annotated.

Smoke always read with a pencil tucked behind his ear.

He underlined the sentence.

Not only must the black man be black; he must be black in relation to the white man.

But his mind slipped.

A flicker from the phone on the end table.

Small screen. New alert.

Malaya had received the packages. Safely. Untampered.

He’d set it up that way—each delivery scanned and tagged with tiny RFID slips. The moment she brought them inside and tore the tape, he knew. No interference. No porch pirates. No missing pieces.

He took another slow sip.

And for a few seconds…just let himself see her.

Not the curated, filtered LaceyBlaze69 version.

But her. The girl who sighed when her feet hurt. Who rubbed her shoulder after holding her son too long. Who still wore cheap slippers from Family Dollar with the fur curling off the edge. She didn’t even like doing cam shows every night.

He could tell.

He’d watched enough to know what her real moans sounded like…and which ones were forced out just to hit a tip goal. She didn’t even smile half the time anymore.

And still—she did it.

Did it tired. Did it hungry. Did it lonely. Trying to be everything at once: woman, mother, provider, soft and strong in a world that didn’t know how to handle either.

That was what got him. Not the show. Not the flash of thighs or spit on toys. The ache she tried to bury. The softness she never got to show.

“Im see everything you try to hide, and that’s what I want to touch.”m

That was how his obsession worked. Not loud. Not entitled. It bloomed in the quiet. In the in-between. He lifted his phone and pulled up the secured tracker connected to the final package. The one he packed himself. The one that hadn’t been opened yet. It sat in her apartment still sealed—he’d chosen every piece inside like a man sculpting the shape of a confession.

 A Bluetooth toy, sleek and glossy black. Still warm from where it rested inside its molded case. Remote-enabled.

Two butt plugs in pastel pink. One tipped with a jeweled base. One shaped like a rose bloom.

 A small bottle of perfume—powdered, faintly sweet, with notes of honey and sandalwood. A scent meant for the back of her knees. Her pulse points. Her sheets.

 A nude gloss with high shine. Kissable.

 And the centerpiece…lingerie. Wine-colored lace. Sheer. Floral embroidery at the cups. Scalloped trim. Backless. Cut to reveal. Her size. Perfectly matched. He’d studied her frame for months to get it right.

Smoke’s jaw tensed. She hadn’t opened it yet.

He liked that.

That it was still waiting.

Like him.

She’d put it on one day. Even if just for herself. Maybe while she fed her son, or cleaned her living room, or lay back and caught her breath before logging on. She’d tug those straps over her thighs. Adjust the bust. Smell that perfume drift off her collarbone.

And she’d feel it. The weight of being wanted. By someone she didn’t even know…was already in love with her bruises. He flipped the page in his book, but didn’t read it. His mind was already on the next move. The next name. The next message. Her next breath.

The closet light flicked on low—motion sensor.

Soft glow washed over neatly arranged black slacks, pressed tees, two rows of designer sneakers boxed like inventory, and the upper shelf with his locked case: cash, crypto, watches, weapons. That day’s mood dictated what went on the body. Today?

All black.

Smoke pulled a fitted thermal over his head. Fabric whispered against his skin. Muscles flexed, tensed, relaxed. He didn’t rush. He never rushed.

That was the secret to control. Don’t move fast. Move smart.

He fastened his dark wash jeans. 

Gold chain, hung low against his chest. Faint scorpion ink peeked from his fade as he leaned in to lace up his sneakers—minimal, quiet. Like him.

But his mind was loud.

Malaya.

The name dropped in again like it always did—uninvited, unshaken loose. He gritted his teeth and reached for his watch.

Been a year since he last fucked. Drier than he’d ever been in his life. Not cause he couldn’t. Cause he didn’t want to waste the nut. Most women felt like noise now. Clingy. Clout-thirsty. Chaotic. They wanted the myth of him, not the man. Wanted the dick, not the damage. And he was too old, too sharp, too damn obsessed to let his body become someone else’s vanity project.

He didn’t chase women. He tracked purpose.

But her?

That damn girl with the soft voice and slow eyes. That postpartum belly she never tried to hide. That pussy he hadn’t even touched but knew—knew—would wreck him. That voice that made his breath hold.

LaceyBlaze69.

She had no idea what she was doing to him. Or maybe she did. Maybe that’s what made it worse.

He’d watched. Too long. In the dark. Quiet. Hand gripped firm, jaw clenched, breath tight. Not even dirty strokes.  Hungry ones. The kind where he imagined her thighs shaking against his chest. The kind where he whispered her username like a psalm against his wrist. Where he stayed hard after, breathing deep, like he’d been starved and fed too little.

He stared at himself in the mirror now. Cold. Focused.

But his mouth twitched.

He’d played out whole scenarios. How he might show up at her door after dropping that package. How he’d stand quiet, all black, eyes low, voice deeper than need.

“Let me in.”

Or maybe he’d wait. Make her come to him. Watch her from the car, memorize the way her hands moved with her kid, the way her tank tops didn’t hide a damn thing. Wait for the day she looked into the dark and felt him watching.

He had plans, he just hadn’t picked one.

Yet.

Smoke stepped back into the hallway. Sunlight crept past the edges of the velvet curtains—thick, gold-dusted things that barely let the world in. A single sliver of light caught the back of his neck. Warmed the skin between his shoulder blades.

That spot had been on his mind for weeks. Right between the blades. The only place he hadn’t inked yet.

Hidden. Centered. Weighted.

He didn’t know the design. But he’d been feeling it. Like an itch beneath the skin. Like something needed saying that only pain and permanence could spell out.

Sol would know. She always did. She read bodies like prayers. Inked truths you didn’t say aloud.

Smoke rolled his neck, felt the tension there.

You didn’t stumble on The Parlor. You were led.

Down a tight brick alley behind a shuttered Black bookstore in West End, past rusted fire escapes and faded murals still bleeding protest. One door. No sign. Just peeling red paint, a black veil curtain behind cracked glass, and an old knocker shaped like a serpent swallowing its own tail.

Smoke rapped three times.

Waited.

The door cracked open. Not wide. Just enough for the scent to curl out—vetiver, tobacco, isopropyl, melted wax. Then Shay pulled it wider and stepped aside.

“You late,” she said, like always.

Shay was Sol’s wife, tall and sarcastic, with golden-brown skin and arms covered in black ink roses. She had a tiny blade tattooed under one eye and wore cropped denim with a black bra top. A septum ring. Chrome stiletto nails. Every part of her said don’t ask dumb shit.

Smoke grunted, stepping inside, “I brought it,” he said, lifting the brown paper bag.

She took it without breaking stride—12-year Japanese whisky. No label. She sniffed it once and nodded.

“Always coming through. She’s ready if you wanna go back.” 

The shop was dim, as always.

No overhead fluorescents. No harsh light. Just one stained-glass lamp over the back station and the flicker of candlelight tucked in corners. Walls were charcoal, but you could see hints of something older beneath—red wallpaper curled at the seams like shed skin. Wax bottles lined the shelves, each dripped like it bled. A massive alligator skull sat near the register, jaw parted just enough to hold crumpled bills.

The only sound was The Internet’s “Get Away” playing low. Vinyl. Needle hiss. Nothing digital.

Sol was already in the back, barefoot.

Black linen jumpsuit. Hair wrapped in a dark cloth, but the thick black locs still trailed down her spine, bone beads swaying like wind chimes in a crypt. She stood with her back to him, laying out fresh needle packs with surgical calm.

Smoke’s jaw relaxed. He stepped close.

She turned—slowly, fluidly—and offered him a quiet look. Hazel-green eyes, ringed in darkness. Her gaze moved over his face. Down to his chest.

He didn’t speak.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. She let him. This was their ritual. No words. Just silence and inking.  He stepped past her to the chair. Unzipped his hoodie. Peeled off his thermal. Bare from the waist up.

“Where?” she finally asked. Her voice was low. Raspy. Like wind on burnt sugar.

“Back,” he said, pointing, “Center. Just below the neck. No bigger than your palm.”

Sol nodded once. No more questions.

She began to prep.

No music back here. Just the soft squeak of gloves and the buzzing flicker of her antique lamp. Her station was spotless—everything covered in silk cloth until needed. She wiped down the chair, then cleaned his skin with a chilled antiseptic. Smoke didn’t flinch, but his breath slowed. That was Sol’s magic.

