Smoke knew which window was hers without looking at the house number.
He’d parked three houses down tonight, far enough that nobody would remember his charger if they happened to glance outside, close enough that he could catch movement behind the second-floor curtains. The position wasn’t accidental. Nothing about these nights was.
His gaze stayed fixed on the duplex.
He wasn’t focused on the building or the street.
It was her.
The television flashed blue against the curtains. A shadow crossed the room and disappeared again.
LaceyBlaze69
Malaya.
By now, smoke could recognize her silhouette faster than he recognized most faces. A tilt of her head. The swing of her hair. The way she crossed a room carrying a cup or a phone or a basket of laundry.
The curtains concealed most of her, but they didn’t need to show much. Smoke’s mind supplied the rest.
He watched the second-floor window and waited for her to pass again.
Smoke should’ve left forty minutes ago.
He knew it.
The job waiting on his laptop knew it.
The burner phone sitting untouched in the center console knew it.
But he remained exactly where he was, one hand resting against the steering wheel as his attention drifted back to the same upstairs windows for the hundredth time that night.
She had been back for over an hour. Alone. At least, as far as he could tell.
Smoke’s gazes lingered on the window. The surveillance feed mounted beside the dash displayed nothing useful now, only the quiet exterior of the building and a timestamp counting steadily forward. Smoke barely looked at it. He didn’t need technology to watch her anymore.
That realization should have bothered him. Instead, it settled somewhere deep inside him with a deep seeded satisfaction.
Smoke was close. He was so close. Closer than he’d ever been. The distance between them no longer felt measured in blocks or city streets. It felt measured in moments. One decision. One knock at the door. One conversation that would make him real to her inside of invisible.
His jaw tightened.
Then, the second phone lit up. Smoke’s eyes cut to the device.
Stack.
Smoke stared at the screen for a moment as it vibrated against the center console. Once. Twice. A third time.
Only then did he answer.
“Yeah.”
“You held up?”
In the background, the bass of some slow, thumping trap track rumbled through the phone. A song made for strip clubs. There was laughter in the background. Glass clinks. A woman’s voice sweet and blurred called someone “baby” before fading out.
Smoke’s eyes remained on the upstairs window. “What you want?”
“I need a favor.”
The request immediately irritated him. It wasn’t because his brother was asking for his help. It was when.
Smoke watched Malaya cross the window again before she disappeared out of view.
“It’s important,” Stack said.
“Ain’t say it wasn’t.” Smoke replied.
For a moment, only music filled the line. Then, Stack sighed, abandoning whatever charm he usually wrapped around these conversations.
“One of my clients is gettin’ cold feet. That one skincare influencer from the LA contract.”
Smoke already knew which one.
“What she do?”
“Started stashing files. Extra backups. Personal cloud storage I ain’t authorize.”
That got Smoke’s attention. His fingers drifted toward the burner phone resting beside him.
“Who she talking to?”
“Cybersecurity blogger outta Chicago. Small-time, but connected enough to be annoying. Might have federal contacts. Might not. I don’t plan on finding out.”
Smoke’s expression darkened. “You think she gon’ leak?”
“I think she already scheduled it.”
The answer settled heavy in Smoke’s blacked out charger. He hated leaving but business was business. And he refused to let some lame ass influencer hoe fuck up his operation.
“She got backups?” Smoke asked.
“Probably. Cloud storage. Maybe more.”
Smoke nodded once. “Send me everything.”
“It’s already there”
“Where?”
“Your RED folder.”
A humorless smile touched Smoke’s mouth. “What’s it labeled?”
“RATTED.”
The charger started beneath him. Headlights swept briefly across the curb as he pulled away from the spot.
“So, I’m cleaning your mess?” Smoke said with a dry chuckle.
“Technically ours.”
“How the fuck this my mess? You let this bitch get slick.”
The city rolled past outside the windows in an array of colors. From the outside looking in, Smoke had tints on his windows. Like a two-way mirror.
“Aight. I’m heading over now. I’ll let you know how it go.”
“No need. I know you got it.” Stack said.
Smoke hung up.
By the time Smoke reached the bypass, Malaya’s neighborhood had disappeared behind him. The only light inside the charger came from the glow of the encrypted software spreading across his console.
Data streams began populating the screen.
Passwords. Access points. Recovery keys. A file opened automatically.
RATTED.zip
DECRYPTING…
Smoke settled deeper into his seat, one hand on the steering wheel. The disappointment of leaving her lingered beneath his ribs, sharp and unwelcome. But work had always been easier than desire. Cleaner. Simpler. Systems made sense.
People didn’t.
Especially not women like Malaya.
For now, Ghost mode is engaged.
No fingerprints. No trail. No mercy.
01:47 AM
Buckhead high-rise. Top floor.
Concierge waved her in with a smile hours ago. The girl had champagne taste and too many secrets tucked inside her rose-gold phone. Smoke didn’t go through the lobby. He was already inside. The building’s maintenance access was laughably unsecured, just a four-digit pin Smoke could decode in his sleep. Smoke took the elevator to the service hall. Wore gloves. Footsteps inaudible. By the time he reached her door, he’d already looped the hallway feed and disabled the motion sensor near her unit.
She was home. Asleep.
Smoke pulled a small matte device from his hoodie. A USB merged with a scalpel. He presssd it against the bottom of the keypad lock. Held it there. Then…
Click.
The door slid open and he stepped inside stealthily. From a quick sweep of his dark eyes. Glass table. Dried fruit tray. Rolled yoga mat. Everything curated for a minimalist Instagram aesthetic.
But her tech? Messy.
She left her iPad on the couch and a pink MacBook on the table, lid cracked, camera covered with a sticker that read GIRLS RULE AND BOYS DROOL.
Smoke moved like he’d been there before. He sat on the couch, pulled out his own gear. He wasn’t interested in stealing her data. He was here to rewrite it.
Booting: SpoofStack_Protocol_V2
Within seconds, her MacBook mirrored on his screen. Password broken. The cloud decrypted.
And there it was.
A folder labeled: CLIENT ARCHIVE (PRIVATE)
Inside: Screenshots of bank transfers. Server access logs. Snippets of phone calls. Metadata from custom scripts that Smoke himself had built.
She hadn’t just collected proof. She’d built a timeline.
“Cute,” Smoke muttered.
He selected the folder. Duplicated the entire contents. Then deleted the original.
But that wasn’t enough.
Now feeding: FALSE_Archive_v1.3
He uploaded an altered copy. The fake archive had the same names. Same structure. But every file told a new story:
Stack was just a consultant.
Smoke’s code was purchased legally.
All server logs showed compliance with DMCA and data privacy.
Her “receipts” now made her look like a willing accomplice to digital blackmail and influencer manipulation.
He encrypted the fake archive to match the original hash key. No one could tell the difference.
Not even her.
But if she leaked it now? She’d bury herself.
Smoke stood. He wiped the couch armrest and tucked the cloned drive into a pocket. On his way out, he paused by her bedroom door was cracked. He didn’t bother opening it further. He could hear her breathing in her sleep. Then, he was gone. Hallway feed reactivated. Fingerprint spray already dissipating. By the time she woke up, only thing that would feel different was her own guilt.
Outside, Smoke shut the car door with a soft thunk, slid into the driver’s seat, and let the rumble of the Charger settle around him like armor. The inside was pitch-black. No dome light. Just the red glow from the dashboard and the faint buzz of encrypted sync across the Bluetooth rig.
He sat there a second. Gloved hands resting on the wheel. The digital drive in his inner jacket pocket, warm with all the shit he’d just buried.
Job done.
He tapped the hands-free.
“Call Stack.”
Three rings. Then bass. Deep, strip-club bass. Slow trap low like lust wrapped in a haze.
“Talk to me.” Stack said.
“It’s handled.”
“She won’t double back?”
If she try to, she leakin’ her own stains.” Smoke replied.
“Beautiful. Like poetry, bruh.”
Smoke reached for the gearshift. “I’m out.”
“Nah, hold up. Slide through.”
Smoke paused. “Where you at?”
“The rotation spot. Underground. Off Decatur. You remember the one. Black light entrance, heat sensor door, only take crypto at the bar?”
Smoke exhaled. Already annoyed.
“Ain’t this your pussy-and-patron circuit?”
“Tonight it’s business, bruh. Private room. Need to talk clientele. Tighten things.”
“At a strip club?” Smoke quirked a brow.
“At my strip club,” Stack corrected. “I trust the walls.”
Smoke didn’t answer right away. His fingers flexed once on the wheel. His mind had already started drifting. To home.
To his command center.
To Malaya’s face half-lit by LED strips…
To the way she bit her lip when she thought no one noticed…
“Mmm, fuck…I’m rubbing this clit just for you…can you see it? I’m sliding my fingers deep inside my pussy…imagining it’s your dick filling me up instead. I want you so bad, Daddy…I want you to watch me cum for you…”
“I’m such a slut for you, ain’t I? Look at me…look at how I’m opening myself up. I’m soaking wet, Daddy…I’m just a little toy for you to watch and play with…does it make you hard seeing me fuck myself like this?”
Smoke…yes…unh…Smoke…
Smoke…Smoke…
“Smoke?” Stack called through the phone.
“…I’m listening.”
“Slide through. I’ll pour somethin’ strong. You can smoke somethin’. Then we talk.”
Smoke exhaled through his nose. “Security tight?”
“Locked like your vault. Don’t worry ‘bout whispering the code at the entrance. The floor girl ‘ol walk you in.”
There was another pause. Then, Smoke shifted into drive.
“Be there in thirty.”
“Atta boy.”
The line went dead.
Smoke pulled onto the road, tires smooth, engine low and sleek like a predator in motion. The city lights blinked across his windshield—blues, reds, golds—but his focus stayed cold.
When he got there, Smoke pulled up slow. The charger came to a stop at the edge of an unmarked building with blacked-out windows and no signage. Just a single narrow door inset into the concrete, painted deep charcoal, smooth and flat. No velvet rope. No line. No noise from outside. It wasn’t a place you found, you were brought there.
Smoke stepped out into the thick night air, the heat of Atlanta still pressing close even after midnight. His matte black leather biker boots touched down on the curb. Every corner of the block appeared to have no motion but watched. You could feel it. Eyes behind tinted glass. A red security light blinked from somewhere above the doorframe, invisible until it caught the metal button of his sleeve. As he approached, the door cracked open just wide enough to let the glow spill out.
Blue. Blacklight.
Inside, the world looked dipped in ultraviolet. Silhouettes moved in slow motion. Melanin Skin glowed in neon, oil-slicked and glistening under the lights. Purple thongs. Fluorescent green heels. The gleam of diamond chains across collarbones and ankle bones and down spines. The bass hit in a deep, sexual crawl. A low trap track chopped with moans and heavy kicks. A sound you could fuck to, kill to, drown in.
The girl standing just inside the door was fine enough to alter a man’s path. Maybe five-foot-six. Rich brown skin slicked to perfection, waist snatched in a sheer one-piece with nothing underneath. Her lips were glossy, her eyelashes long and cruel. She looked him up and down once.
She smiled slow. “Hey Twin? This way.”
Her voice was warm but lined with danger. Like if he turned the wrong way, she’d cut him with it. She turned, hips rolling high and slow in front of him as she led him deeper into the space. The walls curved inward, black-lit murals dancing with movement as bodies passed. Women kissed women on leather couches. Men sat back with cigars while girls bent over laps, bare and grinning, high off liquor and deeper things.
The layout was designed for maximum intimacy and voyeurism. A wide, circular perimeter of plush, midnight-black velvet booths surrounded a central stage area where polished chrome poles rise like silver pillars toward the dark ceiling. The floor is a polished obsidian that mirrors the flashing neon, making it feel as though the dancers are floating on a sea of dark glass.
No phones. No cameras. Only shadows and memory.
One room opened to his left, curtains drawn but not closed. Inside, a woman was tied to a black rope swing, heels still on, one man kissing her thighs while another licked her breast. She was moaning loud, head thrown back. Her body glowed in the light like something caught between reality and pleasure. No one in the hallway stared. This was normal here. Routine.
On the poles, the women are masterpieces of motion and melanin. They represent a breathtaking spectrum of Black beauty, from deep, midnight and rich mahogany to warm honey and golden bronze. Their attire is minimal, designed to leave nothing to the imagination. Some wear sheer, neon-trimmed lace thongs that disappear into the crease of their cheeks. Others are in strappy, high-cut leather sets that push up their breasts and cinch their waists, leaving their midriffs bare and glistening with body oil.
One dancer, a woman with skin the color of dark umber and a towering afro grips the pole with practiced strength. She slides down the chrome in a slow, controlled descent, her thighs gripping the metal tightly before she snaps into a perfect, flat split on the stage. As she holds the position, she arches her back, thrusting her chest forward and grinding her hips in a tantalizing, circular motion that makes the thin fabric of her G-string vanish between her plump, shaking cheeks.
Another performer, a golden-brown beauty with long, flowing braids is a whirlwind of erotic energy. She spins rapidly, her body a blur of glowing skin before suddenly stopping to drop into a deep squat. She turns her back to the crowd, bending over until her chest nearly touches the floor, and begins to shake her ass with a thunderous motion. The muscles in her glutes worked to make that ass ripple and bounce under the black lights, a hypnotic vibration that keeps the patrons mesmerized.
Money flowed like a river. Crisp bills were tucked into the waistbands of thongs, slapped against oiled thighs and rained down from the booths in a constant, fluttering descent. The tactile experience is one of luxury and an erotica. The patrons—all black folks—lean back in the shadows, their eyes locked on the stage. The vibe is heavy with desire and explicit intent. It’s a space of unapologetic Black eroticism, where the scent of money and lust rains down like the bandz that littered the stage and floor.
Women noticed. They always did.
Smoke kept his face unreadable as they moved through. His gait stayed measured, heavy boots on obsidian tile. Charcoal henley pulled tight over his chest. Silver chain resting low, cool against his collarbone. One ringed hand hung loose at his side while the other stayed near his hip. He wasn’t here for indulgence. But eyes followed him anyway.
One dancer paused mid-pour, licking foam from the rim of a glass as she watched him. Another girl leaned against a wall in mesh, nipples pierced and glowing, her mouth parting just slightly as he passed.
He didn’t return the looks. He moved like everything around him was already beneath his notice. Like he could take any one of them home, or none of them, and it would all mean the same.
The floor girl finally stopped at a black velvet curtain that looked like it led nowhere. She turned, looked at him again, then reached out and slid her fingers across his chest.
“Stack’s waiting in the back. Said don’t keep him too long. He got a mood on tonight.”
Then, she stepped aside.
Smoke slipped through the curtain.
The back room hit different.
The music lowered but stayed thick with bass. The lighting shifted to a red-blue gradient that danced over leather booths and mirrored walls. A private bar lined with obsidian shelves glinted with high-shelf bottles and decanters carved like diamonds.
Stack was seated in the center booth like a man who owned everything. Suit jacket off. Cigar in hand. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the rise of his chest and the sliver of a tattoo that disappeared beneath it. A woman was sitting next to him, pretty and thick, wearing nothing but chains and red panties. But she wasn’t talking. Just pressing close like she knew her position.
Stack looked up and grinned when he saw his brother.
“Bout time.”
Smoke slid into the booth across from him, not saying shit at first. He leaned back, eyes tracing slow as they scanned the room. Then he pulled out the drive and slid it across the table.
“It’s done.”
Stack tapped ash off the end of his cigar and took a sip of something gold from a crystal glass.
“You rewrite her whole digital memory?”
Smoke nodded once. “She leaks now, she burns herself.”
Stack let out a low, satisfied sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite approval. More like pleasure at watching the chessboard bend.
“See, that’s why I keep you in the cut. All these pretty tech boys with degrees out here movin’ loud. You? You just fuck around and disappear a bitch.”
Smoke didn’t react. He just sat there with a stony expression.
The woman next to Stack traced the rim of his glass and leaned in to whisper something, but Stack waved her off without looking. His attention was locked.
“You didn’t have to come out tonight,” Stack said after a beat. “But I appreciate it. Had to talk to you about tightening the loop.”
Smoke raised a brow. “Clientele?”
Stack nodded. “Some of these influencer types? They playin’ messy. Takin’ our tools and runnin’ off at the mouth. I need cleaner boundaries. Higher vetting.”
Another girl danced across the far room, naked except for heels and a diamond chain around her throat. She locked eyes with Smoke for a moment. Bold.
“This empire we buildin’?” Stack said. “It don’t grow if the wrong bitch flips. That one tonight? Could’ve got real ugly.”
Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “It almost did.”
Stack took that in. Sat back. “We tighten up now,” he said, voice lower. “Or we lose what we got.”
“I’ll send a new vetting protocol. You run names past me first. You don’t, we both lose.”
Stack smirked. “Look at you. Big boss energy.”
Stack leaned back in the booth, one arm thrown over the leather like it belonged to him. Alizé was at the private bar, hips rolling slow as she poured herself a drink. She licked stray cognac from her fingers like she tasted herself in it. Across the room, Nova stood near the edge of a low platform, dancing in a slow whine to the music bleeding through the walls. Her hands trailed her own thighs, eyes locked on Smoke the second he stepped through the curtain. She didn’t wave, she just smiled and kept moving like she wanted him to watch.
Smoke pulled out his phone. He tapped the encrypted drive. Brought up a blacked-out screen with layers of local and foreign pings.
“Any word about the three that came lookin’ for me?”
Stack took a puff of his cigar resting between two fingers, eyes narrowed in thought.
“Nah. And if I had, you know I would’ve said.”
Smoke nodded once. No accusation, just calculation. His fingers moved quick, swiping through location data, blurred screenshots from party feeds, AI-enhanced license plate reads.
“They ain’t from here.”
“Obviously.”
“Cheap suits. Bad diamonds. But they knew the lingo.” Smoke paused, looking down at the screen. “Knew enough to know about me. The real me.”
Stack’s jaw tightened. “You pull names?”
Smoke tapped again.
The table glowed blue with the light from his screen.
“Yeah. Pulled prints from the glass that lanky one touched. Traced a rental car from the valet logs. Hacked the damn building’s guest Wi-Fi and cross-checked MAC addresses. Got two of their burner IDs off bounce-back signals.”
Stack chuckled low. “My brother.”
Smoke’s eyes were locked on the screen.
“Names are Harold Kray, Zino Atakni, and the older one? Conrad Fielding. Fielding’s got history in Marseille. Organized pipeline moves through West Africa, black-market acquisition networks. Used to work under de Costa before that shit collapsed. He’s the head.”
“And the others?”
“Soldiers. Hired muscle with decent resumes. One of them, Zino, used to run messages for a Libyan collector who’s since disappeared.”
Stack’s lips pressed together. “You think they freelance?”
Smoke shook his head. “Not with how Conrad was talkin’. That wasn’t freelance energy. That was sanctioned. He was too damn calm. Too rehearsed.”
Stack poured more bourbon.
“They wanted access,” Smoke said. “They didn’t come for art. They came for me. For the Ghost.”
Stack’s grin faded completely. “Somebody sent ‘em.”
“I know.”
“Who?”
Smoke’s silence deepened.
“Don’t know yet,” he said, but his voice had changed. Lower. Sharper. “But whoever it is…they want me out the game.”
“Dead?”
“Dead or cracked open.”
Stack blew out smoke through his nose. “That’s bigger than art theft.”
“That’s bigger than us.”
There was a faint moan of the bassline from the next room, a synth-heavy R&B loop wrapped in drum kicks and whispered filth.
Stack’s voice dropped, the way it always did when he shifted from business to indulgence. That smile of his curved slow across his lips, just enough to show the gold cap when he spoke.
“You remember Alizé, right?”
The thick, honey-toned woman next to him looked up. Her lips were glossy. Her eyes were misty with a need to be fucked and whatever liquor she drank. She was fine in that round, sultry way. Thick thighs, soft belly, ass too big for most dresses, face too sweet to say no. She blinked up at him and licked her lips once before turning toward his lap.
Stack didn’t stop her. He leaned back in the booth, legs spread, cigar held loose between two fingers while she unbuckled his slacks with practiced care. She looked up once, then dipped down.
Smoke sat still across from him, watching.
The second girl—Nova, the one who had been watching Smoke earlier from the far corner—stepped forward now. Her body was carved like temptation, all sharp cheekbones and waist-length curls. Her skin shimmered under the light. Her nipples were pierced, rings glinting. She lowered herself to her knees next to Alizé. Alizé giggled, gave Stack’s dick one final lick before passing it off to Nova. She reached out, took Stack’s dick in her hand, and started sucking it.
Two mouths.
One thick, wet dick.
They took turns. One sucking slow, the other licking along the shaft. Then both at once, lips brushing as they slurped and moaned around him, messy and devoted. Alizé cradled his balls like they were holy. Nova spat and stroked, her eyes rolling when he twitched against her tongue.
Stack exhaled, his head tilted back slightly. He shut his eyes.
Smoke turned away, unfazed. But the sound of slurping and licking remained.
“You sure you don’t want one?” Stack asked, voice lazy. “Alizé got that throat, but Nova? She know how to make a man forget he got enemies.”
Smoke picked up a blunt, lighting it, his other hand rested on his thigh. His rings caught the low light. His expression still unreadable. But his eyes slid from the women back to Stack, cold and steady.
“I’m good.”
Stack smirked. “You always say that.”
Smoke leaned forward just slightly. “It’s been a minute,” he admitted, voice rough with quiet restraint.
Stack raised an eyebrow, surprised at the honesty.
Smoke’s gaze didn’t move. “But the only mouth I want on me like that?” His jaw tightened. “She don’t even know yet.”
Stack grinned wider. “Damn. She got you pressed like that?”
Smoke ignored him, blowing smoke ahead of him.
