Pairings: CollegeAU! Smoke x CollegeAU! Stack x BlackOC! Shiloh
Warnings: 18+, Cursing, Use of N-Word, Angsty, Shiloh relives some Trauma, Smoke and Stack need they asses whooped
Word Count: 1.7K
It was the fall semester of the 2023-2024 school year. Shiloh had braved through the trials and tribulations of freshman year and had officially entered this year of school as a sophomore.
Life was genuinely looking bright. She of course had Paisley by her side but she had also made a few friends from her classes, one who went by the name Elijah Moore.
They met freshman year during orientation. Shiloh noticed quickly he was a man of few words. He preferred to sit in the background and watch peoples move to decide how he would respond. It was actually something that Shiloh admired about him.
Where she was quick to react he would analyze the situation first before making his move. That skill of his was truly the only reason they became friends because Shiloh never planned on uttering two words to him. His quiet demeanor intimidated her and she played it safe knowing if he wanted to talk to her he would.
Elijah or Smoke as his brother would call him was actually really cool once Shiloh got to know him. Since they were both majoring in Criminal Justice and took pretty much all of the same classes, give or take some electives, they spent a lot of time together.
When they studied, Shiloh would appreciate his devil’s advocate because it gave her a chance to see things from a different perspective whereas he appreciated her strong willingness to never back down from a decision. He would tell her that would get her far being a criminal defense lawyer.
Their relationship blossomed quickly and soon Elias, also known as Stack, joined their dynamic along with Paisley. The group began to spend almost every waking moment together. If they weren’t studying then they were out somewhere eating and if they weren’t eating then Smoke and Stack would be in the girls dorm room taking up space and stealing their snacks. The dynamic was fun and completely platonic…well almost.
Shiloh started to notice the feelings slowly at first. How her breath would hitch whenever Smoke looked at her too long like he could see into the deepest parts of her soul or how Stack would always find a way to have his hand on her. How she would blush whenever either one of them did something just because they thought of her. She fought against it being that they were brothers and she stayed in denial for the longest before Paisley eventually made her face her feelings about the two.
Shiloh went through a mental battle of whether she wanted to tell them or not, afraid she would ruin the strong foundation they had built as friends but then came the night of the infamous Que party.
Stack and Smoke had voiced their plans of pledging a fraternity ever since they first stepped foot onto campus. Of course the boys immediately decided they would pledge to the Omega Psi Phi fraternity because all of the men in their family had done it. It was their birthright.
It was December 2nd and the Ques were throwing a pre-finals bash for all of the students. Smoke and Stack of course invited the girls. By the time Shiloh and Paisley arrived the party was in full swing. Everybody was dancing, some groping, and of course the Ques were hopping around. Since Smoke and Stack were pledges they were there but not to truly have fun, instead they were subjected to working the dj booth.
Shiloh grinned as she placed her eyes on them, her gaze meeting Stacks who didn’t hesitate to grin back while Smoke just held his usual calm smirk on his face.
“Well look at the trouble behind this dj booth. Who the hell trusted y’all with crowd control,” Shiloh teased as she approached the duo.
Smoke let out a chuckle.
“Just some pledgee duties. Know we can’t have too much fun.”
Shiloh continued to smile as she cast another glance around the room. Her smile soon shifted when her eyes landed on Corey Parks.
Corey was a senior majoring in being an asshole and of course he was the Dean of pledges for the Ques. He had been hounding her since freshman move in week and Shiloh was honestly at her wits end with him. The minute she caught his eye she could see him pushing off the wall headed to her.
“Fuck no, I’ll see y’all later. Gotta make myself scarce,” she muttered quickly barely registering either of their responses before dipping into the crowd searching for Paisley.
The party continued to roar on and Shiloh was actually having a great time. It wasn’t that she hated parties but sometimes she found herself becoming overwhelmed with large crowds, especially if they got too rowdy but this was the perfect amount of people for her.
Soon her and Paisley drifted off to a corner of the room to take a break from dancing and catch some air.
“So you gone tell the boys how you feel tonight,” Paisley questioned as she typed away on her phone.
Shiloh bit the corner of her lip in thought before shaking her head.
“Nah, I don’t think it’s the right time.”
Paisley scoffed as she looked at her friend before grabbing her arm and dragging her outside onto the porch.
“Bitch this is the perfect time. Them niggas cross next week! After them bald heads hit that stage bitches are gone be flocking wayyyy more than they already are now. You need to go ahead and say something before it’s too late Shi.”
Deep down Shiloh knew her friend was right but she was honestly terrified.
“I’m scared man. I wish I could just get some type of sign that this is something I’m supposed to even be doing.”
As if the universe had been waiting on the words to leave Shiloh’s mouth her phone buzzed with a text message from Smoke.
Meet me and Stack upstairs first room to the right. It’s important.
Paisley who had also glanced down to see the message squealed.
“Ahhh this is it omg! This is the moment Shi. Take it or leave it.”
Shiloh looked at her friend as a nervous excitement ran through her body. She was right, this is the moment and Shiloh was going to take it.
She pulled Paisley into a quick hug before going back into the party and darting up the stairs. The walk up the two flights felt long as her heart damn fell from her chest but soon she was standing outside of the door that had been left cracked open. Just as she put her hand on the knob to push it further she could hear Stack’s voice.
“We just gotta do what Corey said. Get Shiloh in here and get them panties to add to the collection. It’s simple nigga.”
Shiloh froze as her eyebrows furrowed. She couldn’t be hearing this correctly.
“She ain’t gone just give her panties up nigga,” Smoke hissed from farther in the room.
Shiloh leaned into the door, her breath caught in her throat as her mind raced with the betrayal.
“We been spoon feedin her that lil attention ever since Corey gave us this plan. She gone come out them panties,” Stack answered smoothly without a second thought.
“Where the hell she at? Takin too damn long.”
Shiloh quickly backed away from the door the second she heard footsteps turning in her direction. Blindly she yanked open the door to a room closest to her and shoved her way in. Placing her back against the door Shiloh breathed deep as tears began to fall down her cheeks without her permission.
This had all been some sick joke. Some shit they needed to pledge. Shiloh dropped her head as a sob began to bubble its way up her throat.
“Sup Shiloh.”
Startled, the woman gasped as she looked up to see Corey sitting on the edge of the bed. Her emotions were so high she didn’t even notice him in the room.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know this room was occupied. I can go,” she spoke as she turned to leave the room. Before she could move well enough Corey was up from the bed, caging her in as his hand slid to the lock turning it.
“What’s the rush babygirl?”
“Shiloh!”
Blinking quickly, Shiloh snapped out of her daze as she turned to see Paisley standing in front of her with her hands on her hips.
“Girl you okay? I been calling you for almost ten minutes now.”
Shiloh blew out a breath before rubbing her temples.
“I’m fine, my bad. Started daydreaming I guess.”
The truth is ever since she moved in next door to Stack and Smoke she had been reliving that night against her will. Whether she was awake or asleep she transported back as if it were that night all over again and she hated it. She had done too much work in therapy to go through this again.
All because of them.
Her aunt was right. You can’t trust a nigga as far as you can throw him.
She wanted one of those Men in Black pens so she would wipe that memory from her system never to be heard of.
“Shiloh are you okay,” Paisley voiced once more with concern weaving through her words.
Shiloh looked down at her plate of half eaten salmon pasta. She never told Paisley about all of the events of that night. A part of her felt like it was best that Paisley didn’t know while another part of her was ashamed at even being put in the position she was in.
“I’m fine, Pai. I promise,” Shiloh mustered as she casually threw her a smile.
“I’m about to go to bed though. I’m not really that hungry anymore.”
Before Paisley could say anything else Shiloh excused herself from the table and trotted down the hall into her room closing herself off from the world.
She grabbed her phone from her charger and unlocked it, scrolling down to the number she hadn’t used since her sophomore year. Pressing call she bounced on the balls of her feet with her lip between her teeth.
Soon a calm voice graced her ears through the receiver.
“Hey Dr. Dandridge, it’s Shiloh. You got any openings tomorrow?”
Summary: You pull your Michael, who’s been your celebrity crush for years. Only one problem—you’ve been writing fanfiction for years for the man, and now you have to find a way to keep your worlds separate. However, what happens when Michael finds out about your smutty little blog?
Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), smut writing, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex (m/f), deepthroating, spitting, cum swapping, daddy kink, backshots (if I missed something, don’t beat me up lol) I hope you guys enjoy. Let me know what you think!
You’d always found solace in fanfiction.
There was something so special about all of the stories that you’d read throughout the years about your favorite celebrities or your TV crushes. Your first introduction to fanfiction was Wattpad. Your friends had let you in on the coveted website and suggested it to you.
The first fanfic that your friend suggested just so happened to be a Mindless Behavior fanfic about Princeton. You were hooked. How had this world–this fandom–been escaping you for the past years?
Naturally, your relationship with the site continued to progress as you read more stories. You’d stay up till 2 AM just to read a story written by someone who was no doubt the same age as you.
Next, there was fanfiction.net.
You’d spent countless hours scouring through all of the Vampire Diaries fanfiction that you could get your hands on. You can’t recall the exact moment that you landed on Tumblr, but you knew that it just all clicked together for you.
The ‘x reader’ tag became your home.
You thoroughly enjoyed reading all of the stories about your crush on Zayn from 1D. With Tumblr, there seemed to be this brand new world of possibilities for you to read. However, there’s something that you’d noticed in your many hours of scrolling through Tumblr.
There weren’t many ‘x black!reader’s stories for you to indulge in. There was a handful of writers who’d become your solace when you looked to be shipped with a certain character or celebrity, but there weren’t many. You’d long grown tired of clicking on an interesting story only to have the reader be described as having long, flowy blonde or brunette locks that the male character could run his hands through. Similarly, you’d grown tired of reading smut where the reader was clearly described as having pale skin and pink nipples.
That wasn’t your story. As a black woman, you weren’t able to visualize yourself in these spaces or stories because they weren’t written with women like you in mind. To make matters worse, it seemed like fandoms were intent on erasing black women, who look like you, from the lexicon of the content.
It was all so draining and so very degrading.
Growing up, you’d always envisioned yourself as a writer. You loved stories, and reading was your way of escape. On sites like Wattpad and Tumblr, you could be transported to worlds and stories where you were the center of the story. There’d been many times when you opened up a Word document and started to type a story, only to never finish it.
For you, you compared yourself to other writers and their ability to write a compelling story. When you looked back at your own words on the paper, it felt like child’s play. So, you stopped writing. You subjected yourself to the role of an avid but silent reader who admires her favorite writers.
That was your role for a few years.
You’d silently heart the stories, but you were never brave enough to comment.
There were so many different stories in your head that you wanted to see on the platform. Silently, you wished that your favorite writers would somehow read your mind and bring the story to life without you asking. However, as the saying goes, “a closed mouth doesn’t get fed.”
The turning point for you was Black Panther.
You were there as the explosion of fanfics arose for Erik Killmonger, T’Challa, and M’Baku. What a time to be alive when all of your favorite writers were putting out work that should’ve been receiving some type of literary award. One night, after an hour of constantly reading about Erik Killmonger putting the reader through the mattress, you made your move.
You wrote and published your first-ever Tumblr fic.
As soon as you pushed the publish button, you immediately closed your laptop like it was an explosive waiting to detonate. You couldn’t bring yourself to go back and check to see what the reviews were.
What if they thought it was trash? What if your grammar was terrible? What if you didn’t capture the essence of the characters? What if no one read it all? For the sake of your mental health, you didn’t go back to check how your story was doing until two days later.
At the two-day mark, you found yourself logging back into Tumblr. You’d worked up the courage to see if there was any feedback. To your absolute shock and delight, people loved your story.
The hearts and comments overflowed as people asked for more. Thus, stargirlwriteswas born. Through your blog, not only did you give room for yourself to grow and see yourself be represented, but you made space for other black women to feel like they were being seen and heard. In your stories, the black women were always being loved on, worshipped, and cherished.
You’d grown a following and support system so big that you couldn’t imagine a future where you weren’t writing on Tumblr.
Honestly, you don’t know what to call what happened.
Fate. Coincidence. God.
You honestly have no clue, but this is the story of how you met your celebrity crush and bagged him. It started at the library–naturally. You liked the library. You liked coming to the library to work on your stories and your books. You’d recently been picked up by a publishing company to release your new Southern Gothic thriller. Between writing for your books and working on screenplays, you still found the time to work on writing on Tumblr.
There was no way you were letting your community down. Not after all of the support and love that they’d given you up to this point. In the library, you liked to sit at the back table that was conveniently away from everyone, but still, there was a giant window that allowed you to see outside.
It was the perfect spot.
No one had dared to venture into your self-proclaimed territory. Not until today.
You heard the light footsteps as they approached the back table and saw the man from the corner of your eye. He had a cap on his head, and from his body language, you could tell that he didn’t want to be seen. He was craving privacy just as you were.
The man looks over at you before clearing his throat, “Hey, I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but do you mind if I sit here? It’s just, I kind of want privacy, and this spot just seems like fewer people come here.”
There was a distinct nagging in your head that let you know that you knew his voice from somewhere, yet you brushed it off. Truthfully, you could’ve told the man no, but there was something inside you that begged you not to.
Plus, the table was huge, so it’d look a little weird if you were hoarding it for yourself.
“Yeah, of course.” You slide some of your scattered papers down towards yourself as the man takes a seat. After a few seconds, you and the man both begin working simultaneously on your projects. You can see him glancing over at you a few times, but you choose to ignore it.
From the corner of your eye, you see him take the hat off his head. He takes a tentative glance at you, but you still don’t entertain the notion of looking at him. For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds are you and the man typing on your computers and then writing down notes on your respective journals.
You finally look up and happen to glance in his direction and freeze.
You now understand why he was so adamant about hiding his face. You try not to freak out as you finally clock the fact that Michael B. Jordan is sitting across from you. The man whom you’ve had a crush on for years. And also the same man whom you’ve been writing the filthiest smut for. Talk about an embarrassing predicament.
Yet, you decide to play it cool. The last thing you want is for the man to think you’re fangirling over him when he’s trying to work.
Michael looks in your direction, “Hey, sorry to bother you again, but do you know where they keep the printers?”
You nod, “Yeah, they’re just around the corner. You can just click print, and it’ll ask for your name so that they don’t mix it up with anyone else’s papers.”
Michael nods at your instructions before giving you a sheepish smile, “Would you mind coming with me and helping? I just know I’ll forget everything at the printer.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile before quickly adding, “That’s if you’re free. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work.”
“Sure. I got you,” You said, laughing a little before standing from your chair. Michael slides the cap over his head again before falling in step beside you. As expected, the printer is exactly where you said it would be. Michael leans over your shoulder to get a look at what you’re doing. A chill travels up the length of your spine at the feel of his body against yours. You can feel the heat from his body seeping into yours.
You bite your lip softly while peering up at him. Michael seems to notice the close distance and steps back. An embarrassed look crosses his face, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to all up in your space.”
“It’s fine.”
You click the file that has his name on it, and the papers start flowing from the printer. You grab them and hand the stack to Michael. The tips of his fingers brush against yours as he grabs the papers. You try to ignore the tingle that rushes up your skin at the feel of his skin. He gives you a quiet “thank you” before you both venture back to your corner of the library.
You take your seats at the same time.
Michael reaches across the table with his hand outstretched, “I’m Michael, by the way.”
You give him your name as you connect your hand with his. Internally, you’re freaking out at the fact that out of all days, you’re sitting across from your celebrity crush and practically holding his hand. The delusional part of you is telling you that he’s down bad for you, and this is the start of something beautiful. The writer part of you is mentally tracking all of the subtle movements that Michael makes with the full intent of incorporating them in your writing.
However, you quickly push those thoughts to the side because it feels a bit parasocial in a way.
You and Michael fall back into your rhythm of working on your projects. He looks up at you as you scribble down notes on your notepad. “What are you working on?”
You lift your eyebrows in surprise, “Just a play.”
“That’s neat. What’s it about?” Michael seems genuinely interested in your work as he leans further on the table.
“It’s a Southern gothic play about a young woman returning home to face her past trauma.”
Michael nods, “That sounds really dope. You planning to put it on Broadway?”
“Yeah, my agent and I have been working to get everything in motion.”
“Good luck. I’d like to come see it when you get it off the ground,” Michael said, sparing another dazzling smile in your direction.
You smile in response, “Definitely. What are you working on?”
Michael gives you a shy smile, deep dimples popping out of both cheeks, “I’m working on a romance, actually. It’s a story of two people who are married, trying to make it work, but somewhere along the line, their communication becomes lost. The only way that they know how to reach each other is by speaking through this new technology system.”
“That sounds like an amazing concept. You’re working on the script now?”
“Yeah, I’m just getting stuck on a few things, especially with my main woman lead. I’m struggling to get her voice just right, especially in the scene where they’re confronting each other,” Michael states, leaning back in his chair.
You bite your lip nervously, “I could read it if you wanted me to. I mean, I have experience writing romance, and I’m also an avid reader, so maybe I could give you a few pointers.” You’ll definitely leave out the part where you write avid romance and smut stories with him as the male lead.
“If you don’t mind, that’d be great. I’d hate to take you from your thing, though,” Michael responds.
You quickly shake your head, “No, I promise it’s fine. Plus, we writers have to stick together.”
Michael slides his laptop over in your direction before strolling to the part that he wants you to read. He unintentionally starts to watch you and your facial expressions as you’re taking in the work. Your eyes quickly skim across the work, and you make mental notes along the way until you stop at the point where Michael stopped typing.
He looks at you expectantly once you stop reading. “It’s good. The storyline that you’ve crafted so far in this scene is good. I like the tone, but I’m only getting one side of the argument. I’m hearing your male protagonist’s voice very clearly in this argument, but what about the female lead? What does she ultimately want to express in this argument?”
Michael takes a second, “She wants to feel heard. She wants him to understand that she hasn’t felt seen by him in a while in their relationship.”
“Good. You know your theme and intentions, but it’s not coming through in the scene. All I hear is his voice. Even the lines that you have for her, they’re still in line with his wants. Put yourself in her shoes and react. If you have a partner who hasn’t been meeting your needs, how would you respond as a woman?”
Michael goes through his brain for the answer. On some level, he knows how he wants it to go, but he’s still stuck. He gives you a helpless look, which makes you chuckle.
“How about this? You rewrite it again, and I’ll give you my critique.”
Michael nods before sliding the computer back towards himself. He takes your words into account and begins typing on the document again. He peers over the top of the computer as you continue scribbling in your notebook. You don’t catch the way that his eyes zoom in on the way that your teeth bite at the end of the pencil. He’s fascinated by you. You don’t even react to the fact that you clearly know who he is.
Little does Michael know, you’re having a full-blown panic attack on the inside.
After a solid twenty minutes pass, he stands and leaves the table. You expect to see that he’s packing up his things, but once you clock that all of his stuff is still here, you shrug. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom. A few minutes later, Michael plops into the seat with a handful of snacks.
Wordlessly, he slides a pack of Hi-Chews and chips in your direction. You stop writing and give him a questioning look. Michael shrugs, “To say thank you for your help.”
“What if I didn’t like Hi-Chews?”
“There’s a wrapper sticking out of your bag,” Michael points out, nodding his head towards your open laptop bag. You glance at the bag, and sure enough, a brightly-colored wrapper sticks out.
You can’t stop the laugh as it bursts from your lips, but you cover your mouth. Soon, Michael joins you in laughing.
“Let me take you out for a coffee after this.”
That’s the story of how you pulled your celebrity crush.
Your relationship with Michael surprises you each day. It really blows your mind that the man that you’ve been writing about for years is finally your boyfriend. Initially, you slow down on writing fics for Michael on Tumblr. It all feels a bit parasocial, especially when you’re with him most of the time.
But that still doesn’t stop the writer in you.
The more you fall for Michael, the more ideas pop into your head for possible stories. However, you channel the energy into working on writing your own novels. You really try to fight the urge to write on Tumblr. But the Tumblr app on your phone calls to you like the green goblin mask.
It only takes one specific kiss from Michael, with him pressing you against an elevator wall, to run to Tumblr. The community that you had built over the past years all express how happy they are to have you back, and you fall back into posting naturally.
Most of the people reading your writing would never suspect that you’re Michael’s new beau.
‘@donwrites: ugh sis, you write Michael so good! It’s like you know him personally.’
If only they knew that you had been kissing the man seven days out of the week and cuddling in his bed.
You keep the writing from Michael. If you’re typing at his house, you’ll play it off as working on a new novel or screenplay. He’s none the wiser to the fact that his girlfriend is writing the most downright filthy smut involving him.
It’s a random Thursday when Michael gets suspicious.
He’d invited you over under the guise of working together. You both found that you were a lot more productive when you worked across from each other. You slide the glasses up the bridge of your nose as you type quickly on the computer. You’re honestly in a flow state with the current story that you’re writing about Michael. You’d had the idea to write a story about him dominating the reader after a recent miscommunication.
You move to exit the bedroom. Sharp tears sting at your eyes as the heat builds in your chest. You sniffle loudly and wipe furiously at your eyes. The ache in your chest increases with each step that you take towards the door. You’re so close to the door when Michael grabs your arm. You try in vain to tug your arm from his grip, but he tightens his hold on you.
“Michael, let go of me,” You mutter, your chest heaving up and down.
“No, you don’t get to walk away. I don’t know about any of them other niggas you’ve been dealing with, but we talk things out around here. Go sit down,” He states, a hard edge to his voice.
You shoot him a hard look, defiance swirling through your irises. Michael matches your stance and squares his shoulder as he stares down at you, “You think I’m playing?”
He takes a step closer, his eyes growing darker. He moves until he’s standing chest-to-chest with you. Michael moves a hand up to your face and smushes your cheeks between his fingers. Your wide eyes meet his as he brings his face closer to you.
“Does it look like I’m playing with you?”
You give him a surp––
“What you working on over there, baby?” Michael questions from his side of the office.
You give him an awkward smile. How does one say, “Oh, nothing, babe, just writing out some nasty smut involving you for some equally freaked out women to read?”
Instead, you just respond, “Oh, nothing. Just some romance stuff.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s not the complete truth either. Michael doesn’t push the issue. He’s asked to read some of your writing before. You’ve obliged and let him read the things that aren’t fanfiction. Though he suspects that you may be writing something else that you don’t want him to see.
Michael’s not dense. He’s well aware of the rise of smut and spicy scenes in the book community. He figures that you may be writing something along that vein, but he respects you too much to pry. Though he secretly wonders what freaky stuff you could be writing.
The sex between you and Michael was good. Real good. However, there were certain aspects that you and Michael had explored. For example, he didn’t know about your desire to be dominated by him. He didn’t know about all of the nasty and explicit things that you imagined him doing to him. With Michael, he was very sensual and emotional in the act of sex, which you loved.
But you also yearned for him to turn you every way but loose.
For the next ten minutes, you type more for the story, including starting on the smut scene. You’re genuinely reaching flow state when your phone vibrates on the couch.
“I’ll be back, my agent is calling,” You said to Michael. He nods before looking down at his own computer. You minimize the Tumblr tab before exiting the room.
Once you leave the room, Michael can’t help the way that his eyes gravitate over to your laptop. The MacBook Pro is practically calling him to take a look. Maybe just a quick peek. He tiptoes across the room and lifts the top of the laptop. He peeks through your folders, including the one labelled “stories.” There’s nothing out of the ordinary there. It’s all the stories and screenplays that you’ve let him read.
He suspects he was overthinking and is about to close your computer when he notices your web browser is still open. Michael slides the mouse over to the open tab and quickly clicks on it.
Tumblr.
Now what’s this? His curiosity gets the better of him, and he browses through the website. He’s surprised when he sees stories popping up about himself. He clicks on the “Michael B. Jordan x black!reader” tag and feels like the world shifts for him. There’s a myriad of things here. Some sweet stories, but his intrigue goes up when he sees the NSFW stories.
Michael looks off to the side where there’s clearly a profile and clicks “view blog.”
dollhousewrites.
Is this you? He clicks on the post labelled Masterlist and finds that you have an extensive body of work. Michael clicks on the post labelled with his name and realizes that there are a lot of stories about him. He clicks on the most recent post from two weeks ago called “Terms and Conditions.”
Just as he’s about to start reading, he hears your footsteps approaching. He quickly airdrops the link to himself before closing your laptop and sitting at his desk.
He’s the picture of perfect innocence as you enter the room. He smiles at you, “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, she just wanted to let me know that my publishers want to talk about my next book release for the fall,” You respond, giving him a wide smile.
“That’s great, baby. I’ll take you out tomorrow so we can celebrate,” Michael said, and he meant it. Even when you were both still forming a friendship, he watched how hard you worked on your books and screenplays. You were careful with which details you ingrained in your characters. He’d forever be talking about how you’re his favorite writer, and how he has one of the world’s greatest writers as his girlfriend.
Still, he yearns to know more about you, and that starts with delving into your Tumblr stories.
That night, while you’re sleeping next to him in bed with your back turned, Michael pulls up the Tumblr link on his phone. He strolls through the stories again and starts from the beginning of what he learned is called “a masterlist.” Your initial stories are centered more around Erik Stevenson. You truly capture the essence of what makes the character tic. The recklessness and die-hard mentality for his cause. Michael thinks that you may understand Erik better than he does.
As he progresses through your masterlist, he clocks the different eras of his career that you write for. Hell, you’d even written about Vince Howard from a college perspective. He notices the shift once he enters his Sinners era. The works are a lot more mature and erotic. It’s during this part that he reaches the stories that you’ve personally written about him.
He clicks on Terms and Conditions once again. He’s sucked into a world where you’ve characterized him down to the tee. You’ve incorporated some of the subtle mannerisms that you’ve noticed him doing from your time of dating him.
He even catches a few of the phrases that he commonly says in the story. It’s when he makes it to the smut portion of the story that things shift for him. Michael feels the heat rising within his chest and traveling further down.
Michael removes his head from between your legs, your juices shining all over his mouth. He presses one last lingering kiss to your pulsing clit. You whimper at how sensitive you are. He gives you a dark smile, hunger swirling beneath his brown irises, “You taste so good, baby.”
“Please, Michael,” You beg, doe-eyes desperately begging for more.
Michael brings his hand up to encircle your pretty neck, “What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to fuck me, daddy.”
He groans at the sound of your desperate words and gently lays you back on the counter. Chills run through your body at the cool marble pressing against your heated skin. Michael takes the moment to look at you, naked and vulnerable, in his hands. Love bites litter the expanse of your skin from where he got greedy earlier. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter.
He crudely slaps his dick across your pearl as you flinch from the pleasure.
“You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight,” He inquires. You shake your head. You always liked him when he toed the line between cruel and permissive. Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and lets it drip down on your pussy. He slides his dicks through the mess, combining it with the slick that he’s oozing from you.
He takes the tip of his dick and notches it in your––
You shift in the bed and turn on your side to face him. Michael all but jumps out of his skin as he quickly locks his phone and glances to see if you’ve caught him. Peering closer, he lets out a deep sigh of relief once he concludes that you’re still sleeping.
He takes a second to just breathe. He’s never felt so overwhelmed by reading something. Is this what you wanted him to do to you? He’s dabbled here and there with some rough play and kinks in his sexual life, but he can’t recall a specific moment where he’s allowed himself to fully lose control and just give in. He spares you another glance and fully looks at the content expression on your face. His sweet girlfriend has been writing all this filthy stuff right under his nose.
By the way that his dick is straining against his brief, he concludes that he likes it just as much as you and your readers do.
Michael’s being weird, and that’s putting it lightly because he’s naturally kind of weird at home. No, this is different from his usual weird behavior. He’s been a lot more clingy, which you definitely don’t mind. But he’s been crowding your space more and seemingly more horny for you, which again you aren’t complaining, but you wonder where the shift came from.
Even now, as you both leave the after-party of an event that he was invited to, he’d been all over you. Throughout the night, he kept his grip tight on your waist and would frequently press kisses to the side of your neck.
Now, inside the car, he reaches across to rest his hand on your thigh, which isn’t unusual for him. However, you clock the way that his hand slides up the apex of your thighs, where your dress has shifted. Michael grips your thigh as he keeps his eyes on the road.
“Are you okay?” You ask, which makes him jump in surprise.
Michael looks down and clocks where his hand is. He goes to remove his hand until you place yours over his to keep it there.
“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Michael asks, worry filling his eyes. You always admired that about Michael. He was a gentleman through and through, and consent was always key with him.
“You’re not making me uncomfortable. I’m just asking if you’re okay. You’ve been crowding me all week. At the party, you were all over me. Now, I’m not complaining, but I could swear you’re ovulating,” You said, smiling widely at him.
Michael shrugs, “I can’t help it. You just look so sexy.”
He chooses the moment to venture further up where his fingers brush against your panties, which are growing wetter by the second. He peeks over at you, “Take them off for me.”
You give him a surprised look, to which he smirks, “Just humor me, babygirl.”
You slide your hands under your dress and tug your panties down your legs. Michael opens his hand to you and gestures with his eyes for you to put the panties in his hand. You oblige, and your jaw drops when you see him bring the wet material up to his nose.
“Open your legs,” He orders.
You spread your legs, but try to scooch down so that you’re not dripping down on his leather seats. Michael smacks his lips, “Baby, don’t worry about making a mess. That’s the whole point. I wanna smell your pussy on my seat the next time that I get in here.”
You’re clutching at your invisible pearls. Michael guides his hand back to your wet center and trails his fingertips up and down to gather your wetness on his fingertips. He slides two fingers across your clit and rubs circles across the throbbing pearl. Your pretty lips form a pout as the whimpers drop from your mouth. Moving down, Michael’s fingers dip in and out of your entrance as you roll your hips to meet his touch.
Michael bites his lip at how needy you are. It’s turning him on more knowing that he can’t fully watch you how he wants, but he has to rely on his touch and hearing. “Spread your legs wider for me, baby.”
You open your legs, and truthfully, you can’t pretend to be shy with your pussy out in his car. Michael plunges two fingers inside your dripping hole. Loud wet noises fill the car as he curls his fingers in and out of you. He presses the palm of his hand into your clit. You throw your head back against the seat as you loudly moan. You clutch at his hand, and Michael’s even more turned on; he clocks you humping against his hand.
The driveway to his house appears, and he turns to you briefly, “Go ahead and cum for me, babygirl.” He curls his fingers across your spot, and soon, your walls tighten as your release consumes you. Michael pulls into the driveway and has the pleasure of watching as you ride your release out. His eyes wander over your form as your breasts press against the dress. As you come down, your eyes meet his. He gently pulls his fingers from you, which are drenched with your release. Michael slides his fingers up to his mouth and sucks your juices from his fingers.
He makes a big display of it by closing his eyes and moaning. Once he opens his eyes, he catches your lustful stare. “Come on, we’re not done yet.”
Inside the house, you and Michael are all over each other. Hands messily groping at each other as he slams you against the wall. You can see the brief moment that he pauses, afraid that he’s hurt you, but you smile widely at him. He leans closer until his breath ghosts over your lips, “You don’t want me to be nice to you tonight.”