She picked up the stencil l—her design. One she’d drawn without asking. A hollow triangle, clean and minimal. Beneath it, three thin stacked lines. Like a personal cipher. Sacred geometry meets encryption. Symbol of control, of unity. Of power kept hidden. She placed the stencil between his shoulder blades. Pressed firm. Peeled. He sat still, elbows on knees, spine bowed just enough.

Sol moved around him silently, checking angles. Then she dipped her machine in black ink. Adjusted her grip.

The needle began to buzz.

Smoke exhaled.

He didn’t speak. He never did during the first line. Sol’s hand was steady. She worked in slow, deliberate strokes—never rushed. Her own breath matched his. Her nose ring caught the overhead light once when she leaned in. Her foot tapped once against the creaking floor. Outside, the world didn’t exist but inside, there was just needle and nerve. Skin and scripture.

Smoke didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to see it. He knew what it meant. This tattoo was for no one’s eyes but his own. Hidden like the rest of him. Shielded behind silence and obsession and layered control. A triangle for sight, mind, and discipline. Three stacked lines for everything he never says out loud. A new mark, placed by the only person he trusted to ink him.

Sol wiped the fresh line and pressed down gently.

Smoke closed his eyes.

And the work continued.

1:12 PM – Saturday Afternoon, Marshalls

The sun had warmed the day just enough to feel like a soft kind of forgiveness. Not too hot, not too loud just quiet and easy. Malaya pulled the sleeves of her loose top down over her wrists and adjusted the strap of her purse across her chest as she pushed the cart inside. High-waisted jeans hugged her waist, hugging the stretch she used to hide with longer shirts. Her top hung off one shoulder like a shrug, breezy and effortless, while her twists were tucked into a tidy bun she’d thrown up before leaving the house. She didn’t have on much, just lip balm, a little brow pencil but she still felt good. Not because she looked like somebody, but because she didn’t have to rush. Messiah was perched in the child seat of the cart, legs kicking in his little velcro sneakers, pointing excitedly every few seconds.

“Dat!”

“Wassat, mommy?”

“More!”

She laughed, shaking her head as she wheeled the cart down the baby aisle first. He reached for a stuffed Sonic The Hedgehog. She let him hold it.

“You gon’ name him or naw?” she asked, He babbled something back and stuffed the Sonic teddy in his mouth.

They moved slowly. Malaya let herself enjoy it. She picked up a few more little toddler tops, some little sneakers, a book with flaps and mirrors. Messiah slapped the pages as she flipped through.

They lingered by the home goods section next. A throw blanket she didn’t need but couldn’t resist. A new shower caddy. Cinnamon-scented candles she’d never light but liked to sniff anyway. She let Messiah help pick out a new bath towel. He chose the one with blue sharks. She smiled and dropped it in the cart. By the time they reached the beauty section, he was slouched, thumb in his mouth, eyes drooping.

“Stay up,” she whispered with a grin, “We got two more aisles, then we hittin’ Chick-fil-A.”

He perked up at that, making a sleepy noise of agreement. Malaya scanned the shelves for new makeup sponges, a fresh brow pencil, a deep berry gloss that reminded her of a show she did months ago. She reached for a travel-sized lotion that smelled like clean cotton and added it to her basket. Then she spotted a small carry-on travel bag in muted olive. Sleek. Understated. Hers was raggedy. This one had gold zippers. She ran her fingers across it, then set it gently in the cart. It wasn’t for a trip. Not yet, but maybe one day. At checkout, the total didn’t make her flinch. She tapped her card without hesitation and grabbed Messiah’s little juice pouch from her purse while they bagged up the items. As they stepped into the parking lot, the wind picked up just a little. Messiah squinted against the sun, still clutching his new stuffed animal and other toys. 

“Say bye-bye, Marshalls,” Malaya said playfully.

“Buh-byyyye,” Messiah echoed, waving his fat fingers at the automatic doors.

She loaded him into the back seat, buckled him in, then leaned into the trunk to fit the bags. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t calculating what had to be returned. She wasn’t worried if she’d have to dip into her backup fund, or hold off on groceries to make rent. For once, the world was still, just her and Messiah and a full backseat of things that didn’t have to be begged for.

She climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirror, and smiled.

“Chick-fil-A,” she said out loud, tapping the wheel, “Then home.”

From the back seat, Messiah clapped his Sonic stuffed animal’s hands together.

The line inside Chick-fil-A was long enough to make her rethink the stop, but Messiah had spotted the cow through the window and lost his little mind with excitement. Malaya sighed, pushed open the glass door with her hip, and maneuvered the stroller inside, her purse tugging on one shoulder. Messiah kicked his light-up Buzz sneakers, a sticky straw wrapper clinging to his pants from the car ride. He was humming his little tune, clutching his tablet to his chest like it was a shield, though it had been dead for the last fifteen minutes.

She was tired but trying. That was the rhythm of her life. Every small joy scraped from the edge of exhaustion. She bounced a little on her feet, trying to keep Messiah occupied as they waited for their order. He was giggling now, asking for sauce he wouldn’t eat and poking his fingers into the cupholder on the stroller. The man behind the counter called her number, and she leaned over to grab the bags when a voice stopped her.

“Malaya?”

She turned. At first, her mind scrambled, searching for something familiar. Then it clicked.

“Jordan?” she blinked.

He laughed, stepping forward, and it hit her all at once same smile, same skin that always looked warm no matter the season, but grown now. Grown in a way that made her heart stutter for just a second. His face was broader, beard filled in, and he carried himself with a quiet, settled ease. Not flashy. Just…content. His hair styled in a tapered curly fro with a clean hairline. and his black hoodie pulled snug over strong shoulders. Still had that soft anime nerd sweetness in his light brown, expressive eyes, though.

“Damn,” he said, flashing a grin, “I wasn’t sure that was you.”

She laughed, shifting the tray onto the stroller and adjusting the strap of her purse, “Yeah. It’s been a minute.”

“At least ten years, right? Since high school?”

“Something like that,” she nodded, “You still in the city?”

“For now. Just came back from visiting my mama. She’s still in the same house, yelling at the same neighbors.”

Malaya chuckled, then motioned to the stroller, “This is Messiah.”

Jordan crouched slightly, offering the little boy a wave, “What’s up, young king?”

Messiah blinked up at him, shy, then leaned back with a small smile. Malaya reached down and tugged the napkin over his lap.

Jordan straightened again, looking her over in a way that was gentle, not greedy. “You look…good,” he said carefully, “I mean, I always knew you’d grow into something special, but—yeah. You look happy.”

“Do I?” she asked, not bitter, just amused.

He tilted his head, “You got that mom tired look, but otherwise…good.” 

She smiled, soft and private, “Thanks. You got kids?”

“One. A boy. Shiloh. He’s four,” he said, pulling his phone out and flipping it around to show her a lockscreen photo. A little boy with big eyes and wild curls grinned up at the camera, popsicle in hand.

Malaya tilted her head, admiring the photo, “He’s adorable. Got those big ‘I get away with everything’ eyes.”

Jordan chuckled, “Yeah, he gets that from me. The trouble too.”

She laughed—warm, full. The kind that caught her off guard, that made her feel like herself again for just a breath.

Jordan rubbed the back of his neck, his grin softening. “It’s wild seeing you here. I mean… I’ve thought about you before. Like, damn…I wonder what Malaya’s up to these days.”

She didn’t jump to fill the silence, just smiled a little. Then said, “Working hard. Dealing with this little guy. It’s hard but…he’s my heart and soul.”

Jordan’s eyes dropped to Messiah, who was now trying to eat a fry and hum at the same time, “He got your smile.”

Malaya looked at her son and nodded, “Mm. That he does. His good-for-nothing daddy took over the rest. But at least he got my chocolate skin.”

Jordan chuckled, gaze lingering on her a second longer than necessary, “Sho’ nuff.”

She nodded, folding the straw wrapper in her hand. She hadn’t had a real conversation with a man in weeks that wasn’t wrapped in DMs or veiled requests for more. This was…different. Familiar in a way.

“Look,” he said, stepping a little closer, “I don’t wanna hold you up, but…if you ever feel like catching up—just talking or whatever—can I get your number?”

She hesitated.

Not because she didn’t want to. But because everything in her life required calculation now. Every new connection could cost her peace. But he wasn’t a stranger. He was Jordan. The boy who used to doodle on his sneakers and wear Naruto shirts. He used to sit behind her in chem and pass her his extra pencils when she always forgot hers. He wasn’t flirting heavy. He wasn’t pressing. He just looked like somebody she used to trust.

So she pulled out her phone, handed it over.

He typed in his number and texted himself.