The wet sounds between them grew. Alizé moaned deep in her throat, face glossy, nose running. Nova licked him like she was tasting secrets. They didn’t even look up. Just switched angles. Spit dripping. Hands cradling. Tongues sharing.
Stack groaned low, his head falling back against the booth cushion.
Smoke stood. “You done?”
Stack looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. His voice was a quiet dare.
“I ain’t never done.”
Smoke gave a slow nod. “Handle yours.”
He turned and walked out, his boots heavy on the tile with impatient steps.
And behind him, the club kept spinning. Lights pulsing. Girls moaning. Music thumping under blacklight like a heartbeat you weren’t supposed to hear.
———
11:45 PM—His Den
Smoke sat back in his leather chair, the pungent aroma of the blunt between his fingers circulating his head like a menacing fog. He was stripped down, shirtless, skin gleaming under the recess lights of his command center. A black durag was tied tight across his head and his shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, exposing the sharp lines of his V-taper.
Four curved monitors dominated his vision, but only one mattered. He watched the screen, his eyes locked on Malaya. She had logged on late. No fancy lighting, no ring light to wash out the imperfections. Just a dim, yellow bedside lamp that cast long, jagged shadows across the room. The frame was messy. There was a hoodie thrown over a chair, the edge of a baby’s blanket peeking out from behind her.
It was raw. It was honest. And it was killing him.
She looked exhausted. Smoke couldn’t see her eyes but he knew they had to be droopy with a vacant expression. She wasn’t wearing a wig or a drop of makeup. Her long twists were draped over her shoulders, her skin matte and real. She wore an oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, exposing a glimpse of her collarbone, and simple cotton panties that looked like they’d been worn all day.
She didn’t greet the room with her usual practiced smile and seductive lip bite. She didn’t tease. She just laid there, half-propped up against her pillows, thighs spread wide in a way that felt less like an invitation and more like surrender.
Smoke took a deep drag of the blunt, the cherry glowing bright orange, and held the smoke in his lungs until it burned.
He watched her yawn, a genuine, tired stretch that arched her back and pulled the fabric of her T-shirt tight across her breasts, revealing perk nipples. She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand, looking less like LaceyBlaze69 and more like a woman who was drowning in her own life.
“Mmm…hey loves…sorry I’m late…I can’t even tell what time it is anymore,” she dragged a single finger over her pussy through her cotton panties, rolling her hips in a lazy circle. “I was having the best dream about getting fucked out of my sleep…but I think I’d rather have the real thing,” Malaya bit her lip. “I’m still so warm from the sheets…can you tell? I’m barely awake, but this pussy is dripping for you. Come on…tip me something to wake me up.” She released a soft chuckle. “Help me hit the goal, I’ll show you exactly where I was rubbing myself before I drifted off…”
The chat was moving fast. Men were demanding more. They wanted her to scream, to arch, to play the part of the hungry slut they paid for.
DangerDick84_: Come on Lacey, show that pussy baby.
WillyMoProblems: Take them panties off.
PhantomDweller$: You have pretty toes. I wanna suck ‘em.
100 Tokens. 300 Tokens. 150 Tokens. 80 Tokens
Malaya didn’t react to them. She didn’t even seem to be reading. She reached down, her fingers sliding under the elastic of her panties, tugging them aside with a movement that was mechanical, devoid of passion. She began to touch herself, her fingers moving in circles, but her body language was unfocused, and Smoke just knew she was staring past the lens, eyes heavy and uninterested.
Then, she started to moan.
Smoke leaned forward, his chest nearly touching the glass desk. He knew that sound. He knew the difference between her desire and her hustle. These moans were hollow. They were a performance for the bills, a fake melody played to keep the tips flowing. She was faking the pleasure, her voice pitching up in a way that didn’t match the deadness in her eyes.
It was a lie, and it made his blood boil.
He hated that she had to do it. He hated that she was forced to pretend to be turned on by the gaze of hundreds of nameless, horny men just to keep a roof over her and Messiah’s heads. The sight of her vulnerability, the way she looked so small and broken in that big, messy bed, hit him harder than any physical blow.
Smoke didn’t type or use YungCipher to talk dirty or GoodBodyAnon to be sweet. He stayed as Camera0ff. The silent watcher.
Smoke reached for his mouse and clicked the tip button. He didn’t send a small amount. He sent a massive sum, a number that would make the rest of the chat go silent, a number that meant she could turn the camera off right now and not worry about money for a month.
He watched her body language change.
She paused.
Her fingers that were circling her clit slowed down. He could actually see her shoulders drop. Like she was relieved.
Smoke exhaled a cloud of grey, gaze darkening.
He wanted to reach through the screen, grab her by the back of her neck, and pull her into his own bed. He wanted to strip that oversized shirt off and replace her fingers with his tongue.
He wanted to give her a reason to moan that wasn’t a lie.
Smoke watched her finish, a quiet, unceremonious climax that left her looking even more depleted than before. As she reached out to end the stream, her shoulders slumped, and for a split second, she looked like she might cry.
The screen set went black.
Smoke sat in the dark, the only light coming from the remaining monitors. He stared at the empty black square where she had been, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair so hard the leather groaned.
He wasn’t just obsessed. He was addicted. And the fact that she was breaking right in front of him only made him want to own every shattered piece.
Smoke leaned back in his leather chair, the embers of the blunt glowing. He shifted, shorts riding lower on his hips, his mind drifting back to the time he’d tried to bridge the gap between the screen and the skin.
He’d used YungCipher for it.
Out of all his personas, YungCipher was the one that carried the most of his actual hunger. He wasn’t the quiet ghost of Camera0ff of the protective shadow of GoodBodyAnon.
YungCipher was the raw edge.
He was the one who talked dirty. The one who tipped when she hit a peak, the one who let her know exactly what a real man would do to her if he had her pinned beneath him.
He remembered the messages he’d sent. He hadn’t been playing a character then. Every word had been the truth. She didn’t need those silicone toys. The tips from strangers was pocket change compared to the life he could provide. He’d been explicit, his words painting a picture of exactly how he’d handle her. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t just another viewer with a credit card; he was the real thing.
You don’t need those dildos, baby. I got the real thing waiting for you. I’ll be your favorite big dick. I’ll give that pretty pussy exactly what it deserves.
Smoke could almost feel the weight of her in his hands, the way her tired body would melt under his dominance. He wanted to replace the fake pleasure she performed for the masses with a visceral, bone-deep satisfaction that would leave her shaking and speechless. He wanted to be the only thing she craved.
But she had turned him down.
The rejection hadn’t been angry or disgusted. It had been a firm, practiced wall. She’d declined the offer to meet, citing her rules.
Smoke didn’t feel slighted or insulted. Instead, he felt a dark, twisted sense of pride. He understood. Malaya was guarded for a reason. She was a mother, a survivor, a woman who knew exactly how dangerous the world was. The fact that she wouldn’t dare meet a stranger from a chat room, no matter how much he promised or how high he tipped, only made her more precious in his eyes. It meant she was disciplined. It meant she was protecting herself and Messiah.
It also meant that if he wanted her, he not only had to ask for her.
He had to take her.
He had to weave himself into the fabric of her life until he was the only safety she had left.
Since that night, he’d dialed back YungCipher. He’d stepped away from the aggressive pursuit, retreating into the shadows of his other accounts. He stopped pushing for the meet-up, stopped the overt demands. He went back to being the silent provider, the gentle protector, the ghost in the machine.
He took another stage of the blunt, exhaling a thick cloud that obscured the monitors. He played the long game. He had tested her boundaries and found them strong.
But boundaries were just lines waiting to be crossed.
Smoke looked at the silver laptop on his glass desk, his encrypted phone sitting beside it. He knew everything about her. Where she lived, where she worked, the exact moment she turned off her lights at night.
Smoke just needed the right moment to show her that everything he’d promised as a persona was a reality as a man.
And then Jordan became a name Smoke saw too often.
At first, it had meant nothing to him. A man’s name in a woman’s phone was not enough to move him. Malaya was beautiful, delicate in ways she tried to hide and sweet in ways that slipped out when she forgot to guard herself. Men noticed. Men always noticed. Some sent her messages with too many hearts eyes on social media. Some tried to be funny and failed. Some waited for her cam shows and spent money they didn’t have just to make her look toward the screen for half a second. Smoke knew the difference between noise and a threat. Most men were noise.
Jordan had been noise until Malaya started smiling at him.
Edge & Thread—Location: North Side 9:05PM
Smoke sat in his private office above Edge & Thread, the monitors casting a cold sheen over the angles of his face. Below him, the barbershop had closed for the day. The last chair had been swept, the last cape shaken out, the last customer sent into the Atlanta night with a fresh line. Up here, everything belonged to Smoke. The locked door. The black desk. The encrypted drives. The wall safe behind a framed print no one but him was allowed to touch.
Malaya’s phone activity was open in front of him.
Smoke told himself it was maintenance. That was the lie he used when he needed one. He had put enough invisible architecture around her life to know when something went wrong, and checking the structure was part of keeping it intact. Messages. Unknown numbers. Strange links. Men who became too aggrsssivd when she ignored them. Clients who thought a tip bought access. He watched for threats because threats had a way of hiding themselves in charm.
But Jordan was not charming in a way Smoke could easily condemn. That was the problem.
The latest message sat near the top of the thread.
Jordan: You still up?
Malaya had answered three minutes later.
Malaya: Unfortunately lol. My sleep schedule is a joke.
Jordan replied with a laughing emoji then a picture of a little boy sprawled across a couch with one sock on, one sock missing, and a Black Panther toy tucked under his arm.
Jordan: Shiloh knocked out like he pay bills lol
Malaya’s response came with three laughing emojis.
Malaya: 😂😂😂 He is SO CUTE. Look at him holding T’Challa!
Smoke’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t the words. It was the ease of it all. Malaya didn’t overthink that response. She didn’t perform. She didn’t angle herself toward seduction or sweetness. She was simply there, amused and unguarded, letting some man send her pieces of his life as if he had a right to place them in her hands.
Smoke scrolled back.
Jordan didn’t text too much. That made him worse. A desperate man revealed himself fast. He pressed for pictures, attention, reassurance. Jordan did none of that. He appeared every few days at first, then more often, then with enough to become expected. A joke in the afternoon to ease the tension while she was at work. A check-in after she’d clocked out to pick up her son when her baby daddy was supposed to do it. A quick call that lasted eight minutes, then another that lasted twenty-three. One night forty-one.
Forty-one minutes.
Smoke stared at that number longer than he wanted to. He clicked into the call metadata, though he already knew what it would show him. Incoming. Answered. Late evening. Malaya had let it ring once before picking up. It wasn’t long enough to avoid him but long enough to see his name and decide what to do with herself before she answered.
Smoke leaned back in his chair and rubbed his thumb along the side of his index finger.
He could picture it too easily. Malaya in her apartment, curled up somewhere, bonnet on or hair loose, she home pressed to her ear. Her voice lower because she didn’t wanna wake Messiah. Jordan on the other end with that easy patience Smoke was beginning to dislike. No rush. No pressure. Just conversation.
Smoke opened another window.
Jordan Ellis.
Smoke preferred men with mess. Meds gave shape to intent. Mess gave him handles. An unpaid judgement. A sealed charge. Old warrants. Bitter women in comments. Something. Anything. He searched with the meditated focus of a man taking apart a machine piece by piece.
Jordan gave him almost nothing.
Thirty. Atlanta born. Local employment, steady enough. Rental history clean. No obvious criminal record. No restraining orders. No heavy social media presence. His pages were mostly private, but not hidden well enough to keep Smoke out. Photos loaded one by one. Jordan at a cookout. Jordan holding Shiloh on his hip in front of an aquarium tank, the boy’s small hand spread against his father’s cheek. Jordan at his son’s outdoor birthday party with a paper cone sitting crooked over his tapered curly fro. Jordan at a convention, grinning beside a wall of anime figures, posing like Sukuna.
Smoke’s eyes narrowed.
Malaya: Same smile 😍 he’s so sweet. Really grew into himself from high school.
Sweet.
Smoke hated that word the most. Sweet men were dangerous when they were real. Not the kind who used softness as bait, but the ones who had grown into patience because life had required it. Jordan had a son. Jordan had responsibilities. A man like that didn’t need to impress a woman with volume. He impressed her with being consistent. With remembering. By calling when he said he would. By laughing at old things from school and asking new questions like he actually cares about the answers.
He returned to the messages.
Jordan had asked about her day. Malaya had told him it was long. He sent a voice note instead. Smoke played it once through the isolated feed. Jordan’s voice came through with a smile in it.
“Well, I hope you eat something and get some rest, Malaya. You work so hard. You deserve to be pampered. Don’t stay up too late watching Love Island knowing your ass need to be asleep. Then get mad when Messiah wakes up hahaha.”
Malaya had answered with a voice note of her own. Smoke didn’t play hers right away. He sat there with his hand nese the mouse, looking at the little audio bar as if it had done something personal to him. Her voice belonged to her, but he had collected so much of it that some part of him had begun treating it like a private possession. Her sleepy voice. Her irritated voice. Her calm voice; honeyed and controlled. Her real laugh when she forgot herself. Her little sigh when something made her feel seen. He knew them. He knew the difference.
Now Jordan was learning them too.
Smoke played it. Malaya’s voice spilled into the room with amusement and faint embarrassment.
“First of all, don’t be clockin’ me! Second, I ate. Kind of. I had fries.”
Jordan replied almost immediately.
Jordan: That’s all you eat is fries. You gonna turn into a damn fry 😂
Malaya: They are when you mind your business 😒
Smoke stared at the exchange. It was nothing. That was what made it something. No naked pictures. No heavy flirting. No late-night confession. Just easy back-and-forth. Smoke could have handled vulgarity. He understood men who wanted a body before they understood the woman inside it. He knew how to deal with that kind. This was worse because Jordan seemed interested in the ordinary parts. Her meals. Her sleep. Her memories. Her jokes. The parts Smoke had been studying from the outside like a locked house with the lights on.
A line of texts appeared farther down, from two days ago.
Jordan: I forgot you used to draw Sailor Moon characters in your notebook.
Malaya: Don’t expose me 😭
Jordan: Never. I thought it was cute then too lol
Smoke’s hand closed once. There it was. History. He couldn’t hack history. He couldn’t purchase it, threaten it, erase it, or outrank it. Jordan stood somewhere in Malaya’s past. Some version of her Smoke would never get to see. Drawing girls with moon wands in the corners of her notebook. Smiling at things before life taught her which pieces of herself to hide.
Smoke had files. Jordan had memories. The distinction scraped against something low in him.
He opened Jordan’s background again, harder this time, less patient. He checked financials. Associates. Old addresses. Known relationships. Family connections. He looked for bitterness, instability, some ugliness hidden beneath the calm surface. An angry ex. A custody dispute with teeth. Gambling. Pills. Anything he could name and place between Jordan and Malaya as proof that his instinct was not jealousy but protection. Contentment was a language Smoke did not trust.
He closed the file and returned to Malaya. Her last message to Jordan was from twenty minutes ago.
Malaya: You still watching that show you told me about?
Jordan: Yeah. You were right. It got good after episode three.
Malaya: Told you. You just had to stop being stubborn.
Jordan: 😂 I’m working on that.
Malaya: Liar.
Jordan: Maybe. But I listen when it matters.
Smoke read that line twice. Then three times. The words were not much on their own. A soft little flirt, maybe. A door left open. Jordan had not shoved his way through it. He had simply set the sentence down and let Malaya decide what to do with it. She had not answered right away. Smoke watched the timestamp as if he could will it backward. Four minutes. Seven. Twelve. Then the little mark appeared.
Malaya: You always did 😌
Smoke went very still. Then, he sat forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled near his mouth. Jordan had not become a problem because he wanted Malaya. Jordan had become a problem because Malaya was beginning to let him matter.
The next message came a few minutes later.
Jordan: We should get together one of these days. Catch up for real.
Smoke’s eyes fixed on it. The typing bubble appeared beneath Jordan’s message, pulsed, disappeared, then returned. Malaya was thinking. He could imagine her biting her lip, not in the way men begged to see on camera, in the way she did when something made her nervous. He had seen that before. She would glance away from the screen, then back. She would smile at herself as if she needed permission to want something simple.
The response came through.
Malaya: I’d like that.
Smoke did not move. The monitors continued their work around him. Servers blinked. The city passed outside with sirens in the distance and tires whispering over damp pavement. Downstairs, the barbershop slept beneath him, all mirrors and empty chairs, all the day’s voices and buzzing gone. On the screen, Malaya’s words sat beneath Jordan’s.
I’d like that.
Smoke read them until they stopped looking like words and started looking like a hand placed somewhere it did not belong. Jordan was not a client. Not a faceless watcher. Not a man begging for pieces of her through a screen. Jordan was warm skin and a familiar smile. A son named Shiloh. A soft-eyed anime nerd who remembered what Malaya used to draw in school and had the patience to wait between messages.
Smoke exhaled through his nose.
He could ruin him.
The thought came cleanly. It sat there like a tool laid on the table. Smoke knew how. He could make Jordan’s life inconvenient by morning and unbearable by the end of the week. A few pressure points. A little disruption. Nothing dramatic enough to point back to him. Men were easy to move when you knew what they loved and what they feared losing.
Malaya had said she would like that.
Smoke leaned back in his chair, the darkness behind his eyes becoming something colder than anger. He had been patient because patience had always worked for him. He had watched, learned, mapped, waited. He had known her patterns so well that knowledge had begun to feel like intimacy. But Jordan was showing him the insult hidden inside that belief. Knowing where Malaya bought groceries was not the same as being the man she called when she was tired. Knowing what time she went live was not the same as being remembered from school. Knowing what made her body respond on camera was not the same as making her smile at her phone in the middle of an ordinary night.
Smoke stared at the screen.
For the first time, distance felt less like control and more like absence. And absence, he was beginning to understand, made room.
———
Jordan’s text came just after six.
Jordan: I'm outside.
Malaya looked at her reflection one last time before grabbing her purse. She had settled on a fitted chocolate-brown ribbed midi dress that hugged her figure without feeling overly dressy. A cropped cream denim jacket rested over her shoulders in case the evening cooled off. Gold hoops framed her face, a thin layered necklace that rested against her collarbones, and her twists spilled over one shoulder. She’d kept her makeup simple, finishing with nothing more than gloss across her lips. She wasn’t trying to impress him. She just wanted to feel pretty.
When she stepped outside, Jordan was leaning against his car, one hand tucked into the pocket of dark jeans. His black T-shirt stretched comfortably across broad shoulders, and his beard had filled in since high school, giving his face a maturity she hadn't expected. His smile, though, hadn't changed. It was the same warm smile she remembered that always reached his expressive light-brown eyes.
For a second he simply looked at her.
“Damn.”
Malaya laughed. “What?”
“You look good.”
“You clean up pretty nice yourself.” She returned the compliment.
“I had to. Couldn’t let you outshine me.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling as he opened the passenger door for her.
The drive started exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Easy. The conversation slipped between them without effort. They laughed about teachers they swore had hated them, classmates they'd forgotten until one of them mentioned a name, and the anime arguments they'd somehow still remembered years later.
“So you still watch it?” Jordan asked.
She looked at him with mock offense. “You asking me that like you don't already know the answer.”
“I had to make sure adulthood hadn't changed you.”
“It definitely hasn’t.”
He grinned. “Good.”
By the time they reached the restaurant, Malaya realized she hadn't checked her phone once. Dinner felt less like a first date and more like picking up a conversation that had simply been paused for several years. Jordan listened more than he talked. When she mentioned work, he asked questions instead of waiting for his turn to speak. When she laughed, he laughed with her instead of trying to top the joke. He remembered little things she’d mentioned over the last few weeks of texting, surprising her more than once.
“You actually remembered that?”
“You told me.”
“That was like...two weeks ago.”
He shrugged. “I was listening.”
Something about that stirred inside her.
Eventually the conversation turned toward Shiloh. Jordan’s whole face changed. His smile grew and his shoulders relaxed.
For the next several minutes he told her stories about bedtime negotiations, mismatched socks, spilled cereal, and Saturday mornings spent watching cartoons. He wasn’t performing fatherhood. Watching him, Malaya understood something.
Kindness looked good on him.
After dinner, neither of them seemed ready to call it a night.
“You wanna walk for a minute?” Jordan asked.
She nodded.
The Atlanta evening had settled into that comfortable warmth where the air felt soft against her skin. They wandered the sidewalk without any destination in mind, their conversation drifting from old memories to where life had taken them since graduation.
Jordan glanced over at her. “I was nervous asking you out.”
She stopped walking. “You were?”
“Oh, absolutely. Look at you.”
She laughed. “I would've never guessed.”
“I practiced asking you.”
She blinked. “You practiced?!”
He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at himself. “Like...four different versions.”
Malaya burst into laughter, lightly bumping his shoulder. “You are lying.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“That’s actually kind of cute.”
“I'll take cute.” Jordan replied with. Smirk.
The drive back to her apartment was comfortable. They listened to music and debated over which anime’s were the best. Jordan eventually pulled into a visitor's space and shifted the car into park. Neither of them reached for the door.
He looked over at her. “I’m really glad you said yes.”
Malaya smiled. “So am I.”
He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn't.
Their lips met gently. The kiss wasn't rushed or hungry. Their heads swiveled, Malaya reaching out to grip his chin to hold him steady while she damn near stole his breath with those juicy lips that tasted like maple brown sugar. Jordan felt himself getting stiff, squeezing his thighs to try and calm his erection. The kiss was warm, lingering just long enough to make them both smile when they pulled apart. Jordan rested his forehead against hers for a second before quietly laughing. They separated, Jordan licking her gloss from his lips and Malaya fixing hers since some of it got on her chin.
“I’ve wanted to do that all night.”