You freeze. Your confused eyes meet Michael’s as he smirks at you.
“Pause,” You state, pushing gently at his chest. He sets you down on your feet before you move to create distance between yourselves.
You rack your brain at how he could know that sentence. That sentence of all the possibilities of things that he could’ve said to you. Michael waits patiently on the other side of the room for you to make the connection.
You groan loudly, “You read my story, didn’t you?”
Michael looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tries in vain to appear aloof, but he fails miserably. “Yeah, that night your agent called. I was just curious about what you were writing. I didn’t mean to disrespect your boundaries. I’m sorry.”
You bite your nails, a nervous habit of yours that Michael had been helping you break.
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I mean, this is so embarrassing. You literally found out that I’ve been writing fanfics about you, and I’m dating you!” You exclaim. You begin pacing back and forth in the room until you move to walk towards the door.
Michael frowns and quickly crosses the space to stop you, “Why are you leaving?”
He frowns even more when he sees the tears in your eyes. Guilt courses through his body. He steps in front of you and grasps your face in his hands, “Baby, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or anything like that. This is on me, I shouldn’t have been snooping through your stuff. But I just wanted you to know how much I liked it and to incorporate some of it.”
You sniffle and frown at him, “What? You liked reading my story?”
“Yeah, you know I always like reading whatever you write. If anything, I was flattered that you put that much work into writing for me and my characters. The way you write me, baby, I’ve never seen myself that way. It turned me on, to be honest.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm. I keep going back to read all of your stories over.” He pauses to laugh, “I even created an account to start liking your stories.”
You think back to your recent follows and laugh loudly, “Boy, are you bakari87?”
Michael laughs before nodding, “Yeah, mbjlover was already taken.”
There’s a moment of silence before you both break into laughter. Michael looks at you before pressing his lips to yours. “I mean it when I say that I really liked it, babygirl. I was kind of hoping that we could recreate some of the moments from your Terms and Conditions story.”
“You really liked that one?”
“Yeah, the part about me spitting on the reader’s pussy really did it for me.” He slides his hand down to close around your throat. Your eyes move to meet his as the heat floods throughout your body.
Michael keeps his hand around your throat as he carefully navigates you toward the couch. He gestures for you to take off your heels, which you do. With the heels off, it adds to the height difference between the two of you. He navigates behind you to toy with the zipper of your dress. The sound of the zipper fills the room as you can feel the excitement building in your core.
The dress falls to your feet as you stand naked before Michael. He runs his across your figure, taking in all the details that he’d committed to memory. Once he’s in front of you, he roughly grabs your face in his hands and smushes your cheeks together.
“This is the part where you have fucking the reader’s throat. Let’s start there,” He orders gently. You nod obediently and sit on the couch. You go to button his pants when he stops you, “You can’t remember your own story, babygirl? You open my pants with your mouth.”
Your mouth waters as you remember the plot point. Moving forward, you run your face across his bulge. You mouth at the button and move your head to the side to pop it open. You look up at Michael through your lashes as you grasp the zipper between your teeth and move down. Michael is nice enough to remove his pants for you.
He grabs the back of your head and presses your face into his covered dick. You mouth at his covered dick, your spit staining the front of his briefs. Kissing upwards, you lick at the happy trail of hair leading down into his briefs. Grasping the fabric between your teeth, you pull the briefs down until Michael’s dick is finally exposed to the air.
“Let me feel your throat, baby,” Michael mutters. You shudder at the realization that he’s quoting directly from your story. You don’t even need directions for your next actions. You lick along the underside of his dick right along the pretty vein that runs through it.
Your lips close around the tip of Michael’s dick, where his precum covers your taste buds. You suck at his sensitive tip as he groans and throws his head back. You move your mouth down to begin bobbing up and down on his dick. Your hand follows to cover the base where your mouth doesn’t reach.
Michael curls his hand through your hair and pulls you back, “Stick your tongue out.”
You do, and he leans down to release a trail of spit into your waiting mouth. Your eyes flutter as you moan at the filthiness of the act. Michael guides you back to his dick, but this time it’s different. You cross your arms behind your back just as you had written in your story. Michael looks down at you for consent, and you gladly give it.
The first push of his dick makes you gag a little. He pauses to let you adjust. You nod in his hold, and he resumes thrusting. You breathe through your nose as he enters your throat. Spit from your mouth drips onto your breasts and the floor. Tears fill your eyes as your mascara begins to run. Michael looks down and moans loudly, “You look so beautiful, Princess. You’re doing so good for Daddy.”
Pleasure sparks through Michael’s body at the whole scenario. It turns him on even more with how much you trust him to use you like this. Feeling bold, he pushes your face down so that your nose is engulfed in his pubes. You breathe through your nose and moan around his dick as it settles in your throat. Michael shudders at the feel of your warm throat. After a few seconds, he pulls out of your mouth completely.
He looks down at you again as you give him a wide smile. Tear, spit, and mascara streak across your face, but to Michael, you’ve never looked more beautiful.
He helps you to stand as he lifts you in his arms. You see him walking to the counter, and your pussy clenches in anticipation. Gently, he lays you across the marble counter. He quickly discards his shirt before moving between your legs.
“Please, Michael,” you beg, wide eyes meeting his.
“What do you need from me, baby? Just tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to fuck me, daddy.”
He pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. He takes both of your thick thighs in his hands and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter. Just like the story, Michael gathers the spit in his mouth and deposits it crudely on your wet center. He slaps his dick across your clit where the spit landed and rubs the mess in with your combined slick.
Only this time, he won’t be getting interrupted.
He guides his tip to your entrance, and you both watch as he slips inside your warm walls. Your combined moans fill the empty kitchen as Michael’s thigh touches the back of yours. He pulls back and watches as pussy clings to him. His dark eyes find yours, “You see that? Pretty pussy is begging to keep me in.”
A deep breath leaves your mouth as he thrusts back in. Michael covers your body with his as he thrusts in and out of you.
“Michael..” you whine, once he lifts one of your legs to hang over his shoulder.
“I know, baby. You’re doing so good for me,” He responds, connecting his lips to yours. You whimper as he pulls out of you. You can feel your walls clenching in response to the loss.
Michael maneuvers your body from the counter and bends you over. You shiver as your nipples brush against the cool surface. You look back as Michael lines his tip up with your opening again, “I wanna see that pretty ass bounce on me.” You arch your back in the way that you know he likes, which makes him groan.
Michael slides inside you as he watches your backside ripple under his thrusts. You look back at him as you start thrusting back against him. Michael’s gaze is focused on the motion of your ass and the ring of cream that’s coating the base of his dick.
“You’re so deep, baby,” You whimper.
Michael can feel his own release building inside of him. He grabs your hips to start thrusting again. He reaches under you to start stroking your clit. He leans over to your open mouth, and you stick your tongue out again. A string of spit leaves his mouth and falls into your waiting mouth. A loud cry leaves your mouth as your orgasm hits. You shake in Michael’s hold as tears trail down the side of your face. He kisses your tears and continues to thrust inside of you.
With one last stroke, Michael moans loudly at this own orgasm consumes him. His own body shakes against your own as he pulls you flush against him. You and Michael moan at the mutual feeling of his cum shooting against your womb. When he pulls out, his cum trails down your thighs.
You surprise him by dropping to your knees and taking his cum-stained dick into your mouth.
“Baby, wait..”Michael pleads, still sensitive from his own orgasm. You ignore him and keep bobbing your head while fondling his balls. Michael practically screams as he cums again, his white release painting your tongue.
You stand up, and Michael clocks that you haven’t swallowed yet. You gesture for him to open his mouth. Your own hand comes to close around his throat as you spit his cum back into his mouth. You don’t waste any time sliding your tongue into his mouth as you both swap the cum back and forth until it’s gone.
You both pull back as you give him a demure smirk.
“I hope you write that into the next story for all of your freaky followers,” Michael comments.
“Oh, I most definitely will. I’m sure that they’ll love to hear that their Oscar Winner loves the taste of his own cum,” You mutter against his lips.
Michael laughs, “I like it when it’s coming from you. But I’m not done with you yet. There are a few other stories that I wanna recreate, starting with your Sinner story.”
Let’s just say, the girls were treated to a lot more Michael content, approved by the man himself.
Mr. Smoke’s & Mr. Stack’s Doll: A Little Bunny Rabbit
Author’s Note: It’s Gemini season! Everyone go say Happy Day Of Birth to my sister @theethighpriestess aka Bunny 🐰
Warnings: +18 | Dom!Smoke | Dom!Stack | Smoke x Stack x OC | Plus Size OC | MFM | Angst (if you squint and do a backflip) | Fluff (if you squint and do three pushups) Oral Sex | Anal Sex | Edging | Coochie Drilled To Smithereens | Overstimulation | Double Penetration | Creampie | Dollification | They… They aren’t mean in this chapter… have I found God?
The room smelled like a cheap pomade and even cheaper whiskey.
Bunny had caught the scent the moment she pushed open the door to room number seven. There was a stale and sour stench lingering in the air that clung to a drunken man that was expected to be her next client. She stood in the doorway for a half second, shoulders squared beneath the ivory negligee she had been assigned for the evening, her red painted toes just crossing the threshold, and she told herself it was nothing. Men came in here smelling like all manner of sin. Whiskey and cheap pomade was the least offensive of them.
The man waiting for her was a heavyset thing. Pale as uncooked dough, with a collar loosened down to his second button and cufflinks that didn't match. His eyes swam when they found her. This wasn’t the ordinary tipsy swim of a man who had had two drinks to get his nerves up before visiting a house like this. No, this was the kind of swim that came from the bottom of a bottle, from a man who had been drinking since before supper and hadn't stopped for reasons that had nothing to do with enjoying the taste.
His mouth curved into something that was meant to be a smile but landed somewhere closer to a sneer. "There she is," he said, his words running together at the edges like watercolors left out in the rain. "Took ya’ long enough."
Bunny let the door shut behind her with a quiet click. She pulled up the smile she had spent years perfecting, the one that reached her eyes just far enough to be convincing without costing her anything real, and she moved toward the vanity to set down her small kit. "Evenin', sir," she replied, voice sweet as honeysuckle draped over a fence post in July. "You get yourself settled alright?"
"Settled?" He laughed, the sound was disgustingly wet and blunt. "I been waitin' damn near twenty minutes."
"I apologize for that, sir." She turned subtly, sizing the client up again in the mirror's reflection while she appeared to be checking her hair. She took notice of the way his body tilted just slightly to the left when he tried to sit straighter. The way his hand reached for the bedpost to steady himself without seeming to realize he had done it. The glassy, navigating-through-fog quality of his stare. Bunny had been in this business long enough to know that a drunk man in a room with a woman he had paid for was a man operating without a leash, and a man without a leash was a dangerous creature.
She angled herself toward the door by a few degrees. Just enough to escape if needed. "Sir," she said, keeping her voice sweet and calm, "I just want to make sure you feelin' alright before we get started. You seem like you might've had yourself a full night already and I wouldn't want—"
The remainder of her sentence was cut off because the drunken man moved without warning. He lurched to his feet, knocking the small side table with his hip and sending its single glass of water spinning off the edge to shatter against the floor. His face had turned a particular shade of red that lived between embarrassment and fury, and his jaw worked like he was chewing something bitter before he could get the words out.
"Useless bitch," he spat. The syllables fell out of him ugly and hard. "Think I paid to have some whore tell me I done had too much to drink? Think I need you lookin' down at me? I'll kill you, you hear me?!? I'll put my hands ‘round ya' neck and I'll—"
His arm swung mid rant, but Bunny was already moving.
She dropped her chin to her chest and turned her body so the arc of his open palm caught nothing but air, and in the same motion her right hand went up to her hair. The blade she kept there was small, barely two inches of steel with a handle thin enough to disappear between two curling papers. It was something she had carried since she was nineteen years old and had learned in the most painful way possible that a pretty face and a small curvy frame were not assets in every room. Her fingers found it without hesitation, but with the calm surety of someone who had practiced the motion until it lived in her muscles instead of her mind.
She drew it in the same breath she stepped to his left side, and when she came back up, she sliced him across the cheekbone in one clean swipe.
The sound he made wasn’t quite a scream and not quite a word. It lived somewhere between the two, high and stunned. The moment he was sliced, his hand flew to his face as the blood welled immediately, vivid and dark, running between his fingers and dripping onto the collar he had loosened two buttons down. He staggered back into the bedpost as his eyes went wide, and suddenly he was brutally sober.
"Help!" The plea tore out of him then, ragged and furious. "HELP! She cut me! This wicked bitch cut my damn FACE!"
Bunny stood quietly like a marble statue with the blade still in her hand. Her chest moved in controlled, shallow breaths as her heartbeat threw itself against her ribs like a prisoner testing the walls, but her face… her face was completely still. Still like a woman who had survived more than enough dangerous rooms, and this was no different. She didn’t bother running or crying, instead she watched the blood run down his cheek and she waited.
Two seconds passed and the door swung open before the echo of his second shout had finished bouncing off the walls.
They filled the frame the way they always filled every frame they walked through, shoulder to shoulder, the both of them constructed from the same Mississippi clay and hardened by the same Jim Crow fire. Stack came through first, his jacket slightly disheveled as if he was in the middle of something… or someone, signature gold tooth catching the lamplight as his coffee brown eyes swept the room in three seconds flat. Smoke followed a half step behind, and his gaze went to the blood first, then to Bunny, then to the blade still loose in her fingers, and in that order he read the whole story without a single word being spoken.
The two of them looked at each other and it lasted less than a millisecond. They shared a sacred twin language, and there was no need to speak out loud when they could discuss everything necessary through a simple glance. There was no need for none of the vowels and consonants that other men required. Stack's chin lifted two degrees. Smoke's jaw shifted once to the right. That was all.
Smoke marched over to the bleeding man and grabbed him by the back of the collar with one hand. The client sputtered, grabbing at Smoke's wrist, voice rising again into something wheedling and enraged all at once, but Smoke wasn't listening. He was already moving, already dragging the man toward the door with that flat, unblinking quiet that was a hundred times more frightening than any raised voice.
Stack waited until the door swung shut behind his brother and then he turned to Bunny. He looked at her the way he looked at a ledger he needed to balance, thorough, patient, and giving nothing away in his expression. His hands found his jacket pockets and he stood with the loose posture of a man who had all the time left in the world. "Tell me what happened," he said.
Bunny's fingers curled tighter around the blade before she caught herself and lowered it. "He was drunk when I walked in," she explained, and her voice came out steadier than she had expected, considering. "Not just a couple of drinks. He was drownin’ in it. I called it out because I wasn't about to start a session with a man who could barely hold his head upright and when I did…" She nodded toward the door. "He called me out my name, said he was gonna kill me, and he swung. I moved… And I cut him."
Stack said nothing for a moment as his tongue rolled against the inside of his cheek. He looked at the blood on the floor where the man had been standing, then at the broken water glass, then at Bunny's face. "You ain't in trouble," he said finally, his Mississippi drawl coating every syllable like a second skin. "But I need you to hear me on this." He pulled one hand from his pocket and pointed a single finger at her. "Next time a client get rowdy, stupid, or liquored past the point of sense, you don't reach for that blade. You call for one of us. That's what we here for. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
He held her gaze a moment longer, making sure the instruction had gone somewhere it would stay, and then he nodded once. "Go on, wash up an get you some rest." He turned for the door, then paused with his hand on the frame, not looking back. "You did real good, not fallin' apart. Just... next time… let us handle the mess."
The door closed again, and Bunny stood alone in the room with the broken glass and the ruined sheets and the small blade still warm from her grip, and she exhaled for what felt like the first time in several minutes.
Out behind the brothel, the alley smelled of ash cans and summer.
Smoke walked the man through the rear exit with the same grip he used to drag him out of the room. He deposited him against the back wall, the man's knees finally gave out forcing him to slide down the brick and land in a graceless heap on the ground, one hand still pressed to his sliced cheek, blood threading between his fingers and dripping off his chin.
Smoke stood over him. His hands went to his jacket, straightening it once, and then settled at his sides. He looked down at the man like he was a disgruntled God figuring out what type of punishment to inflict.
The man looked up at him and found whatever he needed in Smoke's expression to start talking. "She attacked me," his drunkenness slipping out of his voice now that fear had come in to replace it. "That bitch came in there and she just… she had a knife. She cut my face. You need to do somethin’ about that. I paid good money for a civil hour and instead I get—"
"You said… you was gon' kill her."
The man blinked. "I was angry, I didn't—"
"Called her out her name twice in my presence."
The man's mouth opened and closed.
Smoke crouched down until his eyes were level with the man's, and in that position he looked less like a man and more like a demon ready to indulge in his bloodlust. His voice hadn't changed. It never changed. It held that same smooth, unshifted cadence through every conversation regardless of what the conversation was about. "Ion’ know exactly what went on in that room yet," he said. "But I want you to understand somethin'. That part don't fuckin’ matter to me. What matter to me is that you walked into my house, disrespected somethin' that belong to me, an then you done put ya' voice on her in a way that reminded her she needed a blade." He paused, letting that sit. "I don't take kindly to that."
His hand moved to his jacket, fingers parting the lapel, and the grip of his pistol caught the thin light of the alley moon.
The man's eyes went very wide. His injured hand came up, palm out, his whole body pressing back against the brick like he could dissolve into it. "Wait, wait, wait, I'll pay double, I'll pay whatever you—"
The hammer drew back with a soft, final click that cut the man's sentence clean off.
Smoke looked at him with those coal-flat eyes and the man fell silent as a stone thrown into deep water. No more words. Just the ragged labor of his own breathing and the thin, continuous sound of his blood hitting the ground.
Footsteps came down the alley behind Smoke and he didn’t bother turning around because he didn't need to. There was only one set of feet in the world that sounded like that.
Stack came up beside him, his hands loose at his sides, gold tooth catching the moon when he tilted his head down at the man on the ground. He took in the full picture. The gun. The blood. The look on Smoke's face. Then he took in a breath, slow and satisfied, and began to speak.
He told Smoke everything. The condition the man had come in. The things he had said when Bunny called it out. The swing that didn't land. The blade that did. When he finished, Stack was quiet for a moment, and then he reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and produced a knife with a blade four times the size of whatever Bunny had been carrying. He turned it once in his fingers, the steel catching and releasing the light in alternating flashes, and he smiled. It was the crooked smile, the one that reached his eyes and meant he was genuinely pleased about something.
"Lemme’ talk to him first," Stack said. "I ain't had a good conversation in a minute."
Smoke looked at his brother and then he looked at the man on the ground, who was now visibly shaking, tears cutting through the blood on his cheek without any prompting at all. Smoke stood from his crouch, straightened his jacket once more, and stepped to the side. He put his pistol back without a word, folded his hands behind his back, and watched.
Stack crouched in his place, knife resting easy between two fingers, his face open and joyful in the particular way that meant the worst thing imaginable was coming next. "How you doin', friend?" he asked, accent thick as summer mud, voice warm as a lit match. "Tell me somethin'. You ever have somebody look after you real good, put you somewhere soft an warm an safe, an you go an spit in they face for it? You ever do that?"
The man couldn’t answer.
Stack tilted his head and grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "Naw, naw, take ya' time. I got all night."
The alley didn’t hear from that man again after that. Not in any language that would've made sense to a person passing on the street.
A month passed by and it had the audacity to feel like three.
Bunny sat on the edge of her bed in the room the twins had given her and pulled a brush through her texturized hair for the fourth time that evening. She counted the strokes the way she had been taught to count them since childhood, one and two and three and four, because there was nothing else to count and the act of counting kept her hands busy and her hands being busy kept her from acknowledging a particular restlessness that had been living under her skin for the better part of two weeks.
The room she was stationed in was nice. That was the first thing she had thought when Stack walked her to it, one week after the incident, with his hand at the small of her back and a short instruction to make herself comfortable. She had expected a small, utilitarian thing, the kind of space a working doll got assigned on the upper floor with a shared bath down the hall and a window that faced the brick wall of the building next door. What she got was a room with curtains. Actual curtains, silk ones that pooled at the floor and caught the last of the day's light in a way that turned the whole space the color of a candle flame. A vanity with a proper oval mirror. A wardrobe that had been stocked before she arrived with dresses and wrappers and nightgowns of a quality that made her catch her breath the first time she opened its doors, fabrics so fine they slipped through her fingers like water. On the small table beside her bed, a covered dish of food arrived three times a day whether she asked for it or not. Things she hadn't tasted since she was a little girl sitting in her grandmother's kitchen, sweet potato pie with a crust that shattered her taste buds like stained glass, braised oxtail over white rice, pound cake soaked in lemon syrup that left a sweetness on the roof of her mouth for hours.
She was being treated like a woman of some standing… And it was driving her absolutely out of her mind.
Bunny set the hairbrush down and looked at herself in the vanity mirror with an assessing expression she reserved for private moments like these. She was thirty-four years old. She had curves that grown men wrote embarrassing letters about and women studied with something too complicated to be called jealousy and too honest to be called admiration. She had hands that knew how to work, thighs that knew how to hold, a mouth that had never once left a client feeling cheated, and a reputation in three separate cities that had always, always been built by her own effort, her own body, her own particular genius for the kind of pleasure that made a man feel like he was the most important thing in the room. She hadn’t come to this brothel to be kept like a flower in a glass case. She had come because she heard that the Moore twins ran the most lucrative operation north of the Mason Dixon and she wanted in on it. She wanted to work.
The bath she had taken earlier still clung to her skin in the form of the vanilla oil she had worked into her arms and her neck, and the nightgown the wardrobe had produced tonight was deep gold that made her brown skin glow like something lit from within. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, yet she felt like a caged thing in beautiful wrappings.
After looking herself over one more time in the mirror, she stood and made a silent decision as she made her way to the kitchen.
The brothel at midnight had a particular quality to it, a quietness that fell somewhere between a sleeping house and a thinking one. The downstairs jazz had stopped three hours ago. The girls were either asleep or occupied, and the hallways that had been warm and perfumed with commerce earlier in the evening were now cool and dim, lit by the occasional wall sconce that’s wick had been turned down low. Bunny moved through the brothel on her bare feet, the gold nightgown sighing against her legs with every step, and she told herself she was just going for a peach before confronting the twins. There was always a bowl of peaches in the kitchen. She had discovered this on her second day and found it oddly comforting that someone in this house thought fresh fruit was important enough to replenish daily.
She pushed open the kitchen door and the room was drenched in darkness. That was the first thing. The second thing was that it wasn’t empty.
As Bunny's eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, eventually she was able to see there was a woman sitting at the long kitchen table in the dark eating cornbread.
Bunny stood in the doorway with her hand still on the door and looked at the mystery woman as she took her in piece by piece. Height first, even sitting, the woman had somewhat of a long-limbed frame that telegraphed itself. Bunny guessed that she was maybe five foot eight or nine if she stood. Her skin was deep, even brown like good molasses in a jar, paired with hair that fell straight and unadorned down past her shoulders, jet black, the color of ink before it dries. And to finish it off, she had a face that did a thing Bunny had only seen faces do in paintings, not the kind hung in houses like this one, but the kind in old churches where the artists tried to put something holy and something frightening in the same expression at the same time. The mystery woman looked young feature wise as if she hadn’t yet turned twenty-two, but her eyes… her eyes were something else entirely.
Bunny wasn’t a woman who was scared easily. She had lived too much, seen too much, and cut too many men across the face to give fear the kind of real estate it wanted in her mind. But those violet eyes made something ancient crawl up the back of her neck, not unpleasant, just… aware. Like stepping into a room and understanding that whatever was in it had been there since before the house was built.
The woman looked up from her cornbread and regarded Bunny with an expression of complete composure, as though being found eating cold food alone in a dark kitchen of a brothel in the middle of the night was exactly where she was expected to be.
"You Rosalie," the woman said. It wasn't a question.
Bunny blinked. "How'd you—"
"You look like a Rosalie." She broke off another piece of cornbread, unhurried about it. "I'm Josephine. Everybody an they mama call me Josie."
Bunny stepped into the kitchen and let the door drift shut behind her. "I go by Bunny," she said, and then, because she couldn't help herself, "why are you sittin' in the dark?"
Josie ignored the question with such thoroughness that it was almost artful. She tilted her head at Bunny and asked, "They call you Bunny 'cause you can bounce on a dick 'til a man start beggin' for his mama?"
The initial response that leaped to Bunny's lips was something ladylike and deflective. What came out instead was a flustered, sputtering exhale, as her cheeks went warm and her hand raised halfway to her mouth before she caught it. She cleared her throat. "That's… yes," she admitted. "That's… um… exactly why."
The corner of Josie's mouth moved in something that could've been a smile if it committed to itself. She pushed the plate of cornbread forward by an inch, the gesture of a woman sharing without making much of it. "Have some."
Bunny looked at the cornbread. It was ice cold and hard as a rock. She could see the waxy surface on it that cornbread got when it had been sitting awhile. She was fond of cornbread. She was not fond of that. She moved instead to the bowl on the counter and lifted a peach, testing its weight in her palm before biting into it, and she hummed as the juice ran down her chin warm and sweet.
She stood there eating the peach and watching Josie, and Josie let herself be watched for a time, eating her cold cornbread with equanimity, apparently perfectly at peace with the scrutiny. But Bunny was staring and she knew it and the reason she was staring was the thing she couldn't pin down, the thing that sat off-center about this woman the way a picture sits off-center on a wall. She wasn’t dressed like any of the other dolls Bunny had met in the past month. No lace, no slip, nothing that mirrored the nature of this house and its business. She wore a plain white blouse tucked into a flowy dark skirt with her feet bare on the kitchen floor. She looked like a woman who had stepped in from another dimension entirely and simply hadn't gotten around to leaving.
Bunny had met all the other dolls in the house during her first week. She was certain of that. This woman had not been among them.
Josie took another bite of her cornbread and looked at Bunny the way Bunny had been looking at her, with that clear, still assessment that took nothing personally and missed nothing either. "How you likin' it here?" she asked. "Smoke and Stack pretty decent owners, far as that kind of thing go."
The word owners sat in Bunny's mouth for a moment before she swallowed it. "I wouldn't know yet," she reluctantly admitted. "I had one client, one incident, and since then they've had me locked up in a room like I'm made of porcelain and they're afraid I'll chip." She took another bite of peach. "I haven't worked a single real night. I came here to make money. Instead I've been eatin' pie and watchin' the curtains move."
Josie's eyes sharpened the way a fire sharpens when you give it more air. "Which one claimed you?" she quipped.
Bunny frowned her brows in confusion. "I'm sorry?"
"Which twin? Smoke or Stack? Elijah or Elias? Which one claimed you as his doll?"
The frown deepened. "Neither of them," Bunny said slowly, like she was working out whether that was the right answer even as she gave it. "When I arrived they walked me through the rules, explained how the percentages worked, showed me the floor. Neither of them said anything about… claiming."
Now it was Josie’s turn to be confused as she stopped eating and placed her cornbread very gently on the plate in front of her. She looked at Bunny with the full force of those ancient alien lavender eyes and she was quiet for a stretched-out moment that had weight to it. Then she leaned forward and without a word of warning she took Bunny's face between both her hands and squeezed her cheeks together, compressing Bunny's lips into a surprised, rounded 'O'.
"You are thee cutest thing," Josie cooed, with the slightly awed sincerity of someone who had just found a very small, very charming animal in an unexpected location.
Bunny's eyes went wide above her squished cheeks. She made a sound that was supposed to be a protest and emerged as something closer to a muffled quack.
Josie released her with an unrushed giggle and settled back in her chair as though that had been a perfectly reasonable thing to do. "Alright," she said. "Let me explain how this house works."
Bunny smoothed her cheeks with her palms and fixed Josie with a look that she reserved for people who had just done something she didn't have the vocabulary to address properly. Then she sighed, finished the peach, and sat down.
Josie explained the rules of the house with a questionable amount of knowledge that Bunny would inquire about later. When a doll went through something the way Bunny had gone through something, they were taken off the floor. Not longer than a week, typically. No clients, no housework, just time to let the body and the mind settle back into themselves without being asked to perform. After that period, whichever twin had claimed that particular doll would take her through a retraining week. A proper retraining. Not punishment, not because she had done something wrong, but because the mind needed to be walked back through safety the same way the body needed to be walked back through strength after a sickness. The twins were a great many things, Josie explained, and some of those things weren’t things that would be listed in a church bulletin, but they weren’t complete monsters and wouldn't send a shaken woman back to work before she was ready. That wasn’t morality for morality's sake. It was also just bad business, and they were nothing if not precise businessmen.
Bunny absorbed this. Processed it. Turned it over. And then arrived at the part that had been sitting sideways in her chest since the question first got asked.
"It's been a month," she said.
Josie looked at her dumbfounded like she didn’t hear her correctly.
"It's been a month," Bunny said again. "The incident was a month ago. Nobody took me through any retraining. Nobody said anythin’ about when I'd go back to work. And you're telling me that the reason for that is…"
She could see it in Josie's expression before she said it, like she was about to deliver news that amused her to the highest degree.
"Either you one of the special ones," Josie said, the childish grin breaking through now, unconstrained, like a schoolgirl who had been holding it in for the last five minutes, "or you somehow so boring that both of them forgot you exist entirely."
Bunny straightened up in her chair. "I am not boring," she said.
"I didn't say you were."
"You implied it."
"I offered it as a possibility."
"It is not a fuckin’ possibility." Bunny's chin came up and her voice took on the tone of a woman defending something she had built with a considerable effort over many years. Before she had walked through the Moore brothers' doors she had left three separate establishments because she had outgrown them. She had a clientele that wrote letters to find out where she had gone. She had a reputation that didn’t include the word boring in any language. "I done made grown ass men cry," she said. "Not from pain… From gratitude."
Josie held up one hand in a gesture of peace, her playful grin not moving an inch. "Alright, alright. I believe you. I apologize." She folded her hands on the table. "The other explanation, then, is that they both want to claim you and neither one of them know how to go about it without steppin’ on the other's toes."
Bunny's chair scraped back half an inch. "Both of them?"
"It's rare," Josie whispered, as if she was saying too much too soon. "In the whole time this house been runnin’ there've only been two dolls that both of them claimed at once. Just two. The second one is named Buttercup. She handles their books and investments. She’s been both of theirs for many moons." A pause, thoughtful and private. "The first one…" She picked up her cornbread again and looked at it, not at Bunny. "Well..."
The silence that lingered behind that one word forced Bunny to really look at Josie's profile. She took in the serenity of it, the complete and settled comfort with which this woman occupied any space she entered, including dark kitchens in the middle of the night. The way she didn't need to finish the sentence because the sentence was already obvious to anyone paying attention.
"Hypothetically," Bunny said carefully.
Josie's mouth curved with mischief. "Hypothetically..."
"If a woman found herself in that position. Both of them. At once. How would she… manage that?"