“Alright. I’ll let you go feed your boy,” he said, smiling again, “Don’t be a stranger.”

She nodded, then watched him leave—hoodie half-zipped, jeans cuffed, walking like he had nowhere to be but still meant to be there. Messiah tapped the stroller,  impatient. She gave him a nugget. Her phone buzzed. She looked down.

[New Message from: Jordan — 404-xxx-xxxx]

For the record…your smile’s still the same.

She shook her head, half-grinning, then took a sip of her lemonade. Messiah crunched into his nugget, ketchup on his cheek. 

5:41 PM – Saturday Evening Malaya’s Apartment, East Point

The front door clicked shut behind her, a soft thud of tired satisfaction. Malaya pressed her back to it for a second, exhaled slow through her nose, then hoisted the shopping bags up one more time and made her way inside. Messiah was still chattering about fries. “Fry fry fry fry fry,” he sang from the crook of her arm, legs kicking with toddler glee.

“You lucky you cute,” she muttered under her breath with a smirk, stepping around the scattered sneakers near the door, “Always get a toy and fries outta me.”

She set the bags down on the couch first, then carried Messiah to his high chair—an old hand-me-down from a cousin but still sturdy. She snapped him in, kissed the top of his head, and got him a plastic bowl filled with cut-up nuggets, apple slices, and half of her Chick-fil-A fries.

“Mickey?” she asked, already reaching for the remote.

“Mih-mouse,” he nodded, wide-eyed. “Mihhh-key!”

She flipped to the channel, and like clockwork, the intro music filled the apartment. Messiah’s eyes lit up. His feet swung back and forth in rhythm, hands sticky with juice from the apples. Malaya grabbed her bag and slipped into the small kitchen just off the living room. She poured herself a little sweet tea, popped the lid off her salad, and sat at the corner table, their “dining area” pressed into the far wall of the living room, right by the heater vent. The table was wobbly. She balanced her plate with one hand and grabbed her phone with the other.

Jordan had already texted.

Jordan: Made it home yet?

She smiled and bit into her salad.

Malaya: Just sat down to eat. Mickey Mouse on blast lol. 

Jordan: Classic. That was Shiloh’s favorite too when he was little. It still is 😂 He acts like it’s brand new every time.

Malaya: That’s how you know he happy. Repeats are for the soul.

She paused, fork halfway to her mouth, thinking about how easy the messages felt. No pressure. Just back-and-forth. He didn’t flirt heavy — not yet. Just smooth, friendly… lowkey sweet. She glanced at Messiah, who now had fries in his lap, ketchup on his cheek, and was giggling at Goofy trying to hula hoop.

She took another bite and typed slowly.

Malaya: You ever come back to the old neighborhood?

Jordan: Sometimes. Moms moved though, so it’s rare. You still in East Point?

Malaya: Yeah. Been here a few years now.

Jordan: You ever go out?

She hesitated.

Her phone buzzed again before she could decide how to answer.

Jordan: I mean like for fresh air. Farmer’s market, music, whatever. Not tryna put you on the spot lol 😂.

That made her laugh, soft and soundless. She took a sip of tea, letting it cool the bite of vinaigrette on her tongue.

Malaya: I try. Depends on the day.

Messiah made a sound like “ta-da!” and flung his cup off the tray. It rolled under the table. 

Malaya set her phone down and stood up, grabbing a baby wipe and scooping him out, “You a whole mess, man-man,” she whispered, holding him close as he wrapped his arms around her neck and leaned his head on her shoulder. She checked his pull-up, clean enough, and wiped his hands and face. Once he was wriggling again, she let him loose inside his playpen, a square of padded foam tiles and bright plastic toys. He crawled over to his musical drum set and started banging with glee.

Finally, finally, she could breathe.

She waited until Messiah was settled in his playpen, blocks scattered around him, Mickey Mouse still chattering softly in the background. Once she was sure he was content, Malaya stood and padded down the short hallway to her bedroom.

The door stayed cracked. Always.

The box sat exactly where she’d left it earlier, tucked against the foot of the bed like it belonged there. Plain brown. No branding. No drama. Just weight.

She sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled it into her lap. This time, she opened it slower. Inside, cushioned in smooth black tissue paper, was the Bluetooth toy. Still sealed in its high-end packaging. Glossy black. Sleek. The kind of design that looked more like modern art than something meant to disappear inside a body. Her breath caught when she saw it. Beneath it were two plugs in soft pastel pink. One capped with a small gem that caught the light. The other shaped like a rosebud, delicate and intentional. She touched the edge of the packaging with the tip of her finger, then pulled her hand back like it might burn.

There was a small card tucked between the layers of tissue. No message. No handwriting. Just a barcode printed clean and centered. Below that sat a small glass bottle of perfume. Heavy for its size. She uncapped it and inhaled without thinking. Honey and sandalwood bloomed warm against her senses. Powdery. Deep. The kind of scent that lingered close to the skin instead of announcing itself. A new lip gloss followed. Nude brown. High shine. She rolled the tube between her palms, imagining how it would look under low light.

And then the lingerie.

Wine-colored lace. Sheer, with delicate embroidery that traced curves like it already knew her body. Her size. Exactly. She lifted it carefully, letting it drape between her hands, the fabric catching on her fingertips.

Malaya sat there for a long moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the apartment and the distant sound of her son laughing at something on the TV.

Her hands were shaking now.

She reached for her phone and opened the tracking app she used for her wishlist. Scrolled past the item list. Past the delivery confirmations.

There it was.

MoTh3rL0ad88.

Every item. Every purchase.

Grateful. Overwhelmed. A little afraid of how seen she felt.

She stared at the name, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling as if she’d just run up a flight of stairs. She didn’t know who he was. Hadn't seen the name pop up in the chat before. Didn’t know why he’d done this. Didn’t know what he expected, if anything at all. She set the lingerie back in the box carefully, closed the lid, and rested her palm on top. But if she where being honest with herself, she knew what most men wanted. The ones who tipped big, who watched every night without blinking. A taste. A touch. A chance to fuck the girl behind the glass. Didn’t matter how soft their messages sounded,  eventually, they all circled the same flame. But she didn’t do meet-ups. Never had. Never would. That line stayed thick and final, no matter how badly rent pressed against her spine.

From the living room, Messiah let out another happy shriek, banging two toys together like cymbals.

Malaya smiled despite herself.

She wiped her hands on her jeans, stood, and went back to him.

11:19 PM — Malaya’s Apartment

 Messiah is asleep, the baby monitor steady on the dresser, screen dimmed but close enough that she can glance and know he’s still breathing, still safe. That knowledge settles her shoulders before anything else does.

Malaya pours herself a small glass of wine and lets it warm her chest. Not enough to make her sloppy. Just enough to loosen the tight coil she carries through the day. She locks the bedroom door, pulls the blackout curtains closed, and pins the black satin sheet to the wall behind her. The fabric catches the low light and gleams faintly, like it’s already wet.

She switches on the purple LED. The room changes. Not brighter. Thicker. Intimate. Private in a way that feels almost conspiratorial. She steps out of her clothes slowly. Not for the camera yet. Just for herself. Oil goes on first, warmed between her palms. She works it into her thighs, over the soft swell of her hips, across her stomach where skin still bears the quiet evidence of carrying a life. The oil turns her dark skin luminous, highlights catching on the curves she used to try to hide. Tonight she does not hide a thing.

The lingerie comes next. The wine-colored lace from the box. She slides it up her legs, the fabric gliding easily, crotchless and unapologetic. It fits her like it was designed with her body in mind. The plug goes in after, pink and smooth, gem cool against her fingers before it disappears inside her. She exhales, slow, steady, grounding herself in the feeling. A quiet fullness. A reminder that she is still capable of wanting.

Clear strap heels click against the floor as she steps into them. She fastens the anklet, settles the velvet choker at her throat, and lets her twists hang loose down her back. Her lips get one pass of nude-brown gloss. Nothing else. Her face stays out of frame anyway.

She sets the camera low, angled up. Thighs first. Stomach. The curve of her ass when she turns. She presses the suction dildo into place, adjusts the riding pillow beneath her, and brings the wand close enough that she can feel its promise without turning it on yet.

Music hums low in the background. Kut Klose slipping into the room like a secret. SZA after that. Brent Faiyaz. A rhythm that makes her hips move even before she tells them to.

She goes live.

The chat fills slowly. Names she knows. Names she pretends not to know. Tokens start to trickle in, soft chimes that barely register compared to the pulse in her body.

