BUMP N’ GRIND | JAAFAR JACKSON
BUMP N’ GRIND
Pairing: Jaafar Jackson x Black!OC Amara Jackson Summary: They have 10 minutes before they have to leave for the match. Fortunately for Amara, she's always down to run out the clock. Songs: Grind With Me by Pretty Ricky WC: 1.1K Warnings: grown folk bizness. dryhumping. Note: That stubble is dangerous. He knows he's sexy.
See, that was the thing about Amara. Deadlines and appearances didn’t bother her. The expectation to arrive polished and without blemish didn’t faze her, didn’t cause her heart to thunder behind her sternum or a blush to creep upon her cheeks.
If anything, in all her mischievous nature, it riled her up. Gave her something to look forward to. To beat the clock, to remain stealth under pressure, to remind herself that even her husband—that disciplined man—was no match for her.
Ten minutes, he’d announced the moment her lips found his neck. They had to be downstairs, standing in front of the hotel columns for the driver in ten minutes.
She blinked. She nodded once. Then smiled— Slowly.
“I know,” she acknowledged, her heels kissing the marble floor as she moved toward him slowly. The clutch slid from her hand and onto the floor beside them. Her left hand—heavy with gold and glistening beneath the suite lights—slid up his chest like temptation and curled around his tie. “I know, baby.”
With the ease of a woman who’d done it a million times before, her thumb and forefinger flicked the button of his tailored blazer. She found his tie again, tugging once.
He stumbled toward her.
Amara flashed a smile, her eyes lowering toward his lips. “Better be quick, yeah?”
Jaafar’s throat bobbed as she pressed a palm against his shoulder; he sat immediately. His hands found her thighs, fingers pressed into her dress like punctuation. A thousand rows of meticulously sewn satin weaved between his digits as she settled upon his lap.
Amara sighed, her eyes low with want, “Did I tell you how handsome you look today?” She leaned forward, the gold pendant around her neck kissing the gold clip on his tie. He gulped thickly, then nodded. “Don’t think I told you enough.”
The couch groaned beneath their weight—Jaafar’s pelvis pressed against hers as she squeezed her thighs around his waist. Her fingers, steady and sure, carded through his dark locks.
He groaned.
“So pretty, baby,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. Her tongue darted past her lips, and she dragged it from the curve of his ear down to his neck, where she placed a kiss lighter than a feather yet heavier than temptation itself. “Love this look on you.”
His hips jerked, his belt buckle pressed against the inside of her thigh like a tattoo.
“Jus’ wanna make you feel good,” she mumbled, rocking her hips once. “You look so good; can’t wait ’til we get home. S’that okay?”
Jaafar nodded, eyes fluttering behind his dark sunglasses.
Amara tsk’d quietly, halting the movement of her hips. Jaafar’s fingers dug into her flesh as he bit back a sound. Her hand came to his jaw, fingers cradling his face gently, and she pushed his sunglasses off.
“No, baby. You know what I want.”
His jaw unhinged, lip trembling as his dark eyes tracked her face, storing every detail of her like a memory to revisit. The right eyebrow that was half an inch thicker than the left, the crookedness of her smile that couldn’t be recognized by anyone but him, the way she smiled, slow and wide, like a Cheshire cat whenever she’d gotten him where she wanted him.
She had him.
Right in the palm of her hand, turning his heart whichever way she pleased.
Like a queen upon her throne.
Her whiny, heavy-breathing throne.
Amara tilted her chin up once.
A warning.
She didn’t like repeating herself.
Jaafar whimpered, eyes falling shut as his head lulled backward against the couch cushion. “Please, mama…move, please.”
“Oh,” Amara cooed, tightening her fingers around his curls. “Since you asked so nicely.”
She moved slowly, dragging her warmth across the desire between his legs, biting harshly on her lower lip. His name fell from her lips like a prayer, and she dropped her head to his neck, whimpering softly.
Too much.
It was too much.
The heat of him between her thighs. The scratch of his stubble against her cheek. The moaning of her name. The ring, oh, the shiny gold band of commitment that dug into her flesh as he curled his fingers around her thighs.
He gasped sharply, his teeth grazing her clothed collarbone, a damp patch left as evidence. Amara pursed her lips and moved more quickly. She hissed quietly at the feeling, her clit jumping at each pass of her hips against his hardness.
The ceiling fan whispered above them, turning its head away from the midday rendezvous between husband and wife, while the lights had dimmed themselves for the scandalous occasion.
Her fingertips snagged a thread at the collar of his shirt, willing anything to hold her steady as the temperature rose and pressure built in her lower stomach. Her mouth found his; the kiss was nothing like the movies they’d watched before. Not cute, not dainty, not innocent.
No.
It was feral. Animalistic. Desparate.
Teeth clattered together, tongues fought for dominance. Streaks of pink stained his cheek and neck. Bruises bubbled beneath the blanket of brown skin, something she hoped to find and multiply by the morning.
Jaafar’s fingers found the buttons of her dress, thumbing them open to place sloppy kisses along her collarbone and chest. Amara smiled, pressing his face deeper against her. He mumbled sweet nothings against her skin.
Sweet somethings turned to incoherent sentences and a sharp groan. He stilled beneath her, hands still firm on her thighs. She met him there, warmth flooding the seat of her lace panties like water. “Jaafar—“
“Mhm,” Amara hummed, slowing her grind to a stop. “That was—“
The wooden door barked for their attention—“Mr. Jackson? Mrs. Jackson? Car’s outside.”
Amara smiled tightly as if the assistant could see them and smoothed Jaafar’s hair in place the best she could. “Coming!”
An okay and retreating footsteps permitted Amara’s attention to return to him. She smiled softly, adjusting his tie and the gold clip. She swiped her thumb across his cheek twice, blending her baby pink lip balm into his skin like a memory.
“Don’t put this suit on no more,” she mumbled, climbing off his lap. “Before we have a problem.”
Jaafar laughed breathlessly, adjusting himself in the tailored trousers. “Why? Whatchu gon’ do?”
She shrugged, then, soothing her dress across her knees. “May let you put a baby in me next time.”
His eyes darkened.
She grinned.
“C’mon, baby. We outta time.”
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Tags: @darkseidex @plan3tch1ld @saintwrld @prettyangeliczz