Josie was quiet for a moment, chewing her cornbread, looking somewhere past Bunny's shoulder as though consulting a memory that lived in the middle distance. "Hypothetically," she repeated, "such a woman would need to learn how not to get frostbitten by an avalanche of coldness." A pause. "While also not burnin’ up in a lake of uncontrolled fire." Another pause, this one carrying a slightly different weight, the weight of something remembered in the body as much as the mind. "And on top of all that, she would need to learn how to take two men at the same time without tearin’ in half."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"That's… useful information," Bunny said finally.
"I thought you'd think so."
They sat for another minute, the two of them, in the warm dark kitchen with the peach bowl on the counter and the plate of cold cornbread between them, and something passed between them that couldn’t be labeled as friendship yet but was the thing that comes just before it, a recognition, a sense of shared understanding arrived at by different roads.
A few more comforting minutes passed and then Bunny stood. She pulled the gold nightgown straight across her hips and ran one hand through the freshly brushed waterfall of her hair and looked at Josie with the expression of a woman who had made up her mind about something and had no further interest in deliberating. "Hypothetically, if I wanted to speak with them tonight... you know where they are?"
"Their office," Josie said. "End of the hall. Door on the left." She reached for the last piece of frosty cornbread. "Knock four times when you get there. Even count, same rhythm. That's how they know it's a doll behind the door and not somebody they need to put a bullet in."
Bunny's eyes widened slightly. "Good to know."
"One more thing," Josie said, without looking up, the words landing easy as a stone dropped into still water, "whoever open that door? Look him dead in the eye when you tell him what you want. Don't let him take the silence from you first. They'll stand in a quiet room and wait you out 'til you forget what you came for. Don't let him." She broke off a bite of cornbread. "Now go."
The hallway to their office was dim and long as the floorboards under her bare feet held the warmth of the day's heat, soaked up and slowly releasing into the night. She walked it with her chin level and her footsteps quiet, the vanilla oil on her skin mixing with the faint residual perfume that lived in all the walls of this house. At the far end of the hall, beneath the last sconce, a door sat closed and faintly rimmed with the amber line of lamplight from beneath it.
She stopped in front of it. Pressed her palm flat against the wood for one second. Then she knocked. Four times. Even. The same rhythm. Just as Josie had instructed.
On the other side of the door, the office breathed with the quietness of two men working in a comfortable parallel. The desk was spread with ledgers and cash in organized columns, the ashtray on its corner nursed a half-finished cigarette that had gone cold, and the lamp threw a yellow circle of warmth across the arithmetic of their operations. Stack stood at the desk's far edge, jacket off, suspenders down, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, one hand moving down a column of figures with the end of a pencil. Smoke sat on the lounge couch along the near wall, his own jacket folded beside him, a glass of brown liquor balanced on the arm of the cushion, his eyes moving across a folded sheet of paper he had been reading for the third time.
Four knocks came through the door.
Even. Measured.
Both men went still.
Stack's pencil stopped and his eyes lifted from the ledger to find his brother's face across the room. Smoke had already set the paper down. His hand had already moved to the glass, lifting it, not drinking from it, just holding it in the idle way of a man whose other hand needed to be free. His eyes were steady on the door.
The four-count knock meant a doll. Both of them knew that. The problem was that only two dolls in their entire operation knew that particular code, and neither of those two women were supposed to be within three city blocks of this brothel for another three days.
Smoke set the glass down very carefully on the side table before standing and crossing the room to the door. His shoulder holster rode against his undershirt as he pulled his pistol free in one clean motion before turning the knob and pulling the office door open.
Bunny stood in the hallway nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The lamplight from inside the office hit her caramel brown skin from the side and the effect of this wasn't something Smoke had originally budgeted for. She was soft, luminous, small, and entirely the kind of woman that a man had to consciously remind himself to look away from, all of that deep-curved, warm-skinned, doe-eyed beauty arranged in the specific way that made the gold fabric laced over her body look like it had been commissioned for her personally. She blinked up at him. Her eyes were the color of good rum and they caught the light and held it, and for one unguarded half second the hardness in his face did something complicated before it arranged itself back into its usual flat composure.
Smoke held the pistol at his side. His face settled back into the expression of a man who was conducting business regardless of the hour. His eyes moved over her once, the way he surveyed any situation that required assessment before a response. "Why," he said, voice smooth and level as a road built to last, his Mississippi roots dragging slow and warm beneath every word, "is you at my door knockin' four times?"
Bunny didn’t flinch as she looked him in the eye exactly as Josie had instructed and she held the look steady. "Because," she said, "I am tired of being treated like I'm made of glass." She let a breath pass as she remembered who she was speaking to. "... Sir."
Smoke looked at her for a long minute. He ran his mind back, sorting through the preceding month like how a man sorts through a drawer looking for something he put down without thinking. The girl on the floor. The drunk client. The blade. Stack handling her, him handling the client. The decision to move her to the room across from theirs. Then the weeks had continued to happen, the operation had continued to require their attention, and somewhere in the middle of all of that, the particular task of walking her back through had gotten caught in the gap between what he assumed Stack had handled and what Stack apparently assumed he had handled.
He let the exhale come through his nose, small and contained. Then he stepped back from the door and nodded once towards the interior of the room. "Come in."
Bunny wasn’t a woman that needed to be instructed twice as she came in.
Smoke shut the door behind her and walked back to the couch, settling into it with the glass of liquor retrieved from the side table. His eyes stayed on her as she took in the office, the desk and its columns, Stack still standing at the far edge of it now with his arms folded. Smoke's gaze moved from her face to his brother's and he said, with the absolute calm of a man stating a mathematical fact, "You done forgot to recommission ya' doll."
Stack's expression moved toward as expression of confusion that was also slightly offended at the framing. "Fuck you mean my doll?" he quipped. "Thought she was yours."
"I moved her to the room 'cross the hall," Smoke said. "I was leavin' the rest to you."
"Nobody told me that."
"I ain't gotta tell you everythin’, Elias. Use ya' brain."
Stack unfolded his arms and planted both hands flat on the desk. "My brain was operatin' under the assumption that the woman sittin' over in that room with the good curtains was your doll that you was handlin' in ya' own time, Elijah. Had I known she was mine to recommission I would've had her back on the floor four weeks ago."
"She been over there four an a half weeks."
"Four an a half weeks then. My point stands, muthafucka."
"Ya' point is that you wasn't payin' attention—"
"My point is that you could've opened ya' mouth like a grown ass man an said the words 'Elias, go handle Bunny' an I would've gone an handled Bunny, but instead you sittin’ over there on that couch drinkin' ya' liquor an assumin' I was gon' read ya' mind—"
"I don't need you readin' my mind, I need you payin' attention to what's happenin' in this house—"
"Stupid bitch, I pay more attention to what happens in this house than you do, I just ain't also expected to be a fuckin' mind reader on top of everythin’ else—"
"Language, Elias.” Smoke said.
"Now I need to read ya' mind an watch my mouth?"
"We got a doll present. Tighten up." Smoke's eyes cut to Bunny for one brief moment that carried the tiniest edge of an apology.
Bunny had been watching this exchange with the expression of a woman who was simultaneously relieved that Josie was right and also annoyed that Josie was right. She looked at the ceiling for one moment, gathering something, and then she looked at Stack directly.
"I didn't come here to listen to y'all argue about whose doll I am," she cut in. The words came out clean and direct, and beneath them ran a current of something real, something stored up across four weeks in a pretty room with silk curtains and three meals a day that she hadn’t earned. "I came here because I am a woman who been working since I was old enough to understand that money you make yourself is the only kind that belongs to you in full." She let that settle for a moment.
Before she had walked through their door she had left three establishments because she outgrew them. Before that, back when she was Rosalie and not Bunny, she hadn't been permitted to own so much as the dress on her back. That life was behind her and it would stay behind her as long as she had a body to work with and the sense God gave her to use it. "I appreciate the food," she said. "I appreciate the nightgowns and the curtains and the sweetness. I do. But I am not a woman who takes without giving back, and I am not going to sit in that room one more week eating indulging in things I ain't earn. I want to work."
The office held the sound of that for a brief second.
Stack analyzed her from top to bottom. The annoyance from the argument with his twin had drained off his face entirely, replaced by something more attentive and interesting. He possessed the look of a man who had been watching something he wanted for some time and had just been reminded of it. His gaze moved down the gold nightgown with the focused assessment of a man reviewing an investment he had forgotten to manage and was now reconsidering with renewed and comprehensive interest.
He came around the desk, crossed the office floor, and closed the distance between them until his chest was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him. His hands came up. His fingers settled first at the hollow of her throat, light and acquainting themselves with the shape of her, feeling the small flutter there she couldn't suppress, feeling the way she swallowed. Then they traveled with thorough patience across her collarbones, over the generous swell of her chest through the nightgown's thin fabric. She was built lavishly, heavy and warm everywhere in a way that made his hands slow down and pay attention, and he let them linger there, cataloguing her, until her breathing changed and she tried to hide the change but couldn't.
His hands continued their inventory, moving down the soft plush landscape of her stomach, the deep inward curve of her waist, spreading wide across the full round geography of her hips. He took his time with her hips. He spent what felt like an extended amount of time mapping them, as though committing their particular architecture to some private record he intended to revisit at a later date. Then one hand swept low and around, and he brought his palm down hard and flat across the full magnificent curve of her backside with a crack that split the quiet of the office like a starting pistol.
The sound rang off the walls, the bookcase, the glass in the lamp, everything. Bunny's gasp tore out of her before she had the opportunity to make any decisions about it, sharp and bright, her body moving without consulting her brain, tilting forward into the impact and then backward away from it, settling finally against Stack's chest in a way that was involuntary enough to be entirely honest.
Stack felt her melt against him and his exhale came out long and satisfied. His arm wrapped around her from behind, pulling her flush against the front of him, and he bent his mouth to the curve of her ear. "I'm gon’ be the one runnin' ya' retrainin' tonight." He pressed his mouth closer to her ear, words dropping to a rough near-whisper. "An dependin' on how that go… I might need to keep you locked away from everybody else for another month… Really take my time so ya' body don't ever forget who it belong to."
The sound Bunny made was small, strangled, and entirely against her will.
He reached for the thin strap at her shoulder and slid it down. The other strap followed. He peeled the gold nightgown from her slowly, letting it whisper down her curves until it pooled at her feet in a gilded ring, and what was left standing in the middle of their office was every generous, luminous, full inch of Bunny without a single layer between her skin and the lamplight. The lamp threw amber across the swell of her hips, the deep curve of her waist, the heavy softness of her breasts, the deep brown warmth of her, and the office became immediately a different kind of room.
Stack stepped back and bit down on his bottom lip as he took in her goddess figure. Then, with the easy authority of a man in his own house, he waltzed over to the couch where Smoke sat and dropped down beside his brother. He plucked the liquor glass from Smoke's hand, drained what remained, and reached for the refill trolley at the couch's edge. Smoke didn’t argue with his twin. He simply shifted his weight to accommodate Stack’s presence and locked his eyes on Bunny.
Two men on the same couch. Side by side. Undershirts and slacks, loafers, the warm lamplight running along the defined lines of their arms where the fabric ended, the undeniable press of their interest visible in the material of their trousers. Stack poured a fresh glass and settled into the cushion. Smoke took Bunny in from head to foot with that flat, complete attention that gave nothing away and missed nothing. The air in the room had changed and pressed heavily on all their shoulders.
Stack leaned forward, elbows to his knees, glass hanging loose in his fingers. "Show me," he said, "why you worth the trouble of retrainin' when you already cost me a dead white man, two dry cleaning bills, a shovel we had to replace after breakin' it diggin' that peckerwoods grave, plus four an a half weeks of room an board an meals that even my top earners don't see on a regular Tuesday." He settled back into the cushion. "All that, an you ain't brought us a single dollar. So show me what you got, Bunny."
Bunny stood naked in the center of their office and looked at both of them. She took one breath. Then she walked to Smoke.
She came to stand directly before him and held his gaze and placed one knee on the cushion beside his thigh and then the other, straddling his lap with the practiced ease of a woman who had made herself at home in more difficult situations than this. She could feel him beneath her already, the dense, insistent hardness of him through his slacks, and the discovery sent something bold climbing up her spine and into her shoulders. She rolled her hips, one slow and complete rotation, felt him twitch beneath her, and did it again. She leaned forward and put her mouth to the side of his neck, the warm brown skin above his collar, and kissed him there. Felt his jaw tighten. Kissed across his collarbone, the gap where his undershirt opened at the throat. She found his earlobe with her teeth, caught it just barely, and felt the exhale that came out of him, contained and controlled, the only version of a sound he was willing to give her yet.
She pulled back and looked at Stack over her shoulder. "I can't promise I won't cause more trouble with your clients," she said, her hips still moving against Smoke's in that slow, measured grind. "That ain’t a promise I can keep. But I am an investment." She felt Smoke's hand settle on her hip, heavy and certain, the grip of a man who was claiming something without announcing he's done it. "And you'd be foolish men to let me go."
Then she climbed off Smoke's lap and moved to Stack.
She settled herself across his thighs before he had quite finished processing the intention, and his hands came up instinctively, finding her hips, and she moved against him the way she had moved against his brother, with that same frank, unhurried competence, rolling her hips in grinding rolls that had him fully hard inside his slacks under a minute. She kissed along his jaw, the corner of his mouth, found his throat and bit softly at it and felt him grip her harder. She turned her mouth to his ear. "Well?" she said quietly.
Stack's answer was both hands sliding down to fill themselves with the full, heavy weight of her backside, squeezing with the proprietary thoroughness of a man claiming something he had decided belongs to him and only him.
From the other side of couch, Smoke reached forward and caught the back of her hair in his fist. Not rough, not gentle, just completely unambiguous, pulling her head back until she was looking up at him from Stack's lap with her neck at a stretched and exposed angle. Smoke looked down at her, his eyes never leaving her face. "Who," he said, each word its own complete and unhurried thing, "taught you that knock?"
"Josie," Bunny replied quickly.
The quality of the silence that followed was specific. She felt Stack go still beneath her. She saw something shift in Smoke's expression, not much, just a recalibration of a single degree. "Josie," he repeated. Flat.
"She was in the kitchen," Bunny continued. "Just now. I spoke with her before I came down here."
Smoke's eyes moved to Stack's face. Stack's eyes moved back. That language again, the one that needed no words. Whatever moved between them in that half second was mutual and resolved by the time it was done.
Smoke released her hair. He stood, adjusted the set of his shoulder holster with one practiced motion, and looked at Bunny. "Come," he said.
Stack stood from the couch with Bunny still in his arms, lifting her from his lap without any apparent effort, her weight absorbed into his frame as a matter of course. He carried her out of the office. Smoke walked ahead through the dim corridor, his footsteps quiet on the floorboards, and they moved as a unit through the darkness of the second floor until they reached the kitchen.
Smoke pushed the door open.
Bunny looked into the kitchen from over Stack's shoulder.
The room was empty.
The room wasn't just vacant as if someone had just stepped out, the room was suddenly empty in a way that was wrong. Profoundly, specifically wrong. The chair at the table sat at the exact angle it had been in when she first sat down across from Josie, as though no one had adjusted it at all, as though no one had ever pulled it out to sit in it. The plate of cornbread was gone without a trace, not in the washtub, not on the counter, not anywhere. Simply absent from the room as if it was never there. The peach bowl sat exactly where it always sat. The lamplight came through the window at its usual angle and landed on a kitchen that offered no evidence whatsoever that a woman with ancient eyes had been sitting in it not even twenty minutes ago.
Bunny stared. The hair on her arms rose.
"She was right there," she said, and her voice had climbed half a register before she noticed. "She was sittin' right there at that table. She had cornbread on a plate, cold cornbread, she had it on a plate right there in front that chair, she offered some to me and I took a peach instead. She squeezed my cheeks." Bunny's hand rose and touched her own face at the memory of it, the very real and physical memory of Josie's palms pressing her cheeks together. "She was a real person who was in this room. She had feet. I heard her feet on the floor when she shifted her chair. That ain't somethin' I imagined." She heard her own voice rising once more and made herself stop. Swallowed down her confusion and looked from the empty table, to the empty chair, to the empty counter where a plate had been sitting less than a few minutes ago. The wrongness of the empty kitchen pressed against her like a cold hand.
"Where'd she go," she whispered, and this time her voice came out quieter, stripped of its former certainty, with something underneath it that was very close to fear. "The hallway is one hallway. I walked the whole length of it to get to your office. I would have seen her. I would have passed her. Where'd she—"
"I believe you."
Smoke's voice arrived quietly and cut through everything else like a lamp lit in a dark room. He stepped next to Stack and reached out, taking her chin between his fingers, tilting her face toward him with a gentleness that wasn’t his usual mode and was therefore more effective than almost anything else he could’ve done. His eyes moved across her face, reading whatever he found there with that same thorough attention, and then he said it again without elaboration or apology. "I believe you. You saw her. You spoke to her. It's 'ight." He held her gaze until the climbing quality went out of her breathing, until her eyes settled from startled back to present. His thumb moved once along her jaw, the lightest possible contact, and then he released her chin and looked at Stack over her head.
The look between them lasted one second and carried something private in it, something that had history in it, some understanding of Josie that they shared between themselves and weren’t presently sharing with Bunny. "Need to put a leash on that woman," Smoke grumbled, with the flat certainty of someone adding an item to a list.
"You an me both, nigga," Stack said, quietly.
Smoke turned from the kitchen. He didn’t go back towards their office, instead he went the other direction, toward the room at the far end of the hall, and Stack followed with Bunny still in his arms, carrying her away from the empty kitchen and the empty chair and the cold and inexplicable absence of a woman who had been sitting in it minutes ago eating cold cornbread like she owned the place.
The room at the end of the hall was broad and purposeful. A wide bed sat at its center on a dark mahogany frame, the headboard tall and unadorned. White linens, clean. A single lamp burning low in the corner, its flame turned down until the light came out warm and intimate. This was a simple room designed for one thing and one thing only, retraining a doll that didn’t need to be disciplined.
Stack deposited Bunny in the center of the bed with more chivalry than intended. He straightened up and looked at her sprawled across the white linens, her moisturized brown skin drinking the lamplight the way it was built to, every curve of her catching and holding the warmth of it. He let out a small satisfied grunt before rolling his shoulders once and then bending down to kiss the inside of her knee.
The sound Bunny made started in her throat and got halfway out before she caught it, her thigh twitching under his mouth. Stack felt the twitch and registered it with the calmness of a man who had spent a considerable amount of time studying the language of women's bodies, then he returned and pressed his lips to her inner knee again.
One kiss… two kiss… three kiss… four… Stack continued his playful worship before moving lower, or rather higher towards Bunny’s inner thigh. He was greeted with the soft warm skin there as his mouth opened against it, tongue dragging along the crease where her thigh met nothing and then meeting the next crease. He was learning the deep inner geography of her, building the path inward with a patience that was intentionally designed to make her lose her mind before he arrived at his final destination.
Her scent hit him before his mouth did and he let out a low sound against her skin that was pure appreciation. "Four an a half weeks," he said, lips moving against her inner thigh, his breath warming the space he hadn't touched yet. "You been sittin' in that pretty room unfucked all this time, huh, lil’ bunny rabbit?"
Bunny responded vocally with something that was technically a word, or at least she thought she did.
Stack chuckled to himself and then his mouth immediately found her aching bundle of nerves. He worked her the way a classically trained musician works an instrument he knows intimately. He didn’t rush his performance but instead attended to the specific truth of her responses with the kind of focused and intelligent attention that made up the difference between a man who was present and a man who was going through the motions. He learned her in the first thirty seconds, learned the particular way her hips moved when he pressed the flat of his tongue against her center, the way her thighs tried to close around his head and then caught themselves and spread wider, the way the sound she made climbed an entire octave when he tended to her clit and circled it with skilled precision.
He effortlessly brought her to the edge in under four minutes.
He knew when she was there. He had been watching for it, feeling for it in the tightening of her thighs and the change in her breathing, the way her hands had found the back of his head and were pressing down with that desperate and gnawing pressure that meant she was right there, right on the rim of it, one more motion and she would go over. He could feel her gathering herself, the coil of it pulling tight in her body and her hips tilting up to meet him.
But, because Stack was Stack, he couldn’t help himself as he pulled back and denied Bunny instant relief. She wasn’t a doll that needed to be punished, but she was still a doll under control of her master. He didn’t pull away far, just enough for his mouth to leave her core and rest against the inside of her thigh instead. He looked utterly composed as he breathed against her soaked, twitching heat while she fell apart beneath him in a different way than she had intended.
"Stack," she breathlessly whined, the word arriving with a thicker desperation than she had planned.
"Mm," he said, mouth still against her thigh.
"Please… Don't do that."
"Do what? " he asked pleasantly.
She made a frustrated sound and whined again before Stack returned to his honeysuckle feast.
He took his time getting there, moving up through the wet of her with his tongue like he was reading something he found interesting, and then he was back at her clit and the sounds coming out of her rebuilt themselves immediately, climbing again, her hips rolling, her fingers curling into the sheets. He gave her forty-five seconds this time before the edge showed up again in the ragged pacing of her breathing, and he pulled back once more. Pressed his mouth to her inner thigh. Breathed. And let her curse at him out.
"You raggedy ass nigga," she managed.
His laugh came out against her skin, warm and genuinely amused. "I done been called worse, babydoll."
At the head of the bed the mattress dipped. Bunny's eyes reopened, head turning, and Smoke leaned above her, and the sight of him was enough to make every other thought in her head exit quickly. He had shedded everything. His undershirt, slacks, holster, all of it was gone, and what was left was all of him, broad and carved and rich dark brown skin. His body looked like the map of a man who had moved through the world with physical force for a long time and had the evidence of that written in muscle and old scars. He was hard, entirely and obviously, and looking at her with those flat obsidian eyes that gave nothing away.
Smoke said nothing as he reached for the small table at the bed's edge and a cigarette appeared between his fingers, a match scratched against the bedframe with a brief bright leap of flame before it found its target. He took the first pull, held it, let the clouds of tobacco climb toward the ceiling in a long and perfectly controlled column. And then he looked down at her, the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, his eyes traveling across her face with the calm, weighing assessment of a man reviewing something he may or may not be satisfied with.
"Who," he said, voice low and quiet and warm as the smoking end of something burning, "you think you talkin’ to like that in my house?"
Between her thighs, Stack's mouth had found the soft heat of her again, and the sound that tried to escape Bunny's throat was intercepted by her own determination not to give Smoke the satisfaction of an incoherent answer before she had the chance to give him a real one. "I-I didn’t mean none by it… I-I wasn’t givin’ orders," she managed.
"Mm." Smoke's eyes dropped from her face to the space just below them, where his erection jumped and throbbed directly above her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, and then his eyes came back up to hers. "You came to my office," he continued as he lazily gripped his manhood before taking another puff. "Told me what you was tired of. Told me what you wanted. Got yaself’ naked in front my brother an I, then sat in both our laps like you had the right." He exhaled smoke from the side of his mouth, away from her face. "That sound like a doll who know her place to you?"
Before she could respond, Stack's tongue distracted her by circling her clit with renewed and specific intention, as one finger pressed into her slowly, testing the heat of her… the tight grip of her. She was utterly soaked and already shaking in a finely controlled way, like how a bow shakes just before the arrow is released.
Smoke watched her face with the careful attention of a man reading a weather report. "A doll," he said, voice quieter, the edge in it sharpening enough to send shivers down her spine, "asks. She don't tell. She don't march down a hallway an knock on my door like she owed somethin'. She asks her owner. She say please. She waits." His thumb brushed her jaw, the touch light and intentional, as his eyes dropped to her mouth and then came back up. "You still ain’t proved you worth the trouble."
It didn't take much for Bunny to read between the lines as her right hand moved from the sheet and gripped Smoke’s precum dripping length. She felt the substantial weight of him against her palm and heard the slight controlled catch of his inhale as she felt him twitch against her hand. He filled her hand, dense and hot, and she stroked him from base to crown once with a grip that was firm.
She angled her head against the pillow, opened her mouth, and drew him in.
His size settled against her tongue, thick and dense, and she worked her lips around him with the exploring attention of a woman who had been told her whole career that her mouth was something extraordinary and had spent years proving it right. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked on him with an unhurried suction, her tongue mapping the underside of him on each pull, tracing the swollen vein that ran along his length, lapping at the crown when she came up before gobbling him back down again. Her free hand wrapped around his base and worked in a measured counterpoint. The combination of hand and mouth coordinated with the easy confidence of someone who had been doing this long enough that it lived in her body the way playing an instrument lives in a musician's hands had Smoke internally losing his mind.
Smoke's own hand found her hair, fingers settling among her now sweated out tresses without pressing, without directing, just resting there with a weight that communicated his full attention. The quality of his breathing changed almost immediately, each exhale coming a degree longer than it should have, each inhale a degree more controlled than usual. He brought the cigarette to his lips with his free hand and took a pull, held it, let the tobacco clouds go from the side of his mouth. The image of him above her doing that while she worked him below was the most Elijah “Smoke” Moore thing she could imagine, controlling himself with a lit cigarette while she did her damnedest to remove that control from him entirely.
For a long minute, Bunny genuinely believed she was finally in control, but then, the devious twin still situated between her thick thighs added a second finger inside her and she gasped. It only lasted a split second as her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head while she momentarily let the pleasure consume her, but that was short lived with a slight tug to her hair.
"Look at me," Smoke demanded.
She didn’t need to be told twice as she retrained her eyes back onto the owner that was in front of her.
"Mmm… good… you capable of suckin’ dick an followin’ instructions," he said softly, in a voice that had dropped below the level where it was meant to sound gentle and instead sounded much more intimate and a whole lot more dangerous. "You got somethin' to say?"
Bunny, whose mouth was still full of raw meat, slightly shook her head ‘no’ and continued servicing Smoke’s dick. Her tongue continued working the underside of him in the way that she had been complimented on in cities that were miles away from this one. She went down until the back of her throat met him and held there, breathing through her nose, feeling his fingers tighten in her hair by one degree, and then she came back up and did it again.
Smoke's exhale was long and relaxed. "Mm," he said, and it was the most honest amount of praise he had given Bunny all night.
Stack had brought her to the edge twice more in the interim, each time withdrawing with the particular cruelty of a man who is enjoying the architecture of her desperation more than he would enjoy its resolution, and she was by now a tightly wounded and thoroughly soaked little doll. Her body was operating at a level of need that had begun to make her cry a little. Not from pain or unhappiness, just from the relentless accumulation of pleasure with nowhere to go.
"Stack… Sir…" she managed, pulling off Smoke for a breath.
"Still here," Stack said, against her thigh.
"Please." The word came out stripped of all pretense. Just the word. Just the need in it, raw and uncomplicated.
Stack looked up at her along the length of her body. His mouth was wet, his eyes were bright, and he looked like a man who had been given an exceptional gift that was in no hurry to unwrap it fully. "Please what?" he asked rhetorically already knowing the answer to the question.
"Please… l-let me finish."
"Let you finish?" His voice carried genuine amusement. "Babydoll, I barley scratched the surface."
Smoke looked at the tears streaming from Bunny’s eyes. Something moved across his face, an emotion too foreign for anyone to decipher. He pulled free of her mouth with a soft sound and moved, climbing off the mattress and coming around the foot of the bed, and the sight of him moving toward Stack's position made Stack lift his head.
Smoke looked at his brother. Then he looked at the place between Bunny's thighs, the glistening, swollen, and desperately twitching evidence of the last fifteen minutes, and he looked back at Stack with an expression that was entirely final.
"Move," he said.
Stack sat up and squinted his eyes in disbelief. "S’cuse you, nigga?"
"Move," Smoke said again.
Stack's eyes narrowed. "She's my doll, Elijah."
"Yeah… well… she’s also mine," Smoke said. "I just decided."
Stack stared at him. The look on his face was the look of a mannish boy who didn’t like having to share his toys. "You can't just decide that," he complained. "That ain't how this works. You can't crawl over here in the middle of my session an claim a whole woman like you can’t go pick another damn doll—"
"Elias."
"What?!”
"I been watchin' her for a month," Smoke said, with the patience of someone explaining something obvious. "She in the room ‘cross the hall from ours. I been the one who had her moved there. I been the one who made sure her meals was right. Made sure her room was right an made sure nobody bothered her." A pause. "She mine. She also yours. Move."
Stack's jaw tightened. He looked at Bunny. Bunny looked back at him from the mattress with wide eyes, her lips still swollen, her thighs still trembling, and her expression carrying the cocky confusion of a woman who had just been claimed by two men simultaneously while lying naked in their bed and was still in the early stages of processing this information. Stack pointed at Smoke. "You owe me," he said. "You owe me big time, nigga."
"Mhm. Add it to the list," Smoke said.
Stack moved, climbing up toward the headboard with a muttered stream of commentary, and Smoke took his place between Bunny's thighs before lowering his head. He wasted no time as his mouth found her center without preamble, his tongue worked her with the focused of a man who went through life either doing something well or not at all. The sound Bunny made was enormous and immediate, her hands flying out to grip the sheets.
Smoke was vastly different from Stack in how he devoured Bunny’s pussy. Stack built her pleasure up as if he was an architect with a boundless amount of patience. Whereas Smoke treated her pleasure like a man reading a language only he knew. Every response she gave him, he immediately incorporated it into what he did next, adjusting, refining, arriving at the exact pressure and rhythm that made her thighs lock around his head and her back clear off the mattress as every coherent thought she had exited the premises.
He didn’t bother edging her since he had already clearly read what the edging had done to her. He could read the accumulated tension in every line of her body. Instead, he drove her straight to the finish line without stopping. The orgasm that finally rippled through her felt spiritual as if her soul was raptured out of her body. Her voice tore out of her open and honest, her hips grinding against his mouth as he worked her through every wave of it, his hands locked on her hips to keep her from pitching away from him.
Stack sat at the headboard watching all of this with his arms folded like a sulking child. When Smoke finally lifted his head, Stack uncrossed his arms and pointed at his brother with one finger. "My turn," he said.
"She sensitive," Smoke said, sitting back on his heels.
"I know she sensitive. That's the point."
Smoke moved aside without any urgency, and Stack replaced him between Bunny's thighs with the eagerness of a man who had been waiting for his turn at something exceptional. He looked at the convulsing center of her for a beat with something purely acquisitive in his expression, and then he put his skilled mouth back on her.
Bunny's entire body jerked backwards. The sound she made this time was considerably more desperate than the last, her hips trying to back away from the overstimulation and Stack's hands locking around them before she got anywhere.
"Stay," he murmured against her, voice vibrating right against her hypersensitive clit.
"Stack I can't, it's too much—"
"You can," he growled, and meant it, and went back to work.
Smoke let his twin have his fun as he situated himself on Bunny’s left side, and his mouth found her breast. His lips closed around her nipple and sucked on the coco nub with an intensity that sent a euphoric sensation shooting directly down her spine. His other hand flattened on her ribs, feeling the heave of her breathing, the rapid and helpless rise and fall of her chest. He worked across to her other breast with the same thorough attention, his teeth grazing just lightly enough to make her gasp, and then moan, and then grip the back of his head.