Camera0ff appears without announcement. No greeting. No words. Just there.

Her breath stutters anyway.

She doesn’t look at the chat when he’s in the room. Never does. But her body reacts like it knows. Her thighs spread wider. Her hand goes back to the oil, slicking more over her skin, letting it drip between her legs, letting it catch the light as it slides.

Another thousand tokens drops. Exact. Clean.

She rolls her hips forward and sinks down onto the dildo, slow enough that it makes her gasp. Not loud. Just honest. The plug shifts inside her, presses where she needs it, and her head tips back out of frame. She rides like she has nowhere else to be. Like she has all the time in the world.

DIYDemon23 pops into the chat, tipping with a familiar rhythm. A request scrolls by about tightening bolts, about hands and effort and sweat. She smiles to herself and shifts her weight, pretending to brace against something invisible, thighs flexing, body moving like she’s working at a problem that requires concentration. The tips follow. Predictable. Comfortable.

JustForTheTaste sends a small tip and a message about oil, about how sticky she looks. She drags her palms over her breasts, slow squeeze, letting the lace darken as it absorbs the shine. She says nothing, just breathes into the mic, lets the sound do the work.

NothinButNecks asks for her mouth. She leans closer to the camera, just enough that her collarbone and throat fill the frame. Glossy lips part. She tilts her head, exposing the long line of her neck, fingers tracing where a mouth might go. The tip lands heavier this time. She hums softly, low in her chest.

BILLS4U arrives like a storm. Big numbers. Heavy drops. A message flashes asking her to ignore him, to use him, to let the money talk while she rides. She obliges without comment. Turns her back to the chat, focuses on the mirror angled just enough to show the arch of her spine, the way her ass moves as she picks up speed.

She straddled the clear dildo in reverse, knees spread wide on the plush throw she kept laid out for nights like this. The soft LED lights glowed low behind her, catching on the slick sheen across her thighs. She wasn’t in a talking mood. No teasing. No tip menu. Just riding. Just fucking. Just giving them a show.

She’d started slow—rocking her hips like she was warming up for something deeper. Her fat pussy wrapped the toy with a wet sound that filled the mic even without her saying a word. A pastel pink plug winked between her cheeks every time she lifted, then dropped again with a bounce. She was oiled up to the shine, body glowing like she’d been dipped in desire. Breasts jiggling with every roll, Her mouth parted. No words. Just little sounds. Soft, breathy gasps that got sharper when the toy hit the right spot inside.

And it did.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Her rhythm got filthier. Not rushed. But filthy. Like she was sinking into it. Like her body took over and she was nothing but hips and thighs and wetness now. The suction toy beneath her pulled at her clit in slow pulses—one hand anchored on the floor, the other sliding up to squeeze a breast, fingers slick with her own mess.

Tokens fell in steady. But then it hit.

+1,000

Camera0ff has tipped 1,000 tokens

Camera0ff has tipped 1,000 tokens

Camera0ff has tipped 1,000 tokens

Somewhere out there, he was watching her just like this—still, quiet, obsessed. She fucked the dildo harder. She arched, bracing herself as she pushed down until the toy disappeared all the way into her soaked cunt. Cream spilled down the base, thick and glistening. Her cheeks bounced with every slap of her hips against the toy.

Her pussy sounded so wet the audio glitched.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

The suction toy buzzed louder now. She spread her knees more, back bowed, bouncing in tighter circles. The plug kept her open. Made her more sensitive. Kept her needy. Her thighs were shaking, ass jiggling with every stroke. It was the kind of show that made the chat explode.

But she didn’t give them anything back.

No name drops.

No thank yous.

No dirty talk.

Just fucking.

She grabbed the toy beneath her and held it in deeper, grinding down slow while her fingers found her clit and rubbed in tight, messy circles. Her breathing got ragged. Her back flexed. Her pussy spasmed around the toy, dripping so much now the mess had soaked into the pillow beneath her.

And still, she didn’t cum.

She paused. Caught herself. Stayed right on the edge and let her body throb with it. Her eyes fluttered closed, head falling forward as she rocked again. This time slow. Deep. Her plug shifted with every grind, making her hips stutter and her mouth fall open again in a silent moan.

She wanted to give it to them. She almost did.

Across town, Smoke sat still.

Shirtless. Durag pulled low. Joggers tented. One hand slow inside the waistband, the other gripping the glass of dark liquor he hadn’t sipped since she started.

He didn’t blink.

Not once.

Her pussy looked unreal—glistening and stretched around that dildo like it was made just for her. Cream laced the toy, the base, her thighs. Her ass looked tight and soft, plug shimmering pink between her cheeks. He adjusted in the chair but didn’t stroke. Just watched. Obsession thick in his chest. Jaw clenched.

The camera shook for a moment when she switched angles—reversed herself just enough to show her spread pussy from the back. Lips swollen. Messy. Pushed apart by the fat toy buried inside her.

He exhaled through his nose, finally taking a sip of his drink.

She was everything.

Everything.

She slowed her ride with a trembling gasp, thighs slick, cunt clenching around the last thrust before she lifted off the dildo with a wet pop. The sound was loud. Filthy. The mic picked up everything—drip, squish, her breath catching as she settled back onto her heels, hair stuck to the sides of her face. The clear toy was soaked. Glazed. Cream coating the shaft and pooling at the base. She brought it to her mouth without a word. Just a look.

Eyes half-lidded. Lips parted.

She sucked the mess off slow at first, letting the tip glide across her tongue like a treat. Her lips wrapped around it, mouth hollowing as she cleaned herself from base to head, then deeper—until her gag reflex hit and she choked just enough to make spit bubble at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers gripped tighter. She pushed again, tried to take more, gagging louder now. Saliva dripped down to her tits, joining the streaks of sweat and oil.

She laughed. Low. Nasty. Smirk curling on her lips as she pulled it free and licked up the side, tongue flat. He couldn’t see her eyes but he just knew she looked dead into the camera. Like she knew what it was doing to him. She tossed the dildo aside with a little flick of her wrist and leaned back, planting both palms behind her. Spreading her legs.

That pussy was still creamy. Still twitching. Lips fat, glistening, parted just enough to tease the view of her clit. She grabbed the dildo again, slapping it between her folds a few times—sharp, juicy smacks that echoed. Each one louder than the last. Her pussy drooled on contact. The chat went wild.

slap slap slap

Wet strings of arousal stretched from her to the toy with every tap. Then she reached for the hot pink wand. It buzzed to life in her hand.

And that was all it took.

She brought it to her clit like she was desperate now. No teasing. No buildup. Just need. The vibrator met her with a sharp jolt and her hips jumped, knees knocking together before she spread them again—wider this time. She let the camera see everything. Her pussy wide open. Cream still leaking. Her clit twitching under the wand.

She started to moan. Short, broken sounds that spilled out whether she meant to or not. Her head rolled back. One hand slipped to her tit, squeezing while the other held the wand steady. The closer she got, the sloppier her movements became. She bucked into the toy now. Back arching. Thighs trembling.

Smoke leaned forward in his chair, jaw clenched.

His dick was rock hard. Veins bulging. Head pushing up against the cotton of his joggers like it wanted to tear clean through. That thick, long piece of him lay heavy across his thigh, twitching once when she started moaning louder. His hand slid back beneath the waistband, slow. Grip tight. He didn’t stroke yet. Just palmed it. Felt how big he’d gotten.

He couldn’t look away.

The screen showed every slick detail. That pussy—fat and stretched, still pulsing from the toy, twitching under the wand. The sound of her moaning. The buzz of the vibrator. The sticky slap of her mess dripping onto the pillow.

God, he wanted her under him. Wanted to slide that plug back in, hold her hips down, and make her scream into the mattress. He tilted the glass of liquor without drinking it, annoyed now. Not at her.

At the wand. That wasn’t the one he sent.

She hadn’t used the Bluetooth vibe he gave her. The one he could control. The one that let him tease her from across the city with a tap on his phone. She chose her own tonight.

He took a breath. Shook it off. Let the irritation melt into obsession again. Because she was close. She was fucking close.

Her legs were shaking. Wide open. Toes curled. Ankles flexed hard as her thighs trembled with the effort of staying upright, staying present—but her body was gone now. Gone to pleasure. Gone to that buzzing wand pressed tight to her clit.

The wand was soaked. Her pussy was messier than ever. Every pass across her clit made her hips jolt, made her eyes roll, made her breath catch in ragged little sobs of sound. She was close—so close it was crawling up her spine, clamping around her like a fist.