“I kinda figured.” Malaya giggled.
“You gonna let me see you again?”
Malaya looked at him. “I think that can be arranged.”
She reached for the door handle. As she turned, Jordan's hand settled lightly at her waist before sliding naturally to the curve of her hip. His fingers gave her ass a playful squeeze over the fabric of her dress.
He laughed. “...Girl.”
Malaya looked back.
“You still…thick.”
Jordan started singing Bobby V Tell Me since it had come up on the playlist.
Malaya threw her head back, laughing. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You are so childish.”
“I ain't lying though. Tell me, for real cuz man…”
Malaya shook her head, unable to stop smiling.
“Goodnight, Jordan.”
“Goodnight, Malaya.”
He watched her step up, unlocking her apartment door, and glance back one last time with a small wave before disappearing inside. Only after the door closed did he finally pull away. The door clicked shut behind her, but the warmth of Jordan’s kiss still lingered on her lips. A small, genuine smile played on her face, one that didn’t have to be performed for a camera or a tip. He was different. Patient, warm, and the way he looked at her made her feel seen, not just consumed.
As she kicked off her heels and began to peel away her clothes, for the first time in a long time, the place was truly quiet. Messiah was with his father for the weekend, leaving her with a rare, unfiltered solitude. In her bedroom, She paused, her dress slipping over her head, her mind drifting back to the way Jordan’s hand had felt on the cleft of her left ass cheek. She wondered if she should have let him come inside. The thought sent a sharp, electric pulse of lust straight to her core, leaving her thighs feeling heavy and her pussy aching with a sudden, insistent throb.
Malaya was horny—deeply, viscerally horny—and the lingering adrenaline from the date had left her skin hypersensitive. She didn’t want to just sleep it off. She wanted to feel something intense, to lean into the friction of her own desire.
With a determined exhale, Malaya transitioned from the woman who had just been on a romantic date to the persona the internet paid to see. It was time for the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” set.
She transformed her space into a curated altar of simulated innocence and raw filth. First came the lighting. She clicked on the ring light, bathing her face in a professional, clinical glow, but then she layered in the atmosphere. She draped strings of warm fairy lights across the wall and turned on a bedside lamp that changed colors, creating a golden, hazy glow that blurred the edges of the room. She laid out the backdrop. It was a plush, baby-pink faux-fur blanket spread across the floor, topped with a white furry rug that looked soft enough to sink into. It was the perfect contrast to what she planned to do on top of it.
Then came the wardrobe. She slid into pastel pink lingerie with lace trimming that hugged her breasts tight, the fabric straining against her nipples. The thin lace of the crotch area barely covered the swell of her ass and the plumpness of her pussy lips. To complete the “good girl” aesthetic, she pulled on a pair of knee-high pastel socks with little bows and fastened a thin charm bracelet around her wrist, the small silver trinkets jingling as she moved. She reached for her hair, deftly styling her long twists into two high pigtails, securing them with oversized satin bows.
Malaya wears a delicate, intricate pink lace mask that clings to the curves of her face, the fabric sheer enough to tease but thick enough to create a barrier of mystery. The floral patterns of the lace cast seductive shadows across her skin, framing her eyes in a way that makes them look wider, more vulnerable, and dangerously focused.
She looked like a doll. The perfect fuck doll.
The final touches were the props. She placed a large, glossy lollipop still wrapped on the nightstand next to a high-powered Bluetooth vibrator that was gifted to her from MoTh3rL0ad88, deep, purple silicone and appeared not so intimidating. Malaya checked her camera angle, ensuring the frame captured the curve of her hips and the inviting dip of her waist, making sure the viewers would have a front-row seat to her descent.
Finally, she reached for her phone and tapped the screen. The heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty filled the room, the slow, provocative beat syncing with the thrum of blood between her legs. Malaya climbed onto the pink fur, arching her back and letting the music vibrate through her skin. She looked into the lens, her eyes darkening, the “good girl” mask sliding into place just as she prepared to go live and get filthy.
I been a nasty girl, nasty
I been a nasty girl, nasty
I been a nasty girl, nasty
I been a nasty, nasty, nasty
Malaya clicked the “Go Live” button, and instantly, the viewer count began to climb. The screen flooded with a rush of usernames, a digital tide of hungry men eager for their fix. She leaned into the camera, her eyes wide and shimmering, a playful, shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Hi everyone,” she whispered, her voice an angelic, breathy coo. She brought her index finger to her lips, biting down on the pad of it gently, her gaze fluttering. “I...I didn’t think so many of you would be here tonight. I’m feeling a little shy.”
She giggled, a high, melodic sound, and twirled a stray twist around her finger. She looked like a doll, a pristine image of purity in her pastel pinks and white fur, but the way she let her gaze linger on the lens told a different story. She was playing the part of the innocent girl who had accidentally stumbled into a room full of hungry wolves with brick hard dicks and balls filled with cum, acting as if she were barely aware of how the thin lace of her panties clung to the swell of her ass and barely covered her pussy.
[User: BigDickEnergy99]: Look at those bows…I want to rip them right out of her hair.
[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing, baby. We know you a little slut for us.
[User: TipKing_X]: Tipped 50 tokens! Show us those cheeks, Good Girl.
Malaya blushed, a performative flush that crept up her neck. “You're all so mean to me,” she pouted, bouncing her tits like she was throwing a temper tantrum.
If you keep up with me
I'll keep on coming back
If you do it too good
I'm gonna get attached
'Cause it feels like Heaven when it hurts so bad
Baby, put it on me
I like it just like that…
As the heavy, grinding bass of Tinashe’s Nasty kicked back in, the “good girl” mask didn’t falter, it just evolved. Malaya turned on her knees slowly, the camera capturing the dip of her waist and the way her bralette strained against her hard nipples. She turned her back to the lens, glancing over her shoulder with a wide-eyed, innocent expression while her lower body began to move.
She started with a slow, hypnotic roll of her hips, the movement fluid and circular. The white fur of the rug brushed against her thighs as she began to twerk, her cheeks bouncing with a heavy vibration. She wasn’t just shaking; she was oscillating, her hips swinging in a precise, tantalizing cadence that made the lace of her panties disappear between the folds of her ass.
[User: HardCoreHustle]: Fuck, that bounce is lethal. Look at her move!
[User: LustLord]: Tipped 100 tokens! Arch that back, Miss Blaze!
[User: DeepDive_88]: She look so sweet but she moves like a fucking pro. I need to see more.
Malaya let out a, staged moan, her head tilting back as she leaned forward, planting her palms on the pink fur. She pushed her ass high into the air, creating a steep, inviting slope. She began to grind against the air, her hips rotating in a slow, agonizing circle that simulated the feeling of a thick dick sliding deep inside her. She looked back at the camera, biting her lip, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with a mixture of fake modesty and real arousal.
“Is this...is this okay?” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I don't know why I’m doing this...I feel so naughty, Sir.”
Then, with a sudden, athletic grace that contradicted her fragile persona, she slid backward. In one smooth, fluid motion, she hit a full split on the plush rug, her legs extending wide, leaving her completely open to the lens. The position pushed her panties to their absolute limit, the fabric straining across her ass and her soaking wet pussy, the center of the lace darkening as her arousal leaked through.
She stayed there, chest heaving, her breasts bouncing slightly under the pink cotton. She reached down, slowly tracing the line of her thigh with a manicured nail, her eyes locked on the camera, challenging every man in the chat to tell her exactly how they would ruin her.
[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 200 tokens! Open those legs wider, you filthy little doll!
[User: PureSin]: I can see she's soaking through those panties. Look at that wet spot!
[User: AlphaMale_7]: I wanna see you swallow a whole dick while you in that split, slut.
Malaya slowly pulled herself out of the split, her movements languid. She crawled toward the lens on all fours, her breasts swaying under the pink lingerie, her eyes locked onto the camera with that wide, doe-eyed gaze. She stopped just inches from the lens, her face filling the frame, the soft glow of the ring light reflecting in her pupils.
“You guys are being so loud,” she whispered, a tiny, teasing smile playing on her lips. “I can’t even think...you’re making me feel so...exposed.”
She sat back on her heels and spreading her knees just enough to give them a glimpse of the lace straining against her pussy. With a slow, shaky breath, she pressed her palm flat against her crotch. She began to rub her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties, her fingers circling her clit in a grinding motion. The lace was translucent from her arousal, clinging to every fold of her lips.
Malaya let out a soft, airy moan, her head tilting back as she increased the pressure, her hips lifting off the rug. “It’s so warm,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “I’m just...I’m just a little bit wet. Is that bad?”
Then, without warning, she reached down and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg upward and outward in one fluid, athletic motion. She slid into a perfect side split, her body stretched wide across the white fur. The position was devastatingly open, her pussy centered perfectly in the frame, the pink lace of her panties pulled tight and damp, outlining the plumpness of her labia.
She looked at the camera, her expression a mask of faux-hesitation, her lip trembling slightly. “Do you...do you really want to see it?” she asked, her voice a breathy, innocent plea. “I’m so shy...I’ve never shown this many people at once.”
The chat exploded. The token count began to skyrocket as the men scrambled to pay for the reveal.
[User: KingKink]: Tipped 500 tokens! SHOW US! Open those legs and show us that pussy now!
[User: RawDogger]: I'll pay anything to see you dripping for us, you filthy doll.
[User: VoidWalker]: Stop playing the innocent act and show us how wet you are!
Malaya giggled, a sound that was becoming increasingly hungry. She lowered her leg and reached over to the side and picked up a large, bright red lollipop, unwrapping it. She didn’t take it straight to her mouth. First, she ran the hard candy slowly along the line of her jaw, then down her neck, trailing it over the valley of her breasts. Finally, she slid the lollipop into her mouth. She began to lick it with slow, swirling motions of her tongue, her eyes half-lidded and glazed. She sucked on the candy with a wet, loud slurping sound, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the sweetness in. She looked like a corrupted piece of candy herself—sweet, colorful, and utterly decadent. As she sucked the lollipop, she began to use her free hand to tease the edge of the lace covering her crotch, hooking a manicured nail under the and pulling it just a fraction of an inch away from her skin, teasing the chat with a sliver of her glistening, deep brown lips and dark pink flesh.
[User: BeastMode]: Tipped 300 tokens! Suck that candy like it's a dick while you pull those panties aside!
[User: PureSin]: Look at her eyes...she loves being watched. She's a total slut.
Malaya pulled the lollipop out with a loud, sticky pop, a thin string of glistening saliva connecting the candy to her lips. She let out a breathy, exhausted tease of a laugh.
“You guys have been so patient,” she whispered, her voice sounding small and fragile in the quiet of the room. “I think it’s time I show you what a good girl I’ve been.”
She reached up, her fingers pulling the straps of her pastel pink lingerie down. She didn’t just rip it off; she played the part, sliding the fabric slowly down one shoulder, then the other, teasing the edge of the lace against her skin. As the bra fell away, her breasts spilled out, dark, gum drop nipples hard and peaking in the cool air. She let the garment rest around her waist, leaving her chest bare and heaving, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps that she knew the microphone was picking up.
Then, her hands drifted lower, her fingertips grazing the edge of the lace covering her pussy. She hooked her fingers into the lace, pausing for a heartbeat to let the anticipation build in the chat. Slowly, agonizingly, she slid the lace to the side. One by one, each slippery pussy lip revealed itself, a slimy trail of her arousal clinging to the fabric. Clit poking. Labia twitching. The knee-high pastel socks that hugged her calves, adding to the coquette aesthetic she used as a shield.
Malaya spread her legs wide, exposing the depths of her fat pussy to the lens. She was drenched, her folds glistening and plump, the pinkish-red hue of her clit peaking through the wetness. She looked engorged, exposed, and utterly vulnerable, though her face remained a mask of shy innocence. She reached for the lollipop again, but she didn’t put it back in her mouth. Instead, she pressed the sticky, sugar-coated candy directly against her pussy.
“Mmm,” she moaned, her head rolling back, her pigtails splaying across the white rug. “It tastes so sweet...I can feel the sugar melting right into me.”
She began to rub the lollipop in slow, circular motions around her clit, the glossy candy coating mixing with her own natural lubrication. The wet, slapping sound of the candy against her flesh filled the speakers. She pushed the lollipop deeper, teasing the entrance of her pussy, the sweetness of the candy contrasting with the saltiness of her own arousal.
“I feel so naughty,”she whimpered, her voice breaking as she arched her back. “I’m being such a bad girl for you, Sir…but I’m still your good girl, right?”
The chat was an absolute frenzy, a waterfall of demands and tips, but one username stood out, flashing with a generous contribution that had already changed the trajectory of the night.
Camera0ff
Malaya reached over to the side of the white fur rug, her fingers curling around a sleek, high-tech device. She held it up to the camera, bringing it close so the ring light caught every detail.
“You guys...look what I have,” she whispered, her voice airy and laced with a curated shyness. “I want to say a huge thank you to MoTh3rL0ad88. You’re so generous...you bought me this beautiful Bluetooth vibrator.”
The toy was a masterpiece of erotic engineering. A deep, midnight purple silicone that looked almost black under the lights, with a polished, ergonomic curve designed to hit every internal sweet spot. It had a smooth, seamless finish and a small, pulsing LED light at the base that glowed a soft, inviting blue, signaling it was paired and ready for remote command. It looked expensive, powerful, and utterly invasive.
“I think...I think I’m gonna use it just for you guys tonight,” she teased, her eyes hooded as she looked into the lens. “I’m gonna to let the chat decide exactly how I feel.”
Malaya spread her legs even wider on the pink blanket. She guided the rounded tip of the vibrator toward her soaking entrance. She let out a small, needy whimper as she pushed the silicone head past her outer lips, sliding it slowly into her tight, wet channel. The friction made her toes curl inside her pastel socks, and she gasped, her head falling back as she seated the toy deep inside her, leaving just the stimulating nub pressed firmly against her swollen clit.
She froze, her body trembling slightly, her hands gripping the edges of the fur rug. She waited, charged with an electric anticipation.
Then, it happened. A low, deep thrum vibrated through her core. It started on the lowest setting. A gentle, steady pulse that felt like a warm current flowing through her pussy. It wasn't overwhelming yet. It was a slow burn, a teasing warmth that began to wake up every nerve ending.
“Oh..” she moaned, the sound soft and breathy, barely more than a whisper.
Her hand drifted down, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing the nub in slow circles. The combination of the internal vibration and the external pressure sent a wave of heat crashing through her. She rolled her hips, her pigtails splaying across the rug, her voice dropping to a fragile, needy tone.
“It feels so warm...mmm, it’s just starting to wake me up,” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut. “I can feel it... buzzing inside me…please, someone...make it stronger…”
———
10:42PM—Smoke’s Den
The frame is tight, a cinematic close-up focusing solely on a large, veined hand with thick fingers gripping a sleek, encrypted smartphone. The skin is smooth, the knuckles prominent, and the thumb is poised with predatory precision over the screen. On the display, a minimalist app interface glows. A simple slider and a series of preset patterns.
The atmosphere in the den is suffocating, a thick blend of Tom Ford’s masculine musk and the charred, caramel scent of Uncle Nearest 1856. The only light comes from the 120-inch laser projector, casting a ghostly, flickering glow over Smoke’s dark skin, turning the matte charcoal concrete of the wall into a living canvas of Malaya’s desperation.
Smoke is a statue of primal intent, sprawled deep in the black Nappa leather pit. His legs are spread wide, claiming every inch of the space, his chest expanded and glistening under the artificial light. He is the picture of disciplined agony. The bass from D’Angelo’s Voodoo vibrates through the floor of the den, a low, swampy auditory stimulation that mirrors the heavy pulsing in Smoke’s groin.
I feel like making dreams come true
Oh baby
When you talk to me
When you're moanin' sweet and low
When you touch me
And my feelings start to show, show, oh
That's the time
I feel like making love to you
That's the time
I feel like making dreams come true, oh baby…
Below his navel, the ferocity of his arousal is on full display. His nine-inch dick is a rigid, unyielding pillar, gorged with blood and pulsing with a heat that feels like it could melt the fabric of his low-slung black shorts. Because of the way he’s leaning back, there is no place for his length to go but up. That dick is pressed flat against the lower wall of his abs, a heavy, thick ridge of flesh that carves a brutal path straight toward his belly button.
The athletic material of the shorts is stretched to its absolute breaking point, the fabric pulled so taut across the wide, flared head of his dick that the blunt silhouette is unmistakable. Every time he takes a slow, calculated sip of the amber whiskey, his abdominal muscles contract, causing his dick to throb violently against the cloth. It’s a heavy jump. A desperate attempt to break free from the imprisonment of the fabric. A small, dark circle of pre-cum has already begun to dampen the black material, the moisture adding a slick, friction-filled torture every time he breathes.
Smoke refuses to touch himself. The ache in his balls is a dull, heavy roar, a pressure that would drive any other man to madness, but for Smoke, it is fuel. He channels that physical torture into the digital puppetry in his hand.
Smoke leaned back into the depths of his sunken black leather pit, the fabric cool against his bare skin. He wasn’t touching himself. The arousal was purely psychological, a dark, pulsing blaze that settled deep in his gut and made his nine-inch thick dick strain against the thin fabric of his black athletic shorts. His heavy, thick shaft was rock hard, the wide flared head pulsing with every beat of his heart, but his hands remained steady. He preferred the power of the ghost in the machine.
Internally, he was a storm of possessiveness. Watching her on the 120-inch projector, her image towering over him on the matte charcoal wall, he felt a visceral surge of ownership. He knew every inch of her. The scar on her knee, the way she breathed when she was actually peaking.
His eyes narrowed, tracking every movement of her body on the screen. He watched her play the part, the faux-innocence in her voice. Good girl. The phrase tasted like iron in his mouth. He hated the act. Smoke enjoyed the tease, there was no doubt about it, but because he knew the woman beneath the costume, he knew she was a mess of need and anxiety, and he loved that he was the only one who truly saw her.
He could see it now. The way her thighs trembled, the glistening wetness coating her pussy as she rubbed that lollipop against herself. She was soaking, her body betraying her “innocent”persona. She thought she was in control of the narrative, directing the chat, managing the tips, playing the game.
You think you the one pulling the strings, Malaya, he thought, his gaze darkening. But I own the string. And after that date you had tonight, I think I need to remind you.
His plan was simple: total dismantling. Smoke didn’t want her to just orgasm. He wanted to break her composure. He wanted to strip away the “Good Girl Gone Filthy” act until there was nothing left but raw, uncontrolled desperation. He wanted the entire chat to witness the exact moment her curated performance shattered, leaving her gasping and sobbing for a release that only he could grant or deny. He was going to ruin her in front of hundreds, turning her professional show into a public execution of her modesty.
His face is a battlefield of disciplined lust and predatory hunger.
On the screen, Malaya guided the midnight purple silicone head of the vibrator into her tight, wet channel. Smoke watched her eyes flutter, her breath hitching as she seated the toy deep inside her.
The moment the device was fully submerged, Smoke’s thumb moved.
Slowly, almost agonizingly, his thumb slides the intensity bar just a fraction of an inch to the right. He keeps it on the lowest setting, a mere whisper of a vibration, designed not to satisfy, but to irritate the nerves, to create a craving that can’t be scratched.
For a while, he watched her body warm up to it. The goosebumps on her flesh. The way her moans hitched. How she rubbed her clit and bit her lip. His dick bounced within the tight constraints of his athletic shorts. A painful erection that needed tending to but Smoke would rather edge than release. He was on a mission of destroying Malaya.
For making him feel the way he does. For being so goddamn fine. For invading his mind from sun up to sun down.
I got something for you, he thought.
Smoke didn’t slide the bar this time. He flicked it. He jumped the setting from the lowest tease to a high, aggressive thrum.
He watched through the lens as Malaya’s entire body jolted. Her back arched violently, her fingers digging into the white fur rug, and a loud, genuine moan—one that wasn’t for the tips—ripped from her throat. The sudden surge of power inside her was an electric shock, a violent intrusion of pleasure that bypassed her brain and went straight to her nerves.
Smoke let out a low, guttural exhale, a predatory smirk touching his lips. The game had officially begun.
Smoke’s thumb didn’t just slide. It danced with a sadistic tempo across the encrypted screen. He began to cycle through the preset patterns, switching from a steady, aggressive drone to a series of sharp, erratic pulses. He wanted to keep her off-balance, denying her the ability to settle into the sensation, forcing her body to chase a peak that he kept just out of reach.
On the 120-inch screen, the effect was immediate and visceral. Malaya’s composure disintegrated. Her legs, still clad in those innocent pastel socks, began to shake with a violent, uncontrolled tremor. Her thighs clamped shut, then flew open in a desperate, instinctive attempt to either crush the toy deeper into her walls or push it away from the overstimulated nerves of her clit.
Smoke watched with a predatory intensity as her pussy began to weep, the glistening wetness coating the silicone head of the vibrator and leaking out in thick, clear strings that smeared across the white fur rug. He could see the internal contractions of her vaginal walls. The way her muscles gripped the device in starving spasms, trying to milk the vibration out of the machine.
He flicked the intensity to the absolute maximum.
Malaya’s reaction was primal. A guttural, strangled sound tore from her throat, a noise that was completely stripped of the “Innocent Girl” persona. Her fingers clawed at the rug, bunching the fabric into tight knots as her hips began to buck upward in jagged, uncontrolled jolts. Her chest heaved, the pastel lingerie straining against her waist as she gasped for air, her lungs failing her. Her breasts shook and her ass gyrated.
His eyes are hooded, dark voids that don’t blink, locked onto the 120-inch image of Malaya. He isn’t just watching her. He’s consuming her. Every time her thighs tremble or her back arches in a violent spasm. His pupils dilate, absorbing the sight of her surrender like a sponge. There is a slight, savagely crease between his brows, a mark of intense concentration, as if he is calculating the exact millisecond her willpower snaps.