Meanwhile, Stack feasted like a starving madman. His tongue worked her pulsing and overstimulated pussy with an almost vindictive thoroughness, licking into her and circling her clit with alternating attention, building the sensation higher than it had any right to go given that she had just come apart under his brother's mouth not two minutes ago. He watched her face when he could, watched the progression of it, the way her mouth fell open, how her brows drew together, and when the tears started again fresh from the corners of her eyes, overstimulation and pleasure braided together until she couldn't separate one from the other.
When she came the second time it was different in character, wilder, less controlled, her body arching and convulsing with a force that had nothing of restraint left in it, and the flood of her against Stack's mouth was audible in the quiet room. He drank her juices down with a delighted groan while his jaw still worked her through every aftershock, refusing to stop until her thighs had gone from locked to trembling to limp and her voice had dropped from cries to the soft and utterly wrecked sound of a woman who has nothing left to give.
Thirty seconds of blissful torture occurred until Stack finally sat back. He looked at the evidence of what he had done to her with profound satisfaction, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand. He looked at Smoke. "She ready," he said.
"She definitely ready," Smoke agreed.
Smoke laid down on his back on the mattress beside Bunny, his nine inches pointing toward the ceiling. He turned his head and looked at her where she lay against the linens, trembling and thoroughly undone. His voice, when it came, was dominate and certain. "Show me," he said, "how you got ya' name, bunny rabbit. Show me why you worth the trouble."
The second Bunny heard Smoke’s request, she sat up on trembling arms. She looked at him stretched out beside her, at the full dark length of him, at the patient flatness of his expression, at the way he was simply waiting with the absolute confidence of a man who knew what was coming and secretly couldn’t wait.
She was still a little loopy from her prior orgasms but gathered up enough strength and swung her leg over him. She positioned herself above him and reached down to guide him to her entrance before sinking onto him with a long, controlled descent that pulled a sound from the back of her throat and a sound from the back of his. Both of them couldn’t help themselves responding to the stretch, the heat, and the fullness of her pussy wrapping around his length as she settled herself completely onto him. She stayed there for a second, adjusting, letting her body accommodate the considerable size of him and feeling him everywhere at once before beginning to move.
It only took three bounces for Bunny to prove to Smoke why she had earned her name. She wasn’t just a lady of the night who knew how to ride a dick until sunrise. No. She had spent years refining a specific combination of bouncing, grinding, and rolling that made men weep, beg, and reach for her like she was the only water in a desert. She worked him with her hips, rising and falling in the deep rolling motion that used every muscle she had, the sound of their bodies meeting building in the lamp-warm room, her succulent breasts moving with every stroke, her hands braced on his chest for leverage, her thighs flexing and releasing with each downward drive.
Smoke looked up at her and something happened in his face, some arrangement of his features that wasn’t quite expressionless in the way he usually was, instead something behind his eyes showed a genuine side of him that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. His hands came to rest on her thighs, not to direct or control the pace, just to hold her, to feel what she was doing from the closest possible position.
He let her have it. He laid there beneath her and he absorbed every stroke with the stillness of a man receiving something with his full attention. His only movements were the tightening of his hands on her thighs, the slight flare of his nostrils, and the slight clenching of his jaw that betrayed how thoroughly he was feeling everything she was giving him. "That's it," he groaned, voice rough and lower than usual. "Keep goin'. Show me everythin’."
And indeed she showed him everything. She rolled her hips in her signature deep figure-eight that made her thighs burn and made men forget what city they were in. She let out a needy whine when she felt him twitch hard inside her, felt his fingers dig into her thighs and felt the sound he made rumble up from somewhere below the place where he usually kept his inner desires.
"Goddamn," Stack praised from somewhere behind her.
Bunny had nearly forgotten, in the consuming present-tense occupation of riding Smoke, that Stack was still in the room with them. She remembered now. She remembered specifically when she felt his hand press warm and flat against the small of her back, pushing her forward just slightly, changing the angle, and she felt the presence of him settling in behind her, the specific warmth of a second body entering the space, and something in her belly turned over at the knowing of what was coming next.
"Don't stop movin'," Smoke growled below her, his voice steady and laced with something that wasn’t quite command and not quite warning, something between the two that communicated that her motion was the thing keeping him from losing his composure. "Keep ya pretty eyes right here."
It was difficult, but she kept her eyes on him. She kept moving, slower now, the rhythm becoming something more rocking and less bouncing as Stack's hand remained at the small of her back and his other hand reached for something on the side table. The sound of a bottle. The sensation of something cool worked at the back entrance she hadn't been using, Stack's fingers pressed and circled with a careful, methodical preparation of a man who knew exactly how to stretch a doll without tearing her. He worked her chocolate starfish open with practiced patience, each circle and press accompanied by Smoke's hands on her hips maintaining their slow rhythm and his voice occasional and low.
"Breathe," Smoke said, one hand traveling from her hip to her stomach, palm flat and warm against her skin. "Stay with me. Just breathe."
She breathed. She kept her eyes on his and kept rolling her hips over him and breathed through Stack's fingers working behind her, opening her gradually, each moment of it accompanied by Smoke's voice and Smoke's hands and Smoke's eyes holding her in place in every sense.
After a minute of probing and preparing, Stack withdrew his fingers. The blunt pressure that replaced them was broader, and it pressed forward with the slow and inexorable patience of a man who had done this enough times to know that patience here was not optional. Bunny's motion over Smoke stuttered as the pressure built and Stack worked his way inside her. He knew better than to rush or force his way inside, instead he continued steadily forward until the stretch had gone from too much, to full, to something that rewired every nerve ending she had at the same moment and left her gripping Smoke's chest with both hands and pressing her face into his shoulder.
"There it is," Stack said from behind her, voice strained as he relished in the tightness of her asshole. "You got all of it, babydoll. You got it."
This wasn’t the first time Bunny participated in anal sex, but it was the first time she had both of her holes filled to the brim. She took both of them, fully, completely, in the most total sense of that word, and the feeling of it wasn’t something she could’ve prepared herself for no matter how plainly Josie had described it. Her body had become an instrument of pure sensation, attended to from both directions at once, filled past the point where she could distinguish between the fullness and herself.
"Move with me," Smoke ordered, and began to rock his hips upward in a slow, careful rhythm.
Stack matched it from behind, withdrawing just barely and pressing back in on the same count, the two of them falling into sync with the ease of people who have shared a frequency their entire lives. Bunny gripped Smoke's chest and held on.
Smoke's hands ran up from her hips to her waist to the curve of her sides, mapping her as she moved, grounding her with the weight and warmth of his hands when the sensation from everywhere else threatened to become too much. "Look at me," he said.
She looked at him.
"You ours," he continued. Not a question, just a statement of something that had apparently been decided and was now being confirmed. "You understand that."
"Yes," she breathed.
"Say it."
"I-I-I'm yours," she whined, and her voice cracked on the last word because Stack had adjusted behind her and found the angle that turned her thoughts entirely to static.
"Fuck," Stack hissed through his teeth. "Keep squeezin’ me like you finna cum an I'm gon' embarrass myself."
Smoke's jaw ticked. He drove his hips up sharper than he had been, once, and her forehead dropped to his chest. "Hold it," he said, one hand traveling up her spine, settling between her shoulder blades. "Don't finish yet."
Like a good little doll, Bunny obeyed even if withholding her orgasm was one of the hardest things for her to do. She held it through the next several minutes of the two of them working her from both sides with building and competing intensity. Stack's hips found a rhythm behind her that grew less restrained with each stroke, his hands gripping her waist with the force of a man holding onto something he didn’t intend to lose. Meanwhile, Smoke drove up into her pussy with a calculated and precise force that hit the same place every time and built the pressure in her body to a pitch that had no precedent in her experience.
She held back her orgasm with her fingernails deep in Smoke's bare chest and tears running freely down her face from the sheer accumulated pressure of pleasure with nowhere to go. Her body shook uncontrollably between them in continuous tremors.
"Hold it," Smoke said again, quieter this time, his hand moving from between her shoulder blades to the back of her neck, his thumb pressing at the base of her skull with a firmness that was grounding. "Hold it for me. Just a little longer."
She felt like an overfilled waterballoon on the verge of popping but she held it a little longer.
"Now," he said.
The second Smoke gave the command, Bunny let go. This orgasm made her entire body convulse between them, and the viper grip of her fluttering holes around both of them became violent and involuntary, her voice tearing out in a sound that came from a place so primal and ancient it didn’t have a name. Stack grunted hard behind her, the sound losing its edges, his rhythm breaking apart, his hips pressing deep and going still as her body worked around him without any input from her at all. Smoke's hands locked on her hips and held her through every spasm, his breath coming in controlled pulls through his nose, his jaw set, his eyes on her face.
She was still a shaking mess when they moved her.
Stack withdrew and the absence of him was its own overwhelming sensation as they repositioned her between them with fluid and efficient coordination, guiding her body into the new arrangement before she could fully process that things were changing. Her hands and knees were positioned on the mattress with Smoke now behind her. Stack was in front of her, already at the edge of the bed, his hand finding her hair, his thumb tilting her chin upward.
"Open," Stack said, his voice dragged rough by the effort of the last several minutes.
She opened. He slid into her mouth and she wrapped her thick lips around him and worked him with the full attention of a woman who had made sucking dick into an art form, her tongue pressing along his length, her cheeks hollowing with each pull. Behind her Smoke gripped her hips with both hands and pressed into her pussy from behind with a force that had nothing of restraint left in it, each thrust was deep and drove her forward into Stack so that the two of them worked her from both ends in a rhythm that had its own crude, overwhelming music.
Smoke's hand came down on the curve of her backside, a sharp slap that made Stack look over her head at his brother with raised brows.
Smoke looked back at him with an expression that communicated absolutely nothing except his full awareness of what he had just done. "She a doll. She our whore," he said casually between thrusts.
Stack's grin broke across his face, gold tooth and all. "Mm hm." His hand joined Smoke's sentiment, fisting tighter in her curls, working himself into her mouth with an authority that matched his brother's behind her. "Take it," he said, "just like that. All of it."
She took it. She took all of it, from both of them, from behind and in front. Her tears ran freely down her face again, dripped off her chin, and ran down Stack's length where he fucked into her throat. She felt another climax building from somewhere deeper than the previous ones had come from, further down, more structural, and her body told her it was coming whether she was ready or not.
Stack felt it in the change of her mouth around him. Smoke felt it in the change of her hypersensitive pussy around him. Both of them drove harder at the same time as Smoke's hand came to her hip and gripped it with the force of a man who wanted to feel the final round tightness squeeze around him. "Give it," Smoke said, rough against her.
Bunny’s body clenched and released in a rolling sequence that started at her core and moved outward, her voice was muffled around Stack’s twitching length and her thighs shook against Smoke's grip. Everything in her narrowed down to the specific and enormous fact of coming apart between these two men who had decided, right then and there, that she was theirs. Stack's hips completely lost their rhythm entirely and he groaned from deep in his chest, his hot sticky release filling her throat in long, heavy pulses, his hand in her hair tightening as he worked through every second of it. Behind her Smoke thrusted into her through the spasms of her climax with a final series of strokes that cost him the last of his control as his hips pressed flush against hers and stayed there while he finished inside her, the sound that came out of him brief and real.
The room after was silent except for breathing.
Three people in various states of collapse across the ruined white linens, the lamp still burning in the corner, the amber light still doing its only job. Bunny was laying face down in the center of the bed with no intention of moving for the foreseeable future. Stack was somewhere to her left, his hand resting on the mattress near her shoulder. Smoke stood after a moment, crossed to the washstand, and returned with a warm cloth. He cleaned her with that same focused efficiency she had heard other dolls gossip about but never experienced, his hands moved over her with the attention of a man who considered this part of the task just as important as any other.
It was Stack’s turn to move from his spot on the bed, as he waltzed over to a nearby drink cart and poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey glass, took a long sip, and exhaled with the deep satisfaction of a man at genuine peace with every decision he had made in the last several hours. He looked at Bunny where she laid against the linens, a beautiful and thoroughly claimed wreck of a woman. Then he turned to look at his brother across the room.
"She can't go back on the floor," he said.
Smoke wrung the cloth out over the basin. "Mm?"
"I'm serious, Eli. Her talent is undeniable. That thang she did with them hips is somethin' I intend to study at length for the next several weeks of my life." He took another sip. "But her control? Her control is nonexistent. She finished too many damn times in one session. You put her in a room with a payin' client who came here expectin' an hour an she gon' be done in two minutes. That man gon' feel robbed an robbed men talk… an talkin' men bad for business." He set the glass down and crossed his arms over his chest like a man presenting a logical conclusion. "Two more weeks. Minimum. We retrain her every night ‘til she can hold back a nut the way a real doll ‘posed to."
Smoke stayed quiet as he came back to the bed, sat at its edge and looked at his twin with the knowing expression he wore when Stack was making an argument he wanted to put an immediate end to. "Elias," he said.
Stack looked at him.
"Drink ya' whiskey an shut the fuck up."
Stack sucked his teeth but he kept his eyes on Bunny.
Bunny turned her face against the pillow and looked at both of them from the comfortable horizontal vantage point of a woman who had been thoroughly wrecked. Smoke, quiet at the bed's edge, let his hand come to rest at her ankle. Stack, whiskey back in hand and gold tooth gleaming was already building his next argument with the enthusiasm of a man who was looking forward to the next two weeks considerably more than he is letting on.
"Two weeks," she mumbled underneath her breath, to the ceiling.
Stack pointed at her with excitement. "See! She gets it. That’s a good lil’ bunny rabbit."
"But the food stays the same," she added.
The room went quiet for a moment.
Then Stack started laughing, full and genuine, the sound rolling through the room and finding all the corners. This time he pointed at Smoke with the glass. "Eli," he said, "I like her."
"I know," Smoke replied as he kept his hand on her ankle. “I know…”
.
.
.
.
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Author’s Note: Wowzers! See I ammmmm capable of writing the twins as civilized deviants… *cough* So… um… how about that Josie?? 😏
Summary: Zariah Saint-James is everywhere. Runways. Campaigns. Magazine covers. Private dinners packed with people rich enough to hide their intentions behind polished smiles and designer tailoring. The world knows her face before they know her voice, and lately her career is moving faster than she can keep up with.
Smoke lives in a different kind of world.
Warnings: Smoke x BRATTY OC SMUT. Spoiled, rich dark skin baddie x Daddy Dom/Strict!Smoke. Heavy dirty talk. Very descriptive smut. Spanking. Discipline.
[I didn’t tag since I am currently working on a new taglist. Apologies in advance. Wanted to give you guys something while I work on these updates!]
The car drops her a half step past the entrance like the driver doesn’t want to block the curb too long. Zariah steps out into a slice of low overhead light and the door shuts behind her with an expensive thud. The building doesn’t announce itself. There was no line, no loud music spilling out. Just a matte black door and a man who looks like he’s part of the wall until you meet his eyes.
Zariah gives her name. The man checks it once, then again without looking like he’s checking anything at all, and opens the door.
Inside, things felt different. Not quite the music, more like a pulse under everything. Velvet seatings. Dark wood. People who speak in half-voices and don’t repeat themselves.
Zariah pauses just inside, long enough to take it in. It was just a breath, nothing obvious. Her shoulders settle into their usual line, chin level, eyes forward. Zariah belongs in rooms. That part is muscle memory.
A hand touches her elbow lightly, her spine goes rigid.
“Saint-James.”
Zariah turns. Malik. He’s familiar enough to ease the first second of it. Zariah’s seen him at fittings, at a campaign wrap, once backstage where he talked too smoothly to be anyone’s assistant. Tonight, he looked sharper, but same smile though. Same confidence that assumes a yes before it’s given.
“You made it,” he says.
“Mm.” A small nod. “For a minute.”
Malik steps in beside her, hazel eyes boring into hers, not blocking, just aligning.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.”
Zariah lets him guide the direction not the movement. There’s a difference. He knows people here. That’s useful. He speaks in low tones as they move, greeting without stopping, names traded like small coins. When he introduces Zariah, his hand rests at the small of her back for a second too long, then lifts.
“This is Zariah. Saint-James.”
Heads turn. Not many. Enough.
She offers the version of a smile that doesn’t invite questions.
“Hi.”
A woman in a silk slip dress made by some foreign designer studies her, then softens, “I know your face.”
Zariah dips her chin once. “That happens.”
A glass appears in her hand without her asking. She doesn’t drink it yet. She holds it, lets the cool settle into her palm. Malik leans in to say something near her ear. His breath brushes too close. Zariah tilts her head just enough to hear without giving him the rest of the space.
“Good room,” he says. “Keep your face around.”
“Mm.” She takes a small step forward, easing the distance. “I’m not staying long, Malik.”
They drift to a cluster near the bar. Four men, maybe five. Conversation tight. Phrases that loop around meaning instead of landing on it. Numbers, but not spoken like numbers. Very mysterious in a way that makes you wonder. Zariah listens without looking like she’s listening. That’s a skill she learned early. One of them glances at her, then at Malik. A beat. A question that never becomes a question.
Malik answers it anyway.
“She’s good,” he says, easy. “She with me.”
One of the men drags their eyes over Zariah.
“This you, Malik? Whatever happened to that French model you had on your arm during fashion week?”
“You know that was all business,” Malik leans into Zariah, placing his hand on her lower back. “This is Zariah Saint-James. She’s gonna be the new face taking over the fashion industry. Ain’t that right, baby?”
Hums of approval circulated.
Zariah stills. Not a freeze. A correction. She turns her head, just enough to catch his eye. Her voice stays light, even.
“I came by myself, actually.”
It lands clean. No edge. No apology.
A couple of the men look away first. Malik’s smile doesn’t falter, but it tightens at the corners.
“Yeah,” he says, like he meant it that way. “For a minute.”
“For a minute,” she repeats, and lifts the glass to her lips without drinking.
Zariah notices the details in the room now. How people stand angled instead of square. How no one laughs too loud. How eyes track movement without turning heads. This isn’t a creative room. Not really. It wears the shape as a disguise but the weight under it is something else. Something she clearly didn’t prepare herself for. Because this space was dressed up like any other she’d been in. But clearly, this room full of powerful people was another side of stardom she didn’t understand enough.
Malik introduces her again, this time to a man in a dark suit with a watch that probably costs more than what Zariah is worth. Older. White. The man’s gaze rests on her a fraction longer than it needs to.
“Pleasure,” he says.
Zariah meets it, steady. “Mm.”
He smiles like that answer told him something. Zariah blinks away quickly.
Malik’s hand returns to her waist, guiding her half a step closer to the circle as if to anchor the introduction. She lets it sit there for a second, then shifts her weight, a small turn of her hips that leaves his hand with nowhere natural to land. It falls away.
“I’m gonna grab something,” she says, already moving. Heart racing.
Stay,” Malik whispers, soft enough that it could pass for a suggestion.
Zariah doesn’t stop.
“I’ll be right back.”
At the bar, she can breath better. She sets the glass down untouched and rests her fingertips on the smooth marble of the bar top. Her reflection glides along the surface, broken by light. Zariah smoothes the line of her dress at her hip, more to ground herself than to adjust anything.
Her phone buzzed once. Zariah glanced at it. A text from a stylist about a call time tomorrow. She types back a quick answer, then locks the screen. Behind her, the private lounge continues like it didn’t notice her stepping away.
Malik returns, closer than before. Zariah stiffens.
“You good?”
“I’m fine.” Zariah keeps her gaze on the bar, then turns to Malik. “I’m heading out in a second.”
“Already?” Malik smiles, but there’s something under it now. “You just got here, baby.”
“I said a minute.”
Malik leans in again, voice low. “Don’t do that, Zariah. It’s a good look for you to be seen here. I called some connects. Got you on the list…the least you can do is play along. Don’t you want that Vogue spread?”
Zariah holds his gaze.
“I’ve been seen.”
There was a pause. Malik’s eyes search her face like he’s trying to decide how far to push. It was making Zariah feel uncomfortable.
“Come meet one more person,” he says. “Then you can go.”
Zariah considers it. Quick. The room presses at the edges of her awareness.
“One,” she says.
Malik nods like he won something. They cross the floor again. This time, the path feels longer. Or maybe she’s more aware of it. The man Malik wants her to meet stands near a corner where the ambiance is softer. He looks up as they approach, already informed.
“Saint-James,” Malik says. Like he’s placing a piece on a board. “Told you.”
The man’s eyes take her in without apology. Dark. Unreadable. A face so chiseled it could only be described as a plastic surgeon’s work.
“I’ve seen you. That shoot with Alberto Rodriguez. Stunning. Versace.”
“Thank you.” Her tone stays even.
“I’m Westley.” He smiles. “You’re in the right room.”
Zariah meets that without returning it, “I’m in the room I walked into.”
Malik laughs under his breath like she said something charming. The man doesn’t laugh.
For a second, no one speaks.
“…well. It’s nice to finally meet you, Saint James. Hopefully the next time we meet, It’s us working together.”
Zariah lets it sit. Then, she inclines her head, gives Westley a faint smile, small and final.
“I’m heading out.”
Malik’s hand ghosts at her back again, then stops when she doesn’t slow. “I’ll walk you.”
“No, you’re good.” Zariah turns slightly, enough to keep it polite, not enough to invite him to follow. “I got it.”
Zadiah moves toward the door with the same pace she walked in with. Composed. The man at the door opens it before she reaches for the handle.
Outside, Zariah exhales, a real one this time, and steps onto the curb. For a second, she stands there, looking back at the black door like it might explain itself if she gave it long enough.
It doesn’t.
Zariah pulls her phone out to call her driver, thumb hovering over the screen. Then, she stills.
A small thought crosses her mind.
I should’ve said something.
The ride back felt longer than it should have. Zariah sits angled toward the window, city lights dragging across the glass in streaks of gold and white. Her phone sat in her lap, the screen dark. She picked it up once, unlocked it, then locked it again without doing anything. Her reflection stared back at her faintly in the window. Same face. Same poise. But there was something tighter around her eyes now.
She exhales and leans back.
By the time the car pulls up, most of the lights in the surrounding units are off. Her driver tells her goodnight. Zariah answers without thinking and steps out, her heels landing soft against pavement. Inside, the elevator ride was short. Too short. She watches the LED numbers climb, arms folded loosely, thumb brushing over her wrist. Not nervous. Just…aware.
The elevator doors open. The hallway leading into the hall of her apartment building is dim, lined with soft recess lighting along the ceiling. Her steps are steady and cloaked by the hand-tuffted carpet runner in dark green as she walks to her door. Zariah reaches into her bag, pulls out her keys, and unlocks it.
The door opens with a hiss.
And the first thing she notices is the light. It’s already on. It wasn’t every light, but enough. The living room. The kitchen.
He’s here.
Smoke is sitting on one end of her sectional, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. No TV. No phone. Just him. And that was enough to make her pause.
He looked up when she stepped in. Zariah pauses just past the foyer for half a second. Then, she sits her bag down on the coffee table.
“When did you get here?” She asked, proceeding to take off her heels like everything is normal.
Smoke doesn’t answer right away. His eyes stay locked on her.
Then—
“Where you come from?”
Flat. No extra weight in the words. That’s what makes it land hard. Zariah slips her other shoe off, placing them beneath the coffee table.
“Out.”
A beat
“With who?”
Zariah straightens, smoothing her dress down at her hips before turning to face him.
“Some people from work.”
Smoke’s gaze doesn’t break.
“What people?”
Zariah tilts her head slightly, studying him now.
“Why you askin’ like that?”
Smoke leans back just enough to rest against the sectional, but his eyes remained glued to her like he was seeing past the guard she was trying to obtain.
“Answer the question.”
Zariah’s jaw sets for a second.
“I told you. Work people.”
Silence. It stretched just enough to be felt.
Then—
“You was at that lounge on Mercer.”
It wasn’t a question. Zariah’s eyes flicker once. She wasn’t surprised. Just confirmation that she knew he would be keeping an eye on her location.
She folds her arms loosely.
“…Yeah.”
“Who took you there?”
“My driver dropped me off. I went by myself.”
Smoke’s gaze sharpens just a fraction.
“Don’t do that.”
Zariah’s brows pull together. “I just told you—”
“Who brought you in?”
His voice doesn’t rise. It just tightens. Zariah exhales through her nose.
“A creative I know. Malik was there.”
Smoke leans forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees again.
“Malik.”
Smoke repeats it like he’s placing it somewhere. Then, he looks back at Zariah.
“And you thought that was somewhere you should be.”
There was no question in it. Zariah shifts her weight onto one leg.
“I’ve been in places like that before.”
“No,” Smoke says, cutting through it. “You haven’t.”
That hit. Zariah’s arms drop from where they were closed. Her posture straightens.
“You don’t know every place I’ve been,” Zariah replies, voice firmer now.
“I know that one.”
Zariah studies him, eyes narrowing slightly. “You actin’ like I walked into something crazy, Smoke.”
He holds her gaze. “You did.”
Zariah’s lips press together. For a second, she looks like she might push back harder.
“I was fine,” she says instead.
Smoke’s expression doesn’t change. “No, Z. You wasn’t.”
Short. Final.
Zariah’s breath catches slightly, more from the certainty than the words themselves. She looks away for a second, then back at him.
“I handled myself. Like I always do.”
The corner of Smoke’s mouth twitched. Enough to part his full lips and reveal silver slugs. He watched her with a slight squint of his eyes. Because he knew. He always knew.
“I’m sure you think you did, baby.”
That stung more than anything else he’d said.
Her chin lifts just a touch, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Silence again. This time more overbearing. Smoke leans forward more, closing some of the space between them without standing.
“Look at me.”
Zariah’s eyes snap back to his. She holds it.
“I am.”
Then, Smoke asks, calm and direct. “He put his hands on you?”
Zariah stills. Her fingers curl slightly at her sides.
“It wasn’t like that.”
That’s not an answer.
Smoke’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“Did he touch you.”
Zariah exhales. “…Yeah.”
Another pause.
“Where.”
Her jaw tightens.
“At my back. My waist. He was just—guiding me.”
Smoke nods once, slow. “Guiding you.”
He repeats it, but it wasn’t like he agrees.
Zariah shifts her weight again. “I moved. I corrected it.”
“I know you did.”
That catches her off guard. Her brows lift slightly.
“You know?”
“I know how you move.” His tone hasn’t changed, but something underneath it has. “And you still stayed.”
There it is.
Zariah’s shoulders drop just a fraction.
“I was trying to leave without making it a thing.”
Smoke sits back again, dragging a hand over his face once before letting it fall.
“You already was a thing the second you walked in there.”
Zariah’s gaze softens, just a little. She looks at him for a long second, then speaks quieter.
“I didn’t know it was like that. That he…that it was more than making connections. Helping my career. I–I didn’t realize he was tryna push up on me, Smoke.”
Smoke watches her. And for the first time, something shifts in his expression. Edged with something else. A softness rarely seen.
“I know you didn’t, Z. That’s the problem. Because he could have taken advantage. Like that nigga always do.”
Zariah exhales, slow. Her shoulders ease. She steps a little closer now, enough to close some of the distance.
“I hear you.”
It’s quieter than anything she’s said so far. Real. Smoke holds her gaze a moment longer. Then, he leans back against the sofa, one hand resting on his jaw.
“Next time,” he says, voice steady, “you tell me where you goin’.”
Zariah nods once. “…Okay.”
She means it, but she looks away right after she says it, eyes drifting toward the kitchen like the conversation might loosen if she doesn’t hold it.
It doesn’t.
The sofa creaks as Smoke Stands. He steps toward her, closing the space she left between them. Zariah’s shoulders tighten just a fraction as he stops in front of her.
“Don’t look away.”
Smoke’s voice stays low and firm. Her eyes lift back to his, slow and steady. Smoke studies her for a second. Then, his hand comes up, fingers settling under her chin, thumb along the side of her jaw.
“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.”
Zariah’s breath shifts. She doesn’t pull away.
“Mkay,” she replies with a soft voice.
“You walked into a space where nobody in there is who they say they are,” he says. “Not to you.”
Zariah watches him, listening.
“…That wasn’t no industry lounge,” Smoke continues. “That’s a place people use to meet when they don’t want nothin’ traced back to ‘em. Deals get made in there that don’t got nothin’ to do with clothes or cameras. People walk in there one way and come out different. This industry will chew you up and spit you out, baby. I know it.”
Zariah’s brows pull together slightly. “I didn’t hear anything like that.”
“You wasn’t supposed to,” he answers, just as even. “That’s the point.”
Zariah’s lips part, then press together again. Smoke’s thumb shifts against her jaw, grounding her attention back to him.
“And that nigga, Malik?” Smoke goes on. “He ain’t no creative you just ‘know’. He move with people who use faces like yours to get in rooms easier. To make things look clean.”
Zariah’s posture straightens. She exhales.
“He didn’t do anything to me. I wouldn’t have let it get that far, Smoke. I had it under control,” she says, a little firmer. “And I didn’t even expect to see him tonight. A friend of mine put in a word. I…I just…I figured it was just some exclusive party for A listers and I could—I could walk in there and—”
“I didn’t say he did anything.” Smoke cut her off. “I said he put you somewhere you shouldn’t have been. And that friend? I wouldn’t be surprised if they a part of it. So you need to cut them off.”
Zariah’s gaze flickers, then steadies again.
Smoke leans in just slightly, enough to make sure she’s locked in with him.
“I’m in this enough to know how that goes,” he says. “I seen how fast it turns. You walk in thinkin’ it’s one thing, and next thing you know you tied to somethin’ you don’t even understand yet.”
Zariah swallows lightly. Smoke’s eyes stay on hers.
“And I don’t play about what’s mine.”
There’s no rise to his voice. No dramatics. Just fact. Zariah feels that one’s it sits heavy on her chest. Her fingers curl slightly at her sides, but she doesn’t break eye contact. Smoke lets that hang for a second before continuing.
“So listen to me,” he says. His hand drops from her chin, but his presence doesn’t pull back. “When you go somewhere, you let me know first.”
Clear.
“You don’t just show up anywhere off impulse. I don’t care who invited you.”
Zariah nods, lips scrunched up. “Okay.”
“If you walk into a spot and somethin’ feel off,” he continues, “you don’t stand there tryin’ to figure it out. You leave.”
Zariah’s lips part slight like she’s about to speak but she lets him finish.
“You call me,” he says. “I’ll come get you. I don’t care where you at.”
Certainty.
“And if somebody put their hands on you,” Smoke adds, voice still low, “or make you feel any type of way…”
He paused, enough to let Zariah know he’s dead ass serious.
“You tell me. And I’ll handle it. My way.”
Zariah’s breath slows. “I will.”
Smoke studies her, making sure.
“Say it again.”
Zariah’s eyes stay on his. “I’ll tell you.”
Smoke hums, then he nods his head before leaning down to kiss her forehead, then her cheek, and ending with her lips. A soft peck that stirs her. Zariah breaks the kiss, exhales, then she looks at him.
“I didn’t know—”
“I know, baby girl. Just…listen to me, okay? You know this shit triggers me when you go off doin’ shit that make me worried. I’m serious, Z. Don’t do this shit again.”
She purses her lips, but ultimately gives him another kiss, falling into his big embrace that swallows her.