And then she started talking.

“Y-you’re making my pussy cum…fuck…you’re making my pussy cum…”

Her voice broke on it. Again.

“You’re making my pussy cum—”

The chant left her lips in breathless repetition. Like she couldn’t stop. Like she needed to say it to get there.

“It’s right on my clit…fuck…it’s right on my clit… feels so good…”

Her head tilted, lips trembling, bottom one caught between her teeth like she was holding on to her last bit of control. But her eyes—those eyes looked gone.

“Keep tipping me,” she gasped, barely able to say it through the moans, “if you wanna see this phat pussy squirt.”

The chat exploded.

+1000

+500

+1000—Camera0ff

She moaned louder. Back arched. Hips rolled. Her pussy flexed hard around nothing. Just twitching in the open air, on full display. Her cream had already soaked the pillow. Her clit looked swollen, shiny, almost trembling under the wand.

Smoke’s jaw locked tight. His hand was finally moving now—gripping his dick through his joggers as it jumped in his palm. That big, fat length twitched every time she said pussy. Every time she moaned through another wave. Every time she begged for tips like the whole room wasn’t watching her come undone.

And then she came.

Hard.

Her whole body jerked. A strangled moan punched out of her chest. Her legs tried to close, but she held them open with sheer will, forcing them wide as her orgasm tore through her.

She squirted. Once. Then again. A messy gush soaked the wand and sprayed down her inner thighs, making her cry out louder. Her hips bucked into it, chasing more, chasing the tail end of it while her voice got high and tight and shaky—

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck—”

She nearly dropped the wand. Managed to hold it just long enough for one final pulse, one last desperate moan as her cunt clenched hard, leaking and twitching. And then she collapsed back, chest heaving. Body twitching in the aftershocks. Her pussy was a mess. Raw and creamy and wide open.

Smoke let out a sound between a groan and a growl.

He needed her.

Bad.

The kind of need that made his throat tight and his balls ache. His dick strained so hard against his joggers it hurt. He sat there, eyes burning into the screen like he could brand her with his stare alone.

She hadn’t said his name once.

But that pussy? That pussy was his.

She giggled.

Not shy. Not sweet. That giggle had drip to it.

She was still sprawled out, legs wide, pussy glistening and open, a fucking mess between her thighs. Her body trembled just slightly from the comedown, but she didn’t close. Didn’t hide. She spread herself wider. Fingers at the lips, pulling her pussy open for the camera—fat, raw, creamy pink, glistening under the studio lights. The chat exploded.

I’d tongue fuck that til you passed out.

Bet you taste like fruit. 👅 

On my knees already, Queen 😍

Let me slide in raw. Cream for me just like that.

Why it look that juicy tho?!

I’d ruin it slow, you don’t even know 😮‍💨

Line after line. Filth pouring in from hard, horny men who couldn’t keep their hands off their dicks. They were ready to worship. Ready to pay. Ready to beg.

She lifted one leg high. Planted her foot flat. And started grinding slow—tiny rolls of her hips that made her still-leaking pussy glisten even more as DVSN came through the speakers soft in the background. A low, moaning R&B groove that matched the wet circles she rode on air. She licked her lips, tilted her head, smiled like she already knew how every single one of them would nut thinking about this later.

Then her voice came through, low and slick, “I’m about to log off now…but I’m accepting private chats from top tier members only.” She sucked her bottom lip. Let it pop back out, “If I’m feelin’ the vibes…might be down to talk dirty. Don’t be dry, though. Come correct.”

She blew a kiss.

Gave the camera one last spread. Pussy still twitching faintly, clit still swollen, thighs wet.

“Goodnight, freaks.”

And ended the stream.

The screen went black.

Across the city, Smoke sat in silence.

Still shirtless. Still hard.

That thick dick lay heavy in his hand, pulsing in his palm, fat at the tip and leaking. He hadn’t even finished. Couldn’t. Not yet. Not when his mind was stuck on her. That pussy. That fucking smirk.

He sat there for a beat.

Thinking.

He had never messaged her for dirty talk. Not directly. Not from Camera0ff. He kept that account quiet. Sterile. Eyes only.

But now?

He reached for his phone.

Opened a different profile. One he hadn’t used in weeks.

@YungCipher 🕶️

Verified. Still active. He cracked his neck. Wiped his hand on his thigh. Typed slow.

And started the private chat.

You said come correct. So let’s talk. I’ve been watchin’. You been fuckin’ up my sleep.

Now I want your attention. Just for me.

No music, no chat chimes. Just the soft whir of her mini fan and the sound of her own breath, still unsteady, still thick with the rhythm of what she just gave them. Her thighs were parted, one knee cocked up, the other draped low, toes touching the floor like an afterthought. Cream glistened on her inner thighs—slick, messy, the kind of mess that lingered when the show ended but the need didn’t.

Malaya shifted slow, lazy, her silk robe clinging wet to the curve of her hip where her body had gotten too warm, too sticky. The robe was barely tied, a soft sage green thing she always reached for post-show when she wanted to feel pretty. Luxurious. She liked how it looked against her skin, the way the sheen picked up the low light of her desk lamp and kissed her curves. Her nipples poked through the thin fabric—fat, round, still stiff, still aching. Her pussy? Still creamy. Still throbbing. Still open.

She kept the cam room up in the background just in case someone sent a late tip or left a filthy review, but her eyes were on her DMs. Waiting. Thirsty in more ways than one. That creamy POV she just did? Slurpy, moaning, talking dirty into the cam like she could feel every inch of the dick she was pretending to ride? She knew it went crazy. Knew it had ‘em gripping themselves, leaking, moaning back. She knew how they got. How they begged. How they paid.

She was just about to close the app when the message pinged.

💬 Yung Cipher: What’s good, mamas? Down to chat wit’ me? I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.

Malaya blinked at the name.

She knew that username.

YungCipher.

Didn’t show up often. Only during certain shows. The ones where her pussy was on full display—glossy, slow strokes, cream gliding down toys. That was when he’d appear. Never right away. Always late. He’d drop in, say something filthy in the chat—short, bold, blunt—and vanish just as quick, usually leaving behind a clean tip with no message.

She’d never paid him much mind. Until now.

Now he was DMing.

She sat up a little, adjusting her robe, tucking one leg underneath herself as she stared at the message again.

Something about it…felt different. Not desperate. Not thirsty. Just…smooth. Intentional.

She smiled slow, fingertips grazing her lips.

💬 Malaya: Well hey there, stranger. Sure, we can chat. We’ll see if it’s worth my time 😘”

She sent it and waited.

Curious. Tempted.

Still a little creamy.

Still thumping.

Just like he liked it. 

Malaya sat up a little straighter, the tension in her belly returning like heat blooming under her skin. Her heart tapped quick against her ribs. She saw it—bottom right corner.

💬 Yung Cipher: Still creamy, huh?

Her lips parted. She bit the lower one. The robe slid open just enough for a sticky string to stretch between her lips, creamy and slow. She shivered.

She clicked it with her thumb, pulse fluttering like a moth trapped behind her breastbone.

💬 Malaya: Mmm…figured you were watchin’. Took you long enough, nasty.

She hovered, waiting, still gently rocking in her chair like her body didn’t know the show was over yet. Her legs squeezed together without her permission. That text had her sitting up—robe sliding further off one shoulder, nipples dragging against silk, heat flashing behind her knees. Something about the way he said it. So casual. So knowing. Like he wasn’t guessing—he knew she was still creamy. Like he was still watching her now. She leaned her elbow on the desk, fingers brushing her lower lip as she stared at the screen. There was a new message.

💬 Yung Cipher: I seen how you creamed all on that toy. Shit was glossy. Fat, too.

Her breath caught. Her thighs twitched. Not even a full minute passed before another came in—

💬 Yung Cipher: You still dripping?

She didn’t type right away. She adjusted the camera even though the stream was off, instinctual. Turned the chair slightly so she could spread her legs again. The robe slipped open completely. She looked down. Cream still there. Puffy, parted lips glistening, folds sticky, twitching like they missed the toy already. It was obscene the way she was still open. Still needy. She sucked her fingers clean out of habit, then typed with her other hand.

💬 Malaya: Still dripping, baby. Wanna taste?

She giggled to herself, but it wasn’t sweet. It was thick with lust. With the type of hunger that curled up in the belly and wouldn’t let go.

The dots appeared. Then vanished. Then came back.

Her pussy throbbed again.