He watched her toes curl tight, her entire frame vibrating in sync with the device buried inside her. The pleasure was so intense it had crossed the line into a form of exquisite torture. Her head snapped back, her neck tendons straining, and her mouth hung open in a silent, breathless scream.
Smoke leaned forward, his eyes locked on the way her stomach rippled, access skin from birth tightening, her core bracing for the impact of the waves he was sending through her. The faint pulse pitter-pattering against her jugular, blood rushing south, pooling in her engorged clit and drenched folds.
He suddenly dropped the setting back to a low, teasing crawl.
The sudden drop caused Malaya to collapse. She slid down the rug, her body going limp for a split second before she began to writhe, her hips grinding frantically against the air, begging for the power to return. She looked wrecked, hair coming undone from the bows, makeup smudged, eyes glazed and unfocused. She was no longer performing for the chat. She was a slave to the signal in Smoke’s hand.
He let her simmer in that desperation for a few seconds, watching her pussy twitch and pulse in a void of denied pleasure. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he slammed the slider back to the top and triggered the “Chaos” pattern—a rapid-fire sequence of bursts and long, heavy vibrations.
Malaya’s body snapped taut like a bowstring. Her internal muscles clamped down on the vibrator with such force that she let out a high-pitched, sobbing moan. Her pelvis tilted sharply, back arching so hard her shoulder blades pressed into the floor, and her entire midsection shuddered in a prolonged, violent orgasm.
Smoke watched the way her pussy pulsed around the toy, the rhythmic squeezing of her walls visible even through the camera lens. She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing hitches, body completely surrendered to the digital ghost he controlled. He didn’t stop it. He kept the vibration screaming inside her, pushing her past the peak, forcing her to ride the wave of an orgasm that wouldn’t end until he decided she had had enough.
That mask had been incinerated by the relentless frequency Smoke was pumping into her. She was sprawled across the white fur rug, her limbs splayed and trembling, her head lolling from side to side. A thin, glistening string of drool escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin as her jaw hung slack. She was panting, the sound wet and desperate, her chest heaving so violently that her breasts bounced with every ragged breath.
“Please…” she whimpered, the word barely a sound, more of a broken vibration in her throat. “Please, Daddy...I can’t... I can’t take it...please!”
The word Daddy hit Smoke like a physical blow. He watched her on the screen, seeing the way her eyes were out of focus,her consciousness hovering on the edge of a blackout. Her voice had devolved into a series of high-pitched, needy keens and guttural whimpers, a symphony of surrender that told him exactly who owned her in this moment.
Below her, her pussy was a disaster of arousal. It wasn’t just wet; it was overflowing. Thick, slimy trails of cream and arousal leaked from her drenched folds, soaking into the white fur of the rug in heavy, translucent patches. Every time the vibrator pulsed, more of her essence was forced out, spraying in tiny, glistening droplets against her inner thighs.
Behind the lace mask, her eyes are glazed with a heavy, shimmering layer of lust and total submission, her pupils blown wide until the irises are nearly swallowed by dark brown. Her eyes dart frantically, flickering with a mix of desperation and a total body surrender, glistening within the ring light like wet gemstones. Every time the vibrator spikes, her eyelids flutter and cross, turning her gaze into a raw, mindless expression of overstimulation that screams she is no longer in control.
The chat was a blur of chaotic energy. Tips were flooding in as the viewers watched a woman be systematically dismantled by an invisible hand. The screen was a waterfall of explicit demands and shock, but Smoke ignored them all. His world was narrowed down to the sight of her breaking.
Smoke’s dick was reacting violently. He remained still, his hands gripping the phone, but his thick length was twitching beneath the fabric of his black shorts. He felt the heavy, thick head of his dick throb in sync with her moans, the veins pulsing with a pressure that felt like it might burst. He was rock hard, strained to the absolute limit, his body buzzing with the reflected energy of her agony and ecstasy.
He saw the moment it happened. Malaya’s entire body suddenly locked. Her toes curled so tight they cramped, and her hips gave one final, desperate upward thrust, her pelvis tilting sharply toward the ceiling.
A sharp, piercing squeal tore from her throat—a sound of total overload.
Then, she erupted.
It was a flood. A massive, violent jet of clear fluid exploded from her core, a torrent of squirt so powerful it sprayed across the rug and splashed against her own stomach. The force of the release was visceral, a physical eruption that shook her entire frame. The volume of the fluid was so immense, the internal pressure so sudden and overwhelming, that it acted like a piston. With a wet, suctioning pop, the Bluetooth vibrator was physically launched out of her pussy, propelled by the sheer force of her orgasm. It flew a few inches across the rug, landing with a dull thud, still vibrating weakly.
Malaya collapsed instantly, her body hitting the floor with a heavy thud. She lay there in a widening pool of her own release, her chest heaving, her eyes vacant, completely spent. She was shaking in long, slow tremors, her pussy twitching and leaking, wide open and ruined.
Smoke stared at the screen, his dick throbbing with a punishing ache. He had never seen her lose control like that. He had pushed her past the breaking point, and the sight of her—soaked, drooling, and utterly defeated—made him want to reach through the screen and claim every inch of her wreckage.
Smoke’s expression hardens. His gaze drops from her face to the glistening mess between her legs, his eyes narrowing with a possessive greed. He looks starved. He looks dangerous. The contrast is visceral: Malaya is a shattered wreck of pleasure on the scene while Smoke is a rigid, pulsing statue of restraint, his face a mask of absolute dominance, savoring the knowledge that he is the only one who truly knows how to make her scream.
He watched her weakly push herself up from the white fur rug, her movements sluggish and disjointed. She looked completely shattered, her eyes glazed and her lips parted, a thin string of saliva clinging to her chin. She looked like she’d been hit by a freight train of pleasure, her pussy gaping and leaking fluid onto the floor.
When the screen finally went black, the “Stream Ended” notification flashing across the 120-inch projection. Smoke didn’t move for a long minute. D’Angelo’s voice rushed back in through the speakers, heavy and suffocating. He stood up abruptly, the movement sharp and jagged. He began to pace the length of the sunken leather pit, his bare feet slapping against the cold, matte charcoal concrete. He was wired, his nerves screaming, his blood boiling with a cocktail of possessiveness and raw, unadulterated lust.
I need a blunt, he thought, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. I need to chill the fuck out.
But the internal command was losing the war against the impulse. Every step he took felt like he was fighting the urge to bolt out the door, jump in his car, and drive those thirty minutes to her duplex. He could almost feel it. The weight of her body as he scooped her up the second she opened the door, the smell of her sweat and pussy hitting him like a drug.
He imagined the carnage he’d leave behind in her apartment. He wanted to wreck her. He wanted to slam her against the wall, flip her over the kitchen counter, and drive his big dick balls-deep into her guts until she forgot how to breathe. He wanted to feel her tight walls gripping him, her screams echoing through the halls, marking her as his in a way a Bluetooth vibrator never could.
His chest felt tight, his lungs struggling to pull in enough air. With every breath, his stomach muscles flexed and rippled, tight with the sheer anticipation of a physical release that felt miles away. He let out a shaky, guttural exhale, his shoulders hunching.
Stop it. Chill. Play the long game, his inner voice hissed, but it sounded distant, drowned out by the throb in his groin.
Smoke stopped pacing and looked down. His black athletic shorts were stretched to their absolute limit. His dick was poked straight out, a rigid, pulsing tower that looked like a traffic cone shoved into the fabric. The wide, flared head was straining against the material, the veins thick and hard, twitching with every beat of his heart. He was rock hard, aching and heavy, the pressure in his balls becoming almost unbearable.
He stared at the protrusion, his breath hitching. He was a man of absolute control, a man who mapped out every move and monitored every variable, but looking at the sight of his own lust fueled by the image of Malaya soaked and broken on a rug, he knew he was dangerously close to the edge.
———
Elijah Moore had built his life on one principle.
Patterns rarely lied. People did.
His monitors glowed against the darkness of the office tucked above Edge & Thread. Three screens displayed different pieces of three different lives. A ransomware recovery for a music producer in Houston. Cryptocurrency movement connected to an old client in Miami. Security footage from a warehouse outside Atlanta waiting to be archived before sunrise.
Smoke moved through each task with practiced efficiency.
Windows opened. Code scrolled. Files decrypted. Logs disappeared.
By the time the eastern sky began trading black for blue, BLK TRACE had already earned more money than most people would see in a week. He leaned back from the desk, his eyes settled on a different monitor. A familiar route. A familiar vehicle. A familiar morning.
Malaya.
The timestamp rested in the corner of the screen.
Thursday—8:14 A.M.
She pulled into the daycare parking lot carrying Messiah against her shoulder. Even through grainy security footage, motherhood had its own flow. She positioned him higher with one arm while reaching for the diaper bag with the other. The little boy wrapped sleepy arms around her neck, unwilling to surrender his mama.
Smoke watched her disappear through the front entrance. Two minutes later she returned alone. She didn’t drive toward work. His gaze drifted toward another monitor displaying nothing more than a street map layered with months of routine.
Colored lines crossed the city like veins.
Home ✅
Daycare ✅
Work ✅
Grocery store ✅
Gas station ✅
Home again ✅
Most days followed the same geometry. Thursdays didn’t. Every Thursday…the route bent.
Honey & Oak.
Arrival—8:28 | Departure—9:03
Thirty-five minutes. Every week.
The pattern had repeated often enough that software no longer needed to flag it.
Smoke noticed it on his own.
He enlarged the map. The café sat on a corner between an old bookstore and a tailor shop. Nothing remarkable. No unusual visitors. No suspicious activity. No reason to investigate.
Except…
Malaya kept choosing it.
He wasn’t interested in coffee. He was interested in decisions. People revealed themselves through repetition. Through what they returned to when nobody was watching.
His fingers rested against the desk.
Thirty-five minutes. Every Thursday.
Why?
He opened another window.
Property records.
Honey & Oak.
Family owned. Nearly eighteen years in business. No police reports worth mentioning. No financial irregularities. No history of violent incidents.
He closed it again.
None of that answered the question. Addresses explained where. They never explained why.
Smoke stood and walked toward the office window.
Malaya always made time for Honey & Oak. Not once. Not occasionally. Every Thursday.
His phone buzzed across the desk.
Stack: Lunch at Mama Dee’s?
Smoke looked at the message before setting the phone back down unanswered. His attention had already drifted elsewhere.
The following Thursday he parked across the street from Honey & Oak.
He arrived early. Engine off. Windows cracked.
Coffee never crossed his mind. People did.
Teachers walked in carrying canvas totes. Construction workers had stopped for breakfast before climbing into company trucks. An elderly couple shared a newspaper at the same window table for almost forty minutes. Two nurses still wearing hospital badges laughed over something one of them read on her phone. Nobody looked out of place. Nobody seemed to be performing. The neighborhood flowed through the café as naturally as conversation.
At exactly 8:27, Malaya pulled into a parking space. She lifted Messiah from his car seat, balanced the diaper bag, and walked toward the entrance. She stayed inside thirty-six minutes. When she came back out, she looked…
Lighter. Less burdened.
Smoke frowned almost imperceptibly.
The following Thursday he returned.
Then the Thursday after that.
He never entered. He never watched Malaya once she disappeared inside. Instead, he studied Honey & Oak itself.
The pace. The customers. The owners greeting people by name. The absence of hurry. The ordinary kindness exchanged between strangers. It wasn’t just a coffee shop, it was a pause. A breather. An escape from reality passed those doors. One small piece of the week that belonged entirely to the people who stepped inside.
Smoke rested both hands on the steering wheel. For months he had believed Honey & Oak was another location on Malaya’s route. Another point on a map. Now he understood something different. This wasn’t where she bought coffee, it was where she caught her breath. He looked through the windshield toward the front door.
If he intended to become a part of her everyday world…there would never be a better place.
Nor a more dangerous one.
Smoke reached for his phone.
Brick answered on the second ring.
“You busy?”
“I got time.”
“I need to move my standing appointment.”
A brief silence settled between them.
“What day you thinkin’?”
Smoke kept his eyes on Honey & Oak.
“Thursday.”
“Aight.”
Smoke ended the call.
Across the street, the bell above Honey & Oak’s front door swung open as another customer disappeared inside.
Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...
Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic
Part Seven
Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips.
“You wanna ride me?”
Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his.
Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.”
The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing.
“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.
Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing.
Then, she sank.
Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch.
“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.”
Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving.
“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.”
She rode him like she was made for it.
Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise.
Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing.
Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn.
Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper.
The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole.
Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace.
“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?”
Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.
And this wasn’t even his final form.
Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room.
It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat.
“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.”
“Daddy—”
“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.”
Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever.
“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?”
“No—no, I’m not—”
“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine.
And she gave it to him. All of it.
Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger.
“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.
Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra.
Pop.
A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting.
“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.”
Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats.
Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good.
“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”
Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder.
“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.”
Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance.
“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty.
“You already do.” Erik shot back.
But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…
She started bucking.
No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them.
“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone.
“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.”
Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song.
“Sanaa—”
She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.”
That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…
It was working.
Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now.
And then she rode him.
From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time.
Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power.
His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard.
“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.”
Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick.
“What’s wrong, Killmonger?”
Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit.
“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”
Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse.
Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier.
“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”
And that was it.
Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down.
But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.
Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that.
That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest.
And then, he bounced her.
Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.
Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit.
Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked.
“Erik—”
Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up.
It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked.
She just raised his number to 2,208.
Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again?
Damn, he all up in this pussy.
Why he fucking me like this?
Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”
Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.
All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy.
Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right.
She was unraveling from the inside out.
“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”
The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.
“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.”
Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.
“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”
Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”
That was all Erik needed.
His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out.
“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?”
Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms.
Erik held her there and made her feel it.
“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.”
And it was.
Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.
What the fuck?
But Erik loved it.
“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.”
“E—”
Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head.
Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her.
Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time.
“Fuck—”
“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.”
Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle.
“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.”
Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up.
“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”
Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.
His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.
Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought.
His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.
“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”
Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled.
She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.
From dick.
Thick, deep, grown man dick.
Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck.
“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”
He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move.
“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”
Her body jumped.
Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie.
Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”
Then he did something that wrecked her.
He leaned back just enough to look at her.
Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.
His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure.
“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”
Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter.
He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.”
She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…
She was about to cum AGAIN.
Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms. Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.
Slrp…squelch…slrp…
“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”
He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.
Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…
So damn pretty.
Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.
Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”
She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted.
His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”
Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted.
Sanaa didn’t waste time.
She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room.
Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells.
“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?”
Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him.
Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving.
It was a sight.
Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine.
Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”
His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl.
“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”
Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced.
“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”
He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”
Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge.
“Fill me up.”
Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him.
“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”
Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”
“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”
Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him.
Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on.
She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”
Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him.
Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.
“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”
Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew.
He was about to lose it.
That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga.
“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.
Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.
His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.
Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.
But Sanaa wasn’t done.
“Say my name,” she whispered.
Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.
“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”
He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”
She tilted her head.
“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”
His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.
“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”
And that’s when she did it.
Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.
Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?
Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.
Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.
Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.
“Now lay in it.”
She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.
And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.
______
Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop.
He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut.
Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion.
Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned.
The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her.
Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.
His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered.
Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with.
And yet, here he was.
He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm.
How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it.
Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time.
Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…
He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy.
Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….
How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes.
The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.
It’s yours.
Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture.
Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full.
Instead, he was cleaning himself up.
Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting.
The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life.
5:18 A.M.
The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat.
Erik preferred it this way.
Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work.
He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour.
Erik’s headphones sealed the world away.
Mona Lisa.
Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears.
Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…
Sanaa.
The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him?
“Damn.”
Erik racked the weight harder than necessary.
She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping.
Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons.
Louder. Wayne. Kendrick.
The bass vibrated against his skull.
It didn’t matter. She was still there.
Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest.
Push.
The sled climbed.
Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again.
His thighs burned.
Good.
Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.
Nope.
Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer.
Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose.
You gotta get it together, he thought.
Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words.
Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand.
Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive.
His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control.
Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh.
This don’t make no damn sense.
Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric.
His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel.
One notification.
Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️
His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her.
Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath.
Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me?
Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room.
Erik: Aight 🙄
______
Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again.
Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night.
Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids.
Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik.
Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.
She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.
By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before.
Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs. She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him.
Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved.
In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac.
The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation.
Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room.
Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’
A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache.
She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside.
“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.”
“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes.
Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand.
“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.”
“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement.
“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.”
Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed.
“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.”
Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.
“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.”
“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”
“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah.
“Nothing.”
Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady.
Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.
“You good, Liyah?”
“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.”
She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return.
“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!”
11:08 A.M.
Washington, D.C.
Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha.
Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink.
Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.
Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically.
“I don’t even wanna get dressed.”
Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.”
“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.”
“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.”
“I know.” Aaliyah said.
“You begged us to come.”
“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.
“So…”
“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.”
Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.”
“I’m preserving my energy.”
Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.”
“I feel eighty.”
A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway.
He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs?
What the fuck?
“I got it.” He said.
He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up.
His eyes landed on Sanaa.
Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin.
Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar.
His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little.
He recovered first.
“I’ll get the door.”
His voice sounded perfectly normal.
Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement.
“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?”
“Yeah. Thanks homie.”
The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit.
He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Hm.”
He set the arrangement down.
Both women immediately wandered over.
“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!”
Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.”
Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip.
“It’s for you, Bri.”
Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.
“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.”
She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.”
Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”
Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.”
“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!”
Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.”
“He tryna say you edible, sis.”
Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”
“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?”
She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.”
Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.”
“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said.
She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.”
Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…
“…Fruit look old.”
The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh.
“What?” Sanaa said.
Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.”
“It is not.”
“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?”
Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…”
Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.”
“It look tired.” Erik said.
Aaliyah giggled, staring between them.
Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?”
Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure.
“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”
“What flowers?”
“The pineapple.”
Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.”
“They look like they wiltin’.”
Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself.
“It’s carved fruit.”
“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.”
Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”
“I ain’t hatin’.”
“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.”
Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”
Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine.
“I’ve seen better strawberries.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“I’m honest.”
Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?”
“Nah.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.”
“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.”
“I know enough.”
Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened.
“Mmmm.”
Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.”
Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed.
“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”
Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.”
“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back.
“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.
“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.”
“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.
Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.”
With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.
He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on.
An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit.
Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.
Ain’t even send her flowers.
His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her.
His mouth flattened.
Cheap-ass fruit.
Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.
“That gotta be Naima.”
She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.
“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.
“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”
“You gon’ make me cry.”
Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.
“Hey, pretty.”
“Hey, Nai.”
She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”
He nodded once. “Naima.”
Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.
“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”
Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”
Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”
Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”
“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”
Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.
“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”
Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.
“I know.”
Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”
“You keep saying that.”
“This time I mean it.”
Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”
“Where we going?”
“I need details.”
Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”
“Damn right.”
The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.
He still looked unconvinced.
______
Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.
“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”
“I’m glad it made it.”
“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”
“So it passed inspection?”
“It passed with flying colors.”
She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for?
“I was hoping you’d like it.”
“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”
Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick.
Her phone buzzes in her hand.
Erik: Come here Miss Carter.
Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.
“That’s dangerous.”
“What?”
“You getting thoughtful this early.”
Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”
“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”
“I can live with that.”
She shook her head, smiling wider.
Buzz.
Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.
Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble.
Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔
Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him.
Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.
Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder.
Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition?
Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him.
Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh?
Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan.
“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”
“You remembered that?”
“Course I did.”
“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”
“Nah. I just pay attention.”
Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent.
Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.
Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.
Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done.
Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”
Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger.
Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping.
He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath.
Erik: Stand up.
Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒
Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on.
Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.
Sanaa: you a menace. 😩
Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.
Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty.
On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room.
Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.
On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious.
“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”
She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”
“I’m asking. Confidently.”
“You coming out tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in.
Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.
"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.
Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”
Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.
He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.
“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.”
Chills.
Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.
Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.
“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.
“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?”
“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?”
Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”
Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.”
Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck.
“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.”
Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”
“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”
“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?” Nathan chuckled.
Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh.
Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.
“Woah…Sanaa?”
“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck.
“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?”
“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”
He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke.
Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”
“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?”
“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”
“Sanaa?”
“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”
Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.
Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh.
“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”
“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.
As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.
She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.
Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane.
“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.”
As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s.
Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there.
On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side.
“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”
Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her.
“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.”
Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.”
Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.
She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa.
Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.
“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.
On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick.
“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.”
Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust.
“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.”
“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off.
Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction.
Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.”
“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?”
Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric.
“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”
Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”
His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later.
“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”
“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”
His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…
“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”
“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered.
Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit.
Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.”
Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip.
“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?”
Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…”
“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?”
Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent.
Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.
“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”
Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room.
“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”
Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.
“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”
Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.
“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”
Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.
“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”
He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t.
“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”
Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close.
He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch.
Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable.
“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”
Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip.
The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.
Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”
Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders.
Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.
“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”
As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.
“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.”
The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.
“Damn, girl—fuuck—”
The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.
He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.
The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway.
Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated.
“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief.
Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.
Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly.
“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is.
“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed.
Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.
“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity.
Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own.
Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy.
“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh.
Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy.
Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly.
Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic.
Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom.
Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper.
Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.
______
Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow.
The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion.
“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept.
Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”
Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.
Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks.
Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.
As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”
Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping.
On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back.
Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.
“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”
“WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.
Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast.
Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is.
Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps.
“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.
Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick.
But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.
Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.
“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”
There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.
Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.
“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”
Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone.
Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”
Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery.
Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.
Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”
Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”
“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.
“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”
The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.
Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”
“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.
The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.
The thoughts that ran through her mind…
“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”
To actually live in that reality now was an understatement.
The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?”
The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.
Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.
“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”
“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said.
“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied.
“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?”
Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.
Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”
Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”
Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.
He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy.
Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.
He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.
He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:
“C’mere.”
Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah.
Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text.
Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩
A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.
Her phone buzzes.
Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?
She bites her lip.
Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.
Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?