Correction.
Weeks pass. At first, Zariah tells herself Smoke is just being attentive. Protective. Present.
After the lounge incident, Smoke starts rearranging his life around hers in ways that don’t announce themselves immediately. It begins small enough to almost feel thoughtful. He starts picking her up from late shoots instead of sending a driver. He waits outside fittings in black SUVs with the engine running while she changes out of couture and campaign makeup under bright studio lights. When she lands in another city for a show, he’s already there before she reaches baggage claim, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup, eyes scanning the terminal before they settle on her.
Smoke never makes a scene. Never acts possessive in public. That’s what makes it harder to argue with. To everyone around her, Smoke looks dependable. Solid. The type of man women brag about having.production assistants smile when he takes garment bags from their hands. Publicists relax when he quietly checks exits and entrances before an event. Designers greet him like they trust him instinctively, even when they don’t know why.
And Zariah hates that part a little because he’s so good at it. Too good at it.
Her world keeps moving at full speed while his begins orbiting around it with frightening precision. Editorial spreads in Paris. Beauty campaigns in New York. Fashion week dinners packed with actors, athletes, stylists, investors, people who speak in air kisses and coded conversations. Zariah is everywhere lately. Her face is in windows three stories high. Magazine covers. Digital campaigns looping across giant screens downtown. And somehow, Smoke is always there now too.
Not beside her. Near her. Outside the room. At the car.
Watching.
Waiting.
The first few times, Zariah lets it go. She tells herself it’s temporary. That he’s going to go back to work doing what he does that’s so top secret and get bored of all the glitz and glam. That he’s trying to make a point after what happened with Malik and the lounge. But the weeks stretch and instead of easing up, Smoke becomes more involved.
More structured.
He starts asking for schedules in advance. What event. Which hotel. Who invited her. Who’s attending. What time she expects to leave.
Not interrogations.
Expectations.
And that’s what starts irritating her. Because Zariah has spent her entire adult life moving independently through spaces exactly like these. She built her career on instincts, timing, reading energy, staying graceful under pressure. Men in fashion flirt. Men in entertainment hover. Wealthy people invite you places with hidden motives attached to every smile. She learned how to survive that years ago. So when Smoke starts appearing downstairs before she even calls for a car, something in her begins pushing back automatically.
She stops texting updates as quickly. Leaves details out. Answers questions vaguely.
“Just work.”
“A dinner.”
“Somewhere in SoHo.”
Nothing technically disrespectful. But it was enough for Smoke to notice she’s testing the edges of what he said in that apartment weeks ago. And Smoke noticed everything. Especially patterns. Especially when someone starts moving different on purpose.
The irritation builds on both sides slowly, layered beneath long workdays and late nights. And the worst part is she can’t tell where protection ends and control begins anymore.
Zariah’s up early, wrapped in a robe, hair slicked back into a bun, glass skin and fuzzy Louis Vuitton slippers on her pedicured feet. She’s standing at the kitchen counter with her phone propped against a glass of hot water with lemon and ginger. A call time gets pushed. A fitting added. A dinner penciled in. Her voice stays even, professional, the version of her that never slips.
“Yeah, I can make that,” she says. “Send me the address.”
She doesn’t mention it to Smoke. Not when she hangs up. Not when she toasts her sourdough bread to add slices avocado and sliced smoked salmon. Not when she walks past the living room where Smoke is sitting, reading.
He glances up when she crosses. Zariah doesn’t stop.
“I got a dinner tonight,” she says like it’s an afterthought. “Brand people.”
Smoke nods, “what time?”
“Eight.”
“Where.”
Zariah takes a sip of her water.
“I’ll text it.”
Smoke studies her for a second longer than usual. Then, nods again.
“Aight.”
And Zariah doesn’t text it. Not at eight. Not at nine. She’s already dressed and out the door by the time the reminder crosses her mind, heels clicking down the hallway, phone buzzing in her hand with another message that isn’t his.
When she comes back, Smoke’s in the same spot. That’s the first thing she notices. Not the fact that he’s there. The fact that he hasn’t moved much.
Zariah steps in, sets her bag down, slips her heels off.
“You been sittin’ there all day?” Zariah asks, light, like she’s asking about the weather.
Smoke’s eyes lift to her. “Where you just come from, Zariah.”
Zariah walks past him, heading toward the kitchen. That little fancy plate of French food wasn’t enough to settle her hunger. She considers ordering in some Pho from her favorite Vietnamese restaurant.
“I told you,” she says. “Dinner.”
“With who.”
Zariah opens the fridge, bends over, little cocktail dress rising up, almost revealing no panties. She scans it like she’s actually looking for something.
“People from the brand.”
Smoke doesn’t say anything right away. But his jaw ticks. Zariah pulls out a bottle of water, shuts the fridge, leans against the counter.
“You ask a lot of questions,” she says, taking a sip.
There’s a small edge to it. A sassy little tone that reeks of an attitude that needs to be checked.
Smoke watches her unblinking.
“I asked you where, Zariah.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “It was in the city.”
That’s it. That’s all she gives him. And she knows it. Something stills in Smoke. He’s locked. Smoke sets his phone down on the table beside him. Slow. Then, he stands. Zariah watches him this time. She doesn’t look away. Smoke walks toward her, closing space like an imposing shadow. Zariah straightens a little as he stops in front of her. She braces her hand on the counter behind her. Smoke’s eyes narrow slightly, orbs darkened with frustration.
“You ain’t text me nothin’.”
Zariah takes a sip of her water, avoiding his eyes as if the vase across from her on the dining room table was more interesting.
“I was busy.”
Smoke tilts his head. “I told you, Z. You go somewhere, you let me know.”
Zariah lifts her gaze, chin lifting slightly. Defiantly.
“And I heard you.”
There it is. That fucking tone.
Dismissal.
Smoke’s gaze tightens just a fraction. “But you ain’t do it.”
Zariah shrugs, “I got there, everything was fine. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Smoke stepped in closer to where she was nearly pressed between his solid frame and the countertop behind her. Her breathing shifted but she checked it as best as she could.
“It was to me.”
Zariah rolls her eyes. She pushes off the counter, standing fully now.
“You can’t expect me to check in every time I step outside, Smoke,” she argues. “That’s not how I move and you know that.”
More edge now. More bite. Zariah knows she’s pushing. Smoke watches her for a long second. Then, he exhales once through his nose.
“You think that’s what it is.”
It wasn’t a question.
Zariah folds her arms. “I think you’re doing too much.”
The silence was heavy.
Then. “Say that again.”
Zariah holds his gaze. Doesn’t flinch.
“I said you’re doing too much.”
Smoke’s haha comes up, firm fingers gripping her jaw, turning her face just enough so she can’t angle away.
“Don’t do that.” Smoke said, low. Controlled yet deep.
“I’m just sayin—”
“NO,” Smoke cuts in, sharper. “You talkin’ like what I said don’t matter. And that’s a problem for me.”
Zariah’s eyes flash. “That’s not what I—”
“That’s exactly what you doin’.” Smoke’s grip tightens. “You hear me them weeks ago. Loud and clear.”
Zariah’s chest rises and falls a little quicker now.
“I did.”
“But you moved like you didn’t.”
There’s no way around that. Zariah looks at him, really looks this time. There’s something building in her too. It wasn’t fear. It was friction.
“I’m not one of your operations,” she says. “You don’t get to run me like that.”
Smoke scuffs. “Aight.”
He releases her jaw. Steps back half a step, and that almost feels worse.
“You right,” Smoke says. And it’s too calm. “I don’t run you.”
Zariah’s shoulders ease slightly. But only for a second.
“Which means,” Smoke continued, “you make your own decisions.”
Zariah watches Smoks cautiously now.
“And you deal with whatever come with ‘em. You don’t call me. You don’t tell me where you at. You don’t move how I told you to move—”
Smoke pauses. Not long.
“You on your own with that.”
Zariah’s brows pull together. “That’s not what I—”
“You wanted independence,” he says, cutting in, still calm. “I’m givin’ it to you.”
Zariah studies him.
This isn’t him trick to control her. This is him stepping back. And that doesn’t feel how she thought it would.
“You serious?” She asks.
Smoke nods. “I don’t chase grown decisions, ma. But don’t stand in my face and act like what I said ain’t carry weight.”
Zariah exhales. She folds her arms and juts that hip out. Lip poked. She looks at Smoke for a long second. Then, softer, but still holding onto herself:
“That’s not what I was tryin’ to do. And you don’t mean none of that shit. Soon as I leave you gon’ be right there , outside, waitin’ on me. Tell me I’m wrong?”
Smoke cuts his eyes at her. Then, he walks off. Leaving Zariah fuming.
Zariah spends the rest of the evening like she lives alone. That’s the first thing that gets under Smoke’s skin.
Just…dismissal.
She moved through the luxury apartment with that polished calm of hers, never quite looking at him, never quite acknowledging the weight sitting in the space between them. She replies to texts on the sofa with one knee tucked under her, laughing softly at something on her screen, walks past him like he’s furniture.
Smoke says her name once.
Zariah hears it. He knows she hears it because her shoulders tighten for half a second. But, she keeps on walking. That does more than attitude ever could because now she’s choosing it. And one trigger of Smoke’s, one thing that really ticks him off—being ignored. He watched her enter her bedroom. Smoke sits there another few seconds, jaw working once.
Then, he stands. No rush to it. He rolls his shoulders once, loosening the tension sitting there. Smoke reaches for the watch on his wrist and sets it on the side table. Neatly. That alone would tell her everything if she saw it. Smoke never tosses things. When he starts setting items aside with care, he’s making room for discipline. He walks to the kitchen, pours a glass of water, drinks half, sets it down. Runs both palms over his face, then drags one hand across the back of his neck.
Collecting himself. Not cooling off. Centering.
By the time he reaches the bedroom, the bathroom door is cracked open from the steam, he pushes the door open wider and steps inside. Zariah is standing in front of her vanity, fingers hooking the thin straps of her sleek black cocktail dress. She tugs one strap down her shoulder, exposing smooth dark skin inch by inch, the fabric whispering at her elbows while she twists to face the mirror, grabbing her hair to pile it high, pinning it loose but secure with a claw clip.
Smoke leans against the frame, hoody heavy against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest, fitted black tee stretching across his pecs. His eyes track every peel of fabric like he owns the view. Tension crackles thick from the kitchen standoff earlier, her defiance still simmering hot under her skin.
She sees him in the mirror, and now she’s taking off her strapless lace bra and matching thong. Completely naked and glowing like her body was slathered in liquid gold. That little performance almost makes him smile.
Almost.
“You done?” Smoke asks.
Her voice stays light. “With what?”
“With this act you tryna put on to piss me off.”
Zariah grabs a plum-colored silk robe from a wall mounted hook, hiding that beautiful body.
“I’m getting ready to shower. Then I’m going to bed. I have a busy schedule tomorrow, Smoke.”
Smoke closes the bedroom door. The click of the latch is small but it lands. Zariah’s fingers pause over the tie of her robe. Only for a second. Then, she resumes, adjusting the front of her robe like nothing changed. Smoke walks up until he’s directly behind her, watching her reflection instead of her directly.
“You been real busy not seein’ me tonight.”
Zariah shrugs one shoulder.
“I’ve been minding my business.”
“That so.”
“You got something to say,” she says, voice even, “say it.”
“I did.” His tone is lower now. “You ignored it.”
Her chin lifts a little in the mirror.
“Maybe I was tired of hearing it.”
Smoke’s hand comes to the robe knot at her waist, fingers brushing the bow but not pulling it loose. Zariah finally turns them, eyes lifting to meet his.
There’s a challenge there. Smoke matches that, boring his eyes into hers like he was asking her telepathically ‘you really wanna take it there, baby girl?’. His gaze dropped briefly to the robe that barely hugged her frame, the one she loved to put on after her showers. The one she wore whenever her skin was slicked with body oil so it could mold to her body in ways that had Smoke dickin’ her down to put her to bed properly.
“You been pokin’ at me all night.”
Zariah folds her arms over her chest.
“Maybe you’re easy to poke.”
That earns a quiet breath through his nose. And he wasn’t amused.
He steps closer until there’s no way for her to forget he’s there. The heat of him reaches her before contact does. Her spine straightens automatically. Smoke notices. His hand slides to her jaw, thumb settling near her chin, guiding her face up.
“Wrong answer.”
Zariah’s lips part.
She means to say something slick. He sees it forming.
But the words stall when his other hand reaches down, tugs the robe knot loose in one pull, then lets it fall open on its own. He takes a small step back, eyes downcast to admire her. Take in the view like she was modeling nudity for his eyes only. Robe parted wide and framing that long, elegant frame without hiding a damn thing. 5’10 of slim-thick lines hit different up close. Her long torso stretched down to a waist he could circle with both hands and still have room, dipping into hips that curved fuller from the side, that rich brown skin glowing warm.
Her chest rose steady with each breath, full and natural, nipples tightening just from the air or maybe his stare, elegant shape softening the sharp edges of her shoulders and collarbones. He clocked the subtle give in her stomach, toned thighs long from runway miles pressed together slight, calves flexing strong as she held runway poise even now.
Smoke’s eyes never leave hers.
“That attitude you got,” he says quietly. “I’m ‘bout done with it.”
“You ain’t my bodyguard no more, Smoke,” Zariah snaps, voice laced brat-sharp. “Stop actin’ like you run shit. I do what I want.”
Smoke chuckles low, rumble deep from his chest rolling out gravel-thick, his hand shoots out to snag her wrist before she grabs the front of her robe, pulling her half-turn into him, cedar scent faint mixing with her floral perfume.
“Yeah, but who you come runnin’ to when you needed help? Who handled things to make shit easier for you? Roughed niggas up that got too close? Would kill anybody that so much as try you?” Smoke drawls slow, southern thick, free hand palming the front of his joggers where his thick bulge thickens obvious. “Yeah, but you was feenin’ for this dick. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you beggin’ me to fuck you in that dressing room. Remember? Or you forgot just like you forgot who the fuck I am. And when I say somethin’, you do as you told.”
Smoke’s eyes never left yer face, unblinking and coal-dark, jaw set under stubble.
Zariah yanks her wrist free, twisting away but stays close, turning full to shove her palm flat against his chest, pushing half-hearted, his pecs unyielding under her spore as fingers. Zariah leans in, chin high, lips curling into a smirk.
“And wasn’t you the one that couldn’t wait to fuck me?” She fires back, hip cocked. “Ain’t never had a bitch like me in yo’ life. Soon as you got a taste, you obsessed, right? That’s why you still actin’ like a good little soldier. Now who’s in control now, big bad Smoke?” Her voice pitches taunt, one hand sliding down to trail the ridge of his abs where his tee clings, nails scraping light to test the flex.
Zariah walks off, brushing past him. Smoke snorts breath.
“Control? Lil’ girl, you testin’ ropes right now.” Smoke growls. His large Pam clamps her hip, yanking her flush from behind, his hard dick against her ass. His beard grazes her cheek as his head dips. “That dressin’ room…you hiked that dress, spread your legs wide, pussy was drippin’ and beggin’ for my tongue first. Then you rode this dick cryin’ daddy til you squirted all on this dick. Obsessed? Yeah…I ain’t got a reason to deny shit. But you hooked, baby girl. Chasin’ this nut every night since.” Smoke’s fingers trail up the arch of her spine, his other hand cupping her ass cheek.
Zariah gasps sharp, twisting her hips, bucking against him, but eventually she breaks the hold.
“Hooked? Please. You stalkin’ my every move like a lost puppy.” She spits, laughing brittle, backing toward the bathroom door. “Body guard days over, but you still guarding this pussy like it’s yours. And I’m glad you know exactly how obsessed you are.” Her eyes flash, lips parting to rest her tongue at the corner of her mouth.
Smoke steps forward, hands shooting out to brace the doorframe over her head, caving her without touch.
“Mine? Damn right. Till you prove otherwise.” He rumbles. “Go ‘head, shower off that dinner, but don’t think slamming doors gon’ end this talk.” His eyes rake over her body, dick tenting the front of his joggers. Zariah places her palm flat against his chest before giving him a final shove to the ripple of muscle, the door swinging hard bang latch catching. The shower turned on beyond the door and as much as Smoke wanted to open that door, he waited. Waited until he heard that shower shut off.
Zariah is standing at the vanity in nothing but a towel, lotion bottle in hand, acting deeply interested in the label. She bends to reach for her toner in the cabinet beneath the sink. The bathroom door opens, the humidity in the bathroom turning the air chill. The fog on the glass began to disappear. The way she knows exactly where he is behind her without turning around. She just wants him to know she can ignore it.
Zariah rises slowly, and sets her toner on the sink with careful precision.
Still won’t turn.
Zariah swallows. Her arms start to cross over herself instinctive. Smoke catches both her wrists and lowers them back at her sides.
“No.”
Zariah looks at him now, fully. Some of the bravado thinning at the edges. Because she knows this version of him. The one who gets calmer the more serious he is. He releases her wrists only after they stay where he put them. Then, he steps back half a pace and gestures toward the counter.
Smoke steps behind her, broad hand spreading over the back of her neck for one steady second, claiming her attention.
"Good," he says.
The steam from her shower clings to the air, thick and warm, fogging the mirror above the sink in faint swirls. Zariah stands there naked, skin dewy, water droplets tracing slow paths down her shoulders and the curve of her back. The towel lies discarded on the floor by her feet, leaving her fully exposed. Smoke’s hand lingers at her neck a beat longer, thumb pressing firm against her pulse, anchoring her in place. The heat of his palm seeps into her, carrying that familiar cedar scent that always seems to cut through everything else. Smoke's chest brushes her back as he closes the space. Zariah can feel the expansion of his black tee against her shoulder blades when he draws a controlled breath.
"Hands on the sink," he tells her, voice low and even.
Zariah does not move right away. Her chin lifts a fraction, eyes flicking to his reflection in the mirror, holding his gaze there. Bold still, testing.
“For what?” she asks, tone carrying that edge she knows gets under his skin, words clipped.
Smoke doesn’t rise to it. His free hand slides down her side, large fingers splaying over her hip, gripping just enough. The veins in his forearm stand out as his muscles flex.
“You know why,” he says. “All that mouth. Ignoring calls. Acting like rules don’t stick. Time to fix it.”
Zariah exhales through parted lips, a subtle shift, but her hands stay at her sides. Her posture remains upright, feet planted on the cool tile. Inside, she feels the pull, the way his presence makes the steam feel heavier, but she pushes back one more time.
“I was busy. You act like I owe you every second.”
Smoke's grip tightens on her hip, thumb digging into the soft flesh there. He leans in closer, lips near her ear, breath warm against the damp shell.
“Busy playin' games. Poking. Now I’ma show you. But that’s what you wanted, right?” His other hand lifts from her neck, trails down her spine, ending at the swell of her ass. He cups one cheek fully, squeezing hard enough to make her shift her weight.
"Hands. Sink. Now."
This time, her body responds before her mouth does. Palms flat on the cool porcelain edge, fingers splaying wide. She arches her back slightly without meaning to, ass pushing out toward him, skin prickling under the humid air. Her eyes stay on his in the mirror, defiant spark still there, but her breathing picks up, chest rising faster.
“That's better. So, you do as you told then?” he says, stepping fully behind her now. His feet plant wide on the tile, knees bracketing her legs as he positions himself. One hand stays on her hip, holding her steady. The other rears back, large palm open, veins bulging along his wrist.
The first smack lands solid across her right cheek, skin meeting skin with a sharp crack that echoes off the tiled walls. Her ass jiggles from the impact, flesh purpling instantly under his handprint. Zariah's fingers curl against the sink, a hiss escaping her teeth, but she bites down on anything louder.
“That all?” she throws back, voice tight, trying to keep the bold front.
Smoke sees it. The way her thighs tense, pussy lips glistening between her legs from more than just the shower. He knows she’s wet, knows the defiance is her last push before she settles. His dick barely had room to grow in his joggers, that thick length pressing against the seam as he watched her in the mirror.
“Keep talkin',” he warns, hand coming down again, harder this time, left cheek taking the full weight of his swing. The slap rings out wet in the steam, her ass bouncing, a fresh mark blooming dark against her skin.
Zariah gasps, knees buckling a touch, but his grip on her hip keeps her upright. Heat spreads across her backside, stinging deep.
“Fuck,” she breathes, eyes narrowing at him in the glass. “You mad at me daddy?”
Smoke doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he delivers three quick spanks in succession, alternating cheeks, each one heavier than the last. Palm cracks against flesh, her ass rippling with every strike, turning hot and swollen under his assault. Her pussy clenches visibly, slickness dripping down her inner thigh, betraying how much she needs this correction. Smoke's free hand slides between her thighs from behind, thick fingers parting her folds roughly, middle finger plunging into her soaked pussy without warning.
“This what you wanted?” Smoke growls low, pumping in and out once, twice, feeling her walls grip him tight. She moans despite herself, hips bucking back. But he pulls out just as quick, smearing her juices over her ass before landing another brutal smack right where her cheek meets thigh.
Zariah's head drops forward a second, elbows locking on the sink, but she lifts it back up, meeting his eyes again.
“Keep goin' then,” she challenges, voice breathier now, the bold cracking at the edges.
Smoke's chest rumbles with a low sound, approval mixed with hunger. That big dick throbs, straining as he tugs his joggers down with one hand, freeing the curved shaft and wide tip. Pre-cum beads at his slit, heavy length slapping against her bruised ass. But he ain’t done punishing her yet. Smoke grabs a fistful of her wet hair, pulling her head back gently but firm, forcing her to arch deeper.
“Count 'em,” he orders.
His hand cracks down again, full force, the loudest yet. Her ass quivers, marked deep purple, heat radiating.
“One,” she grits out, pussy aching empty.
Another on the other side, palm stinging his own skin from the velocity. “Two.”
Smoke spreads her cheeks with his thumbs, exposing her tight asshole and dripping slit, then spanks right across both, the impact jarring her whole body.
“Three,” she moans, thighs shaking. Teeth chattering.
Smoke leans over her, his dense midsection pressing into her back, shirt damp from the steam and her skin. His beard scraping her shoulder as he bites down lightly there, marking her while his hand rains down five more measured strikes, each one pushing her closer to breaking that last wall. Her counts come faster, voice turning needy, ass on fire, pussy clenching around nothing as viscous arousal slicks her legs. By the tenth, she is panting, body trembling in his hold, bold facade shattered into raw want.
P-Please,” Zariah whispers finally, not begging wildly but settling, hands gripping the sink.
Smoke pauses, rubbing his palm over the abused flesh, soothing the burn while his tip nudges her entrance, thick head parting her lips.
“Good girl,” he says, voice thick with possession.
Then he thrusts in deep, stretching her pussy wide around his girth, filling her completely. His hips snap forward once, deep and punishing, fat dick buried to the hilt in her dripping pussy, stretching her walls tight around his thickness.
When he eased that fat length inside her it opened her pussy with a slow burn, the girth demanding space as it sank deep. The curve to the right caught along her slick walls, dragging firm pressure against the sensitive ridge there with each inch that followed. Long and solid, bottoming out steady, filling her to the limit while her body adjusted around the thickness pulsing hot and full. Every shift would send that curve nudging the same spot over and over, building a tight coil low in her belly that made her thighs tremble without her meaning to. Zariah's breath catches sharp, body jolting against the sink, but Smoke pulls out slow, leaving her clenching empty, creamy slick coating his shaft. Not done yet. Her ass still needs more work, cheeks blazing hot under his palm prints.
Smoke's hand cracks down again, heavy and mean, right across both bruised globes. The slap echoes wet in the bathroom, her flesh rippling, thighs quivering from the sting. Zariah whimpers low, knees buckling inward, but his grip on her hip locks her straight.
“I don’t know why the fuck you act like you tough, baby,” Smoke growls, voice thick with that Mississippi drawl, low and gravel-rough, breath hot on her neck. His free hand fists her wet hair tighter, yanking her head back so her eyes lock on his in the fogged mirror. Dark brown gaze bores into hers, heavy-lidded and unblinking. “Why the fuck you keep actin’ up? Huh?”
Another smack lands harder, palm flattening her left cheek, sending fire blooming deep. Zariah’s legs shake harder, pussy leaking fresh wetness down her inner thighs, mixing with shower droplets on the tile. Zariah bites her full lip, trying to hold the sound, but a needy whine slips out anyway, body arching despite the burn.
“Why? Answer the fuckin’ question,” Smoke demands, leaning his solid chest heavier against her back, tee clinging damp to his thick torso. The weight of him pins her forward, broad shoulders eclipsing her reflection. His cream-coated dickthrobs hot against her thigh, pre-cum smearing her skin, but he holds off, rubbing her sore ass roughly with his rough palm, veins popping along his forearm whenever he would grip the flesh with his fingers.
Zariah exhales shaky through parted lips, fingers digging into the sink edge, porcelain cool under her palms. That bold edge frays, but she pushes one last time, voice breathy and tight. “I heard you...just didn’t think…”
Crack. His hand swings full force, spanking the spot where ass meets thigh, jolting her whole frame. Her pussy clenches hard, clit twitching, inner lips trembling from the impact, visible drip falling to the floor. Her legs trembled bad now, barely holding her up.
“Didn’t think what? That I mean what I say?” Smoke presses closer, beard scraping her shoulder as he leans in to kiss the spot where his teeth was minutes ago, soothing it. He spanks again, rapid fire—three in a row, alternating sides, each crack louder, her ass swelling fuller, hot to the touch.
“You went out there actin’ like my words ain’t shit. Ignorin’ calls. Playin’ like you run this. Nah, baby. That stops now.”
Zariah’s whimper turns into a gasp, body softening under the onslaught, shoulders dropping a fraction. She feels his control sink in deep, the dense gravity of his frame making the steam thicker, her vanilla-musk scent mixing with his cedar smoke.
“Y-Yeah... I hear you,” she admits quieter, chin lifting less defiant, eyes holding his with that flicker—irritation yielding to the weight.
Smoke pauses, large hand soothing over the fiery flesh, squeezing possessive. But his voice stays mean, drawl dragging slow.
“Too late for that hearin’ shit. You gonna learn tonight.” That dick nudges her slit again, thick head parting her soaked folds, teasing that creamy entry without giving it what it wants. One more spank, brutal across the fullest part of her right cheek, making her cry out soft, hips bucking back involuntary.
“Count the rest. And don’t make me ask twice.”
Her voice comes steady now, reined in, body present under him. “E-Eleven.”
Smoke’s hand lifts off her throbbing ass cheek, fingers digging into the heated flesh one last time before shoving her shoulders down firm. Enough with the slaps. Time to shut that mouth up proper. Her knees hit the wet tile with a soft smack, water slick under her shins. Zariah’s dark eyes lift to his, breath still ragged from the burn, but she don't hesitate. Her body shifts smoothly, settling low, full tits swaying as she balances on her heels.
Smoke steps up close, black tee clinging to his broad chest, sweat and shower mist beading on his deep brown skin. One thick hand wraps the base of his dick, pulling it free from where it hung thick and heavy between his muscular thighs. Almost as thick as her forearm, easy nine inches stretching out straight at first, then curving wicked at the tip like it know exactly where to hit deep. Girth thick around, veins bulging ropey along the dark shaft, skin a rich chocolate shade fading near the fat, flared head that's glossy with pre-cum leaking steady. Heavy balls swing low underneath, plump and full, hanging loose in that wrinkled sac, dark and musky from the heat. Whole thing pulses alive in his grip, smelling of clean soap mixed with his natural cedar-earth scent up close.
“See this dick right here, baby? You wanna talk back, runnin’ yo’ mouth like you run shit? Get this dick in that throat,” Smoke growls low, drawl dragging thick and mean, free hand tangling rough in her wet curls. He yanks her face forward, smearing the leaking head across her plump lips, leaving a shiny trail. “Suck big daddy’s dick. Put that mouth to work since you actin’ all tough. Throat it deep, show me you learned somethin’ tonight.”
Zariah parts her lips wide, tongue flicking out to lap the salty bead from his slit before she stretches her jaw open. Head disappears first, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks hard around the ridge, pulling him in inch by girthy inch. Those full Saliva spills quick, dripping down her chin. She trained for this, months of him working her down slow at first, gagging her till she took every curve without choking. Now she slides forward steady, throat relaxing open, feeling that bend nudge the back of her mouth then slip past her tonsils smooth.
The soft flesh of her lips stretches wide and presses flush against his shaft as she sinks lower, creating a tight seal that drags with each slow pull. Wet suction fills the quiet with each bob of her head, the sound thick and wet as her mouth works to take more. Heat and pressure builds around Smoke from the way her lips clamp and slide, her tongue pushing up from below while her throat opens to pull him deeper with every descent.
Zariah’s face pulls tight around that thick girth filling her mouth, her cheeks drawing inward in deep hollows that frame the shaft with sharp definition as she sinks lower. She maintains a steady rhythm of long, controlled pulls, her tongue pressing firm and flat underneath while her throat opens to swallow more with each descent, creating a constant wet drag and suction that tightens on the upstroke. Her jaw works visibly with the effort, lips sealed flush and sliding in a smooth, milking motion that builds pressure without pause.
Smoke groans deep in his chest, hips bucking shallow to feed her more. “Yeah, that's it, fuckin' swallow this big dick. You know how I like it, don't play. Deeper, baby, choke on it if you gotta, but don’t stop.” His voice rumbles harsh, hand guiding her head, thick fingers pressing her nose toward his trimmed pubes. His fat nuts slap light against her chin as she bobs, throat bulging visible with his length buried fully. Zariah gags once soft, eyes watering, but pushes through, humming low around him, tongue pressing flat underneath to stroke the bulging vein.
Smoke watches her work in the mirror, heavy-lidded eyes narrowing mean. “Look at you, all that fire earlier, now you slurpin' dick like a good lil’ girl. Shoulda did this from jump, keep that ass in line and yo’ throat full. Mmm, suck harder, baby. Drain these nuts dry.” His grip tightens in her hair, fucking her face, pulling out to the tip with a wet pop before slamming back in, curve hitting her gag reflex perfect every thrust. Her hands brace his thick thighs, nails digging into the dense muscle, feeling him flex under her palms as drool strings from her stretched lips.
Zariah’s pussy aches empty between her spread knees, thighs slick with her own drip mixing on the floor, but she focuses, hollowing her cheeks tighter, swallowing around his girth to milk him. Her nose buries in his coarse hairs finally, balls snug against her chin, holding him deep till her lungs burn. She pulls off gasping, strings of spit connecting her mouth to his shining shaft, then dives back, faster, head twisting side to side for friction.
“That’s my girl, train that throat right. You ain’t goin’ nowhere till I bust down yo’ neck,” Smoke grunts, free hand cupping her jaw rough, thumb smearing spit back in. His heavy balls draw up tight, dick twitching hard in her sucking mouth, but he holds off, drawing it out mean. “Keep goin’. Earn that forgiveness, baby.”