💬 Yung Cipher: Nah. I wanna see it. Real close. Name your price. How much for a picture of that fat, creamy pussy? 

Malaya’s mouth fell open just slightly. She sat there, robe wide, pussy glistening, heart thudding. This wasn’t just tipping tokens in the chat anymore. This was direct. Intentional. A transaction of desire so specific it made her whole body hum. Her breath left her slow—like steam—and she tilted her hips in the chair without thinking, letting the air touch her.

She stared at the screen. Thought about the angles. Thought about how it would feel to send it. Thought about how bad he wanted it. Her fingers danced across the keyboard.

💬 Malaya: Depends…you want just the pussy? Or you want my fingers in it too?

She bit her lip.

💬 Malaya: $100 for the pic. $150 if I dip two fingers and show you what creamy really look like.

And then she waited. Dripping. Throbbing. Waiting for his answer like she’d already spent the money. Like her body wanted to be sold tonight.

The silence was syrupy.

Then—ding.

💬 Yung Cipher: $150. With two fingers. Slow. Creamy like you said.

The cash came through seconds later.

Cha-ching.

That PayNote alert hit her like a slap to the ass.

💸 Payment received: $150 from Yung Cipher

Malaya blinked, then grinned slow, teeth catching the inside of her cheek. Her nipples tightened again, responding before her brain even caught up. Her pussy gave a greedy twitch like it knew it had been purchased. Like it was proud. She clicked off the desk lamp. Let the screen glow light her.

Phone in hand now. Knees wide. Camera angle just right. She clicked to video mode. Took a deep breath and looked down.

Fat. Creamy. Puffy. Still leaking.

The lips were thick and plush, a dark rose shade flushed with blood, the inner folds glossy with wetness. Her slit still pulsed slightly—sensitive from her earlier release but greedy for more. The cream had pooled, coating her folds in milky white gloss. Her clit peeked out, shiny and swollen, practically begging for breath. She slid her fingers down once. Just to prep.

They came up glistening. Her breath hitched.

“F-fuck,” she whispered to herself.

The filth of it had her smiling. Wicked and pretty. She leaned back further. Raised her phone. Started the slow glide of her middle and ring fingers between her folds—just like he asked.

Two fingers. Slow.

She let the tips part her. Cream stretched in globs. Wet noises loud even without the mic. Her pussy opened like it missed being filled. Her fingers sank in just a little, just enough for the shot. Cream eased out, coating her fingers, dripping back onto her palm. It was a mess.

She snapped the pic.

Previewed it.

Her thick, wet pussy glistening under the glow of the screen. Fingers dipped and shining. A perfect strand of cream gliding across her middle knuckle like icing.

She sent it.

📷 Attachment sent: “malaya_creamy2fingers.jpg”

Then followed with a message:

💬 Malaya: You sure you don’t wanna upgrade to video? I’m still warm, baby. Still wet.

She hit send.

Her heart beat fast. Her robe slipped further. Her free hand drifted to her thigh again.

Another ping.

She didn’t even flinch—just licked her lips and leaned in. Eyes glowing in the light of the screen, the air around her humid with heat and musk and money.

💬 Yung Cipher:

“Nah.”

“I want that video.”

“Show me what them fingers do. Slow. Messy. Talk to me while you stroke it.”

Another notification hit.

💸 Payment received: $400 from Yung Cipher

With note: “Make me cum, mama.”

Malaya moaned under her breath, just at the message.

There was something about this one.

Yung Cipher wasn’t like the others. Didn’t fumble. Didn’t hesitate. His money came correct, his words came low and nasty, and his intent sliced through the screen like a hand at her throat. Malaya was slick just reading him.

She adjusted her camera.

Set her phone on the tripod, angled low—real low. The frame just showed the curve of her thighs, the dip of her hips, and the dripping heaven between. No face. Just raw, ruined, pussy.

She pressed record.

The first thing the camera caught? Her fingers spreading herself open.

Lips parted, folds swollen and glistening, clit hard and standing like it knew it was being watched. Her cream was thicker now—milky, wet, coating her entrance in glossy white where she’d clenched and released too many times tonight already.

She brought two fingers back to her opening. Eased in. A low moan slipped out her throat. Sticky. Sloppy. The sound of wet pussy filled the room. Her other hand lifted the bottom of the robe so her stomach and tits were visible too, jiggling slightly with every pump of her fingers.

Then came her voice. Sultry. Soft. Soaked in heat. 

“You see that, baby? That mess right there? That’s your fault…”

She pulled her fingers out. Cream spilled. She pushed them back in, slower this time. Grinding in circles. Her hips rolled with the motion, her clit twitching from proximity alone.

“These fingers just fillin’ in for you. I been creamy all night. Drippin’ down my ass. You wanted messy, daddy? Mmmph…fuck…you got messy.”

She whimpered as her fingers curved inside. Hit the spot just right. Her stomach jumped. She kept stroking, kept talking, her voice lowering to a hush.

“This pussy loud, huh? Sloppy for you. You like watchin’ it stretch? Creamy little fuckhole just soakin’ for you…”

Her pace picked up. Her body rocked. She was close. Too close. And she didn’t care. Back arched, thighs trembling, her other hand lifted to pinch her own nipple through the robe. Her clit screamed for contact, but she kept edging, kept fucking herself for him. The sound of her fingers was obscene. Messy. Wet.

And through it all, her voice purred, “Gon’ let daddy watch me cum…gon’ let him see all this cream…you ready?”

She moaned long, sharp—hips locking as the orgasm finally hit. A wave of cream spilled past her fingers, dripping down her ass and onto the towel beneath. Her pussy pulsed around her hand, still creamy, still fluttering.

She cut the video at the peak of the twitch.

Previewed it. No edits. Just pure filth.

She sent it.

📹 Attachment sent: “malaya_creampour_slowstroke.mp4”

Then—

💬 Malaya: You cum yet, baby? Or you need me to watch you too?”

She leaned back. Grinning. Sticky. Spent. Soaked in money and wetness.

The message preview flashed before she could even catch her breath.

📹 New Video from Yung Cipher

No caption. No words. Just a timestamp and a fire emoji.

Malaya’s pussy clenched on nothing. Her body still pulsed from her own release, the creamy mess between her thighs sticking to the inside of her robe now, still hot, still fresh. Her nipple throbbed from how hard she’d pinched it. She was soaked. Boneless. Breathless.

But her thumb moved fast. She tapped the video open.

First frame? A thick, dark dick filling the screen—heavy, glistening, jumping. Her mouth dropped open. She almost choked on a gasp. The tip was swollen, flushed dark, glistening with a pearl of cum pushing from the slit. The shaft twitched like it had its own heartbeat. Veins thick. Base wet. The whole thing dripping. It wasn’t even moving, not yet. Just standing proud like it knew it had her attention.

Then, slow stroke. Just the fingers—gripping the base, gliding up with a fist full of cum coating the length.

“Mmmf—fuck…”

His voice was low. Raspy. Almost growled. He wasn’t talking to the phone. He was talking to her. The strokes got faster, wet sounds sticky and deep. Cum leaked in thick globs. His breathing got ragged. He grunted once. Then twice.

Then came the deep moan, “Unnnhhh—fuck. That’s all you, baby girl…”

Another thick pulse shot from the tip—cum oozing, gliding down in slow strings over his knuckles. The dick twitched violently once, then twice. And then he spoke—low, deliberate, like he needed her to feel it. 

“This what you do to me, Miss Pretty Pussy.”

Video cut. Ended there. Like a slap.

Malaya just sat there—open, wet, unable to move. The cream between her legs warmed again like her body was responding. Like it wanted round two without permission.

Her thighs pressed together. She whined out loud—soft, helpless. She messaged back, trembling fingers on the keys.

💬 Malaya: I need to taste it next time. For real.

The cursor blinked. Her lips parted.

She added one more.

💬 Malaya: You always gonna call me that? Miss Pretty Pussy?

And she waited. Heart still pounding. Whole body humming like he touched her without even being here.

Then it came.

💬 Yung Cipher: Yeah. I’m always gon’ call you that. ‘Cause that pussy too pretty to go by anything else.

Her breath caught. She was already smirking, heart skipping, body tilting toward the screen like he was speaking in her ear.

The next message hit harder.

💬 Yung Cipher: Soon as I get you? I’m pullin’ those thighs open wide and buryin’ my whole face in it. I’ma suck that creamy clit till your knees give out. Talk all that nasty shit in my ear while I’m tongue deep.

Malaya’s lips parted. She inhaled sharp.