She exhales slow, adjusts her position.
Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.
Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.
Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.
Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.
Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?
He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.
Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.
Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts.
Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.
She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.
There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door.
Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown.
Buzz buzz
Erik: You in your room?
She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.
Erik: I’ma slide over
Then a soft knock. Real soft.
Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”
“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.
He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.
“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.
Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”
“Like you wanted me to see all that.”
She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.
He followed. “Out.”
“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout.
Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.”
Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?”
Erik gives her a stern look. “No.”
Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.”
“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”
She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”
Erik just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.
Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”
Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.
“Get up,” he said low.
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”
The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.
Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.
Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”
He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties?
Erik didn’t waste a fucking second.
Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?!
Oh my Goddddddddddddd
“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.
He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.
“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”
Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered.
But then it hit.
A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.
“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”
“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking.
She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.
“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”
Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened.
A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.
“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.
Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.
Loved how she tried to hold it in.
Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.
He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”
Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.
“And Sanaa?”
“Yeah…?”
“You taste even better when you squirt.”
Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.
1:35 A.M.
She couldn’t sleep.
The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.
Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.
Sanaa: You up?
She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.
Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body.
“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”
She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt.
“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”
His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”
She nodded.
He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”
“I ain’t run.”
He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”
And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped.
Again.
Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs.
Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it.
“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”
She whined. “Erik, please—”
“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”
She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.
“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”
He didn’t wait.
He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.
H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?
That was it.
Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—
Splash.
Another rush.
Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward.
Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—
Sanaa tried to squirm.
“Stay still.”
“Erik—it’s too much—”
“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”
And he kept going.
She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.
He made her do it.
Again.
And again.
By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.
Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.”
She nodded slow, dazed.
And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.
Erik fucking plus size OC and he is obsessed with how wet her pussy is/ Erik fucking plus size OC in college and she wants to do it with the lights off.
Warnings: SMUTTY, Hardcore, College Erik, Sorority OC, Fraternity Erik, Inspiration from Zane story called APF. Just a disclaimer I am not a member of any of these sororities and I don’t want to disrespect or take credit.
hey y’all! This is so long and detailed. I’m doing another story with an OC. I’ve been reading this Zane book called APF and it is straight up nasty and I figured if I’m doing college Erik and OC I could put my own twist on this amazing erotica and I hope you guys love it! I recommend reading the book y’all I promise you won’t be disappointed 😩😩😩
**RE UPLOAD**
“Rodney, ohhhhh, Fuck, Rodney! Yes yes yes!-“
“Jada, Stop moaning so damn loud! You want Valentina and Chanel to hear us?”
“She won’t say anything,” Jada laughs before whimpering, “Your dick is just so good, baby.”
“How about you quietly let a nigga know how good this dick is. I don’t want Erik coming up in here ready to kill me-“
“Now, I want you to shut up and fuck me. You better work this pussy and stop complaining! Better yet,” Jada could be heard flipping over on the bed causing the springs to bounce, “Gimmie back shots, you know how much I like it like that, Daddy.”
“So damn nasty, JJ, ahhhhh, Fuck,” Rodney quietly moans before grunting, “Fuck, you got some good pussy on you.”
Valentina didn’t understand why Rodney complained about Jada being so loud when he was making her ass clap back on him. The entire Sorority house could hear them. Both of them were stupid as fuck. Valentina was on her way back from her shift at the Founders Library on campus when she first heard them. She worked in the back of the Library archiving books. This situation with Rodney and Jada has been going on in secret for over a month now. Valentina began to notice some wild shit going on in her Sorority, Alpha Kappa Alpha, just a few days after she joined in her Freshman year. Valentina pledged to uphold the values and ideals of the bond she was seeking to join. It’s like a marriage to your sorority.
After she pledged for Alpha Kappa Alpha, Jada Summers asked Valentina in her sophomore year if she wanted to be in a secret society that involved Not just Alpha Kappa Alpha, but other sororities as well. It wasn’t for the faint-hearted but Valentina decided to go along with it to make new friends. The secret society was involved in sexual freedom and the fulfillment of its members. They titled it Alpha Sigma Zeta Delta because pledges from all the different black sororities were involved.
Valentina could still remember the initiation process. She had to sleep with a Kappa Alpha Psi member. It was embarrassing at first because she didn’t feel comfortable with her body but he sweet-talked her the entire night like no man has ever done to her. Valentina thought the sex was great, mind-blowing, fantastic, but he complained about her being too shy and how it killed his mood. Luckily he graduated in the winter and she wouldn’t have to see his face again. Ever since then, Valentina hasn’t participated in any sex with her fellow sisters or other fraternities. She was surprised Jada didn’t kick her out yet. It was probably because she was afraid Valentina would tell someone about their secret society.
“Fuck, JJ, no wonder why Erik kept you, Mhm,” Valentina could hear Rodney slap Jada’s ass, “You can suck some dick girl. Look at that mouth.”
“Ugh,” Valentina complained while trying to get some sleep. She shared a room with another pledge, Chanel, who practically slept like a baby throughout it all. It’s probably because Chanel had Rodney too.
“Suck the nut out my dick, bitch,” Rodney spoke with a gruff tone, “Suck my shit dry like I told you to.”
“Mmmm, mmmm,” Jada mumbled with a mouth full of dick.
“I wish I could cum in that pretty pussy but that’s Erik’s job, right?”
There was no response but Valentina guesses that she probably nodded her head.
“Fff-fuckkkkkk, uhhhhh,” Rodney damn near lost his cool. The bed rocked a little more, probably from Jada sucking him harder and Rodney fucking her mouth. Right when Valentina grabs one of her champagne silk pillows to cover her ears with, Rodney growled and moaned with his release. After about 30 seconds, Jada and Rodney started laughing and talking with low voices. Too bad the walls were thin.
“Doesn’t Erik stop by around this time?” Rodney asked.
“Yes, but I didn’t hear from him about that. Why do you always ask about him? I’m sure he’s out there doing his fucking dirt too. I’m grown I can do whatever the fuck I want to.
“No disrespect, beautiful, just asking. You know Erik is my boy-“
“Just shut the fuck up, Rodney. You’ve been fucking me for over a month now. If that was your boy you wouldn’t be coming to my room every chance you get, would you?”
There was silence followed by the sound of clothes ruffling. Rodney was getting himself dressed to leave. Valentina pulled her Hello Kitty sleeping mask up from her eyes to check the time. It was 11:00 PM. They’d been laid up having sex on and off for about three hours. Now, Valentina was hungry and thirsty. She pulled her comforter back, put on her Ugg slippers, and walked from her room and down the hall to the stairs. She walked at a fast pace so she wouldn’t have to run into Rodney. She tiptoes down the steps and made her way towards the kitchen. Valentina has a habit of snacking late at night and her taste buds were calling for some sour cream and onion chips with an ice-cold glass of apple juice.
So far so good as she checked the cupboard. They were still stocked with all the junk food in the world. Valentina grabs the rolled-up bag of sour cream and onion chips, then opened the fridge to grab some apple juice with her Alpha Kappa Alpha cup. When she opened the fridge she noticed that it was stocked with Martinelli’s 100% Apple Juice. She’s never had it before but Valentina assumed it was because of Erik. He drank those things to death. Jada probably bought them because Erik put her on and now she wanted to put her Sisters on. Taking a chance, Valentina grabs two, closing the fridge and walking to one of the bar stools in the kitchen to sit her round backside on.
Valentina tried crossing her much thicker thighs while sitting on the barstool, but her plumpness and the area didn’t leave her enough room to get more comfortable. She groans, swinging her feet while leaning over the kitchen island to eat her snacks. As she munched, Valentina could hear Rodney and Jada descending the stairs. The first thing Valentina noticed about Rodney that made all the girls go crazy was his piercing green eyes. His skin reminded you of desert sand and his hair was faded around the temple with loose bouncy curls up top. Jada has tortilla colored skin with sandy brown hair and eyes close to the color of gingerbread. She had abundant umber-colored freckles that covered her nose and cheeks. Athletic and short. Jada wore nothing but an Alpha Kappa Alpha hoodie and her feet were bare.
“So, when do you want to meet up again?” Rodney pulls Jada closer by her waist, bringing his lips to her neck to suck on. Jada slowly pushes his head away before rubbing the spit from her neck.
“You better not had put a hickie on me,” Jada glowered.
“I didn’t calm down. So, when can I see you again?”
“I’ll let you know. You can’t have me whenever you want, Rodney. Erik has to have some of me too.”
Valentina almost choked on a chip.
“Ugh, I should have never fucked you,” Rodney reached behind her to slap her ass, “You should be mine and only mine.”
Jada giggles before lightly pushing Rodney away, “Boy. Go back to your frat house. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow.”
“Aight,” Rodney gave Jada a couple pecks on the lips before turning his gaze towards the kitchen and catching Valentina’s eye. He didn’t seem to care not once that he was touching on Jada in front of her. Jada clearly felt the same.
“Sup Valentina,” Rodney gave her a coy smirk, “Couldn’t sleep?
“Apparently not,” Valentina took a sip of her apple juice.
“Hm, Sorry about that. Jada here is to blame. A nigga can’t help himself when he’s in that pussy.
Rod, stop it,” Jada shoves him lightly while trying to hide a smile, “Let Valentina snack in peace.”
Rodney puts his hands up in surrender, “Aight, I think it’s time for me to bounce. JJ, Val, I’ll be seeing you.”
Rodney finally makes his exit, closing the door softly behind him. As soon as the door clicked shut, Jada properly locks it before making her way into the kitchen. She walks to the fridge, grabbing one of the apple juices to drink herself. Jada slapped the bottom of the bottle to make it easier to open. Once it was opened, Jada guzzled that juice in practically one gulp before throwing the glass bottle in recycling. Jada pulled all her sandy brown Dominican blown out hair up into a ponytail before taking a seat directly across from a disinterested Valentina.
“So, Val,” Jada licks her full lips, “What has been up with you? You seem to have an issue with me and Rodney.”
Valentina twirled a piece of hair from her wig, “Not an issue. You’re grown, I’m not your mother. But I do think it’s reckless.
“Teh,” Jada gave a short laugh, “Reckless? Sis, how long have you been a pledge for ASZD? Did you forget your initiation? Did you forget that we participate in all kinds of sex that would have the faint-hearted laid out dead on this kitchen floor? I mean, I’m surprised you aren’t dead.”
Jada chuckles, folding one cream-colored leg over the other, “Sis, what? Are you jealous because I have Rodney and you don’t?
Valentina rubbed her temples, “No, JJ, I don’t want your sloppy seconds. I just feel like you have Erik so I don’t understand why you would want to fuck Rodney-“
“Because I can,” Jada gave Valentina a wide grin, “Erik is cute, fine as hell, but I don’t owe him anything. We are in an open relationship, Val. He’s probably at some booty call right now giving the bitch some good dick. But it’s cool, one thing I know about Erik is that he will always come back. This good pussy has him hooked. I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes knocking on this door right now-“
Knock Knock
“Oh? Would you look at that.”
Valentina rolled her eyes at Jada before hopping off the bar stool causing her silk half shirt to push out extra cleavage from the top of the shirt. She couldn’t stand Jada at times. She thought she was the best thing walking on two feet. On the outside, she looked breathtaking but on the inside, it would only make you puke. Jada acted like her shit didn’t stink. Valentina walked to the cupboard to put away the chips and that’s when she heard his voice
“Daddy sorry he’s late, baby girl, you know I’m apart of that teacher’s assistant program so I had a lot of papers to grade, look at you,” Valentina looked up in time to see Erik cupping both of Jada’s ass cheeks nice and firm before slapping them extra hard. Jada whimpered like a child in need of attention, wrapping her arms around Erik’s neck
“Don’t keep me waiting again, Daddy,” Jada sucked on Erik’s neck, “You miss this pussy?”
“You miss this dick?” Erik grabs one of Jada’s hands to rest over his crotch, “Yeah, that’s right, you know how I get when I see you.”
“So damn big,” Jada sighed, “Let’s go, I need it right now.”
Valentina just about heard enough. How was she going to get away with having sex with Erik in her bed after she just had sex with Rodney there? Valentina didn’t want to stick around so she placed both bottles of Martinelli’s 100% apple juice in the recycling bin and walked out of the kitchen. Screw being discrete, Valentina loudly walked past them both and towards the stairs
“Valentina?”
She felt a shiver creep up her spine. Turning, Valentina caught Erik’s eye. Those almost black eyes because of the low light. He always overawed Valentina. Even in just a pair of basketball shorts and a Raiders hoodie with a durag on his head he looked appetizing. Then, he smiles at her with his full lips and deep dimples. Valentine wraps her arms around her belly to calm the butterflies. She was sure she looked a bit peaky and her forehead was sweating. Valentina couldn’t understand how Jada slept with Rodney and whoever else she wanted when a man like Erik stood before her with his large biceps wrapped around her.
“Hey, Erik.” Valentina shyly places some hair behind her ear, “Long night?”
“Always. Then I have this dissertation to write as well so your boy is tired.”
“Hey, why don’t you get some rest then, yeah? We can pick this back up tomorrow night.” Jada rubbed circles with her long lime green nails in the center of Erik’s chest.
“You tryna keep me away, ma?” Erik gave her a suspicious look before smirking, “I need you to take care of me. I didn’t come all the way over here for you to put me out.”
“Oh, she’ll take care of you alright,” Valentina mumbled before taking the stairs to her room. She had to figure out how she was going to get sleep with an 8 AM class tomorrow.
“Goodnight, Val,” Erik called out to her, Valentina waved at him before turning down the hall and to her bedroom. She felt a ping of jealousy and she hated that it was because of Jada. Erik needed to cut ties with her. Valentina didn’t want to tell him about Rodney because that would be fucked up but at the same time, he didn’t deserve it. Rodney was supposed to be his best friend. Finally, in bed, Valentina pulled her Hello Kitty mask down over her eyes, brought her comforter up and over her whole body, and forced herself to sleep.
——————
“What’s happening tonight? A party? At our house?”
Valentina looked around the lunch table at her Alpha Kappa Alpha sisters. She pushed away from her bacon grilled cheese with a side of sweet potato fries to listen in on the conversation. Party or not she had a research paper due on Monday and if she stayed up to party with AKA and everyone else she wouldn’t get any work done on Saturday. The house would be an uproar.
“Nah, it’s an ASZD party,” Jada spoke with a whisper, “We have new pledges and they have to go through initiation. They have to be trustworthy, secretive, and be willing to take all the freak nasty shit we do to the grave.”
Valentina forgot all about that. She felt her heartbeat quicken behind her rib cage. She really wanted to back out of this one like the last time but if she did she would probably fuck up her chances of being an AKA and she needed that. Valentina comes from a family of women who were AKA.
“So, I have to lie to Malcolm about where I’m going?” A new pledge of AKA and Jada’s little sis, Janelle, wanted to become a part of ASZD, “We were supposed to go to the movies-“
“Nelle, what did I tell you, sis? This is a serious commitment. You want that sexual gratification? You gotta keep this a secret. We could all lose our reputation and possibly future careers if word gets out to the wrong crowd.”
“You gotta be a woman and look to take sexuality to another level,” China, a southern bell from Texas says, “Freaky Friday is our day. We do this twice a month.
Janelle nibbled on her bottom lip nervously, “Are the Kappa’s gonna be there? They recruited Tory as a new pledge and Tory is in my Health class. If Tory sees me…he may say something.”
Jada shared a look with the others before turning her gingerbread-colored eyes back on her sister that could pass as her twin, “If Tory is gonna be there, sis, Tory wants some pussy. If he sees you, he might want to sample what’s between your legs. You’re gonna let Tory have some if he asks?”
Janelle blushed, looking down bashfully at her two slices of veggie pizza, “Yeah…I like Tory.”
“There you go, sis,” Chanel cheers while applying lip gloss to her heart-shaped lips, “It’s gonna be wild and fun. You won’t regret it.”
“So, what do we wear?” Janelle asked with a chipper tone.
“Nothing,” Jada replies.
“Nothing?” Valentina finally speaks up, “Um, like butt ass naked?”
“Yeah, that’s the point, Val,” China jokes, “We’re supposed to be having sex so what’s the point in wearing clothes? We rented out a loft for the night near DuPont Circle to have the event. That way, we can have free roam to walk around with our ass and titties out.”
“Do you even plan on fucking, sis?” Jada asked, “I mean, you haven’t since that one time.”
“Um, we’ll see,” Valentina smiles, “I haven’t had some dick in a minute so I need a sexual release besides my dildo and vibrator.”
“How are you going to handle Erik and Rodney, Jada?”
Valentina perked her ears up for this one in particular.
“I’ll have Rodney this afternoon and Erik this evening.”
Valentina rolls her eyes and turned back to her food. She couldn’t even find her appetite anymore.
“Are you okay, Val?” China asks with a worried expression
“Yeah, I’m cool,” Valentina packed her food away in a to-go container and got up from her seat at the table, “I gotta head over to the library I’ll be back to the house in enough time for us to get there.”
She didn’t even entertain the smirk that Jada had on her face. Clearly, she knew that Valentina was bothered by the fact that she was juggling sex with both Rodney and Erik.
——————
Valentina didn’t want to sit at a study table in the Founders Library so she walked in between the bookshelves to sit down on the carpet to study. She fluffed out her black and white pleated skirt, crossing her Doc Marten covered feet while pulling out her Theatre Arts books to study for her upcoming exam. Even though it was quiet, Valentina needed to tune out the world and listen to some Floetry and Lauryn Hill.
All you gotta do is say yes
Don’t deny what you feel
Let me undress you, baby;
Open up your mind and express
I’m about to let you know you make me
So, so, so, so, so, so, so
You make me
So, so, so, so, so, so, so, ah
Purple glitter gel pen between her lips stained with NYX Butter Gloss in chocolate brown, Valentina read from her textbook that rested over her knees. She was invested in her music and studying that she hadn’t noticed Erik Stevens standing at the end of the aisle admiring her while munching on an apple. Erik wore a denim jacket with Sherpa collar, a basic crisp white t-shirt, Khaki cargo pants with a chain, and a pair of UGG Neumel Utility boots on his feet in black. He didn’t want to disturb her just yet because she looked so in tune with her studies. His eyes kept drifting down to Valentina’s exposed legs in that black and white pleated skirt. Legs the color of peanut butter with a left thigh tattoo of a pink lotus flower. Erik inhaled deeply before removing his Airpods from his ears, approaching Valentina slowly while twirling his half-eaten apple in hand. Valentina’s mocha eyes looked up at Erik, that glittery purple gel pen falling from between her juicy lips. The pen rolled towards Erik’s feet. He reached down leisurely, grabbing the pen, then holding it out for her to grab. He could still feel her gloss on the pen as his thumb rubbed against it. Valentia took it from him before saying thank you in a soft-spoken voice.
“You’re welcome,” Erik placed his apple between his teeth to take off his camouflage Supreme backpack. He removed the apple from between his lips, licking them, and then speaking in a hushed tone, “Can I sit with you?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Erik got down on the carpet so close to her that his knee hit her thigh. Valentina almost rips the edge of the page in her textbook while turning it. Erik took out his own various books along with an iPad. Valentina peeks over at his books to see what he studied. Systems and Computer Science. Supposedly he already completed schooling with a Computer Engineering degree.
“Applications for Artificial Intelligence.
“Huh?” Valentina looked up at him with a whimsical expression.
“That’s what my dissertation is about. I have only 15 pages typed and I still have another 15 to do.”
“Sounds…stressful.”
“I just can’t wait for this shit to be over with so I can get back on the grind with the Military.
“Military? Wow.” Valentina was inraptured by Erik’s smile and warm hickory-colored eyes. His teeth were so white, Valentina figured he must have gotten them bleached. She felt ashamed of her lack of skincare because Erik’s russet skin is blemish-free and so smooth like he regularly visited an Aesthetician.
“Theatre Arts,” He pulled her book from her lap to rest on his, “Acting?”
“Yes.” Valentina blushes.
“What made you get into that?”
“My mom used to act on Broadway. My father is a Writer. My family is full of the arts and I figured if they followed their passion, so can I.
“I like that, I don’t know why I thought you were a law major.”
“If you would have asked me, you would know…yeah?” Valentina teased.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Erik licks his lips, making his voice lower “So…will you be at the party tonight?”
“Um, I plan on it…why?” Her heart damn near bounced around her chest.
Erik uses his thumb to rub the tip of his nose while trying to fight a smile, “Teh, um…I’m tryna see you there.
“Excuse me?” Valentina was perplexed.
“I wanna see you there,” Erik’s head fell back lightly against the bookshelf, “That’s the only reason why I’m going.
Valentina tittered, “Erik…what?”
“You don’t believe me.”
Valentina shook her head slowly, “No, I don’t.”
How could she anyway? Erik never showed her any interest. Then again, he was always nice to her. Then it was the looks he gave her that made her body shiver. It could be believable but he had Jada. Last night he practically hounded her. They probably didn’t make it up the stairs. It was pretty silent. Jada could have been arched over the steps getting plowed by Erik. The thought of Erik only going to the Freaky Friday Night because of her blew Valentina’s mind. He definitely knows what happens with ASZD. Sex, sex, sex. If he wanted to see her there…
“Valentina.” Erik must have called her name 20 times.
“Sorry,” She timidly placed hair behind her ear, “What would seeing me there do for you?”
“Hm,” Erik’s hickery-colored eyes watched her face closely, “What do you think?”
Suddenly, Valentina’s lips become dry.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. What about Jada?”
“What about her?” Erik says with an annoyed tone.
“Isn’t that your girl? Aren’t ya’ll you know…fucking? In a relationship?”
Erik laughs bitterly, “We are fucking, but she ain’t my girl, Val. I don’t make bitches like Jada my girl. You gotta earn it and just because you have good pussy doesn’t mean you’re mine. We fuck, that’s that.”