Zariah’s right hand wraps around the base of his thick dick, fingers barely meeting around the girth as she strokes up slow, twisting at the swollen head slick with her spit. She sucks deeper on the pull back, lips sealed tight around his veiny shaft, tongue swirling under the curve that presses her cheek out. Her left hand steadies on his heavy thigh, nails scraping light into the dense muscle as she bobs faster, throat opening wide to take him balls-deep again, humming vibrations along his length.
Smoke's eyes narrow sharp, watching her work from above. His big palm cracks down quick on her stroking hand, slapping it off his dick with a wet smack.
“Nah, baby. Hands where I can see ‘em. Up behind yo head or on them thighs. This mouth mine now.”' He grabs a fistful of her wet curls tighter, yanking her head back just enough to pop his dick free, strings of saliva stretching long before snapping. Then he thrusts forward, burying every curving inch straight down her throat in one push, balls smacking her chin heavy.
Zariah gasps around the invasion, eyes watering, but puts her hands in her lap. Her throat bulges with his girth, the bend lodging deep, cutting off her air till black spots dance. He don't let up—hips snap forward, fucking her face, pulling out to the flared head where she gasps ragged, then slamming back in, pubes grinding her nose.
“Fuckin’ tired of yo games, Zariah. All this bullshit you pullin’,” he growls low, thick and gravelly, voice echoing off the tile. Smoke picks up meaner, dick pistoning her mouth, heavy balls swinging to slap her jaw each thrust. “Back when I was yo’ bodyguard, dealin' with yo’ spoiled, uptight, prissy ass barkin' orders left and right. Actin’ like you own the world, snappin’ at me like I'm one of yo’ lil' errand boys. Had to bite my tongue, watchin' you strut ‘round thinkin’ you untouchable.”
Zariah’s knees spread wider on the slick floor, thighs quivering as drool pours down her chin, soaking her tits glossy. She gags hard on a deep plunge, throat convulsing around his pulsing shaft, but holds the position, hands laced tight in her lap, fingers twitching to grip something. That wet ass pussy throbbed neglected, juices trailing down to puddle under her.
Smoke grunts deep, free hand bracing the sink edge, muscles flexing in his thick arm as he rams harder, curve dragging her tonsils raw. “And now? Now you on this dick, slurpin’ like you starved, and still think you run shit? Nah, baby girl. I run it. Always did. Just lettin’ you play pretend till I remind this lil’ ass who in charge.” He yanks her hair sharper, holding her nose-deep, balls snug on her chin, grinding slow circles to stretch her throat wider. “Feel that? Feel daddy ownin' this mouth? You gon’ take every inch till I say stop. No more actin’ brand new.”
Zariah’s chest heaves desperate around the blockage, tears streaking her cheeks mixing with spit, but her eyes stay locked up at him, defiant spark fading to raw submission. She swallows around his girth, milking the veiny underside, tongue pressing frantic when he pulls back for air. Her hands stay put, obedient, elbows trembling from the strain as he resumes pounding, wet gurgles filling the humid air, his heavy balls tightening with each brutal thrust.
Smoke abruptly snaps his hips back, dick leaving her throat. Zariah sucked in a lung full of air, sniffling, teary eyes cloudy as she looked up at her daddy with a bite of her bottom lip. She’d sucked a few dicks in her twenty-nine years of living but she would have never thought a nine inch, veiny monster would fit down her throat. Normally, she would pat herself on the back, but right now, Smoke was pissed off. Her reward would come later. Right now, she’s a throat to fuck and nothing more. Her eyes went hazy from staring at his hard dick bobbing and twitching in her face, glossy and dripping with saliva. She knew he was close because his tip was a deep purple and it flared so wide it left the corners of lips raw. The map of veins along his shaft bulged in size, and his nut sack sat full and loaded with cum.
“Open up.” Smoke commands.
Zariah does as she’s told, eager for more. That big dick slid in smooth and full, making her eyes roll.
Smoke's hips jackhammer faster now, thick dick plunging her throat raw brutal snaps, the curve battering her tonsils. His balls draw up tight, slapping her chin wet and relentless, his breath turning into ragged grunts as the pressure coils low in his gut. Sweat beads down his solid chest, tee clinging damp to the full slabs of pecs heaving with each drive. He feels her throat spasm greedy around his girth, milking him closer to the edge.
“Eyes up here, Zariah. Look at me while I feed this throat,” he snarls, free hand clamping her jaw firm, thumb digging into the hinge to force her gaze up. Watery brown eyes meet his dark, heavy-lidded stare, hers wide and pleading, his burning with ownership. “Hands in yo’ lap. Fingers laced. Don't move ‘em.”
Zariah shifts quickly on her knees, pulling her elbows in to drop her hands to her thighs, palms up and fingers interlocking obediently in her lap like a proper slut. Her thighs quake wider apart on the tile, pussy clenching empty and dripping strings of arousal to the floor. Her jaw slackens under his grip, relaxing loose as he demands, lips stretched obscene around his pistoning shaft, drool bubbling out the corners to sheet down her neck and pool between her heaving tits.
“Good girl. There you go, relax that jaw. Let daddy bust,” Smoke growls deep, gravel scraping rough, pace turning erratic, hips stuttering as his dick swells thicker in her gullet. His balls contract hard, and he slams balls-deep one final time, grinding his pubes flush to her nose, holding as ropes of hot cum erupt straight down her throat. Pulse after thick pulse floods her, warm, slightly salty jets coating her esophagus, forcing her to gulp convulsively around the buried length.
He don't budge an inch, big hand locked on her curls, the other on her jaw, keeping her pinned nose-deep while she swallows every drop—no spill, no waste. Her throat works visible under the skin, bulging swallows pulling his load down greedy, chest fluttering desperate for air around the blockage. Her eyes remain locked on his, tears carving clean tracks through the spit mask on her face, but that defiant spark's gone fully, replaced with raw, owned surrender shining back.
Smoke holds till the last twitch fades, dick softening just enough in the wet heat, then eases out slow, dragging the sensitive underside over her lolling tongue. Strings of cum-mixed saliva cling thick, snapping as the flared head pops free. She coughs hoarse, sucking air in big whoops, hands twitching in her lap but staying put, lips puffy and glossy. He strokes her cheek with his thumb, smearing the mess, voice dropping low and satisfied.
“Every drop. That's how you take what’s yours. Don’t forget who run this shit.”
Smoke’s thick fingers loosen from her curls, sliding down to hook under her arms with that unyielding grip, hauling her up off the tile slow and steady. Her knees wobble jelly-soft, thighs slick from her own dripping need, but he steadies her full against his sweat-damp shirt, broad chest rising firm under her cheek. His big hand cups her elbow, the other spans low on her back, guiding her bare feet over the bathmat and out the steamy bathroom door.
He snags a clean washcloth from the sink edge first, soaking it under hot tap water till steam curls off, then presses it gentle but thorough to her chin, wiping away the glossy streaks of spit and tears. His thumb traces her swollen lips, the cloth dragging over puffy cheeks and her jaw, leaving her skin flushed warm and bare.
“There. Clean slate, baby girl,” he rumbles low, voice that quiet thunder rolling deep from his chest.
The king bed dominated the dim space, sheets rumpled from earlier. He sinks onto the edge, thighs spreading wide like tree trunks, then tugs her forward to drape her naked body across his lap face-down. Ass up high, cheeks still blooming hot from the spanking, pussy lips peeking swollen and slick between spread thighs. His weight shifts the mattress deep, one massive palm flattening broad on her lower back to anchor her still, the other dipping into the jar of balm on the nightstand. A cool, thick shea and aloe mix he keeps stocked for nights like this.
His fingers dig in generously, spreading the cream in firm circles over her left cheek first, kneading the stinging heat away, thumb pressing into the tender underside where it meets thigh. Smoke switches to the right after a while, palms gliding slick, parting the globes slightly to smooth the balm down the cleft, grazing her puckered hole and dipping low enough to tease her soaked folds without mercy.
“You know why that ass got lit up, Zariah,” he starts, tone even, dangerously calm wrapping each word like barbed wire, dragging vowels long and weighted. “Pushin’ me like that, testin' boundaries when I done told you how it's gone be. Mouth runnin’ reckless, darin’ me to snap. I spank you again and again if you keep triggerin’ this fire. Don’t make me prove it twice more tonight.”
His hand keeps working, the balm sinking in as her skin drinks it greedy, cooling the fire to a throb. Smoke’s palm cups one cheek full, squeezing soft, then leans down to press open-mouth kisses along the curve—lips dragging hot and wet, tongue flicking out to taste the salted balm on fevered flesh. Peck after peck trails inward, nipping the fullest swell before soothing with flat laps.
“Mmm,” he draws back, biting his bottom lip, her slick sticking to his goatee, “pussy puffy from me popping that ass,” Smoke takes two fingers, tapping her pussy lips, labia peeking through like petals. “I know you love it when daddy turns you out like a fuck doll…pussy leakin’ for it. But safety first, always. Top of my list. You play brat, defy what I say to keep you whole, that shit upsets me deep. I’d kill anybody—end ‘em slow—who so much as touches a hair on your head. Bleed ‘em dry for less.”
Smoke’s voice stays level, no rise, just that steel edge slicing through, breath ghosting her skin between kisses, one hand landing square on the sit-spot welt. Smoke pauses, hand stilling to pat her ass possessive, waiting till her breath evens soft against the sheets.
“Now, you know what I want you to do. Say it clear.”
Zariah shifts slightly across his lap, thighs clenching, posture holding upright even prone, spine straight, hands smoothing the bedspread once to ground herself. Her voice comes soft, that self-possessed edge threading through.
“…I’ll listen to what daddy says.”
“Good girl, keep goin’.”
Smoke’s palm resumes stroking the balm in, fingers parting her cheeks wider for a deep kiss right above where her puckered hole sat, his tongue circling lazy.
“…I—I’ll stop being m–mean to daddy…and understand t–that he’s trying to protect m–me, not control me,” her full lips press thin a beat, exhale parting them tense, brown eyes flicking back over her shoulder to hold his gaze steady. Even though her body couldn’t stop shaking.
“Mm. That’s my girl,” another peck lower, between the under cuff of her ass where her thighs met, “finish it.”
“H–He wants me to continue t–to be independent…but understand that m–my man w–wants and needs to step up. To provide, protect, a–and spoil me. To create a life for me w–where I can continue to be t–the phenomenal women that I am. The beautiful woman t–that I am. The sexy woman that I am.”
Her words came out even in some ways and shaky in others. No plea. Only quiet dominance and echoing his, her body relaxing fuller into his lap as the balm soaked deep. Smoke nods once, satisfaction etching his heavy-lidded stare. He gave his girl a final kiss planted firm on her tailbone, one large, calloused hand sliding up her slick spine to tangle light in her hair, tugging her head back gently for more eye contact.
“That’s my girl. Good job. Now…rest that ass here while daddy thinks up how to spoil you next.”
Smoke positions Zariah on her stomach across their bed. He spreads her thighs wide from behind and lifts her hips into the right tilt. Smoke dips his head and admires her pussy lips sitting in the shape of a heart below her ass that glistened from the balm. His tongue moves in slow strokes from the base of her pussy upward, gathering every bit of wetness. He seals his lips around the folds and sucks them clean with steady pulls before pressing soft kisses along the slick skin. His tongue dips inside to lick deeper then returns to lap and suck without rushing, working through the mess until only his mouth leaves her glistening.
Zariah’s body rocks with small shifts under his hold. “Yes daddy." Her voice comes thick. “Thank you daddy.” She pushes back a fraction as his suction holds on her clit. “I love it when you eat my pussy.”
Smoke keeps his pace while his voice rumbles low against her. “Stay open for me. Let daddy clean every drop. You taste so good when I take my time like this.” He kisses her tender entrance then sucks again, tongue circling slow. “That’s it. Give it all to me.”
Zariah shifts her hips back in a slow roll, pressing her soaked folds against Smoke's mouth. He meets each motion by sealing his lips around her clit and sucking with firm, steady pressure, drawing the swollen bud between his lips in a gentle pull before releasing. Her thighs tremble under his grip as she rocks again, grinding back for more contact.
"Oooo," she breathes out, the sound stretching long. “Fuck. Yes.” The words slip free between moans while her body keeps moving, seeking that same suction each time she pushes her pussy toward him.
Smoke's tongue works in skillful laps, flattening broad against her entrance before dragging upward to circle her clit again. His voice stays low and even, vibrating right against her skin.
“That’s right, keep bringing it back like that. Let me suck on this pretty pussy. You feel how wet you stay for me?” Smoke proves her opening with the tip of his tongue to catch some of that wetness. “I can taste every bit of it, so sweet and thick on my tongue. Gon’ fuck you so deep after this, stretch you open slow with every inch until you can't think straight. This pussy gon' take it all, and I'ma give it to you proper.”
Snoke sucks with more pressure on her clit as she rocks back once more, holding the pull for a beat longer before easing off to lick through her folds. “Tastes so damn good, baby. Can't get enough of how you drip down my chin.”
Zariah’s voice comes out husky between her moans. “You love this pussy, baby?”
Smoke answers without lifting his mouth, the words rumbling straight into her. “Daddy love this pussy. Best fuckin’ pussy I ever had.”
Zariah’s voice lifts soft and questioning as she rocks back once more. “Daddy?”
Smoke answers with a low hum that vibrates against her folds, the sound deep and steady while his tongue continues its work.
Zariah pushes again, her words coming clearer now. “Daddy I wanna watch you eat my pussy.”
In one smooth motion Smoke flips her onto her back, his hands guiding her body with controlled strength. He pulls the black tee over his head and drops it aside, leaving him fully naked as he settles between her open thighs. Zariah spreads wider for him, and he eases down to keep his mouth on her, licking and sucking with focused attention. She grinds her pussy into his mouth, hips rolling to meet each pull of his lips. Smoke gently pushes her thighs open further, holding them apart so he can slurp directly on her clit with wet, smacking sounds. He stays right there, working that spot alone because it builds her up fast. Her body tenses and then releases in a sudden rush as she squirts, the warm fluid spilling over his tongue and chin while he keeps sucking through every pulse.
Smoke stays locked between her thighs, refusing to ease up. His tongue drags in long, wet strokes that feel heavy and thick against her folds, each one landing with pressure that makes her hips twitch. Zariah’s pussy quivers under the attention, the sensitive skin pulsing and tightening as he circles her clit again and again. He holds her legs open wider with firm hands, keeping her spread so nothing interrupts the steady motion of his mouth. The wet sounds grow louder with every lick, and he focuses right there, building the heat until her body starts to tighten once more. She grinds down into him, chasing the sensation as the pressure coils deep inside. His tongue works without pause, thick and insistent, pushing her straight toward the edge until she breaks again, fluid spilling over his lips while he keeps sucking through the pulses.
Smoke stays locked in place, his mouth sealed over her pussy as he sucks deeper, pulling her swollen clit between his lips with steady pressure. His tongue follows in thick, wet drags that lap up every fresh trickle of her arousal, working in firm circles that make her thighs shake in the air. Zariah keeps her legs spread wide, knees bent and feet towards the ceiling, giving him full access while her hips roll in small, desperate circles against his face.
Her body reacts in waves. The muscles in her lower belly tighten and release with each pull of his mouth, sending ripples across her frame. Her rich brown skin glistens with sweat, the soft curve of her waist flexing as her back arches off the bed. Her breasts rise and fall faster, nipples tight and dark against the air. Inside, her walls pulse and flutter around nothing, clenching with every lick that drags from her entrance up to her clit. More slick heat spills out, coating his tongue and dripping down his chin as he swallows it down without pause.
“Uhuh, yeah baby.” Smoke rumbles against her, voice low and thick with command. “Keep those legs open. Let me feel you gettin' close. I want every drop this time. Right in my fucking mouth. Feed me.” His words vibrate through her core, pushing the tension higher. Smoke sucks again, lips sealed tight while his tongue flicks quick and firm right on that sensitive spot, building the pressure until her moans turn ragged.
Zariah’s hands fist the sheets. Her pussy quivers harder now, the inner walls squeezing in quick spasms that grow stronger with each pass of his tongue. The heat coils low in her belly, spreading outward until her toes curl and her breath hitches in short gasps. "Haah—Fuck," a sharp inhale caught in her throat, then she breathes out, the word breaking on a moan as another rush of wetness floods his mouth. Her hips jerk upward, chasing the sensation while her thighs tremble around his shoulders.
Smoke doesn't let up. He slides two fingers inside her, curling them against that spongy spot while his mouth keeps working her clit in wet, insistent pulls. “I know you feel it buildin’. Don't hold back on me. You gon’ give it all, you hear me?” His free hand presses her thigh wider, keeping her open as her body winds tighter. Her stomach flutters visibly, the muscles jumping under her skin. Her pussy clenches around his fingers, gripping and releasing in a steady climb toward the edge.
"I'll be your good girl—” Zariah gasps, voice cracking as the pressure peaks. Her whole frame locks up for a beat, then shatters. A hot rush pours from her, squirting in pulsing waves straight into his mouth. Smoke groans low and drinks it down, tongue still moving through the contractions that ripple through her walls. Her orgasm rolls on, body shaking as fresh slick spills over his lips and chin, her moans filling the room while he holds her through every last spasm.
Smoke lingers between her thighs after the last tremors fade, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against her slick folds. Each one lands soft, his lips brushing over the swollen heat while his tongue gives the lightest flick to catch the lingering taste.
“That’s a good girl," he whispers low against her, the words vibrating through her sensitive skin. “Took every bit of it just like I said. Look at you, still shakin’ for me.” His praise comes steady and warm, laced with that deep southern drawl that settles right into her bones.
Zariah’s breath hitches in the aftermath, her body still sprawled open on the sheets. Her rich brown skin gleams from the vanilla oil, a fine sheen of sweat tracing the narrow dip of her waist and the soft flare of her hips. Her breasts rise and fall in quick, shallow pulls, nipples drawn tight from the rush that just tore through her. Inside, her walls continue to flutter in small, involuntary pulses, the aftershocks making her thighs twitch around his shoulders even as she keeps them parted for him.
Smoke trails those kisses upward, dragging his mouth across the smooth plane of her lower belly. Each press of his lips leaves a ticklish, wet mark that cools against her heated skin, moving higher with unhurried purpose. His hands slide along her sides, palms broad as they frame her ribcage. When he reaches her chest, he pauses at one peaked nipple, drawing it between his lips with a firm, wet pull. His tongue circles the tight bud then strokes while he sucks, the pressure sending fresh sparks straight down to her still-throbbing core.
Zariah arches into the contact, a broken moan slipping free as her fingers thread into the sheets again. The pull at her nipple feels sharper now, heightened by how raw everything still feels below. Her other breast settles against his cheek when he shifts to give it the same attention, sucking deep while his tongue works in lazy, insistent laps.
“So damn responsive,” Smoke rumbles between pulls, voice thick with approval. “Every part of you knows who it belong to.”
Zariah’s legs ease wider on instinct, the earlier tension melting into a loose, pliant sprawl. The muscles along her stomach quiver visibly under his path, and her hips give a small, involuntary roll upward as if chasing more of the contact even though he's moved on. Smoke keeps his mouth latched, alternating between gentle suction and firmer draws that make her back bow off the bed, her full lips parting around another shaky exhale.
Smoke stays latched on her nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth with sucks that make her whole chest tighten. His tongue works in firm circles, pressing and flicking against the stiff peak while his teeth graze just enough to send sharp little jolts straight through her. Zariah’s rich brown skin flushes darker across her breasts, the full weight of them rising and falling with every breath as he switches sides, sucking the other nipple just as hard, his broad hand cupping the first one to keep the wet heat from fading.
Her pussy responds fast, slick folds parting on their own as fresh wetness slips out in a steady drip that trails down toward the sheets. The sensation builds low and insistent, her clit twitching in time with each strong suck, the tiny bud swelling and pulsing without any direct touch. Her slim-thick thighs part wider on the bed, hips rolling in small, helpless circles as the throbbing between her legs grows heavier, matching the pull of his mouth.
Zariah’s long legs tremble as another rush of heat floods her core. She can feel it clearly now, the way her pussy clenches around nothing, dripping steadily while her clit jumps and aches for friction. Smoke doesn’t let up, his lips sealed tight around her nipple, sucking with that deep, focused technique hat leaves her gasping. His free hand slides down her side, palm broad against the curve of her waist, holding her steady as her back arches higher off the mattress.
“Look at that,” he says low, voice rough against her skin between pulls. “Your body tellin’ on you. Drippin’ all over just from this.” He drags his tongue across the sensitive tip one more time, then seals his mouth around it again, sucking harder until her clit twitches visibly with the next wave of wetness sliding free.
Zariah’s breath comes in short, shaky pulls, her full lips parted, eyes half-lidded as the pressure builds. Every strong draw from his mouth sends fresh heat straight down, making her pussy clench and release, more slick gathering and spilling out in warm trails. Her clit keeps twitching, swollen and sensitive, the empty ache growing sharper with each passing second. She rolls her hips again, seeking something, anything, but Smoke keeps her pinned with his weight and his mouth, focused entirely on working her nipples until the dripping and twitching leaves her shaking.
When he could see that pussy weeping the way he needed it to, Smoke releases her nipple with a slow drag of his lips, the wet pull leaving a shiny trail across her deep brown areolas. He rises over her, his thick frame blotting out the light above the bed as he lowers his mouth to hers. The kiss lands heavy and unhurried, his tongue pushing past her parted lips to stroke deep, carrying the taste of her own sex. Zariah meets him without hesitation, her full lips pressing back while her breath hitches against his. Her hands slide up his arms, fingers curling around the dense muscle there as the kiss stretches on, turning hotter with each slow pass of his tongue.
Her body stays open beneath him, thighs spread wide on the sheets. The steady drip from her pussy continues, warm slick sliding down the curve of her ass and soaking into the sheets right along with the puddle she made from squirting. Her clit keeps twitching, swollen and sensitive, each pulse sending fresh heat through her core. Zariah rolls her hips upward, seeking the press of his weight, the hard length of him brushing her inner thigh as he settles closer. Smoke's hand moves to cradle the back of her neck, holding her still while the kiss turns rougher, his teeth catching her bottom lip for a brief tug before his tongue claims her mouth again.
His hand lingers tangled in her curls, thumb stroking the nape of her neck in lazy circles
“Spoil you proper now,” Smoke rumbles that reminder, voice vibrating through her bones. His big palms slide down her sides, gripping her hips firm to flip her upright in one smooth hoist, straddling his thighs now, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. That heavy and rigid, curved dick all thick-veined and standing tall from those low-hanging balls, say wedged between her pussy lips, tip glossy from pre-cum beading thick.
Zariah braces her hands on his full chest, fingers splaying over his pecs, feeling the dense muscle shift under her palms as he breathes deep. Glossy brown eyes lock on his heavy-lidded stare, lips parting on a soft exhale, posture straight even perched like this, thighs flexing to lift her hips. Zariah sinks down slowly, pussy lips parting wide around his girth, swallowing the flared head first with a wet stretch, inner walls clenching greedily as inches disappear inside. Halfway down, she pauses, breath hitching, hands smoothing over his pecs to steady herself.
Smoke’s arms snake around her, one thick forearm banding her lower back, the other spanning shoulder blades, yanking her flush against him. Chest mashes to chest, her nipples dragging hard points over his skin, his beard scraping her jaw as he nuzzles close. “
“Ride daddy, baby girl,” Smoke growls low in her ear, hips snapping up suddenly, thrust punching deep, balls slapping her ass with a meaty smack. Zariah gasps, spine arching but Smoke holds her locked, pumping from below relentlessly now. Each buck rolls his pelvis up hard, curved dick spearing her g-spot dead-on, grinding the base against her swollen clit with every bury.
Thighs like steel pistons flex under her, driving up fast then slow, varying the rhythm to make her chase it, his arms crushing her closer, one hand fisting her ass cheek to spread her wider, fingers teasing her hole while he rails her pussy. Sweat slicks their skin, her juices coat his shaft glossy, dripping down to soak his balls.
“Feel that? Daddy fillin’ you full, protectin’ this pussy ‘cus it's mine. Phenomenal woman takin’ every inch.” His voice stays that dangerous calm, breath tickling her neck between grunts, lips sucking marks along her collarbone.
Zariah rocks with him, hips circling intentional, walls fluttering tight around his length. Her voice was soft, edged with that self-possession.
“Yes, daddy...feels so good.” No begging, just owning the ride, thighs quivering as tension builds. He ramps it harder, arms vise-tight, fucking up into her like a machine, wet slaps echoing loud, her ass bouncing on his thighs, pussy creaming thick down his dick.
Zariah’s moans spill out breathy at first, soft exhales pitching higher with each deep punch,,starting as hushed mmh's from deep in her throat, lips parting wider to let ahh's drag long and throaty, vibrating against where her mouth presses open near his collarbone. Tension coils her core tighter, breaths coming measured but ragged now, moans layering into nngh-ahh-mmh, each one punched out precisely by his upward drives, voice never cracking loud but husky-thick with need, edges fraying just enough to feel raw.
“Yes, daddy,” Zariah breathes into his neck, her hips working bolder, starting to throw it down now, lifting high to slam her ass back onto his thighs with snaps and deep grinds, pussy gripping his girth on every drop. “You fuck me so good. Fuck this pussy. Fuck me with that big dick.” Her thighs flex hard, bucking wilder to meet his thrusts, wet hole sucking him deeper, creamy froth building at the base where her pussy lips stretch taut around his veined curve. “Fuck, I love this big dick.” Her voice stays in that self-possessed tone, edged needy, no shrieks or pleas because she was owning every word as she grinds down, clit dragging his pelvis, walls pulsing greedy.
Smoke’s grip tightens, one forearm locked across her lower back to mash her tits flush to his chest, the other palm cupping her ass full, fingers digging into the balm-slick cheek to yank her harder onto each buck. His toned hips piston up relentless, thick thighs bulging under her weight, curved length spearing her depths over and over. Those heavy balls swinging up to tap her perineum with heavy thwacks.
“Fuck yes, baby girl, throw that pussy on daddy's dick like you ownin’ it, good girl, get your dick,” Smoke rumbles low in her ear, thick and commanding. “Look at you ridin’ this big Mississippi meat, creamin’ all over my balls. Feel how deep I'm feedin’ this wet hole? Huh? Stretchin’ you wide, hittin’ that spot ain’t I’m?” Smoke thrusts up and holds, tapping Zariah on the rump as she shakes all over. “All that boss shit disappear when I give you dick. You safe wit’ me, act like it.”
Smoke rolls his pelvis on the upthrusts, grinding the fat base against her clit, varying the pace from slow deep grinds to three fast snaps, making her chase the friction. Sweat beads on his chest, his beard rasping her jaw as he turns her face to capture her lips in a messy suck, tongue thrusting in time with his hips. “Keep talkin’ to me, bad girl. Tell daddy how this dick rearrangin’ that tight pussy. You takin’ it perfect.” Smoke’s thumb teases her back entrance light, pressing the puckered ring while he rails her pussy, arms crushing her immobile against him, and Zariah was owning it even as she bucks wild.
Her pace picks up frantic, hips slamming down to swallow him balls-deep every time, pussy squelching loud around his girth, juices dripping warm down his sack to soak the sheets. Her moans turn into throaty-soft pleas now.
“Ahh-nngh-yes!” blending with his grunts, body trembling. Smoke feels her tighten vise-like, knows she's close, but holds back his own load, hips snapping sharper to drag it out.
Zariah’s walls clamp down vise-tight around his thick length, that deep coil snapping loose as the orgasm rips through her, body seizing rigid in his iron hold, thighs locking hard against his hips, back arching sharp but pinned flush by his forearm across her back. Her pussy floods him in hot gushes, creamy release squirting thick around his pistoning shaft, soaking his heavy balls and dripping messy down to the sheets below. Zariah can’t buck anymore, stuck impaled balls-deep on his curved girth, every ridge dragging her fluttering walls as Smoke keeps snapping up relentless, his hips rolling precisely to grind that swollen spot inside her over and over, forcing wave after wave to crash harder.
Moans pour from her throat uncontrolled, delicate but fractured, starting as a long, drawn out ‘ahhhh’ vibrating deep in her chest, pitching into sharp ‘nngh-nngh’ gasps punched out by each thrust, lips trembling open against his neck where her face buries hot and slick with sweat. They layer ragged, breathy exhales fraying at the edges ‘mmh-ahh-mmh’ blending into a throaty hum that shakes her frame, her voice husky-thick and edged raw, never shrill but owning the depth of it, body quaking helpless as she creams all over his big dick.
Smoke doesn't let up, thick arms crushing her immobile against him, his biceps bulging under her sliding palms, one hand palming her ass cheek deep to spread her wider, fingers splayed to feel her hole pulse and leak around him. His pelvis snaps up in deep strokes, curved head battering that g-spot without mercy, balls wet against her perineum through her flood. That thick length gleamed with her juices and he just kept fucking her pussy straight through the peak. Smoke turns her face to lock eyes with him, his heavy-lidded gaze burning steady into hers, full lips parting on a low grunt.
“Yeah, cum on this dick, baby girl, keep cummin’ on this dick.” Smoke growls thick in her ear. “Pretty pussy grippin’ me so tight, squirtin’ all over daddy’s balls. Stuck right here takin’ every inch while I hit that spot. Keep cummin’ for me, baby, flood this big dick, bad girl. You own this nut, pussy milkin’ me deep.” He varies the drives—three short punches to her depths, then a slow grind circling her clit with his base, drawing out the spasms, her walls sucking greedily even as she trembles locked.
Zariah’s body jerks in aftershocks, pussy clenching around him, more cream bubbling out to coat his veined length shiny, her thighs quivering helpless. All Zariah can do is moan throaty into his collarbone, ‘ahh-nngh-yes’ spilling fractured as he rails her sensitive hole. He feels his own sack tighten heavy, but holds it back, hips powering through her mess to chase every drop from her. He’d continue to edge himself as long as he gives his bad bitch plenty of orgasms.
Smoke eases out of her spasming pussy with a wet pop, Zariah’s cream clinging thick in strings to his veined shaft, glossy from tip to base where her squirt and cream mixed in slick trails down his heavy balls. Smoke wastes no time and flips her over rough but steady, large hands gripping her hips to yank her ass high at the bed's edge, face pressed flat into the rumpled sheets, knees spread wide under his direction. One palm presses firm between her shoulder blades, forcing that deep arch in her spine until her spine hollows out perfectly, ass cheeks parting naturally from the stretch, lower back dipping sharp.
Her pussy blooms open in that position, lips puffy and flushed dark from the pounding, inner folds glistening raw and swollen, stuck slightly agape from his girth, unable to close full after the stretch. Cream leaks steady from that stretched, creamy hole, thick white rivulets bubbling out slow to trail down her inner thighs, mixing with squirt sheen that soaks the sheets beneath her knees. Above it, her pretty asshole winks in the cool air, the tight ring pulsing faint with each aftershock clench from her pussy below, pink-brown rim flexing open a fraction before snapping shut, begging subtle under the exposure.