Fingers dipped. Just barely.

💬 Malaya: I’m gon’ cry. I already know I am. You eat pussy like you got a vendetta, huh?

The dots danced again.

💬 Yung Cipher: I eat pussy like I’m tryna survive it. Like the messier it get, the longer I live. I want it in my beard, on my tongue, runnin’ down my neck.

💬 Yung Cipher: You moanin’? I’ma keep suckin’. You twitchin’? I’ma keep lickin’. You creamin’? I’ma spit on it and fuckin’ slurp.

Malaya whimpered, rocking in her seat again.

💬 Malaya: Shiiit…I’m wet all over again. This chair got a stain now. And my thighs sticky, daddy. Sticky and shakin’.

He responded quick.

💬 Yung Cipher: Good. Keep that pussy sloppy for me. Next time? I ain’t talkin’. I’m spreadin’ you out like a meal. Tongue in your hole while I thumb your clit.”

💬 Yung Cipher: And after I eat? I’m liftin’ that pretty ass up and slidin’ in raw. No condom. No mercy. Just thick dick stretchin’ you slow…till I bottom out.”

Her pussy jumped.

💬 Malaya:I can’t even lie…I’m clenching. You got my whole body thumpin’. And I want it raw. Wanna feel every inch. Feel that nut fill me up when you cum.”

💬 Yung Cipher: I’m gon’ cum inside, Miss Pretty Pussy. Slow strokes. Moaning in it. You callin’ out my name. You gon’ squirt or cry or both?

💬 Yung Cipher: And when I pull out? I’ma rub that cream into your pussy lips like lotion. Then flip you over and do it again.

Malaya could barely sit still. Her fingers were back in her pussy, slow. Wet. Curling.

But she wanted more.

💬 Malaya: Say it again. Say what you gon’ do when you finally get this pussy.

And just like that—

💬 Yung Cipher: I’m gon’ fuck you like I paid for it. Like I own it. Like nobody else ever had it but me. Gon’ make you my nasty little throat and cumhole.

💬 Yung Cipher: You ready for that, mama? Ready to get used like the nasty lil wet thing you are?

Her hand was moving faster now.

💬 Malaya: I been ready. You wanna own me? Claim me? Say it, daddy. Say that pussy yours.

The response was instant.

💬 Yung Cipher: It’s mine. That fat, creamy pussy? That mouth that moan my name? Them legs that shake soon as I talk nasty? All that—mine.

Malaya moaned. Low. Raw. Shameless. She came again with her phone in her hand, his words still glowing on the screen, her body soaked and owned in every way but physical. Her skin was damp with sweat, thighs spread again, the air slick with sex and steam. She couldn’t stop replaying that damn video—his dick, thick and twitching, that fat tip leaking just for her. That low grunt. That final line.

This what you do to me, Miss Pretty Pussy.

It haunted her in the best way. And now, was still typing.

The dots danced.

Her body responded like it belonged to those three dots. She sucked in a breath and waited.

Then—

💬 Yung Cipher: That lil creamy pussy keep talkin’ to me, huh? Beggin’ for my tongue like it missed me. Let me tell you what I’m really gon’ do.

Her pussy clenched. She rubbed herself slow, fingers sliding through her own cream like syrup. Legs trembling. Chest heaving.

💬 Yung Cipher: First? I’ma have you laid back, ankles damn near by your ears. Make you hold ‘em. That way I can see all of it—pussy lips spread, hole twitchin’, cream waitin’.

She whined. 

💬 Yung Cipher: Then I’ma spit on it. Real thick. Let it drip right into your hole. Then I’m lickin’ it up. Long slow tongue from back to front.

💬 Yung Cipher: I ain’t rushin’. I’ma kiss every part of it. Left lip. Right lip. Suck on your folds like they my bottom lip. 

Malaya’s toes curled. She had three fingers inside now. Eyes fluttering. Pussy soaked.

💬 Malaya: I’m leaking. Fuck, I’m leaking just reading this. I wanna feel that tongue in me so bad.

💬 Yung Cipher: You gon’ feel it. I’ma tongue-fuck that creamy hole until your hips lift off the bed. Gon’ make you cream in my mouth. You ever scream through a nut, baby? Gon’ have you doin’ that.

Malaya gripped her phone, knuckles tight. She could barely type.

💬 Malaya: I’ma be cryin’. Shakin’. Legs gon’ give out. You eatin’ pussy like you tryna steal my soul.

He didn’t stop.

💬 Yung Cipher: Exactly. I’ma trap your soul in my throat. Then suck that lil clit like I own it. Two fingers inside you, tongue flickin’ your clit…until you cum all in my beard.

Malaya’s legs spasmed.

She was panting. Whining. Her other hand was pinching her nipple raw now.

💬 Yung Cipher: I’ma talk shit with your pussy in my mouth. Let the sound of me slurpin echo while you cry. Then I’ma look up at you, face soaked, and say…

He paused. Malaya’s whole body paused with him.

💬 Yung Cipher:…You taste like heaven, Miss Pretty Pussy.

Malaya snapped. 

She cried out, back arching, pussy squirting in a sudden gush against her own palm. Her robe was soaked. Her desk chair dripping. She shook through the release, biting her lip hard to keep from screaming. She collapsed, trembling.

Phone buzzed again.

💬 Yung Cipher: You cummin’ right now, huh? Creamin’ off my words alone.

She barely managed to type. 

💬 Malaya: Yes. Daddy. You own me now. 

💬 Yung Cipher: Send me a voice note. Let me hear how wet you are. And moan for me while you do it.

Malaya bit her lip hard. She felt the throb again. That heavy ache in her pussy that never seemed to go away when he typed like this. That ache that whispered Obey him. That ache that had her already reaching for her phone before she even replied.

Her fingers were shaking. Not from nerves. From need. She slid two fingers back inside.

Schlllk.

The sound was loud—messy, wet, slick. She knew he’d want to hear that. She cranked the phone volume low, just to test, and the squelch echoed off her walls like sex in surround sound.

She hit record. Didn’t speak at first. Just moaned.bSoft at first. Breathless. Then deeper.

“Mmmm…fuck…you hear that?” Schlick-schlick—wet fingers plunging into cream again, “It’s so wet, daddy…so messy…so loud…You got my pussy screamin’. All this mess? Just from your voice…” moaning again, whimpering on the tail end of a gasp, “You got me creamin’ like you already here…wish your tongue was in it while I talk like this…wish I could ride your face ‘til you couldn’t breathe…”

She ended it with a sharp little cry—raw and soaked in lust.

📤 Voice Note Sent: 0:46

She didn’t even wait. Sent another message right after.

💬 Malaya: You hear how wet you got me? Tell me what that did to you…

She was trembling. Phone in one hand. Fingers in the other. Still not satisfied. Still craving.

He listened to it four times.

The voice note.

Every breath. Every wet sound. Every moan shaped like his name even if she didn’t say it.

She was soaked. Squelching. Fuckin’ creamy. Her pussy was singin’ for him. And it made his dick twitch so hard it jumped in his palm. He’d already pulled his sweats down, fist gripped around the base, head swollen and leaking just from the sound of her.

He sat back, legs wide, stroking slow. Deep. Face lit only by the glow of his phone screen, her moans still echoing in his head. Still hearing. 

“All this mess? Just from your voice…”

He let out a low breath, thumb teasing his slit to collect the drop of precum gliding down. His jaw was locked. Eyes half-shut. That same picture of her messy pussy flashing behind his lids. That creamy, pulsing, needy little cunt.

He hit record. His voice came out low. Rough. Deep like smoke caught in his throat.

“You got my dick hard as fuck, girl,” he released a slight groan as his fist moves slow over his shaft—wet strokes, audible, “Listen to that…that’s you. That’s yo nasty lil voice got me strokin’ like this…” shhk, shhk, shhk—his rhythm steady, thick, wet, You want this nut, don’t you? Wanna feel it warm inside that pretty pussy…” he grunts—low, chesty, sharp, “Fuuuck… yo voice got me ready to explode. Soon as get you? I’m pullin’ them thighs apart and eatin’ every drop. Cream in my mouth while I talk shit between licks…” his fist speeds up—slap of skin now louder, “That moan? That lil cry you made at the end? That shit made me cum, Malaya…” He sucked in a final sharp breath, then a raw, heavy groan as his nut hits—long and thick, Unnnghh…fuck… look what you did to me…you got this dick throbbin’, Miss Pretty Pussy…”

📤 Voice Note Sent: 1:02

He exhaled. Chest still rising, hand slick with cum, dick twitching in the aftershocks.