“Oh,” Valentina looks down at her knees, “She seems to think you two are together.”
“Look at me, Val.”
Valentina fixed her eyes on his. She wished she hadn’t.
“I know about her and Rodney already.”
“When did you find out?”
“last night. I saw Rodney leaving.”
“They are so stupid,” Valentina chuckles, “I don’t understand why she thought this would go on forever-”
“Oh, it can go on for infinity, I don’t give a fuck. I’m not surprised. I know how she gets down. She slept with a lot of niggas and that’s not even including bitches.”
“Yeah, Chanel, China-”
“I saw that in action a month ago,” Erik closes his eyes while laughing, “I respect the sexual awakening and togetherness though but you gotta be careful, feelings can get involved and I know Chanel felt some type of way when Rodney and Jada started having sex.”
“Oh, definitely. I’m shocked she slept through it all last night. I just hope Janelle doesn’t get like that. She has a boyfriend and everything.”
“Nelle just might. Tory, the one here on the basketball scholarship? He’s feeling Nelle heavy heavy, That Lil’ nigga is gunning for her.”
“Damn,” Valentina licks her lips, “I can’t believe I agreed to be a part of ASZD. I’m not cut out for this at all,” Valentina looked from side to side then between the books behind her head to see if anyone was around, “Gotta be careful talking about this shit here.”
“Can’t fuck up yall little secret society.”
“Shut up,” Valentina bumps Erik with her shoulder
“So, if you aren’t cut out for being a member for ASZD, then that means you aren’t freaky.” Erik jokes but then Valentina looked away with embarrassment.
“I’m just fucking with you, Val-”
“I’m sure you know about my initiation, right? I didn’t hear the end of that shit for at least a month. Jada made sure I remembered that horrible fucking night.” Valentina brought her knees to her chest, folding her arms across it and resting her chin there. She avoided Erik’s eyes and focused on the stack of books across from her on the shelf.
“Calvin talked a lot about you so all that other shit you heard is a fucking lie. Probably some shit that Jada made up to make you feel like shit because he jumped on you before her. I told you, Valentina, Jada be lovin’ the crew.”
“He liked it?” Valentina glanced over at Erik with a hopeful look in her eyes
“Oh yeah,” He smirks, “He said you had the wettest pussy in the motherfucking world. And the fattest pussy too.”
“For real?” Valentina hadn’t noticed that she scooted closer to Erik. He could smell whatever scented oil she was wearing. His dick jumped and tapped her textbook resting over his lap
“Girl, hell…yeah,” Erik cut his eyes down to stare at her cleavage. It couldn’t be helped because the compressed white turtleneck outlined her DD’s perfectly, “That nigga wanted round two honestly. If it wasn’t for him graduating he would have. Ma, he could not shut the fuck up about that body in general.”
“Oh my God,” Valentina squealed behind her hands, “So I’ve been feeling like shit for so long and he actually enjoyed it? I can’t believe Jada.”
“She’s jealous of you, Val.”
“I can’t understand why. She’s so pretty”
“Fuck all that. So are you.”
Valentina gawked at Erik like he spoke German. He frowned slightly at her reaction. How could she not believe she was more beautiful than Jada? Plus size or not Valentina is BAD. Badder than Jada in his opinion. Erik fully turns his body to face Valentina while bringing his knees up to rest his arms on. Her textbook thumped against the floor loudly because of all the silence. Valentina picks it up, closes it, and places it behind her with all her other belongings. Erik’s hand reaches out to touch her knee. Valentina melted like an ice sickle under the sun when his warm hand came into contact with her skin.
“What’s not beautiful about you?” Erik asks with a whisper.
“I know I’m beautiful, I just have my insecurities. All women do.”
“I can’t tell you what you should feel but I will say that you shouldn’t compare yourself to JJ.”
“Thanks, E,” Valentina gave Erik a sheepish smile, “Jada doesn’t deserve to fuck you-”
“What? You do?” Erik bites his bottom lip, “Is that what you’re telling me, baby girl?
“May-be,” Valentina murmured before giving a short, half-suppressed laugh. Erik reaches out to play in Valentina’s ombre honey blonde wig. She found herself rocking back and forth nervously because now, Erik was studying her face. If someone told her she would be coming to the Founders Library to run into Erik and flirt with him she would have cackled but now, Valentina couldn’t even mutter a word. She wondered what would happen next. If he kissed her, she wouldn’t stop him. He has nice full lips that looked like they tasted sweet. They had to be sweet right now because he was munching on an apple that’s currently going rotten right next to his left foot on the carpet.
“Nah, answer my question properly.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I feel like I deserve to fuck you instead of her.” She couldn’t believe the words that flowed from her mouth.
“Cool cuz that’s exactly what’s gon’ happen,” Erik peered behind him then over Valentina’s shoulder before turning his eyes back on hers, using the hand that was in her hair to push her knees apart forcefully so he could get a glimpse of her panties stretched over her phat pussy. Sure enough, sky blue cotton panties with little clouds on them, and a wet spot in the center, the fabric taut over her pussy lips and exactly what he needed to see. The perfect image to make his dick even stonier than what it already was.
Erik twirled his finger in an authoritative manner, “Take these off,” He demanded in a low gruff tone.
Valentina lifts her butt from the ground, using her thumbs to push her panties up and over her thighs, down her calves, and then over her boots. She waited patiently for Erik to pull her knees apart again as she watched over his shoulder closely. Anyone could come and find them. Erik’s sharp intake of breath is what made Valentina look at him. She could hear her pussy lips spread each time Erik opened and closed her legs. He was doing that on purpose, generating her pussy to make smacking noises. Valentina bit down on her lip and looked behind her, then over his shoulder again. She could feel her leg being lifted up and onto his back while Erik eases his way down to eat her pussy from the side. Valentina blinked her eyes rapidly before closing them when she felt Erik kiss her pussy lips. He repeated this going up and down her pussy. Valentina brought one of her hands up to cover her mouth. Now, Erik took his fingers to part her glimmering pussy lips. Directly in his face was her pink clit, labia, and entrance dripping with all her wetness. His entire face was in her pussy as soon as his tongue poked out to lick her pussy up in one strike. She could hear the way his tongue sounded gliding over her. The constant flickering and lapping noises like a dog licking water from a bowl.
“Uhhh,” She moaned softly, “Mmmhh, uhhhh.”
When his lips sucked lightly on her clit, Valentina’s head steadily fell back to rest against the bookshelf.
“Keep that leg up,” Erik whispered into her pussy. Valentina used her left hand to keep her left thigh up while her foot rested on Erik’s back. Her other thigh was down enough so Erik could properly fit his lips around her clit and labia to nibble on.
“Umph, uhhh,” Valentina couldn’t see him eat her pussy past her large breasts. If only she could watch the way he ate her.
“Shut that fucking noise up,” Erik spoke through clenched teeth.
“E-Erik, I c-can’ttttt,” She gasps, “Ohhh, Fuck. It feels so good please.” Her voice was barely audible.
Erik wiggled his tongue in her pussy, catching all of her juices in his mouth. Valentina’s hips bucked into his mouth, her thighs shaking uncontrollably. Valentina tried to be aware of her surroundings but the more Erik tongue-fucked her and flicked that tongue up to show her clit some attention, She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Valentina lifted her hips off the carpet, Erik following her with his lips slurping her like an oyster. Valentina hissed sharply making her lungs burn from a deep breath she took while pushing his head away. Erik wasn’t having that, He smacked her hand away so loud the sound almost echoed through the many rows of books. Before Valentina could strengthen herself for what Erik had in store for her, she was flat on the carpet with Erik’s hand around her neck while he continued where he left off before she pushed his head away. The way he sucked on her made her thighs quake. She never felt pressure like that on her pussy. Her eyes crossed and her mouth fell open into a silent scream. The heels of her boots dragged back and forth across the carpet. All she could see every time her watery eyes looked down was her mountainous breasts heaving up and down. The muscles in her belly twisted tightly causing her to get a painful cramp on her right side like she was doing sit-ups. He just would not…stop…sucking.
“Uhhh, uhhhh, uhh-uh-u-uhhh,” Her hot tears rolled down her cheeks and into her hairline. The feeling of her release crept up slowly like an intro to an orchestrated song. Erik’s hand gently released from around her neck to place his hand over her mouth. Eyes crossing like the Exorcist, Valentina’s hips oscillate back and forth into his voracious mouth. Her body finally gave in to his insatiable nature. She never knew a man could be this insane over eating pussy. Valentina could feel herself leaking into his mouth. He was right there to catch it all so he wouldn’t miss a drop. Like Calvin said, she has the wettest motherfucking pussy in the world. Valentina was so wet Erik’s lips smacking against her sounded like he was drinking from a puddle. Her thighs will slip and slide as she walked the rest of the day. Her ass was probably a mess too. So much came from her pussy. Erik couldn’t find it in him to stop. Valentina lightly pushes his head away with a pout of her lips. Erik caught sight of her pussy twitching before his eyes glanced up at hers to see her face. His nose down to his chin was covered in her mess. The lights above them caused the juices on his face to shimmer. His thick tongue licked around his lips and his hand smoothed down his face to wipe it clean. He could still smell the sweetness of her pussy on his upper lip and his face felt warm like her mound was a thermal.
“Goddayum, ma,” Erik adjusted his dick in his khaki cargo pants, “Just know I am eating this pussy whenever the fuck I feel like it, do you hear me? You are so fucking wet down here,” His fingers slipped between her fat lips, “Come sit with me at one of the desks up here. If I get a taste for some pussy I wanna be able to crawl under the table and eat it”
“Erik,” Valentina smoothed hair from her face, “Won’t people see-”
“Not where I sit. C’ mon, Valentina. Come with me to the table. I’m not finished eating your pussy just yet.”
“Won’t you have some later?” Valentina looked over Erik’s shoulder.
“Yeah, and then whatever time after that. But that’s later, I need that shit now.
“Ugh, this is too reckless,” She couldn’t ignore the way Erik was looking at her and the way he kept licking his lips like he was hoping there was still more of her left on his lips.
“It’s all good, Val, I promise,” Erik gave her a charming smile, “Please?”
This man could get anything he wanted.
“Okay, Erik.”
________________
It was raining heavily when the Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority arrived. The other Sororities such as Sigma Gamma Rho, Zeta Phi Beta, and Delta Sigma Theta were already there and dressed in nothing but their birthday suits. All women in all different shapes and sizes and shades of brown. They had the perfect fuck songs of the ’90s playing loudly from a large Bluetooth speaker system that belonged to whoever owned the loft. The only things missing from the large scatter of women were the men. Undergraduate students, Graduate students, Alumni, and even some men who had cash flow such as Lawyers, Doctors, and Engineers. All black and brown men who came to fuck and suck like them.
Valentina arrived wrapped in a long pink trench coat with a black lace teddy underneath and some black red bottom pumps; the only good pair of heels that she has. The rest of the Alpha Kappa Alpha entourage wore long trench coats as well, some wearing pink like Valentina and others wearing green like Jada. The only difference was that everyone else was completely bare underneath. Valentina didn’t have the confidence enough to drop that coat around her ankles and walk around with her breasts bouncing and ass jiggling with every step she took. That didn’t include her thighs and her stomach as well. She wished she had the same confidence as the other plus-sized women at the party. They were so sexy.
“The sex better be good this year because the guy I hooked up with last year was a joke!” China complains while removing her coat. She dropped it revealing A cup breasts, traveling down to at least a size 16 around the hips because she has a lot of ass. China kept her hair in a buzz cut and she colored it different colors but her favorite to flaunt was violet purple. China has almond-shaped chocolate eyes with skin that reminded you of maple syrup. Lips like Megan Good. If Valentina were to ever sleep with a woman it would be China. China was known for being the girl who orchestrated threesomes and orgies. The same men showed up every year with a few new ones sprinkled here and there. All tested and clean, and the Sorority ladies clean as well, some on birth control and enjoying the idea of a man fucking them and releasing their load deep inside of them while the other women needed the men to wear a condom. Some even enjoyed simply having their pussies ate and being fucked by ten-inch dildos. Valentina only had sex with Calvin a while ago and they used a condom because Valentina wasn’t on the pill. Now she was.
The men began to arrive. Some in groups and others by themselves. All of them knew each other except for if you were new to the ASZD parties. All of them were taken off guard when they walked into the loft to find every single woman there naked. The shared looks and mischievous smirks on their faces let Valentina know that this Freaky Friday would be the best so far. Valentina looks down at her lingerie set. She couldn’t do it. She was so shy and the way all these men looked they would probably jump on her. All these butt-naked women walking around with wet pussies. Jada and a Zeta Phi Beta Graduate student named Ariana decided to plan it where the men assumed it would be a 90’s house party for them to arrive in 90’s attire and find all these beautiful black women stripped and ready for dick. Huge fluffy floor pillows surrounded them so they could have the comfort to freak on.
H-Town Knockin’ da Boots played putting everyone in a vibe. Janelle was a lightweight, already drunk and twirling her petite naked hips to the beat.
Good lovin’, body rockin’, knockin’ boots all night long, yeah
Makin’ love until we tire to the break of dawn
But oh, come on, come on and turn the lights down, and let me get on it, yeah
‘Cause when I do, just me and you, it’ll be so right
A-give me some good love
(Somebody rockin’ knockin’ da boots)
A-give me some good love
(Somebody rockin’ knockin’ da boots) somebody rockin’, baby, ooh
Out of nowhere, Tory shows up behind Janelle wearing paint-splattered overalls and a tye-dye with a backward cap. Janelle looked back at him, biting her lip before bending over to grind her ass further into his crotch.
“That’s little sis ya’ll!” Jada spoke over the microphone before handing it over to Ariana.
Ariana spoke with her Dominican New York accent, “Time to strip! Let’s get busy!”
Valentina grabbed her cup of 1800 pineapple to take a long swig of. She needed it in that very moment. Every single one of them was blessed between their legs. Thick and long, curved and wide, lengthy and veiny. Moisturized, all shades of brown and heavy balls to suck on. Dicks swaying and wagging in her face. China was primal next to Valentina. She handed Valentina her cup when she spotted a 6’5 carob-skinned man with shoulder-length dreads and a body that would put Hercules to shame. China climbed that man like a tree, wrapping her plentiful thighs around his chiseled waistline that looked to be carved from stone. His fingers were so long when they squeezed her abundant ass and made it bounce up and down. That long tongue rolled along her neck like Venom. Valentina could not hold it together. She felt her knees wobble. Turning away from China didn’t help because everywhere she looked, her ASZD girls were either kissing, sucking, dancing, and fucking on a man of their choice. Moans overpowered Ginuwine’s Pony and the heat was turned up in that loft; literally. Valentina’s body was sweating. There was dampness on her forehead, back, chest, and thighs. The moisture between her legs was on a whole other level. The lace fabric of her thong felt slick and slimy. It was so wet that the crotch of the thong kept sliding to the left side of her mound causing her lips to spill out. All the moans had her heart pounding.
Mmm! mhm! ahhhhh! Uhhhh! Umph! Mmmmhhhh!
“Erik!”
Valentina’s eye cut to the entrance of the loft. Erik was fashionably late and shocked. He was wearing a cropped muscle t-shirt with the Los Angeles Lakers logo on it, some basketball shorts, and a neon 90’s hat that reminded Valentina of the hats that Wesley Snipes wore in White Man Can’t Jump. He looked around like he woke up from a coma. Jada rushes over towards him with her large teardrop breasts bouncing. Jada tried wrapping her arms around Erik’s neck but he was walking away from her with his mindset on reaching Valentina. Valentina felt like she was stuck in a soap opera moment with the way Jada glared at her.
“Erik, where the fuck are you going? Erik?!” Jada yelled angrily.
Valentina wasn’t surprised that no one reacted to Jada’s loud outburst. Erik took his hand, gripping the back of Valentina’s head, and pulling her in for a searing kiss. His tongue was lethal. Valentina’s eyebrows furrowed and her arms reached out to squeeze his biceps. Erik’s hands gripped her cheeks to keep her steady while his lips and tongue did all the work. She needed to breathe because Erik was literally sucking the air from her lungs with such ferocity Valentina was growing weak. Erik finally stops, Valentina, taking in a deep breath before closing her eyes and rocking backward as if she were dizzy.
“Why do you still have this on, Val?” Erik looked at her lingerie with raised brows, “Daddy’s here now you can take this off.”
“Out here?” Valentina looked around at all the sex, “In the open?”
“We don’t have to,” Erik rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip, “I want you to myself anyway. I plan on being in you all fucking night so what’s good?”
“We can go to the bedroom,” Valentina sucked on Erik’s thumb, “Please?”
“I got you, ma. Let’s go all this sex got my dick so fucking hard. You gon’ suck Daddy’s dick like I sucked on that pussy earlier?”
Valentina was having flashbacks while leading the way past everyone exploring each other. He was a man of his word when she sat with him at the study table. She wasn’t even sitting there for ten minutes when Erik puts his iPad down looking around him secretly, before lowering his body under the table and crawling between her legs. Erik ripped her panties down the crotch without even taking them off before licking her pussy. He did that about three times before she couldn’t take anymore. The largest bedroom in the loft was where they went. It had a great view of DC. Erik didn’t close the door. Valentina nervously looked towards the bed then over at Erik expectantly. Erik started undressing, Valentina finally having the opportunity to admire him. Broad-shouldered, sturdy, and powerful. The gym had to be his second home.
“Get on your knees and be Daddy’s good girl. It’s my turn now, baby girl. Show me how freaky you can get on this Freaky Friday.”
“Wait,” Valentina walked towards the door to turn off the lights, “It’s better like this.”
“Nah, turn the lights back on.”
“But Erik-”
“Valentina flip the switch.” Erik commands, “Do it.”
“Ugh, okay,” Valentina pouts, “It’s just better that way-”
“How am I supposed to see you? Are you tryna hide from me-”
“No, I swear-”
“I think you are,” Erik walked towards her with labored steps but his eyes were gluttonous and his lips were curled up into a wolfish grin, “we’re fucking with the lights on. I want to see everything.”
Valentina was moving too slow for him so Erik flicked it on himself. His left hand covered the switch while his right hand elevated her chin to make her look at him.
“Look at those eyes,” Erik bit down on his full bottom lip, “How do you want Daddy to fuck you tonight?”
“Deep and hard,” Valentina spoke softly.
“Let me see that body, ma,” Erik removed his hand from her chin to pull down her left strap to the lingerie she wore, “It’s just me and you. Didn’t I tell you I would take care of you?”
“Mhm, I remember,” She was exposed from the waist up now. Valentina pressed her face into Erik’s solid chest. He uses her hair to pull her back so he could look at her breasts. Large and bell-shaped with tawny colored areolas and nipples. Erik could see her veins under her peanut butter skin. So healthy and hefty. He imagined himself laying on them like pillows. Erik leans down to suck on her breasts while holding them up in his mouth. Valentina weakly nibbled on her bottom lip with a scrunchy nose and eyes shut. Her hand stroked the back of his head, dragging her nails over the faded area of his hair. She could smell lavender castor oil in his hair. While he sucked, his hands pulled down the rest of her lingerie except for her thong. Valentina’s arms wrapped around her stomach. She really wanted the lights off. Erik sensed her insecurity, placing soft kisses up her neck and to her lips again. Valentina melted in his mouth and slowly, her arms fell from around her belly. Erik pulled her body in close almost lifting her from the floor. Valentina giggles against his lips causing Erik to give her a dimpled smile.
“Don’t you ever cover up when you’re with me, okay?”
“Yes, Sir,” Valentina blushes.
“That’s my good girl. Now let Daddy force this dick in your mouth. Show me how you suck now, okay?”
“Yes, Sir,” Valentina got down on her knees, reaching out to pull Erik’s basketball Shorts off. She looked up at him through her lashes while pulling those shorts down that were already poked out in the crotch because of his dick. When Erik’s dick finally sprang free, it hit Valentina in the nose. She went cross-eyed staring at it. Getting into a squat, Valentina grips her Daddy’s dick, bringing her face closer to wrap her juicy lips around the tip of his dick. She began to suck lightly before lowering her lips to try and fit him further inside.
“Good girl deepthroating Daddy, you better try and fit my dick in there before I pop that ass. Give it a nice smack.”
Valentina drooled and slobbered as she controlled her breathing to fit him all in. Screw fucking ten inches of the dildo when you have all this real dick in front of you waiting. He was giving her the dick without even touching her. His hands were behind his back while his hips moved.
“Open that mouth, BABY, let Daddy put that dick all the way in. Say I love big black dick.”
Valentina slips her mouth off before licking her lips, “I love big black dick,” She spoke timidly.
“Say, I want Daddy’s big black dick in my phat pussy all night,” Erik strokes Valentina’s hair back.
“I want Daddy’s big black dick in my pussy all night,” She licked his tip.
“Hmm, yes, you knew Daddy would be horny and needed a throat to fuck?”
Valentina nods her head while sucking his dick with her mocha eyes drawing him in.
“You got some sexy ass eyes, ma. Looking up at me like that. Are you gonna suck the cum out this dick and swallow it?”
She blinked at him while nodding her head.
“That pretty face with those big brown eyes looking at me like you want me to turn you out. Stay still so I can fuck your face with this big dick.” Erik fisted Valentina’s hair to keep her still while his hips propelled his dick in and out of her mouth. She gagged and made gurgling noises around his thick pipe each time he went deeper. Valentina and Erik hadn’t noticed a chick from Delta Sigma Theta sucking dick herself outside of the bedroom door while forcing a glass dildo in and out of her pussy. She had a few towels laid out under her butt to soak up her squirting mess. Speaking of squirting, that was exactly what her pussy was doing. She pulled that cream covered glass dildo out and rubbed her clit to help her pussy squirt. The guy getting his dick sucked palmed the back of her head and forced his dick inside so hard and deeply that her nose touched his pelvis.