Smoke stands planted at the edge, bare feet firm on the floor, thick thighs framing her as he lines up, messy dick heavy in his fist, curved length slapping once against her leaking slit to smear her own juices back over her clit. Then, he sinks in, crown breaching her folds with a squelch, inch after girthy inch parting her walls until his pelvis meets her ass full, balls nestling heavy against her clit. Slow strokes start, pulling back to the tip so her pussy lips drag reluctant along his ridges, then driving deep again, his hips rolling weighted to bottom out each time, grinding her depths before he withdraws again.
“Zari…you daddy’s little bratty girl, huh?” Smoke rumbles low, thick and edged mean, one hand sinking deep into her left ass cheek, fingers digging to spread her wider. He watched his curved dick emerge shiny-coated in fresh cream, veins pulsing as her hole grips and tugs. “You piss me off just so I can fuck you like this? Bend you over and drill this good pussy deep?” Smoke popped her ass. “See how sweet you get when you finally let go?”
“Yes, daddy,” Zariah gasps throaty into the mattress, voice husky-fractured from the stretch, ass pushing back instinctively to meet his plunge, her walls fluttering around the slow invasion. “Yes, sir, I do—want this dick so bad.”
Smoke grunts his approval, other hand claiming a full handful of her right cheek—palms rough and veined, overflowing with soft flesh, kneading hard as he pulls her onto him deeper, pace still controlled but forceful, balls tapping her clit wet on each burial. Her leaky mess coated him fresh, pussy slurping audible around the drag.
“That’s right. Act up so daddy give you some dick, stretch this bratty hole wide. Piss me off on purpose, gettin’ that arch just right for me too. You love bein’ face down, ass up, leakin’ all over my balls while I stroke it slow like this? Huh?”
“Mmm-yes sir,” Zariah moans soft-edged, body rocking forward with each deep seat, tits dragging along the sheets, back holding that arch under his palm's pressure, thighs quaking faint as the slow grind builds the pressure anew.
“Love it daddy, love pissin’ you off for this—fuck me deep, please sir.”
Smoke’s grip tightens on her ass, spreading her cheeks farther to stare down at the sight, thick dick disappearing into her gripping pussy, lips hugging tight on the outstroke, cream frothing at the base where her hole milks him greedy. He picks up a fraction, strokes still deep but adding a twist at the end to nudge her g-spot, heavy balls swinging to smack her clit. Sweat beads his sculpted chest, biceps flexing as he holds her steady, heavy-lidded eyes tracing the messy union.
Each withdraw dragged her puffy lips outward, clinging to his veined length before he fed it back in full, pelvis slapping her ass cheeks with a meaty thud that echoed off the walls. His large hands overflow with her flesh, thumbs digging into the crease where thigh meets cheek to pry her wider, exposing the way her hole stretches taut around his girth, inner walls visible in flashes of pink and slick as cream bubbles fresh at the seam. Her asshole keeps up its subtle pulse above, ring contracting in time with her pussy's greedy squeezes, a faint sheen of her own leak trickling down to gloss it further.
Zariah twists her neck, cheek lifting off the damp sheets, eyes glassy and desperate locking onto his over her shoulder, those lips he loved so much parted on heavy breaths, kinky hair spilling wild across her back.
“Daddy–yyy,” she pleads raw, voice cracking high as one of her hands snakes down between her spread thighs, thumb finding her swollen clit to rub frantic circles, chasing the building coil. “Please sir, harder—gimme more dick, I need it deep.” Her hips buck back insistent against his controlled pace, ass jiggling faint in his grip, pussy slurping louder on the next plunge as her walls clamp down fluttering.
“Not yet, brat,” he growls thick, voice rolling low, free hand sliding up her spine to press her chest flatter, keeping that arch locked while his hips roll weighted, grinding the curve of his dick against her front wall on every bury. “You gon’ beg pretty for daddy first. Tell me how bad this pussy want it—how you act up just to get stretched like this, leakin’ all over me, nasty girl.” He watches her fingers blur faster on her clit, the way her thighs start quaking harder. “You feel how hard you holdin’ onto me? That stress been sittin’ in your body all damn week. Use me then, go ‘head.”
“Daddy, yes, I'm your bratty girl, piss you off for this dick every time,” Zariah whines, head turning full to hold his gaze, eyes pleading wide while her fingers grind her clit ruthlessly, body rocking violently now between his strokes and her own touch. Her eyes go cross eyed as she gushes fresh around him, walls rippling wild as the pressure crests, her back bowing deeper under his palm, ass pressing back to take him to the hilt. “Daddy, daddy—I'm squirting, oh fuck sir, it's comin’—don't stop, talk me through it please!”
Smoke leans forward slightly, chest brushing her back as one hand releases her cheek to tangle in her hair, yanking her head back gently but firm to keep those eyes on him, the other palm smacking her ass once sharp to jolt her higher. His strokes stay slow but deepen, twisting at the base to nudge her g-spot while her fingers strum.
“Good girl, there you do, baby girl, let it go for daddy. Feel that pussy squeezin’ me tight? You squirtin’ all over this dick, you can't help it. Push back on it, rub that clit harder—gimme that mess. You like bein’ handled, huh?”
“Yes—”
“That’s my baby right there.”
His voice stays gravel-rough, guiding her edge with words as her body seizes, thighs locking, toes curling into the mattress, a sharp cry ripping from her throat.
Her squirt hits explosive, clear jets pulsing out around his buried length to spray his pelvis and thighs, puddling hot on the sheets below as her pussy convulses violently, clenching him in waves that force more cream to froth at the base. She stares back at him wild-eyed, mouth slack on gasps, fingers slowing sloppy through the aftershocks while he holds steady inside her, hips grinding minimal to prolong the clench, watching her leak mix with the spray in rivulets down her legs.
“Good girl, just like that—daddy got you, keep cummin’ good tonight. There you go, let all that pressure out. Ain’t nobody gon’ take care of you like me. Daddy got you. Been a mean bitch for so long ain’t nobody fuck you stupid til I cam around,” Smoke pops her on the left cheek. “Quit actin’ tough and come get this comfort. Say, yes sir.”
“Y–yes, sir.”
“Now we gettin’ to the good part. I’ma move when you ready, but when I do, you gon’ feel every stroke. You with me? Say it.”
Zariah exhales, “I’m with you, daddy.” She grips the sheets.
“Talk to me, Zari. Words. You ready or daddy gotta give you a break?”
Zariah sucks in air and lets it out meditating slow.
“I’m ready, sir.”
Smoke's grip shifts lightning-quick from her hair to her shoulders, thick fingers clamping down over the knobs of bone there, palms splaying wide across her upper back to yank her torso up off the soaked sheets, forcing that spine into a brutal arch. Her head snaps upright, chin tucking toward her chest while her eyes glaze over fucked-out, pupils blown wide staring dead ahead at the headboard, mouth hanging slack on drooling whimpers, tongue lolling faint as spit beads at the corner. The new angle spears his dick straight down into her core, her ass cheeks spreading obscene on his pelvis with every hilt, pussy lips puffing out bloated and raw around the veined stretch, cream and squirt foaming thick at the root to splatter his heavy balls on the upstroke.
Smoke rears back tall behind her, knees digging wider into the mattress for leverage, broad shoulders rolling fluid as his dense core tightens, abs flexing solid under sweat-slick brown skin that gleams. Those rounded delts bunch heavy, veins popping along his forearms as he hauls her back onto him harder, his hips snapping forward with punishing force now, no more tease, full throttle wrecking. Each thrust lands weighted and final, his pelvis crashing her ass with claps that ripple flesh outward in waves, her cheeks clapping back against his thighs while her entire frame jolts forward violently, tits swinging beneath her to smack her ribs. The bed frame groans protest under the onslaught, pure power uncoiling from that grounded stance, thighs thick and corded pumping relentlessly.
Zariah’s body's a live wire in the pound, pussy walls seizing erratic around his plunging length, clenching desperate to hold him but fluttering loose on the withdraw, gushing fresh squirt in erratic sprays that arc down her quaking thighs to puddle wider on the sheets. Every bury shoves her forward an inch before his shoulder grip reels her back, her ass meat compressing flat against him then bouncing rebound, ripples traveling up her spine to make her curls lash wild. Her thighs attempt to lock rigid then spasm open, toes scrabbling, curling into the mattress as her belly sucks in hollow, ribs heaving under sweat-sheened skin, fucked-out stare fixed unblinking ahead, lashes fluttering half-mast while tears streak silent from the corners, jaw slack wider on guttural cries that pitch higher with each rip through her depths.
“That little mean streak disappear fast when I touch you right. You been wantin’ this all day. Nah, stay right there I wanna watch you take it—look at my girl—take this dick tearin’ you open,” he rasps, drawl thickening hot over the wet slaps, one hand sliding from shoulder to tangle back in her hair—yanking her head higher to deepen the arch while the other digs into her shoulder, pinning her steady for the ram. His chest heaves, heavy breaths fanning her neck as he leans over partial, hips pistoning machine-like, balls swinging to batter her clit, smearing her mess back up her folds.
“Feel daddy rearrangin’ your guts? You soaked the whole damn bed beggin’ for it—now wet this dick up again while I pound you stupid. Arch that back deeper, push this ass on me—gimme that grip, baby. You gon’ relax for me or keep fightin’ me, baby?”
Zariah chokes out a keen, body betraying full surrender—hips grinding back frantic despite the overwhelm, pussy convulsing in fresh spasms that squeeze him vise-tight, walls undulating a massage along every vein as another squirt builds from the core. Her arms buckle, elbows to the sheets, fingers clawing fabric while her tits drag heavy across the damp cotton, nipples scraping raw. Her entire frame shudders electric with the force, ass lifting instinctively to meet his slams even as her vision blurs white-hot ahead. Sweat rivers down her cleavage, pooling in her navel before dripping off to mix with the flood below, thighs slick and trembling spread wide around his pistoning thighs.
Smoke grunts approval low, pace ratcheting inhuman, thrusts blurring to a frenzy that shakes her teeth, his solid midsection slapping her ass endless while those large hands anchor her, veins throbbing prominent down his forearms from the haul. Sweat beads thick on his brow, trickling into the heavy stubble framing his jaw that’s set hard, dark eyes locked on the destruction between her legs, watching her hole gape briefly on pulls before swallowing him balls-deep again.
“FUCK, just like that—pussy talkin’ back to daddy, on every stroke.” His voice coaches steady through the chaos, drawl wrapping command around her haze as her body hurtles toward shatter again, the room thick with their slap-echo and her broken pleas. “Breathe through it. You can handle it. This what happen when you act like you don't need me tellin' you what to do. Next time you think about steppin’ out of line, you remember how this dick feel stretchin’ you open and makin’ you cum so hard you can't even talk.”
Smoke yanks free with a wet pop that leaves her hole gaping, pink inner walls fluttering visible, clenching air desperate around nothing while thick strands of her cream stretch and snap between his retreating length and her wrecked folds. Frothy white coats his dick heavy from root to tip, balls glossy-slick swinging low and heavy beneath, veins pulsing prominent along his curved shaft.
“Flip over, clean this dick spotless, baby,” Smoke orders, cutting sharp through her haze as one large hand strokes himself base-up lazy, smearing her mess while the other pats her ass firm to roll her.
Zariah twists compliant on trembling limbs, spine sinking into the drenched mattress as she sprawls supine, hair fanning wild across the pillow, belly quivering faint under the aftershocks. Her thighs splay wide, knees bending hooks toward her shoulders to bare everything, pussy on full display. Lips swollen fat and parted like it wanted to stay just like that from now on, flushed deep around the edges from the tear-up, inner pink glistening obscene under a sheen of her own squirt that drips lazy from her stretched entrance. Her clit hood peeled back partial, pearl throbbing exposed and raw, folds puffy-ridged from friction with cream beading fresh in the creases, entire slit pulsing like a heartbeat begging refill.
Smoke kneels up tall between her legs, knees bracketing her hips as he feeds his dick forward, tip bumping her lips expectant. Zariah cranes her neck, tongue darting out to lap broad from balls upward, tracing the heavy seam salty with her tang before sucking one orb full into her mouth, cheeks hollowing while her hand cups the other, rolling it. Up the shaft next, flat laps cleaning veins groove by groove, swirling the flared head to hollow her cheeks around it vacuum-tight, sucking her cream off audible with slurps that echo wet, spit mixing fresh to dribble down her chin as she moans low vibrations against him. His free hand dives between her thighs unhurried, palm cupping her mound full before thick fingers part those bloated lips wider, middle and ring sliding through the slick valley, parting her petals to expose that clenching core.
Feels like firework sparks when he rubs. Thick fingers coarse-knuckled dragging pressure perfect over her clit first, circling the hood lazy to make it twitch and swell fatter under the pad of his thumb joining in, then dipping lower to trace entrance rim where her walls suck greedy at the intrusion. That sweet pussy yields butter-soft inside, hot velvet clamping instant on the shallow probes, gushing syrupy response that coats his digits knuckle-deep. Each pass through her folds sends jolts electric up her spine. Zariah’s thighs jerked, spread while her hips buck faint to chase. Her outer lips drag sensitive along his palm skin, inner ridges fluttering as he massaged with his fingertips that scoop cream back up to smear her clit renewed, building that coil tight again with every glide.
Zariah polishes him thoroughly, tongue polishing the underside ridge before popping off clean with a gasp. Her hand wrapped around the base firm now to stroke with a upward twist, the skin gliding smooth over the cleaned glans while her gaze locks with his from below. Sultry heat simmers there, lids heavy-lidded fuck-drunk but sharp with desire, full lips curving wicked as teeth catch the bottom one, dragging slowly, holding his stare unblinking, challenge wrapped in surrender. Smoke groans deep, torso folding forward lean as his mouth crashes hers hungry—tongue thrusting his claim deep to tangle hers messy, tasting her own flavor shared while fingers keep working her pussy, two now plunging knuckle-deep to curl and hook against that front wall.
The kiss breaks on her whine, his beard rasping her chin, then his lips trail fire down her throat, nipping her collarbone before his palms scoop under her breasts heavy, thumbs flicking her chocolate nipples side-to-side to make them diamond-hard. Smoke kneads them, fingers sinking deep into the yielding flesh to shape and bounce them palm-to-palm, mouth latching hot over one peak to suck with a vacuum pull while his teeth graze faintly. His tongue lashes flat on her areolas before nibbling gently. Her strokes quicken on his dick, thumb swiping pre cum at his slit.
Smoke releases her nipple with a wet smack, lips glossy from the pull as his gaze lifts heavy to lock hers, dark eyes boring deep, one thumb still circling the slick peak lazy while the other hand squeezes her other titty, flesh spilling between fingers.
“Good girl, Zariah,” Smoke rumbles faintly, voice dipping low like thunder. “Daddy proud of you…takin’ this dick so deep, stretchin’ that pussy perfect. Handlin’ yo’ punishment like a champ too, ass sore but you stayed right there, took every lick without runnin’.That's my baby.”
Zariah gasps sharp, hand tightening its stroke on his girthy dick, twisting from base to tip with precum and spit slicking the glide. Her eyes fluttered half-shut before snapping back to him.
“Yes,” she breathes out needy, hips rolling faint into his stalled fingers still buried knuckle-deep in her folds.
Smoke chuckles low, free hand sliding up her thigh to anchor as he pulls his fingers free with a squelch, strings of her arousal snapping clear.
“Mmm, yeah…and that's why daddy spoil you rotten. Fuck you good whenever you crave it, eat that sweet pussy till you flood my face. You mine to treat right.” His mouth brushes her earlobe feather-light, beard scraping her chin.
“Yes, baby, you always know what I need,” Zariah moans velvety, arching her back to press her titties fuller into his palm, legs parting wider. “I love how you treat me. I'm your princess.” Her lips part on a whine, gaze sultry, locked.
Smoke nods slow approval, torso unfolding tall as he nudges her knees wider, settling heavy between her thighs, dick bobbing thick upright against her mound, tip nudging her clit. Zariah’s body's pliant now, limbs loose-jointed from the haze, so he hooks his elbows under her knees easy, folding her double with her thighs pinned to her chest, calves framing his shoulders tight. That pussy blooms upward obscenely, outer lips mashed flat from how spread open she is, inner folds splayed wide and quivering, entrance winking creamy-pink around the void, clit mashed prominent and pulsing under the weight of his dick resting heavy along her slit. Cream pools fresh in the crease, dripping backward to lube her puckered hole.
Smoke notches his tip at her entrance, eyes never breaking hers, heavy-lidded stare pinning her soul-deep and thrusts in one long stroke, dick disappearing inch-by-thick-inch till his balls nestle snugly against her upturned ass, stretch burning visible in the way her walls bulge around all that girth.
“Damn, princess, pussy grippin' daddy tight like I ain’t fucked you open,” Smoke praises, drawl stretching vowels lazy as his hips draw back on a slow drag, veins dragging friction along the inner ridges of her walls before snapping forward to bury fully again, pelvis slapping her ass with an audible wet sound. His Stroke pulls half-out next, her inner lips clinging reluctant to the retreat, then he plunges renewed, hitting that bottom with a grind that mashes her clit under his pubic bone. “You know who this belong to. Don't you? Say it for me.”
“Daddy’s pussy…daddy’s pussy.” Zariah whines.
“I see you. See how you holdin'm’ on. How you lettin’ me own this. You doin’ so good for me, Zari. Real good, baby.”
Zariah’s folded frame shudders, tits squished between her thighs as her walls clamp on the invasion, sparks exploding core-deep from the deep hits that kiss her cervix. Each thrust sends ripples through her puffy, pussy lips, cream frothing white at the seal where he bottoms out, her breaths punching out on the reentries while her eyes stay fused to his, wide and glassy with the lock, lips mouthing silent pleas.
“All this dick, baby, take it all—daddy got you,” Smoke coos, pace building like a piston now, balls swinging tap-tap against her tailbone with every deep drive, his gaze unwavering intensely as he watches every twitch, every flutter, every jerk, every silent scream, every shake.
Smoke's stare sharpen like a predator, jaw clenching, eyes narrowing to slits while his hands clamp on the backs of her thighs, thumbs digging meaty divots to pin her folded frame immobile. He snaps his hips downward piston-hard, big dick plummeting into her splayed pussy with a wet schlap that echoes off the walls, balls slapping her ass crack heavy before the recoil yanks him half-out only to hammer back in, burying full.
No words now, just breath hissing through his teeth, chest heaving as he tunnels, each drop stroke burying to the hilt, dick dragging brutal against her clamping walls that suck reluctantly at the retreat. His pace ratchets machine-steady, bedframe groaning under and the mattress dipping deep where his toes anchored. Sweat beads his temple and trails down, dripping onto her upturned tits that jiggle chaotic with every impact, nipples peaked tight from the frenzy.
Zariah's moans rip free raw, high-pitched keens fracturing into throaty wails that bounce off the ceiling, back arching futile against the fold as her thighs quake trapped in his hold. Her manicured acrylic nails rake fire-trails down his bulging biceps, carving pink welts into the sweat-slick skin that flexes corded under the gouge. Her calves locked rigid around his shoulders while her toes splay then curl tight, soles cramping from the building blaze. That battered pussy convulses wildly around his invading girth, cream gushing frothier at the seal with every plunge, inner muscles fluttering desperately to milk on those veins pulsing hot inside her. That curve hitting spots that make her dizzy. That tip kissing the back of her pussy, making her stomach clench.
Tension coils her belly taut, breaths punching erratic as sparks ignite white-hot, walls seizing brutally on the next drop that kisses her spot, and she shatters. Squirt erupts forceful, clear jets arcing from her spasming slit to splatter his abs, soaking the shaft still lodged halfway as her pussy clamps and ejects, flooding the crease between her ass cheeks in hot rivulets that puddle onto the sheets, dampening it dark beneath her. Zariah’s body bucks helplessly in Smoke’s fold, eyes rolling on a scream that shreds hoarse while her nails dig crescent moons into his forearms.
Smoke grunts low once, chest rumbling the sound, before yanking free with an obscene squelch, dick springing upright glossy and throbbing, veins livid against the slick sheen of her release coating every inch from balls to tip. He unfolds her legs, thighs blooming wide as gravity settles her limp, then shoulders between them rough—head dipping low to seal his full lips hot over her quivering pussy. That thick tongue plunges flat and broad through her splayed folds, lapping the gush pooled in her entrance like a glutton, tongue flicking up to swirl her clit hood and those lips start sucking the pulsing nub vacuum-tight. Smoke smacked his lips wet, devouring every drop. His thick fingers splay her lips wider, exposing the pink inner clench still fluttering post-squirt, and he tongues deep inside to scoop the cream hollowing her out, beard scraping thighs raw as nose buries into her mound drag her scent full lungs.
Zariah stared down at him dumbfounded. She didn’t have the capacity to form words. He was eating her pussy up and even her twitching didn’t stop him from overstimulating her.
Her vision blurred as aftershocks ripple through her, body slack against the soaked sheets, chest rising and falling shallow while her pussy throbs exposed, folds. Moans spill lazy from her throat, fracturing into his name drawn long and needy
“Smoke...Smoke…” her hips canting, rolling her slick pussy against his locked mouth, grinding her clit over his probing tongue that flicks non-stop like a propeller. Her thighs clamp his ears, heels digging into his back to pull him tighter into her drenched heat, cream smearing into his beard thick as she chases the friction through the daze, palming the top of his low cut ceasar with the deep waves.
Smoke’s growl vibrates low against her pussy before he lifts, his face slick-shined, eyes burning dark into hers, jaw set granite
“Gon’ nut so deep in this pussy, lock it down tight.” No pause, Smoke surges up fluid, knees bracketing her hips, one hand fisting the base of his dick slick-heavy to notch his tip bluntly at her fluttering hole, then he slams home in a single thrust, burying balls-deep with a meaty thwack that jolts her tits.
Silence is only broken by skin-slaps wet, his powerful hips snapping, pulling that dick to drag slow, veins bulging against her pussy grip before dropping to grind deep with a roll of his hips. His pace builds, thighs flexing like steel under sweat rivers carving paths down his obliques, abs clenching ridge-defined with every plunge that stretches her walls around that curved dick invading her pussy. The headboard thumped the wall with dull thuds while his heavy balls swung to slap her ass cheeks spread wide, drawing creamy froth at the seal to drip down her crack.
Zariah’s moans pitch frantically while her hands claw his shoulders, gouging fresh welts into the flexing traps. Her Legs hook his waist and she locks her ankles to pull him deeper, pussy clenching, ridges pulsing hot inside, and her words tumbled desperate to coach him through.
“This yo’ pussy, Smoke—cum in yo’ pussy, big daddy...fill this pussy up, give it all...show me who this pussy belong to. Tear it up, big daddy…stretch me out…ahhh–nnghhh–big ass dick…oh…big dick—yes, right there, right there, don’t stop, stroke it—yessss.” Her voice cracks husky, hips bucking in a counter-rhythm.
Smoke’s groan shreds guttural, throat raw cords straining as his eyes bore into hers unblinking, heavy-lidded slits flaring wide with the lock. His muscles are cable-tight across his shoulders, biceps ballooning veins livid under her rake, traps bunching while his quads quake to brace the final drives. That big dick swells thicker mid-thrust, tip flaring to kiss her depths, and he erupts—balls drawing up tight, contracting, pulsing thick-hot ropes to flood her clenching channel and paint her walls white. His thrusts stutter shallow, grinding his thick seed deeper, damn near churning it to froth with her cream, that veiny beast jerking erratic against the flutter, that pussy milking every drop while an overflow seeps slow down her ass. His groan drags endless, chest heaving bellows against her neck, forehead dropping to hers sweat-slick as the last pulse fades, his body a heavy drape over her pinned frame.
Smoke eases his thick, curved dick out of Zariah's soaked pussy inch by inch, letting her feel every ridge and stretch as he pulls free. The wet slide leaves her entrance fluttering, slick with their mixed fluids. He stays close, one broad hand resting on the curve of her hip while he watches her body settle.
“You took all that dick so good for me, baby. Real good. My pretty girl handled every inch. See? Ain’t gotta fight me all the time. C’mere, pretty girl.”
Smoke leans down and presses his lips to her forehead, then again just above her brow, then once more near her hairline. Three kisses that linger each time.
“Stay right there. Don’t move.”
Smoke stands, his heavy frame casting a shadow over her sprawled form. Zariah lies on her side like a goddess, long legs slightly parted, rich brown skin glowing with sweat and satisfaction, full lips curved in a lazy smile from being fucked so thoroughly. Her narrow waist and soft hips look even more inviting in the afterglow. Smoke steps away toward the bathroom first, turning on the jacuzzi tub so warm water starts filling with steady jets. The sound of bubbles fills the space. He then leaves the room entirely to head for the kitchen.
On his way out. He glances back at her again.
“Stay right there. I'll be back to get you in a minute.”
About ten minutes goes by and Zariah’s phone rings while she’s still sprawled on the bed, freshly fucked and glowing. She reaches for it lazily, answering with that professional tone she keeps for work.
“Hey, it’s Z. Ellie…hey. Yeah, I’m here. What’s going on?”
Ellie, her publicist starts rattling off a packed schedule—more shoots, events, back-to-back bookings for the next month. Zariah listens, nodding along even though no one can see her, her voice calm and composed.
Smoke walks back into the room carrying the tray with her herbal tea and water. He sets it down, eyes locking on her. That look says everything without a word. He steps closer, takes the phone right out of her hand, and brings it to his ear.
“Ellie, right? Listen, she gon’ need a week off. Clear the next seven days—yes, a week. Y’all can make it happen.” His voice is final. He hangs up before the publicist can reply.
Zariah sits up a little, mouth opening to protest. “Smoke—”
He leans in and kisses her, slow and with tongue, cutting off whatever she was about to say. When he pulls back, his hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing her full lower lip.
“You gon’ need some rest and relaxation. I plan to fuck you and eat that pussy in every room of this place. You hear me?”
Zariah stares at him, that familiar tension flickering between them—her independence brushing up against his weight. Smoke doesn’t move. He just waits, eyes steady on hers. Slowly, she melts, no need to fight him when truthfully she could use a little break. And seven full days of back-to-back sex with her big, bad, man? Hell yeah.
“Say it. Yes, daddy.”
Zariah exhales, shoulders softening the way they do when she chooses to meet him. Her voice comes out quiet but clear.
SYNOPSIS: What was supposed to be a chill night of Truth or Dare with the crew changes the moment Erik gets dared to take a Honeypack. The game continues, but something shifts between him and Y/N — quiet glances and unspoken tension pulling them toward a night neither of them planned.
WARNINGS: 18+ only, SMUT, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex, Use of Aphrodisiac, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, etc.
PAIRINGS: Black OC x Erik Killmonger
This was requested by one of my readers. I hope you all enjoy!
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Y/N pushed the side door open and stepped inside, the cool night air slipping in behind her for a second before the door clicked shut. She set the bottle of Don Julio on the counter with a quiet clink before letting the plastic bag drop next to it. A couple limes rolled out slow, the extra shot glasses clinking together once.
Trey was leaning against the fridge scrolling on his phone. He looked up and smiled the way he always did. “Hey you made it” he said putting the phone down. He came over and gave her a quick one-armed hug. “I was starting to think you bailed on us.”
“Traffic was acting stupid” she said letting out a small laugh. “But I’m here now so you can relax.”
He glanced at the bottle and raised his eyebrows. “Don Julio? Okay fancy. You didn’t have to bring the good stuff we got the house tequila.”
“Yeah but then y’all would be complaining about the hangover tomorrow” she said shrugging as she leaned against the counter. “This way I get to feel responsible for once.”
Trey chuckled. “Fair. You always think ahead.”
Jada came in from the living room. She saw Y/N and her face lit up slow. “Girl” she said crossing the kitchen in a couple steps. She pulled Y/N into a tight hug, rocking her side to side for a second before letting go. “I was literally about to text you. Missed your face.”
“Missed you too” Y/N said hugging back. “You good?”
“Always when you show up with liquor” Jada said stepping back but keeping a hand on Y/N’s arm for a second. She reached for one of the limes rolling it under her palm on the counter. “Trey keeps talking about tacos but he ain’t cut nothing yet. Typical.”
Aaliyah slipped in right behind her. She walked straight over, leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder for a quick second, then straightened up with a small smile. “Hey boo glad you made it. We were about to start without you.”
Y/N snorted. “Y’all would’ve survived five minutes.”
“Barely” Aaliyah said reaching for the bottle. “This is nice though.”
Trey started slicing a lime the knife making thumps against the wood. “Speaking of nice… Jada brought something else earlier.”
Jada rolled her eyes but she was smiling a little. She reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out two small gold packets holding them up. “Honey packs. My cousin dropped them off last week swearing they’re the truth. I figured why not bring them. Worst case they taste like candy and we clown each other.”
Aaliyah leaned in eyebrows raised. “Those honey things? You actually brought those here?”
“I brought two” Jada said shrugging. “We’re only four right now. If somebody gets brave later we can split one.”
Trey shook his head still slicing. “I’m good. Last time somebody brought some energy stuff, I ended up fucking my ex.”
Y/N leaned against the counter arms crossed watching them. The kitchen felt small, the low music from the living room drifting in.
Aaliyah looked at Y/N. “Come on let’s get you in there before we start pouring. We got the living room set up. Just waiting on you.”
Y/N grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off pouring a small splash into each glass.
“Alright” she said handing them out. “Let’s take these first then y’all can tell me how serious this honey-pack plan really is.”
They clinked the glasses quietly threw them back. The alcohol burned smooth going down. Y/N set her glass on the counter and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Jada was already reaching for the bottle to pour another round when Y/N glanced at the two gold packets still sitting on the counter.
Y/N nodded toward them. “Don’t this shit make you horny though?”
Jada paused mid-pour then looked up with a slow grin. “That’s the good part girl.”
Aaliyah laughed low shaking her head as she leaned back against the counter. “See that’s why I’m staying far away from those. I don’t need any extra help in that department tonight.”
Trey snorted still focused on the last lime. “Y’all wild.”
Y/N picked up one of the packets turning it over in her fingers. “I’m just saying. If we do this we gotta be ready for whatever happens.”
Jada topped off the glasses again and slid one toward Y/N. “We’re four grown people in a house with no kids around. Whatever happens happens.
Aaliyah took her glass and raised it. “To bad decisions and good company.”
They clinked again and drank.
Jada set her glass down first. “Alright enough stalling. Let’s take this to the living room.”
Y/N grabbed her glass and the bottle following the others out of the kitchen.
Y/N sank deeper into the couch next to Jada. Blankets were tossed over the armrests and pillows were scattered on the floor like someone had kicked them there earlier. The Bluetooth speaker played R&B that vibrated just enough to settle in her chest.
Jada finished shuffling the cards with a quick flick and dealt one to each of them face down. “Lowest card starts. No weak shit tonight. We’re grown, and we’re tipsy. Let’s get into it.”
Aaliyah flipped hers first, a three of hearts, and groaned but smiled. “Me. Truth.”
Jada leaned forward. “When was the last time you came so hard you cried? Details, no skipping.”
Aaliyah bit her lip. “Three weeks ago, maybe. This dude I been seeing had me bent over the bathroom sink, fingers and tongue at the same time. Kept going even after I started shaking. I legit had tears running down my face when I finally came. Couldn’t even stand up straight after.”