And he waited.

Knowing she’d listen to that with her fingers already back inside her.

She pressed play with a trembling thumb. Held the phone to her ear like it was sacred. His voice—thick, husky, dripping with control—slid into her like a wet tongue. His words weren’t rushed. They were paced. Drawled out. Like every syllable was chosen to own her.

“You got my dick hard as fuck, girl…”

Her knees buckled.

She wasn’t even standing. Just curled up, naked in her desk chair, but her knees buckled. She whimpered before the rest of it even landed. That low breath. That stroke. That wet shhk, shhk, shhk of his grip on his cock? It had her cunt clenching like it missed something it never even had. His voice was everywhere. In her ear. In her chest. In her pussy.

And then—

“Soon as I see you? I’m pullin’ them thighs apart and eatin’ every drop.”

Her lips parted in a soundless moan, fingers already sliding through her folds again, hot and swollen and dripping from just hearing him grunt.

She closed her eyes. Listened harder.

“That moan? That lil cry you made at the end?”

She bit her bottom lip so hard it almost bled. That moment? She’d been convulsing. Creaming. And he heard it. Claimed it. Owned it like he had a hand around her throat.

And then came the final blow—

“Look what you did to me…you got this dick throbbin’, Miss Pretty Pussy…”

Her whole soul short-circuited. No name. No pretense. Just that title. That possession. Miss Pretty Pussy.

She whispered it to herself, “Miss Pretty Pussy…” like it was a spell.

And the dam broke.

Her fingers plunged deep, palm grinding her clit, thighs shaking as she sobbed through her next orgasm—loud, uncontrollable, mouth open wide with no shame. She came so hard it made her dizzy. Body locking. Toes curling. Pussy gushing. She slumped back, dripping down her own thighs. A full mess now. Nails trembling, she finally lifted the phone again, vision blurry.

She typed.

💬 Malaya: I came so hard just now I saw fuckin’ stars. You talk to me like that again I might squirt all over my chair. You always this nasty, daddy?”

Then another.

💬 Malaya: Say more. Please. Miss Pretty Pussy want you in her ear again…

She didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

He had her.

Completely.

💬 Yung Cipher: Miss Pretty Pussy been a good girl. You made that pussy cum just for me. Your biggest fan. You got the prettiest moans and the creamiest pussy. But that throat? We gon’ have to work on that, baby. You can’t take dick down your throat?

Malaya’s breath caught mid-exhale. Her fingers twitched where they rested. That switch in tone. From praise to challenge. From sweet to sharp. He wanted more. He wanted all of her. And her throat? That was next. She stared at the message, heart racing. Her pussy gave another slow throb, pulsing at the idea of him gripping her jaw, nudging the tip of his dick against her tongue with that same voice in her ear. She could almost hear it now

“Open up, Miss Pretty Pussy. Show me what that throat can do.”

Her body ached at the thought. She typed, thumbs moving slower than usual, like her hands were shaking again.

💬 Malaya: Mmm…I can take it…just gotta hold my head and guide me. Show me how you want it…”

She added a second one.

💬 Malaya: You want me sloppy, daddy? Make this throat your toy?

The messages had been filth before. Obsession dressed up in dirty talk. Sweet ruin painted over hunger. But now? Now the words came in darker.

Tighter.

Like the leash had finally been pulled.

💬 Yung Cipher:  Don’t send no voice notes. Don’t moan. Don’t beg. Just listen.

Malaya froze. The command dropped like weight in her lap—heavy, absolute. It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t flirty. Her breath caught, fingers stilled, spine straightening like her body knew better than to move without his say-so. Her skin prickled. Her mouth parted. She could feel him in the room with her, even though he wasn’t.

And then the next message hit.

💬 Yung Cipher: Miss Pretty Pussy don’t make no rules. You do what I say. And when I get my hands on you? You ain’t askin’ me what I want. You givin’ it.

Her thighs clenched. That deep ache returned.

💬 Yung Cipher: That throat gon’ learn today. You ain’t never had dick like mine. I ain’t fuckin’ your mouth to be gentle. I’m stretchin’ that throat ‘til you tear up. Until you got spit runnin’ down your chin and your lashes blinkin’ fast like you can’t breathe.

💬 Yung Cipher: I’m holdin’ your head still. Lookin’ down while I slide in slow…feelin’ your gag all around me. Then I’ma fuck it. Deep. Fast. Dirty. With your hands tied so you don’t run.

Malaya moaned, her hips rolling into the empty air.

He kept going.

💬 Yung Cipher: When I nut? I’m not warnin’ you. I’m shootin’ it straight down your fuckin’ throat and holdin’ you there. And you gon’ swallow every drop.

Her whole body tensed. She was dizzy. She typed with shaking fingers, eyes glassy, cunt throbbing with no mercy.

💬 Malaya: Yes daddy. Please teach me. Please take it. I want your nut in my throat so bad I could cry.”

💬 Malaya: This mouth yours. This pussy yours. Do whatever you want to me.”

She hit send. Then collapsed back into the chair, overwhelmed, wrecked, completely owned.

And then he told her. Not asked. Not invited.

💬 Yung Cipher: Here’s how I’ma break you in.

She exhaled sharp.

💬 Yung Cipher: You gon’ come to me dressed how I like. Not what you wanna wear. No panties. No bra. Just somethin’ soft and short enough for me to pull up quick. The second you walk through my door, I’m puttin’ you on your knees. Not speakin’. Not thinkin’. Just kneelin’.

She was whimpering.

💬 Yung Cipher: I’ma walk slow ‘round you. Let you feel it. The weight of what’s about to happen. The way you already soaked just from bein’ near me. Then I’m liftin’ you up by your throat. Bend you over the first surface I see. Couch, table, fuckin’ floor. It won’t matter.”

💬 Yung Cipher: I’m spittin’ on that pussy. Smackin’ it. Watchin’ it jump. Spreadin’ you wide just to see how messy you got for me. Then I’m slidin’ in slow…deep… until you scream.

Malaya’s mouth was open. Her fingers clenched the sheets. Her robe had slipped completely off now. She was bare, breathless, and throbbing.

He wasn’t done.

💬 Yung Cipher: You gon’ take it all. Every inch. Every nut. You gon’ leak down your thighs, legs shakin’, beggin’ me not to stop. And I won’t.

💬 Yung Cipher: I’ma fuck you stupid. Until you can’t remember what day it is. Until your eyes roll and your mouth can’t say nothin’ but ‘daddy.’ That’s how I break you.

💬 Yung Cipher: You ready for that?

Her reply came broken, typed in bursts between breathless moans and soaked sheets.

💬 Malaya: I want it. I want all of it. Please break me, daddy. Make me forget my fuckin’ name.

Because that’s what he did. He didn’t flirt. He rewired.

Her screen lit up again.

💬 Yung Cipher: Soon. That’s if you ain’t scared to meet up. 

She still felt soaked. Still ached between her legs. Still had cream sticky on her thighs and a flutter in her chest just from the way he said “soon.” But that sentence? That word—meet—it landed different. Malaya’s body leaned in, but her mind pulled back. She’d never done meetups. That was a rule she never broke. No matter how fine they looked. No matter how much they tipped. No matter how nasty the chat got. She sat there for a beat, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Still wanting. Still tempted. But…

She typed slowly.

💬 Malaya: Mmm…I don’t do meetups, baby. Sorry. Just not my thing. Hope that doesn’t disappoint you. ❤️

She hit send.

Her heart ticked fast behind her ribs. It wasn’t from fear, but from the tension. That line between control and consent. Between fantasy and reality.

He didn’t reply right away.

She sat in that silence, wondering if it had ruined the mood. Wondering if he’d vanish like most do when they can’t have her.

But then…

💬 Yung Cipher: It’s cool, baby. No pressure. I respect that. 

Another ping.

💬 Yung Cipher: Just know I’m here whenever you change your mind. ‘Cause I’d love to show you. Real slow. Real deep. Real good.

💬 Yung Cipher: I’d take my time. Give you exactly what you need.

💬 Yung Cipher: I promise to be your favorite big dick.

Her whole body shivered.

Not from fear. But from the smoothness. The patience. The promise. He didn’t push. Just laid the offer out like a silk sheet and stepped back. And somehow…that made her want him more.

She replied without thinking.

💬 Malaya: You damn sure tryna make it hard to forget you. Favorite? That’s a big promise.

💬 Yung Cipher: Nah, baby. That’s a guarantee.