“Can you help me bust a nut before I play all in that pussy? I’m tryna give you this big black dick from the back, you little nasty bitch. Hmph, that’s my girl.”
UGHH!” Erik snatched Valentina’s lips from his dick, some of his cum shooting on her cheek before her lips hungrily swallowed him whole again to milk him more. He tasted so damn good. Valentina fingered the cum from her cheek to lick clean. She swallowed cum for the first time. Now she wanted some more but Erik was pulling her up from the floor and walking her over to the bed where he arched her body over it. He didn’t waste any time spreading her pussy lips apart to munch on her peach. Instantly, Valentina was a fountain in Erik’s mouth. She squirted and squirted each time he sucked on her clit like it was a never-ending popsicle. That was her weakness. LIcking and tongue-fucking her pussy did that job too but when his full lips wrapped around her clit and labia and sucked she wasn’t herself anymore.
“Fuck, Daddy, stopppppp uhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!” She whimpered with her release. All Erik kept whispering was that she was so wet, so fucking wet, so juicy.
“Daddy, Daddy, nooooo, umph, Daddy, Umph!!!!!”
Valentina had Erik’s face between her ass cheeks from how hard she rocked back and forth. Erik slowly but tightly pulled his lips off her clit, finally full with her juices. He wipes his mouth with the back of her hand before rubbing Valentina’s clit. His eyes looked up to see a few chicks in the bedroom, on the bed, rubbing their pussies. They were all eyeing Erik heavily, hoping to have their turn next. They all stared with dripping pussies while finger-fucking and rubbing themselves. It was such an erotic sight.
“Look what you’ve done,” Erik pops Valentina’s ass, “You got all these bitches in here waiting for me. Look at their fucking faces, come on, do it, bitch,” Erik barked out between clenched teeth while fixing her arch so he could fuck her, “They are so fucking desperate, shit doesn’t make no sense, HOLD THAT PUSSY OPEN WHILE I BEAT IT UP!”
Valentina quickly did what she was told while staring at the women as they moaned and came all over the bed.
“Yes, Daddy, bang my pussy out,” Valentina begged.
“Can you bang mines out next?” Valentina recognized the face. Her name was Taylor, they had Sophomore English ii together. Tall chick with long lemonade braids in her hair and features that reminded her of Dorothy Dandridge. A striking beauty.
“Fuck,” Erik’s dick got harder at that. He grabs Valentina’s cheeks while using his hips to push his dick in. Not only was she wet, but she was also tight too. It felt like a force grabbed hold of his hips to make him push his dick in all the way. It happened so fast, no time for Valentina to get used to him. She clenched him tightly that his dick sank in. She arched further, her head whipping around to give him a dumbstruck look. She was stuffed to the hilt with ten inches of big black dick.
“Oh my God it’s so thick,” She pants heavily.
All the women around them moaned in unison. A few guys piled into the room to help them out since their pretty pink pussies needed attention from a man and fast. Now, it was like one big orgy.
“Erik, it’s so big. Daddy, you were right, it’s so huge inside of me! I can’t even move without feeling it in my stomach, Oh! Daddy! Oh! Oh! Oh!” She said that each time Erik dug deep.
“Listen to how her pussy sounds!” A random guy’s voice yelled out.
“Damn, Erik, yo, she’s creaming all over your shit.”
“Give it to him baby, it’s okay,” A seductive female voice spoke.
“I just love to watch a big dick nigga fuck some black pussy! Ahhh!”
It was multiorgasmic. Just hearing other people getting fucked and watching big black dicks swing in her face with Erik grunting and clawing at her hips while he pounded away inside of her gave Valentina a sexual high. A straight-up fuckfest. Dicks, tits, ass, and pussy. You had women who came to these events with the urge to suck dick. You had other chicks who needed their puss ate out so bad to the point that the person sitting next to them were their victims. China was in that room and Valentina caught a glimpse of her grabbing the back of an ASZD member’s neck, bringing her face down and in her puss.
“Look back and watch this dick while I fuck you,” Erik watched as Valentina looked back at him with her sexy eyes that he couldn’t get enough of.
“Make a mess on this dick, pussy just creaming while you getting fucked. So you like em’ long and thick, huh?”
“Ummm, yesssss,” Valentina loved the way he stretched her.
“You were built for a big dick in you, huh? Show out, ma, show me how much you love the way I treat this good pussy.”
Erik went still while Valentina bounced off his dick. She was fucking him like she was fucking a dildo suctioned to the wall. Erik just bites down on his lip painfully and watched her ass ricochet off of him. Valentina was throwing that ass in a circle on his dick.
“Yeah that’s right, fuck me hard. You cumming? You gon’ use Daddy’s big dick to make yourself cum? You gon’ use me, ma? Wet fucking pussy, I need all that, use me, uh-huh, mhm, pussy sound wet as fuck too, throw it back on Daddy’s dick baby girl, yes, you the best, baby, fuckkkkk, cum, cum, I bet this feels amazing-”
“OOOOOOOOO, Uhhhhhhhh!” Valentina’s ass clapped louder than any other chick in that room while she came on Erik’s rigid pole.
“Long strokes only,” He thrust forward so sharp and sudden making Valentina let out a silent scream.
Fuck, I love it. Why your dick so big like this? Why Daddy? W-why?” She shuddered when he hit her hard from the back.
“Fill her up so good!”
“She got that phatty too!”
“That’s how you work a pussy.”
“All up in that shit.”
Valentina’s hair was being pulled as her hands reached out in front of her to grab hold of the sheets. Tears streamed down her cheeks while Erik used all his strength to knock her pussy down and into that bed. The headboard smacked against the wall as he chased his release.
“Look how far it goes in! Mmm”
“Daddy, I love this dick. I’m yours, I’m all yours, fuck me like this all the time, Be a good Daddy and fuck me like a Daddy would. Make me your little slut, yes, Daddy!”
“GODDAYUM oh yeah, baby, take this dick!!!!!”
Erik was defeated. He slaps Valentina’s ass causing it to sting as his dick rippled and expanded inside of her to shoot his cum into her pussy like he was busting a cap in her.
“Fuck my dick with your wet pussy baby! Give me your juices on my dick!”
“Umph, I’m coming, Daddy,” She turns onto her back, pulling her legs back and making that pussy laid out for more.
“Come to Daddy then.” Erik put that dick back inside its rightful place sliding in and out that wet puss.
She felt so warm with a belly full of cum. He still wanted more of Valentina. The night was young. She will offer her wet pussy to him as long as he continued to be the best Daddy and fuck her silly. Exactly what she needs.
SYNOPSIS: When Michael is away filming Sinners, Y/N’s lonely night takes a very heated turn during their FaceTime call. What starts as missing each other quickly becomes something much spicier… with toys and undeniable chemistry that distance can’t cool down.
WARNINGS: 18+ only, SMUT, Dirty Talk, Toy Usage, Phone Sex, etc.
PAIRINGS: Micheal B. Jordan x Black OC
——————————————————————-
Y/N was lounging comfortably on the large bed in their bedroom, the soft glow from the TV filling the room as reruns of Martin played in the background. Gina and Martin’s banter had her laughing. Her pink and white striped silk robe clung loosely to her body, the belt tied just enough to keep things decent.
Her phone suddenly buzzed on the nightstand. The screen flashed Hubby 💍❤️. A flutter of excitement hit her stomach. She hadn’t seen him in person for nearly two weeks while he was away filming Sinners. Y/N quickly adjusted herself.
Leaning back against the plush pillows, Y/N let her hair spill dramatically across the bed. The robe slipped open just a little at the top, offering a teasing peek of cleavage. She swiped to answer the FaceTime call.
Michael’s face appeared on the screen. He was inside the house he had rented for the duration of filming, soft lighting illuminating his features. A navy blue bandana with a white paisley pattern was tied perfectly around his head.
“Hey baby,” he greeted with a smile tugging at his lips.
Y/N bit her lip, grinning as she propped the phone up on a pillow. “Hi, babe. I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” he replied, his gaze lingering.
Y/N let out a soft laugh as she took him in fully. “You look so good in that scarf, babe. It’s cute. Really cute.” She chuckled again. “My big tough actor out here with his hair all laid and pretty.”
Michael’s eyebrows shot up, a playful smirk crossing his face. “Aight, stop laughing at me,” he said. “I had to make sure my hair was right for these scenes tomorrow.
Y/N smiled. “So tell me, how was your day on set today? I’ve been thinking about you out there all day.”
Michael let out a deep sigh as he leaned back in the chair he was sitting in . The soft lamp light cast gentle shadows across his face. “It was good, baby. Real good. We got some solid scenes in, the energy was there, and Ryan was happy with what we were bringing. But man… I was hot as hell the whole time. Had to wear this thick wool suit for most of the day, and the sun was beating down. Felt like I was in a sauna. I was sweating bullets, but we powered through.”
Y/N laughed softly. “Poor baby. That sounds rough. How’s Ryan doing with directing everything?”
“Yeah, Ryan’s been in full director mode,” Michael replied with a nod. “He’s doing a great job though.”
Y/N nodded.
Michael’s eyes drifted over Y/N’s figure on the screen again. “But enough about me. How was your day, baby? I wanna hear what my favorite girl’s been up to.”
Y/N’s face lit up as she thought about her day. Even though she didn’t have a traditional 9-to-5 job anymore, she still poured her heart into the daycare she owned. Her deep love for children was one of the things that had first drawn Michael to her. It was something he admired and often told her made him fall harder.
“I just checked in on the daycare earlier,” Y/N told him. “Everything’s running smoothly with the staff. The kids were so excited when I popped in. They made me little drawings and everything. It always makes my heart full, you know?”
Michael’s smile softened. “That’s why I love you. You’re so good with them.
Y/N blushed a little at that but continued. “After that, I went out with the girls for a bit. We had a nice little self-care day. Got my nails and toes done—look.” She angled the phone slightly to show off her fresh manicure.
“That’s good, baby,” Michael said. “You deserve to relax and treat yourself.”
Y/N leaned in closer to the camera, her voice dropping into a sultry tone. “Mmm… and I also got a wax while I was out.”
Michael let out a low moan, his eyes widening as he shifted in his seat. “Oh, really?”
Y/N smiled seductively. “Mhmm.”
The air between them felt charged even through the screen. Michael’s gaze darkened with desire as he licked his lips. “Show me.”
Y/N’s heart raced faster. She slowly panned the camera downward, giving him a full view of her body. With slow movements, she untied the belt of her robe letting the silky fabric fall open completely. She was completely bare underneath.
Michael’s breath hitched. Then she continued panning the camera lower, tilting it down until it focused between her thighs, revealing her smooth pussy.
“Fuck…” Michael cursed roughly.
Y/N bit her lip as she felt a rush of heat from his reaction. She kept the camera steady for a moment, letting him take it all in before pulling it back up slightly. “I showed you something… now I want you to show me something too,” she said.
Michael’s lips curved into a smile. “Gladly, baby,” he replied without hesitation.
He stood up from his chair, the camera angle shifting as he moved. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, the thin material doing very little to hide his growing arousal. The prominent bulge in the front of the sweatpants was clearly visible, straining against the fabric. Michael grabbed it firmly with one hand giving it a slow squeeze as he looked directly into the camera.
“Look how hard you made me,” he told her.
Y/N let out a soft whine as she watched him tease her through the grey sweatpants. The outline of his hard dick was impossible to ignore, and the way he gripped it made her thighs press together instinctively. “Baby, stop teasing me,” she murmured. “It’s not fair when I’m already like this.”
Michael chuckled lowly. “Alright, I got a deal for you then,” he said. “I’ll pull this dick out for you… if you pull out that rose toy. I know you got it close by.”
Y/N smirked knowing exactly what he wanted her to do. Without saying another word, she reached over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out the pink rose-shaped vibrator.
“Good girl,” Michael praised. “Now set your camera up properly. I wanna see all of you.”
Y/N quickly adjusted the phone, propping it against a couple of pillows on the bed so it had a full view of her body from the chest down. She reached over and turned the TV off completely.
“Turn it low for me,” Michael instructed next, his eyes never leaving the screen.
She nodded obediently and turned the speed on the vibrator down.
“Now put it on your clit.”
Y/N bit her lip and slowly pressed the rose toy directly against her clit, the soft suction edge making perfect contact. A quiet gasp escaped her lips at the first gentle pull of sensation.
Michael watched her intently for a moment before setting up his own camera. He angled it downward slightly, making sure she’d have a perfect view before he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweatpants. He pulled them down just enough to free himself, his hard dick springing out.
He lifted his white t-shirt with his free hand exposing his toned abs and chest as he bit his lip hard. His eyes were glued to the screen as he watched the rose toy rhythmically suck and pulse on Y/N’s clit. “Shit, baby… look at you,” he groaned.
Michael wrapped his hand around his thick length and began to slowly stroke himself. His dick twitched visibly in his grip the moment he heard a breathy moan escape Y/N’s lips.
He moaned deeply, his strokes picking up just a little. “Increase the speed for me, baby,” he told her. “Let me hear you.”
Y/N obeyed, adjusting the settings on the toy. The vibrations and suction intensified against her sensitive clit, pulling louder moans from her throat. Michael matched her energy, increasing the pace of his strokes as well. His hand moved faster along his hard dick.
“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” he moaned biting his lip again as he watched her hips start to roll against the toy. “You sound so good. Keep going—just like that. I can see how wet you’re getting for me.”
Y/N’s moans grew higher, her free hand gripping the sheets as the intense pleasure built rapidly. Michael talked her through it. “Don’t stop, Y/N. Let it build. You’re doing so good for me. I want you to cum all over that toy… show me how much you miss this dick.”
His eyes stayed locked on the screen as her body tensed. Her juices began to flow and soon her cream started coating the toy and dripping down her folds. The sight made Michael groan loudly, his stroking pace frantic. “So fucking pretty. Cum for me, let me see it all.”
Her juices continued to flow freely, coating the toy in a shiny layer and dripping messily down her folds onto the sheets beneath her.
Michael’s eyes were locked on every detail, completely mesmerized by the sight of her dripping for him. He kept stroking his dick in firm pumps as he watched her come undone on the screen. The muscles in his arm flexed with each stroke and his breathing grew heavier.
Just as Y/N was getting close, Michael’s voice cut through. “Turn it off.”
Y/N groaned in protest, a frustrated sound escaping her lips as she kept the toy pressed against her for a second longer. Her hips still twitched, desperately seeking the release that was just within reach. “Michael…” she whined, clearly frustrated at being denied right before the peak.
“Go pull out that dildo you’ve been hiding in the closet.”
Y/N’s eyes widened in genuine shock, her mouth falling open slightly. “Baby, I—“ she started, about to defend herself as she was filled with embarrassment that he somehow knew about her secret toy.
“You don’t have to explain,” Michael said still slowly stroking his throbbing dick. “I’d rather you use the toy than another man. Now go get it.”
Relieved by his understanding tone, Y/N hurried over to the closet on slightly shaky legs. She rummaged for a moment before pulling out the dildo. It was a similar warm brown color to Michael’s skin tone and matched his impressive size almost perfectly. The weight of it in her hand made her bite her lip.
She hopped back in front of the camera and settled on her knees on the bed so he had a perfect view of her body.
“Now suck it like it was me,” Michael told her as his eyes burned with lust.
Y/N locked eyes with Michael through the camera, a naughty little smile playing on her lips. She brought the thick dildo to her mouth and started sucking it real good right in front of him. Her full lips wrapped tightly around the head, sucking softly at first with pulls that made wet popping sounds. She gradually took more of the veiny shaft into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she created the perfect suction. She bobbed her head slowly making sure to put on an unforgettable show for him. Her tongue swirled expertly around the toy, her eyes never leaving his face on the screen.
Michael moaned loudly. “Fuck yes, baby… just like that,” he praised. “Suck it nice and sloppy for me. That’s my girl.”
Encouraged by his words and the hungry look in his eyes, Y/N took it even further. She relaxed her throat, breathing through her nose, and pushed forward until she deepthroated the entire dildo. Her nose nearly touched the base as she held it there for several long seconds, her throat contracting around it. Her eyes watered slightly from the intense stretch, tears clinging to her lashes, before she slowly pulled back with a gag. Strings of spit connected her swollen lips to the toy as she gasped for air.
“Shit, Y/N,” Michael groaned deeply, his stroking hand moving faster along his hard dick. “Keep going, baby. Take it all for Daddy. You’re doing so good for me.”
She dove back in with renewed enthusiasm, sucking harder and faster now. Her head moved with more urgency, saliva coating the entire length of the dildo and making it shine under the bedroom lights. Y/N pulled it out for a second, looked directly at the camera with lustful eyes, and spit on it generously. Thick strings of spit ran down the toy and dripped from her chin onto her bare chest and cleavage creating a messy trail that slid slowly down her skin.
“You like that, Daddy?” she asked, spit still shining on her lips and chin as she held the dripping dildo in her hand.
“Yes, fuck yes,” Michael groaned, his voice strained and deep as he continued stroking himself faster. “You’re about to make me nut, baby. Keep sucking it just like that.”
Y/N kept the dildo deep in her mouth, bobbing her head with sloppy motions while her eyes stayed glued to his face on the camera. She watched every expression of pleasure cross his handsome features. Her own arousal spiked from seeing him lose control because of her.
Michael’s breathing grew ragged, his hand pumping his thick dick with urgent strokes. “Shit… I’m about to cum… fuck, Y/N,” he grunted.
He let out a deep moan as he came hard. Thick ropes of cum shot out, coating his toned abs and spilling over his stroking hand.
Y/N moaned around the dildo in her mouth at the sight. She watched intently as his cum coated his abs and fingers, dripping slowly down his body. The erotic visual made her pussy throb with need, her own juices still slick between her thighs.
“Take the robe all the way off, baby. Let me see that body,” Michael commanded.
Y/N obeyed immediately, shrugging the pink and white striped silk robe off her shoulders and tossing it aside onto the floor. Completely naked now, her smooth skin glowed under the soft bedroom lighting. She cupped her full breasts in both hands, squeezing and massaging them sensually for him. Her fingers pinched and rolled her nipples, making them harden into tight peaks. She lifted one breast to her mouth, swirling her tongue slowly around her own nipple before sucking it between her lips with a soft moan. She alternated between them, licking, sucking, and gently biting while keeping her eyes locked on the camera.
“Damn, you’re so nasty,” Michael groaned, a smirk spreading across his face as he watched her. His dick twitched and began to harden again between his legs at the sight.
Y/N released her nipple with a wet pop. She smiled seductively. “Only for you, Daddy.”
“Good girl,” he praised. “Such a good fucking girl for me. You know exactly what I like.”
He licked his lips slowly, his gaze roaming hungrily over every inch of her naked body. His dick continued to thicken and rise again, growing harder by the second just from watching her. “Now I want you to ride it. But first, set it up and show me that ass.”
Y/N bit her lip excitedly. She positioned the suction-cup base of the dildo firmly on the bed, pressing it down until it stood perfectly upright and stable. Then she climbed on top and straddled the toy on her knees without sliding down onto it yet. Facing away from the camera at first, she gave him a slow twerk. Her juicy ass cheeks clapped and bounced hypnotically, spreading open with each movement. This gave him a perfect view of her wet pussy lips and her tight hole winking invitingly at him.
She reached between her thighs, gripped the dildo and positioned the head right at her entrance. Slowly, she sank down onto it. The delicious stretch made her gasp sharply as the toy spread her open inch by inch. “Mmm… fuck,” she gasped.
“Take it all, baby,” Michael encouraged. “Don’t stop until you’re sitting all the way down on it. I want to see you take every inch.”
Y/N bit her lip harder, breathing heavily as she continued lowering herself. Her round ass descended until it finally met the bed. She let out a moan at the full feeling, her walls clenching and fluttering around the toy. Her body trembled slightly from the intense sensation and she paused for a second to adjust.
Then she started bouncing up and down on it with building rhythm. Her ass rippled and clapped with every movement, the sound mixing with the wet noises of her soaked pussy sliding up and down the dildo. “Michael… oh my god,” she moaned loudly. Her breasts bounced heavily in rhythm with her movements, and her hair swayed as she threw her head back in pleasure.
“Say my name louder, baby,” Michael demanded, his hand wrapping around his fully hard dick again as he began stroking himself slowly.
Y/N obeyed without hesitation, bouncing harder and faster on the dildo. Her ass cheeks jiggled hypnotically with every drop, her pussy creaming visibly on the toy. “Michael! Fuck, Michael!” she cried out even louder, her voice echoing through the bedroom as she lost herself completely in the pleasure.
Her cream coated the dildo thickly, leaving white rings around the base with every bounce. The sight was incredibly erotic, and Y/N could feel how slippery and messy she was making the toy. She shifted her movements, rolling her hips in a slow circular motion. The head of the dildo pressed perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside her, sending sparks of intense pleasure shooting through her body with every grind. “Ahh— right there,” she whimpered loudly.
“Ride that shit. Ride that shit, fuck!” Michael growled. His moans and filthy encouragement only spurred her on, causing Y/N to ride even faster. She switched between bouncing hard and grinding deep. Her ass cheeks clapped loudly, rippling with every movement while her juices ran down the dildo and her thighs.
“Ohh fuck, I’m going to cum, baby!” Y/N cried out, her voice breaking as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. Her thighs shook violently, and her walls clenched tightly around the dildo.
“Cum all over that dick,” Michael commanded, stroking himself faster, his own breathing ragged. “Let me see it, baby. Cum for me. I’m right there with you—fuck!”