Jada let out a loud “Oop,” and fanned herself with her hand. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Trey shook his head, laughing softly. “Y’all wild already. My turn next, I can feel it.”
He flipped an ace of spades. Jada pointed right at him. “Dare.”
Trey sighed. “Hit me.”
Jada grinned. “Call your ex right now. Leave a voicemail on speaker. Tell him exactly what you miss about his body.”
Trey pulled out his phone, scrolled to the name, hit call, put it on speaker, and waited for voicemail. When the beep came he leaned back.
“Ay, it’s me. Just wanted to say I still think about you sometimes. Miss the way your back looked when you arched for me, the way your thighs squeezed around my head when I had you shaking, how your skin felt under my hands. Shit was fire. Anyway, yeah. Delete this if you want.”
He hung up fast. The room exploded. Trey buried his face in his hands but was grinning wide. Two minutes later his phone buzzed. He read it out loud:
<Boy, delete my number… but call me later.
Everyone lost it again.
Next round Jada got the lowest card. “Truth,” she said before anyone could ask.
Aaliyah jumped in. “Wildest place you ever fucked. Go.”
Jada didn’t blink. “Back seat of my ex-boyfriend’s Charger at the family cookout last summer. Windows fogged up so bad you couldn’t see in, music blasting to cover the sounds. He had me riding reverse with one hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. Almost got caught when my aunt came looking for the ice chest.”
Trey covered his ears dramatically. “I did not need to visualize that, but go off sis.”
Y/N laughed, but the heat crept up her neck. The game was getting hotter and the alcohol made everything feel looser.
Her turn. She flipped a four. “Dare.”
Trey’s grin turned evil. “Send a nude to the group chat right now, crop your face out.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Y’all messy.” She lifted her shirt just enough, angled her phone so the lamp light hit her cleavage perfect, snapped it, cropped her face, and sent before she could chicken out.
The group chat blew up.
Jada: “Whew, okay, body tea.”
Aaliyah: “Chef’s kiss, period.”
Trey: “I’m looking respectfully… damn, Y/N.”
Y/N buried her face in her hands for a second. “Shut up, Trey.”
Aaliyah’s dare was next: a blindfolded lap dance to whoever’s phone she grabbed. She tied a blanket around her eyes and got Trey’s phone. She climbed onto his lap slow and rolled her hips into his. Trey sat frozen, hands gripping the couch, “This is why we don’t do blindfolds no more, girl. Get off me,” while everyone else howled.
Y/N got truth again. Jada leaned in. “Be real. Nastiest thing you let a guy do that you secretly loved?”
Y/N took a long sip. “He held my throat while he ate me out. Not choking, just firm, like he was keeping me right there. I came so hard I saw stars.”
Silence hung for half a second, then Aaliyah whispered, “Damn, that’s hot.”
They passed the bottle for another round when Trey’s phone lit up on the coffee table. He read it and chuckled.
“Erik says he’s five minutes out.”
Jada rolled her eyes but smiled. “Finally. I told his ass to hurry up after work. He been acting brand-new since he got back from the military.”
Aaliyah poured fresh shots and slid one toward Y/N. “He’s been texting me all week, miss the crew, miss the vibes.”
The second Erik’s name dropped, Y/N’s stomach plummeted like someone squeezed her insides and let go. She kept her face neutral, took a slow sip, but her fingers tightened around the glass so hard her knuckles paled.
That night flashed back in sharp pieces. She remembered him sitting in her braiding chair, shirtless, his locs half-done and still a little damp from the wash. They were laughing at some stupid story from back in the day while passing the bottle back and forth. She had been focused on twisting the last few locs, trying to keep her hands steady when she felt the shift. The way his eyes changed, getting darker the moment she leaned back to check her work. Then the kiss happened like something that had been building for years. One minute they were talking, the next her shorts were down around her ankles and his mouth was on her. His hands held her thighs open and the low groan he let out against her skin sounded like he had been waiting for this longer than he would ever admit.
Then the texts the next morning. She left them all on read. Couldn’t face what it meant, that she’d been in love with him quietly for years and one night cracked that wide open. So she ignored him until he stopped trying.
Now he was minutes away.
She could already picture him stepping in. Would he look at her normal? Pretend it never happened? Or would one glance pull everything back?
——————————————————————————————
They squeezed in one more round to kill time. Jada got dared to moan the name of the last person she hooked up with for fifteen seconds straight. She did it low and dramatic, drawing it out until Trey was cracking up and Aaliyah was covering her face. Then Trey picked truth and had to admit the last time he got head in a car. He told the story with zero shame making everyone laugh until their sides hurt. Y/N picked dare again and had to send a voice note describing how she liked to be touched. She kept it short and the group lost it when they played it back.
The laughs were still echoing when a firm knock sounded at the front door.
Trey hopped up from the floor. “That’s him. I got it.”
He walked over and opened the door. Erik stepped inside carrying two large pizza boxes stacked on top of each other, the smell of hot cheese and pepperoni filling the room right away. Trey took one of the boxes from him with a grin. “My guy, you came through.”
Erik looked too good. His locs were freshly twisted into neat barrels that framed his face perfectly. He had on a crisp black shirt that hugged his muscular arms and chest, the short sleeves showing off the scars on his biceps. A thick gold chain rested against his collarbone and a matching gold watch gleamed on his wrist. Black joggers sat low on his hips and he rocked a fresh pair of Jordans that still looked box-fresh. The whole fit was simple but it hit different on him, like everything he wore was made to remind you exactly who he was.
He greeted everyone with a small smile showing off his gold fronts. “What’s good, y’all?” He gave Jada a quick hug, then Aaliyah, dapping Trey up properly once the pizza was set on the coffee table.
When he got to Y/N he paused for a second. “Long time no see.”
Before she could respond, he pulled her into a hug. It was tighter than the others. His cologne hit her immediately, that woody scent mixed with something fresh that made her head spin. He smelled so good it was almost unfair. As he held her he leaned in close to her ear.
“Missed you, baby. You been ignoring a nigga.”
He gave her one last gentle squeeze before pulling away. Y/N’s heart was pounding so hard she was sure everyone could hear it, but she just smiled back trying to play it cool while her stomach did flips all over again.
The group settled back in. Erik dropped down on the floor near the coffee table right across from Y/N. He grabbed a slice of pizza, took a big bite, and leaned back on one elbow.
Jada was already reaching for another slice. “About time you showed up. We were starting to think you got lost.”
Erik chuckled, gold flashing again. “Nah, I had to make sure y’all had something to eat. Can’t have my people starving while y’all out here playing nasty games.”
Aaliyah smirked. “Speaking of nasty games, you just missed some wild shit. But we can catch you up real quick if you want in.”
Erik’s eyes flicked over to Y/N for a brief second before he looked back at the group. “I’m down. What we playing?”
The tension in Y/N’s chest tightened even more as the circle reformed with Erik now sitting right across from her. The night suddenly felt a lot heavier and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend everything was normal.
Y/N tried to focus on the slice of pizza in her hand but her appetite was gone. The cheese tasted like nothing while her mind kept replaying that whisper in her ear and the way his arms had felt around her. Erik settled in across from her on the floor with his legs stretched out casually.
Jada wiped her hands on a napkin and grinned at him. “Truth or dare, Erik?”
Erik took another bite of pizza chewing slowly before he answered. “Truth.”
Trey leaned forward. “Bet. Here’s a good one. What’s the nastiest thing you’ve done to a girl that made her shake so bad she couldn’t walk right after?”
The room got quiet for a second. Erik didn’t even hesitate. He looked straight at Y/N while he answered.
“Last time I was with somebody I really wanted… I had her laid back on the couch after she did my locs. I ate her pussy for so long she came three times back to back. Had her thighs squeezing my head so tight I could barely breathe, but I wasn’t stopping. By the time I was done she was shaking so bad she couldn’t even sit up straight. Had to carry her to the bed.”
He kept his eyes locked on Y/N the entire time he spoke. Y/N could feel the heat rushing to her face. She avoided his gaze completely, staring down at the pizza box like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Her hand tightened around her glass as she brought it to her lips and took a long sip of the Don Julio hoping the burn would distract her from the way her body was reacting. Her thighs pressed together without thinking, memories flooding back so strong she almost choked on the liquor. She could still feel his locs brushing her skin, the way his tongue had moved, the low groans he made like he couldn’t get enough.
Jada let out a low whistle. “Damn, Erik. That’s cold.”
Aaliyah laughed. “Three times? Boy, you wasn’t playing.”
Erik just smirked still watching Y/N even though she refused to look up. “What can I say? When I want something, I take my time with it.”
The air in the room felt thicker now, the game suddenly a lot more dangerous with him sitting right there. Y/N took another sip from her glass trying to steady her breathing while her heart raced. She could feel his eyes on her like he was daring her to look back at him.
Jada clapped her hands once. “Alright, let’s make the next part interesting. We got two honey packs in the kitchen. How about we play a quick round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ with a twist? Whoever has done the thing has to drink. Last person with alcohol left in their cup loses and has to take one of the honey packs.”
Aaliyah’s face lit up. “Yes! I’m down for that.”
Trey laughed and reached for the bottle to top off everyone’s glasses. “Bet. But y’all better not gang up on me. I’m innocent over here.”
Erik smirked. “Innocent? Yeah, okay. Let’s run it. I’m not scared of a little honey.”
Jada hopped up and came back from the kitchen with the two small gold packets placing them right in the middle of the coffee table. “These right here. Loser takes the whole packet. No backing out once the game starts.”
They all raised their glasses and started the round. The questions stayed playful at first.
“Never have I ever had sex in a car,” Aaliyah said.
Trey, Jada, and Erik drank right away. Y/N kept her glass still for that one.
“Never have I ever hooked up with someone I met at the gym,” Trey threw out next.
Jada and Aaliyah drank. Erik took a sip, chuckling.
“Never have I ever gone down on someone in the shower,” Jada said with a grin.
Trey and Erik drank. Y/N sipped once.
“Never have I ever had a one-night stand that turned into something more,” Aaliyah said.
Erik drank again, along with Jada.
“Never have I ever recorded myself having sex,” Trey added.
Erik and Aaliyah drank. Y/N took a small sip feeling the liquor warming her up.
“Never have I ever had sex somewhere I could’ve gotten caught easily,” Jada said.
Everyone except Trey drank that time. The laughs were flowing and the cups were getting lower fast.
After a few more rounds, Trey checked the glasses. “Damn… Erik, you’re the last one with a decent amount left, but after that last one you’re basically empty too. Looks like you lose, bro.”
Jada picked up one of the gold honey packets from the table and waved it in the air. “Rules are rules. Loser takes the whole thing right now.”
Erik leaned forward. “Aight, bet. Hand it over.”
Jada passed him the packet. Erik took it, turning the small gold wrapper over in his fingers while the group watched. He glanced around the circle, then ripped it open with his teeth squeezing the golden liquid onto his tongue like it was nothing. He swallowed it down maintaining eye contact with the group the whole time, but Y/N could feel his gaze linger a little longer when it passed over her.
The room erupted in cheers and laughs. Jada clapped. “That’s my dawg!”
Trey grabbed another slice of pizza. “Now we wait and see what that does to you. This should be entertaining.”
Erik just chuckled low, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he set the empty wrapper on the table. He looked completely unbothered, but Y/N noticed the way his jaw tightened just slightly right after he swallowed. She quickly looked away focusing on her own drink again.
———————————————————————————
A couple hours had passed. The pizza boxes were empty and they had moved through Spades, Uno, and were now deep into random drinking games.
Erik had gotten quieter as the night went on. He was still joking with everyone, but he kept shifting his position on the floor.
Trey was dealing the next round when he suddenly paused mid-shuffle. He looked down at Erik’s lap and let out a low chuckle.
“E, you good?” Trey asked nodding toward Erik’s obvious erection straining against his black joggers. “Nigga got a whole tent going on over there.”
The room went quiet for a second.
“Oh shit,” Jada muttered covering her mouth with wide eyes.
Aaliyah burst out laughing and quickly looked away. “Jesus, Erik…”
Erik glanced down at himself then shrugged casually with zero embarrassment. He didn’t try to hide it or close his legs. “Imma handle that later,” he said voice a little deeper than it had been earlier.
As he spoke, his eyes drifted over to Y/N. The look lingered just a second longer than normal before he looked away again. Her thighs pressed together without her meaning to.
Trey smirked. “You sure you don’t need a minute, bro?”
Erik leaned back on one hand. “Nah, I’m straight. We can keep playing.” He adjusted himself once, “This honey just got me real… aware right now.”
Jada shook her head with a grin. “That pack is no joke. You look like you’re ready to pounce on something.”
The group laughed.Erik stayed relaxed on the outside, but his eyes kept finding their way back to Y/N every few minutes.
Y/N stayed quiet focusing on her drink and pretending to laugh along with everyone else. But she could still feel the weight of his attention on her skin like a hand she couldn’t quite brush off.
The game eventually fizzled out as everyone started feeling the effects of the long night and all the shots. Jada stretched and looked around at the mess. “Alright y’all, let’s clean up a little before we get too lazy.”
They all got up slowly, groaning and laughing as they started picking up. Trey gathered the empty pizza boxes and shot glasses while Aaliyah folded blankets and picked up cards from the floor. Jada wiped down the coffee table. Erik helped out too, grabbing a few napkins and empty cups.
After about ten minutes, Erik checked his phone and stood up straight. “I’m gonna head out. Got an early morning tomorrow.”
He started saying his goodbyes, giving everyone a hug. He dapped Trey up first, then pulled Jada into a tight hug rocking her side to side. “Good seeing y’all, for real.” He hugged Aaliyah next.
Then he turned to Y/N.
She stood up trying to keep it casual. Erik stepped in and wrapped his arms around her. The hug lingered. His body felt warm against hers and that same woody cologne wrapped around her again. He held her for a few extra seconds.
Right before he pulled away, he leaned in close to her ear.
“Come through to my crib when you leave here.”
He gave her one last gentle squeeze before stepping back like nothing had happened. He grabbed his keys and headed toward the door. “Catch y’all later. Don’t get too crazy without me.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Y/N stood there frozen for a second with Erik’s words echoing in her head. Her stomach felt like it dropped and her thoughts were all over the place. She felt discombobulated.
They continued tidying up the living room completely oblivious to what Erik had just dropped on Y/N before walking out the door.
She bent down to pick up a pillow trying to act normal, but her mind was already spinning with the decision she now had to make.
Y/N helped with the last bit of cleanup tossing a few more cups in the trash and folding one of the blankets. Once everything looked decent, she grabbed her bag and keys.
“Alright y’all, I’m about to head out,” she said. “Thank you for tonight. I had fun.”
She went around giving everyone hugs. Jada squeezed her tight telling her to text when she got home. Aaliyah hugged her next. Trey gave her a big bear hug and kissed the top of her head like the big brother he always acted like.
“Drive safe, Y/N. Love you girl,” he said.
“Love y’all too,” she replied with a small smile before heading out the door.
She wasn’t too drunk. Just nicely buzzed, enough to feel loose but still in control. The night air felt cool on her skin as she walked to her car. Once she got inside she didn’t start the engine right away. She just sat there in the driver’s seat staring out the windshield while replaying everything that happened tonight.
Come through to my crib when you leave here.
She let out a deep breath and rubbed her hands over her face. Was she really about to do this? Go to his house? After she spent months ignoring his texts and trying to bury everything that happened between them? What if it brought all those old feelings rushing back? The ones she swore she had under control?
Just then, her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.
She picked it up and saw a message from Erik. The preview showed a blurred picture. Her thumb hovered for a second before she clicked it open.
It was a photo of Erik. He was still in those black joggers standing in what looked like his bedroom. One of his hands was gripping his thick print through the fabric. The picture was clear enough to see just how big and heavy he was.
Right underneath it the message read:
<I need you.
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She felt a rush of heat flood between her legs, her pussy instantly getting wet. Her thighs pressed together on their own as she stared at the picture.
“Fuck…” she whispered to herself.
That sealed it.
She sat there for a few more seconds. Besides… it’s just going to be one night, she told herself. What’s the worst that could happen?
She started the car, typed Erik’s address into her GPS, and pulled off.
About twenty minutes later Y/N pulled up outside Erik’s house. The drive felt both too long and too short. Her stomach was in knots the entire way.
She parked on the street and sat in the car for a moment staring at his front door. Her hands were slightly shaky as she picked up her phone and typed:
>I’m outside
His reply came back almost instantly.
>It’s opened.
Y/N stared at the message. She took a slow breath trying to steady herself.
It’s just one night, she reminded herself. Just one night.
She grabbed her bag, stepped out of the car, and walked up to his front door. After another deep breath she twisted the knob and stepped inside.
The house was dimly lit with just a couple of lamps on casting a warm glow through the living room. Soft music played from somewhere deeper inside. She closed the door behind her and locked it.
Then Erik appeared from the hallway.
He was shirtless now. His muscular chest and abs were on full display. The scars on his biceps and torso were visible and his joggers sat low on his hips showing the deep V-line leading down.
Erik didn’t say anything else at first. He just walked toward her slowly. When he stopped in front of her, he was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
He reached out and gently took her bag from her hand setting it down on the nearby chair without breaking eye contact. Then he stepped even closer, one hand sliding around her waist pulling her body flush against his.
“You drove all the way over here,” he murmured, “after ignoring me for months.”
Y/N’s breath hitched as she felt how hard he still was, the thick outline of his erection pressing against her stomach through his joggers. The honey pack was clearly still working overtime.
“I wasn’t…” she started, but the words got caught in her throat when his other hand came up to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.
“You wasn’t what?” he asked tilting his head slightly. “You wasn’t thinking about me? Or you wasn’t ready to admit you missed this too?”
Before she could answer, Erik leaned down and kissed her. His tongue slipped into her mouth and Y/N melted into him. Her hands instinctively slid up his bare chest feeling the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart.
When he finally pulled back they were both breathing heavier.
“I been thinking about you since that night,” he admitted, forehead resting against hers. “Every time I tried to let it go… I couldn’t. And tonight?” He let out a low chuckle, almost strained. “I need you, Y/N. For real.”
His hands slid down to grip her ass. Y/N let out a shaky breath, her pussy throbbing with need.
Erik kissed her again before trailing his lips to her ear.
“Tell me you want this,” he whispered. “Tell me you’re not about to run out that door.”
She looked up at him. Her voice came out soft but steady.
“I want this,” she whispered. “I’m not running.”
That was all Erik needed.
He kissed her again. One hand stayed on her ass while the other slid up her back and into her hair tilting her head exactly how he wanted. The kiss turned hungry fast.
He walked her backward until her back gently hit the wall. Erik pulled away just enough to look at her.
His hands moved to the hem of her shirt. He peeled it off slowly tossing it somewhere behind him. His gaze dropped to her breasts and he let out a low curse under his breath before leaning down to kiss and suck on her neck trailing wet kisses across her collarbone.
Y/N’s head fell back against the wall, a soft moan slipping out as his mouth found her nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, tongue swirling, while his hand squeezed her other breast. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
Y/N’s back pressed against the cool wall as Erik dropped to his knees in front of her like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked up at her with those hooded eyes while he slowly dragged her pants and panties down her legs. He took his time kissing her inner thighs the whole way and sucked lightly on the sensitive skin until she was squirming.
“Fuck, I missed this pretty pussy,” he groaned. He spread her legs wider throwing one over his shoulder so she was completely open for him. “Look at you… already dripping for me.”
He leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up her slit licking up all her wetness in one long stroke. Y/N moaned loudly, her hand flying to the top of his head gripping his fresh barrel twists. Erik let out a deep groan against her pussy, the vibration making her thighs tremble.
He didn’t tease for long.
Erik buried his face between her legs like a man starved. His tongue was everywhere licking broad stripes up her pussy, swirling around her swollen clit, then dipping inside her hole to fuck her with it. Wet sounds filled the hallway as he ate her greedily, sucking on her folds, slurping loudly on her juices like he couldn’t get enough.
“Shit, Erik…” Y/N whimpered.
He pulled back just enough to spit on her pussy watching it drip down before diving back in, sucking her clit into his mouth hard. Two thick fingers pushed inside her without warning.
“That’s it, baby,” he growled against her clit, fingers pumping faster. “Fuck my face. Use my tongue like you been wanting to.”
Y/N’s legs shook as she rode his mouth, grinding against his tongue while he finger-fucked her harder. He added a third finger to stretch her open, the wet squelching sounds getting louder. Erik moaned into her pussy the whole time clearly enjoying every second of it.
He pulled his fingers out for a moment, spread her pussy lips wide with both thumbs, and spat directly on her clit before sucking it back into his mouth with slurping sounds. His tongue flicked rapidly against her swollen nub while he looked up at her.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned, voice muffled. “This pussy still mine, ain’t it?”
Y/N could barely answer, just moaned his name like a prayer as her orgasm built fast. Erik could feel it. He locked his arms around her thighs holding her in place so she couldn’t run from the pleasure and attacked her clit with relentless suction and fast flicks of his tongue.
“Cum on my face, baby,” he demanded. “Let me taste how much you missed this dick.”
That pushed her over the edge.
Y/N came hard, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the wall as she cried out. Erik didn’t stop. He kept sucking and licking her through it, moaning loudly like her orgasm was the best thing he’d tasted all night.
Erik finally pulled back, lips and chin shiny with her juices. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand while looking up at her with a satisfied smirk.
—————————————————————————
Erik stood up slowly.
“Come here,” he said.
He took her hand and led her over to the couch. The second they reached it, he sat down, legs spread wide, and pulled her down between them so she was on her knees on the floor in front of him. One arm stretched along the back of the couch as he looked at her with that intense stare.
Y/N’s hands shook slightly with anticipation as she reached for the waistband of his joggers. She tugged them down his hips and his thick dick sprang out. The head was already leaking precum, veins prominent along the shaft. He was rock hard from the honey pack and he looked even bigger than she remembered.
“Fuck…” she whispered wrapping her hand around the base. He was so thick her fingers barely met.
Erik let out a low groan, head tilting back for a second before he looked down at her again.
“Go ‘head, baby,” he murmured.
Y/N leaned in and dragged her tongue slowly from the base of his dick all the way up to the tip licking up the bead of precum that had formed. She swirled her tongue around the head before wrapping her lips around it and sucking gently.
“Shit… just like that,” Erik groaned, one hand sliding into her hair.
She took more of him into her mouth, sucking him deeper, her tongue working the underside of his shaft. He was so thick it made her jaw ache in the best way. She bobbed her head taking him as far as she could using her hand to stroke what didn’t fit.
Erik’s grip tightened in her hair. “Fuck, your mouth feels good. You been thinking about this dick, huh?”
Y/N moaned around him in response sucking harder, saliva dripping down his shaft as she worked him sloppily. The wet sounds filled the room.
“That’s it… choke on it,” he growled with hips lifting slightly to push deeper into her mouth. “Get it real wet for me. I want you drooling all over this dick.”
She did exactly that. Spit ran down her chin as she sucked him messily, hollowing her cheeks, twisting her hand around the base while she focused on the sensitive head. Erik’s breathing got heavier.
He looked down at her, eyes half-lidded. “Look at you… on your knees sucking me like you missed this shit. You do miss it, don’t you?”
Y/N pulled off just long enough to catch her breath, strings of spit connecting her lips to his dick. “Yes…” she breathed before diving back down taking him even deeper and gagging softly as the head hit the back of her throat.
“Fuuuck,” Erik hissed, his hand guiding her head as he slowly fucked her mouth. “Just like that. Keep gagging on it. I love that shit.”
She worked him eagerly. Spit dripped down onto his balls and she reached down to massage them earning a deep moan from him.
Erik’s abs flexed every time she took him deep. His breathing got heavier as he got closer.
Erik groaned deeply. “Fuck… get up here.”
He pulled her off his dick with a wet pop and yanked her up onto the couch. In one motion he sat back against the cushions and pulled her on top of him. His spit-slick dick rested hard against her stomach as he gripped her hips.
“Ride me,” he demanded. “I want this pussy right now.”
Y/N didn’t hesitate. She reached between them, wrapped her hand around his heavy dick, and lined him up with her dripping entrance. She rubbed the fat head up and down her wet folds a few times before slowly sinking down.
“Fuuuuck…” she moaned as he stretched her open.
Erik’s head fell back against the couch.“Goddamn, this pussy tight as hell. Keep going, baby. Take all this dick.”
She worked herself down until her ass was flush against his thighs. The feeling was overwhelming. Y/N let out a shaky whimper adjusting to his size while her walls clenched around him.
Erik gripped her ass with both hands to spread her open. “That’s it. Look at you swallowing my whole dick. Now ride it.”
Y/N started moving. The wet squelching sounds were loud as she lifted up and slammed back down as her juices coated his dick and dripped down his balls.
“Shit, just like that,” Erik groaned watching where they were connected. “Look how wet you got my dick. You been needing this, haven’t you?”
“Yes…” she moaned picking up the pace. She braced her hands on his chest and started bouncing harder, ass clapping against his thighs with every drop.
“Fuck me back,” she gasped.
Erik smirked as he gripped her hips tighter and started fucking up into her hard. The couch creaked under them as he pounded into her pussy.
“This what you been ignoring?” he growled eyes locked on her bouncing tits. “This dick been waiting on you and you was playing games.”
He sat up suddenly as he wrapped one arm around her waist and sucked hard on her nipple while he fucked her senseless. Y/N cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode him faster grinding her clit against him with every thrust.
Erik pulled back just enough to look at her face. “Ride this dick like you sorry. Show me how much you missed it.”
Y/N started bouncing harder. Her pussy was creaming all over his dick. Erik groaned loudly, one hand slapping her ass hard before gripping it again.
“Goddamn, you soaking me, baby. This pussy talking to me and everything.”
He leaned back again letting her take control. Y/N rode him like she was possessed.
Erik’s abs flexed with every thrust. “Keep fucking me just like that. I want this pussy to remember who it belongs to.”
But right as his breathing started getting ragged and his grip tightened, he suddenly sat up, wrapped both arms around her, and stood up with her still on his dick.
Y/N gasped, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her down the hallway like she weighed nothing.
He kicked open the bedroom door, tossed her onto the bed, and flipped her over roughly.
“Face down, ass up,” he ordered. “Now.”
Y/N arched her back quickly pressing her chest into the mattress and lifting her ass high for him. Erik smacked her ass hard.
“This what you made me wait for?” he growled. He smacked her ass harder this time watching it jiggle. “Months of ignoring my fucking texts… acting like this pussy wasn’t mine.”
He lined his dick up with her dripping hole and slammed in deep in one thrust.
“Fuuuuck!” Y/N cried out gripping the sheets.
Erik didn’t give her time to adjust. He started fucking her, his balls slapping against her clit with every punishing stroke.
“This my pussy,” he grunted smacking her ass again. “Say it.”
“It’s yours,” she moaned loudly pushing back against him.
He gripped her hips tighter and pounded into her even harder.
“I can’t hear you,” he growled. “Who the fuck does this pussy belong to?”
“It’s yours, Erik!” she cried out. “It’s your pussy!”
“That’s right,” he snarled smacking her ass repeatedly. “You been keeping my shit away from me. Now take this dick like you owe me.”
He fucked her mercilessly. The bed creaked loudly under them. Y/N’s moans turned into broken whimpers as he hit that spot over and over.
Erik reached down and rubbed her clit while still pounding into her. “You better cum on this dick. Right now. Don’t hold that shit.”
The combination of his aggressive strokes, the sting from his smacks, and his fingers on her clit pushed her over the edge fast.
“I’m cumming!” she screamed as her pussy clamped down hard around him gushing wetly as her orgasm ripped through her.
“Fuck yes,” Erik groaned fucking her through it. “That’s my good girl. Cream all on this dick.”
He kept thrusting through her orgasm for a few more strokes before he suddenly pulled out with a wet sound. He stroked his dick fast aiming at her back.
“Shit— I’m about to nut,” he growled.
Thick ropes of cum shot across her back in heavy spurts. Erik moaned loudly as he emptied himself, painting her skin from her shoulder blades all the way down to the curve of her ass. He kept stroking until every drop was out.
“Fuck…” he panted looking down at the mess he made on her.
He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck softly.
“Don’t move,” he murmured.
He got up and walked to the bathroom. Y/N heard the sink running for a few seconds before he returned with a warm cloth. He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully wiped her back cleaning his cum off her skin with gentle strokes. The warm cloth felt soothing against her skin.
Once he was done he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and gently flipped her over onto her back. He laid down beside her pulling her into his chest. Y/N curled up against him, one leg draped over his, her head resting on his shoulder as they both tried to catch their breath.
The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing slowly settling. Erik’s hand rubbed slow circles on her back while her fingers traced patterns over his scars.
After a couple minutes, Y/N let out a soft laugh.
“So… that honey pack really had you acting different tonight,” she teased. “I thought you were gonna tear my ass up.”
Erik chuckled lowly. “That shit had me gone. I was trying to behave in front of everybody, but my dick had other plans.”
Y/N smiled against his skin relaxing further into him.
The silence returned for a little while before Erik spoke again.
“…Why you been ignoring me, Y/N?”
Y/N froze for a second her fingers stopping their movement. She stayed quiet as she stared at the ceiling.
He waited patiently still rubbing her back.
She finally let out a shaky breath.
“I got scared,” she admitted softly. “That night… it felt like too much. I’ve liked you for years, Erik. Like, really liked you. And when we crossed that line, it hit me how deep it was. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I just… shut down. Ignoring you felt safer than admitting how I felt.”
She paused.
“I thought if I ignored it long enough, the feelings would go away. But they didn’t.”
Erik was quiet for a moment, processing her words. Then he tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“I wish you would’ve told me that instead of disappearing on me,” he said gently. “I’m not mad at you for being scared. But I need you to talk to me next time. I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ve been feeling you for a long time too.”
He tilted her chin up so she could look at him.
“I’m not perfect, and I know I got a lot going on with adjusting back to civilian life… but I want this. I want you. We don’t gotta rush or put a label on it right now if you not ready. But I’m done with the ignoring part. If you scared, tell me. If you need space, tell me. Just don’t shut me out again. Aight?”
Y/N searched his eyes for a second, then nodded slowly, feeling some of the weight lift off her chest.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I won’t shut you out again.”
Erik gave her a small smile and pulled her closer before kissing her forehead.
“Good. Now bring your ass closer and let me hold you properly.”
She smiled softly and snuggled deeper into his chest, finally relaxing as his arms wrapped around her tightly. The silence that followed felt peaceful this time.
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Whewww, I know I was supposed to post this earlier but college had me super busy 😭 I’m finally on summer break now, so I should be able to upload consistently!
Hiiii!! Yes Trois along with my other series will be getting updated soon. The school year is officially over and I got a lil break so I definitely want to update everything along with a couple requests and some one shots I got in mind ❤️
I’m late y’all ik! Don’t whoop me please. I got sick after my trip and I’m slowly pulling myself back together 😭. Trois update coming tonight promise pinky!