Y/N’s orgasm crashed over her hard. She let out a loud moan as she came, her body convulsing on the dildo. Clear squirt liquid gushed out around the toy in powerful spurts, mixing beautifully with her thick cream and soaking the sheets beneath her. Her pussy pulsed and fluttered wildly, juices dripping everywhere as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her.
The sight of Y/N squirting and creaming so messily pushed Michael over the edge again. He groaned deeply, his body tensing as he came for the second time.
Both of them took their time coming down from the intense high. Y/N’s body was still trembling with lingering aftershocks, little shivers running through her as her chest rose and fell. Her skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, her thighs wet from her own release. She slowly lifted herself off the dildo with a breathy whimper escaping her lips as the thick toy slipped out of her sensitive pussy. A small trickle of her cream followed, dripping down her inner thighs.
She turned around to fully face the camera, her hair slightly messy and wild from all the movement.
Michael looked at her with hooded eyes, his head laid back lazily against the chair. A smile played on his lips as he took in the sight of her.
“You’re so sexy, you know that baby?” he said softly.
Y/N smiled shyly. “You are too, baby. Even with that bandana on.”
They both chuckled quietly. Michael stared at her for a long moment, his expression softening with pure affection. “I love you, Y/N. For real. These calls help, but I can’t wait to be home with you.”
“I love you too,” she replied warmly, her heart feeling full as she blew him a kiss through the screen. “So much.”
Michael’s smile widened. “And when I come back… just know that pussy is mine. I’m taking it as soon as I walk through that door. No questions asked.”
Y/N laughed softly. “I’ll be waiting. Ready and waiting for you whenever you get here, baby.”
They both chuckled again, the loving vibe settling warmly between them like a blanket. Michael blew a kiss back to her, and Y/N caught it dramatically with her hand, pressing it to her chest with a big smile. They shared one last lingering look before exchanging soft goodbyes and finally hanging up the call.
Y/N flopped back onto the bed with a happy sigh, already counting down the days until Michael was back home where he belonged.
————————-
Hey guysss! I know I said that I was updating Let’s Get Married next, but I’m still in the process of editing that. This has been sitting in my drafts and I know you guys have been waiting on an update! Hope you guys enjoyed! Stay tuned for the next update! 😘
Summary: He's supposed to be laying low. A job overseas went bloody, and Erik Stevens-Black Ops Mercenary, Ghost of the U.S. Government-needs to go quiet. He crashes at his little sister's place near Howard University in Chocolate City. But when he arrives, there's a surprise: she's got a roommate. Her Best Friend. She's grown since he last saw her. Grown in all the ways that test a man's self control. But Erik? He's never been good at following the rules...
Warnings: Age Gap Romance/ Forbidden Attraction/ Explicit Sexual Content (strong smut, oral sex, size kink, erotic praise, power exchange)/Slow Burn to Filthy/Obsession & Possessiveness/Sexual Tension in Shared Spaces/Mutual Voyeurism/Sexting/Emotional Denial/Resistance/Breeding Talk/Male Dom / Female Sub Dynamic
Part Seven
Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips.
“You wanna ride me?”
Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his.
Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.”
The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing.
“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.
Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing.
Then, she sank.
Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch.
“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.”
Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving.
“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.”
She rode him like she was made for it.
Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise.
Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing.
Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn.
Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper.
The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole.
Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace.
“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?”
Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.
And this wasn’t even his final form.
Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room.
It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat.
“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.”
“Daddy—”
“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.”
Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever.
“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?”
“No—no, I’m not—”
“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine.
And she gave it to him. All of it.
Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger.
“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.
Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra.
Pop.
A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting.
“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.”
Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats.
Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good.
“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”
Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder.
“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.”
Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance.
“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty.
“You already do.” Erik shot back.
But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…
She started bucking.
No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them.
“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone.
“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.”
Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song.
“Sanaa—”
She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.”
That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…
It was working.
Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now.
And then she rode him.
From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time.
Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power.
His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard.
“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.”
Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick.
“What’s wrong, Killmonger?”
Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit.
“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”
Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse.
Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier.
“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”
And that was it.
Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down.
But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.
Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that.
That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest.
And then, he bounced her.
Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.
Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit.
Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked.
“Erik—”
Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up.
It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked.
She just raised his number to 2,208.
Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again?
Damn, he all up in this pussy.
Why he fucking me like this?
Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”
Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.
All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy.
Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right.
She was unraveling from the inside out.
“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”
The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.
“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.”
Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.
“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”
Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”
That was all Erik needed.
His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out.
“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?”
Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms.
Erik held her there and made her feel it.
“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.”
And it was.
Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.
What the fuck?
But Erik loved it.
“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.”
“E—”
Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head.
Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her.
Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time.
“Fuck—”
“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.”
Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle.
“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.”
Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up.
“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”
Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.
His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.
Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought.
His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.
“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”
Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled.
She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.
From dick.
Thick, deep, grown man dick.
Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck.
“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”
He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move.
“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”
Her body jumped.
Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie.
Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”
Then he did something that wrecked her.
He leaned back just enough to look at her.
Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.
His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure.
“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”
Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter.
He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.”
She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…
She was about to cum AGAIN.
Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms. Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.
Slrp…squelch…slrp…
“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”
He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.
Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…
So damn pretty.
Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.
Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”
She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted.
His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”
Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted.
Sanaa didn’t waste time.
She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room.
Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells.
“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?”
Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him.
Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving.
It was a sight.
Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine.
Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”
His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl.
“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”
Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced.
“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”
He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”
Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge.
“Fill me up.”
Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him.
“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”
Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”
“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”
Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him.
Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on.
She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”
Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him.
Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.
“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”
Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew.
He was about to lose it.
That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga.
“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.
Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.
His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.
Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.
But Sanaa wasn’t done.
“Say my name,” she whispered.
Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.
“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”
He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”
She tilted her head.
“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”
His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.
“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”
And that’s when she did it.
Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.
Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?
Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.
Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.
Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.
“Now lay in it.”
She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.
And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.
______
Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop.
He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut.
Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion.
Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned.
The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her.
Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.
His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered.
Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with.
And yet, here he was.
He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm.
How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it.
Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time.
Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…
He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy.
Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….
How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes.
The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.
It’s yours.
Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture.
Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full.
Instead, he was cleaning himself up.
Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting.
The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life.
5:18 A.M.
The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat.
Erik preferred it this way.
Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work.
He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour.
Erik’s headphones sealed the world away.
Mona Lisa.
Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears.
Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…
Sanaa.
The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him?
“Damn.”
Erik racked the weight harder than necessary.
She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping.
Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons.
Louder. Wayne. Kendrick.
The bass vibrated against his skull.
It didn’t matter. She was still there.
Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest.
Push.
The sled climbed.
Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again.
His thighs burned.
Good.
Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.
Nope.
Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer.
Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose.
You gotta get it together, he thought.
Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words.
Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand.
Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive.
His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control.
Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh.
This don’t make no damn sense.
Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric.
His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel.
One notification.
Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️
His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her.
Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath.
Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me?
Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room.
Erik: Aight 🙄
______
Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again.
Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night.
Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids.
Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik.
Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.
She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.
By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before.
Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs. She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him.
Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved.
In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac.
The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation.
Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room.
Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’
A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache.
She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside.
“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.”
“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes.
Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand.
“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.”
“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement.
“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.”
Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed.
“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.”
Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.
“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.”
“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”
“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah.
“Nothing.”
Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady.
Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.
“You good, Liyah?”
“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.”
She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return.
“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!”
11:08 A.M.
Washington, D.C.
Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha.
Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink.
Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.
Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically.
“I don’t even wanna get dressed.”
Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.”
“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.”
“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.”
“I know.” Aaliyah said.
“You begged us to come.”
“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.
“So…”
“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.”
Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.”
“I’m preserving my energy.”
Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.”
“I feel eighty.”
A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway.
He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs?
What the fuck?
“I got it.” He said.
He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up.
His eyes landed on Sanaa.
Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin.
Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar.
His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little.
He recovered first.
“I’ll get the door.”
His voice sounded perfectly normal.
Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement.
“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?”
“Yeah. Thanks homie.”
The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit.
He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Hm.”
He set the arrangement down.
Both women immediately wandered over.
“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!”
Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.”
Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip.
“It’s for you, Bri.”
Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.
“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.”
She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.”
Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”
Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.”
“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!”
Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.”
“He tryna say you edible, sis.”
Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”
“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?”
She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.”
Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.”
“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said.
She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.”
Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…
“…Fruit look old.”
The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh.
“What?” Sanaa said.
Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.”
“It is not.”
“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?”
Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…”
Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.”
“It look tired.” Erik said.
Aaliyah giggled, staring between them.
Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?”
Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure.
“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”
“What flowers?”
“The pineapple.”
Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.”
“They look like they wiltin’.”
Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself.
“It’s carved fruit.”
“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.”
Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”
“I ain’t hatin’.”
“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.”
Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”
Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine.
“I’ve seen better strawberries.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“I’m honest.”
Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?”
“Nah.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.”
“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.”
“I know enough.”
Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened.
“Mmmm.”
Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.”
Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed.
“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”
Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.”
“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back.
“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.
“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.”
“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.
Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.”
With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.
He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on.
An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit.
Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.
Ain’t even send her flowers.
His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her.
His mouth flattened.
Cheap-ass fruit.
Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.
“That gotta be Naima.”
She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.
“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.
“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”
“You gon’ make me cry.”
Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.
“Hey, pretty.”
“Hey, Nai.”
She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”
He nodded once. “Naima.”
Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.
“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”
Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”
Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”
Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”
“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”
Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.
“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”
Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.
“I know.”
Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”
“You keep saying that.”
“This time I mean it.”
Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”
“Where we going?”
“I need details.”
Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”
“Damn right.”
The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.
He still looked unconvinced.
______
Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.
“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”
“I’m glad it made it.”
“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”
“So it passed inspection?”
“It passed with flying colors.”
She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for?
“I was hoping you’d like it.”
“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”
Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick.
Her phone buzzes in her hand.
Erik: Come here Miss Carter.
Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.
“That’s dangerous.”
“What?”
“You getting thoughtful this early.”
Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”
“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”
“I can live with that.”
She shook her head, smiling wider.
Buzz.
Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.
Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble.
Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔
Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him.
Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.
Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder.
Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition?
Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him.
Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh?
Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan.
“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”
“You remembered that?”
“Course I did.”
“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”
“Nah. I just pay attention.”
Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent.
Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.
Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.
Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done.
Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”
Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger.
Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping.
He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath.
Erik: Stand up.
Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒
Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on.
Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.
Sanaa: you a menace. 😩
Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.
Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty.
On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room.
Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.
On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious.
“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”
She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”
“I’m asking. Confidently.”
“You coming out tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in.
Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.
"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.
Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”
Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.
He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.
“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.”
Chills.
Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.
Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.
“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.
“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?”
“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?”
Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”
Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.”
Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck.
“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.”
Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”
“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”
“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?” Nathan chuckled.
Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh.
Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.
“Woah…Sanaa?”
“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck.
“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?”
“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”
He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke.
Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”
“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?”
“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”
“Sanaa?”
“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”
Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.
Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh.
“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”
“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.
As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.
She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.
Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane.
“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.”
As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s.
Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there.
On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side.
“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”
Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her.
“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.”
Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.”
Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.
She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa.
Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.
“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.
On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick.
“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.”
Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust.
“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.”
“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off.
Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction.
Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.”
“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?”
Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric.
“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”
Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”
His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later.
“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”
“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”
His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…
“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”
“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered.
Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit.
Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.”
Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip.
“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?”
Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…”
“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?”
Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent.
Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.
“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”
Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room.
“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”
Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.
“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”
Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.
“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”
Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.
“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”
He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t.
“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”
Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close.
He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch.
Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable.
“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”
Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip.
The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.
Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”
Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders.
Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.
“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”
As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.
“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.”
The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.
“Damn, girl—fuuck—”
The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.
He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.
The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway.
Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated.
“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief.
Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.
Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly.
“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is.
“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed.
Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.
“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity.
Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own.
Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy.
“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh.
Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy.
Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly.
Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic.
Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom.
Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper.
Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.
______
Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow.
The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion.
“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept.
Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”
Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.
Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks.
Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.
As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”
Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping.
On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back.
Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.
“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”
“WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.
Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast.
Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is.
Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps.
“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.
Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick.
But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.
Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.
“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”
There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.
Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.
“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”
Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone.
Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”
Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery.
Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.
Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”
Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”
“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.
“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”
The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.
Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”
“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.
The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.
The thoughts that ran through her mind…
“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”
To actually live in that reality now was an understatement.
The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?”
The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.
Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.
“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”
“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said.
“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied.
“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?”
Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.
Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”
Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”
Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.
He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy.
Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.
He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.
He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:
“C’mere.”
Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah.
Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text.
Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩
A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.
Her phone buzzes.
Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?
She bites her lip.
Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.
Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?
She exhales slow, adjusts her position.
Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.
Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.
Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.
Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.
Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?
He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.
Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.
Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts.
Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.
She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.
There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door.
Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown.
Buzz buzz
Erik: You in your room?
She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.
Erik: I’ma slide over
Then a soft knock. Real soft.
Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”
“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.
He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.
“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.
Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”
“Like you wanted me to see all that.”
She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.
He followed. “Out.”
“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout.
Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.”
Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?”
Erik gives her a stern look. “No.”
Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.”
“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”
She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”
Erik just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.
Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”
Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.
“Get up,” he said low.
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”
The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.
Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.
Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”
He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties?
Erik didn’t waste a fucking second.
Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?!
Oh my Goddddddddddddd
“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.
He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.
“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”
Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered.
But then it hit.
A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.
“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”
“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking.
She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.
“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”
Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened.
A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.
“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.
Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.
Loved how she tried to hold it in.
Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.
He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”
Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.
“And Sanaa?”
“Yeah…?”
“You taste even better when you squirt.”
Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.
1:35 A.M.
She couldn’t sleep.
The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.
Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.
Sanaa: You up?
She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.
Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body.
“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”
She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt.
“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”
His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”
She nodded.
He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”
“I ain’t run.”
He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”
And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped.
Again.
Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs.
Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it.
“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”
She whined. “Erik, please—”
“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”
She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.
“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”
He didn’t wait.
He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.
H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?
That was it.
Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—
Splash.
Another rush.
Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward.
Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—
Sanaa tried to squirm.
“Stay still.”
“Erik—it’s too much—”
“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”
And he kept going.
She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.
He made her do it.
Again.
And again.
By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.
Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.”
She nodded slow, dazed.
And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.
Summary: When the preacher’s wife starts protesting outside The Blackline, Stack Moore mocks her from the shadows until her holy fire turns to something hotter. Plain and pious, Sister Marigold Baptiste hides a body made for sin, and Stack makes it his mission to break her righteousness down to the bone. Their hate burns into obsession, and soon she’s sneaking out in her Sunday whites to be devoured in the dark. He fucks the holy out of her and sends her home to her husband full of his cum, knowing she can’t bear children but she can carry the weight of his sin.
Warnings: HARDCORE SMUT (degration, dirty talk, BDSM, rough sex, deep throating, oral fixation, edging, cream pie, cheating, enemies to lovers)
Part Seven
Folks like to say the devil walks on satin shoes and smells like gin and rouge. But the one I met wore polished boots, carried a Bible, and knew how to whisper your name without movin’ his mouth. The first time I felt real fear, it wasn’t in no juke joint. It was under a steeple, in a room with lace curtains and locked drawers. They said the Lord would send signs. They never said some of them would come dressed as men with collars tight ’round they necks and blood on they breath…
By the time Sister Marigold reached her front steps, the cicadas were already tuning up, their shrill choir rising with the evening heat. The sun hung low, a soft orange sinking behind the pecan trees, casting long, honey‑colored arms across her yard. Her shoes pinched from walking all day, visiting shut‑ins and tending the food bank, her back stiff from the strain of charity. But the ache felt righteous; it meant she’d done good work.
She stopped at the mailbox, expecting only bills and newsletters. One envelope waited instead. A cream paper, no return address, her name written in a confident hand that made her stomach tighten. She glanced up and down the street, the habit of a woman with a reputation to protect, then tucked the letter into her Bible before unlocking the door.
Inside, her house exhaled coolness and quiet. She loosened her collar, slipped off her gloves, and turned on the radio. The radio sounded soft, Mahalia Jackson’s voice like honey over bruises. Marigold poured a glass of water, sat at the dining table, and set the letter before her. The handwriting was unmistakable now that she saw it in the light, elegant but masculine, a little dangerous around the edges.
Stack Moore.
Her pulse quickened. She ran a finger beneath the flap, and his scent rose faintly from the paper. Bourbon, smoke, and the ghost of his cologne.
Miss me yet?
I been dreamin’ ‘bout that sweet mouth of yours and the way you taste when you pray too long.
Every night I been wakin’ up hard, thinkin’ ‘bout that pretty body and how it fit in my hands. I can still smell you on my beard, sugar. I want another sermon from that pussy.
I got a treat for you. There’s a package waitin’ at Madame Laveau’s Dress Shop on West Ninth. Ask for “The First Lady Special.” Try it on. Wear it tonight. I’ll see you soon.
Don’t worry ‘bout the clock. This kind of pleasure rewrites time.
— E.M.
Her breath left in a tremor. She pressed the paper to her chest, ashamed at the heat rising through her body, the ache that bloomed low between her thighs, “Lord, help me,” she whispered, but she read it again anyway.
At six‑thirty, twilight gold and thick, she was on her way to West Ninth. She told herself she was only curious. Only going to look. But her hands trembled on the steering wheel, and her pulse kept skipping.
Madame Laveau’s Dress Shop, West Ninth Street
The bell above the door tinkled as she stepped inside. Jazz purred low from a phonograph in the corner, mingling with the scent of perfume and polished wood. The shop was narrow and glowing with velvet curtains, lace fans, and dresses that hung like promises. Behind the counter stood Madame Laveau, tall and statuesque, skin the color of roasted pecans and lips painted a sinful red. Gold bangles clinked on her wrists when she smiled.
“Evenin’, First Lady,” she said, the words a tease wrapped in respect, “Been expectin’ you. Ready for your special?”
She disappeared behind a curtain and returned with a box wrapped in plum‑colored paper and tied with satin ribbon. Marigold’s hands felt clumsy as she untied it. Inside lay a slip of silk black as sin, thin straps, deep neckline, cut on the bias so it would cling like a second skin.
She swallowed, “Mercy.”
“Go on, baby,” Madame Laveau said with a wink, “Ain’t nobody holy back there but the mirror.”
Marigold stepped into the fitting room. The silk slid over her hips with a whisper. Cool at first, then warm. It molded to her curves, cupping her breasts, grazing her ribs, hugging her waist so close she could feel her heartbeat against the fabric. The hem brushed mid‑calf, the slit climbing high enough to show a sinful tease of thigh.
She turned toward the mirror.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. The woman staring back looked older and younger all at once, skin glowing, lips parted, eyes wide and dark with want. The dress revealed everything her church dresses hid: the soft swell of her breasts, the dip of her back, the curve where her thighs met. Even the faint shimmer of perspiration on her collarbone looked indecent.
Madame Laveau peeked through the curtain and grinned, “Mmm. That man of yours gon’ lose his mind.” She uncapped a bottle of perfume, spritzed the air—a scent of jasmine—and it settled around Marigold.
Marigold managed a shaky smile, “I’ll take it.”
She changed back into her modest clothes, folded the dress neatly in its box, and thanked the woman with a hushed “God bless.”
When she stepped outside, twilight had deepened into the velvet blue of evening. A familiar car eased up to the curb. Aunt Pearl’s, headlights soft in the dark.
“Evenin’, baby!” Aunt Pearl called, waving, “You ready?”
Marigold’s heart skipped. She slipped into the passenger seat quickly, clutching the box like contraband.
“Let’s roll, sugar,” Aunt Pearl said, chuckling as she shifted gears, “We got a night ahead of us.”
As the car pulled away from West Ninth, Marigold glanced down at the plum‑ribboned box in her lap. Beneath the silk lid waited sin tailored in her size, and a man who’d written her name like a prayer he intended to answer himself.
The church bells in the distance tolled seven.
And Marigold smiled.
The hum of The Blackline was already thick in the air by the time Marigold and Aunt Pearl eased around the back of the building. Steam hissed from the kitchen vents, and laughter spilled faintly from the side yard where girls took breaks and lovers snuck smokes in the dark.
Pearl unlocked the side entrance with a grunt, shoulder nudging the door.
They stepped into dim warmth, worn floorboards creaking beneath their feet, walls vibrating with blues from the main floor. As the door shut behind them, another sound rose.
A baby’s cry.
Then another.
High-pitched, echoing as if the sound came not just from one child, but from the ghost of a second. The cries laced together, then cut off abruptly.
“Shhh…shhh…shhh…” came the gentle hushes, somewhere down the hallway. Familiar. Soothing.
Then silence.
Marigold turned, unsettled. But before she could speak, Minnie appeared, a thick blanket folded over her shoulder, her soft face glowing with the hush of a woman used to moving through other people’s storms.
“Well now,” Minnie smiled, “Ain’t you lookin’ like a secret about to get told.”
Marigold smiled faintly, nerves fluttering.
“Stack’s expectin’ you. C’mon.”
The Blackline
Stack’s office was low-lit and lush, the scent of cherry tobacco curling through the air like smoke off a slow fire. The door was cracked, and behind it, Elias ‘Stack’ Moore stood in silhouette, one hand in his pocket, the other nursing a heavy glass of bourbon. A record played on low behind him, the moan of a woman’s voice singing about loving a man she ought to hate.
Marigold stepped in quietly.
Stack turned. His eyes warmed the second he saw her.
“Well damn,” he breathed.
She offered the plum-ribboned box toward him, “I tried it on.”
“You like it?”
She nodded, “Yes.”
Stack took the box from her, set it aside. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and lifted her clean off her feet. Her body sliding up the length of his, heart leaping as he spun her in a circle like she was his girl, not some preacher’s wife sneaking around behind her husband’s sermons. Her breath caught as her breasts brushed his chest. When he lowered her, he did it slow. Hands firm at her waist. The heat between them undeniable.
Her feet touched down. Her eyes stayed on his mouth.
Then he kissed her.
Deep. Slow. Thorough. Like he was claiming something. His palms rested low on her spine, pulling her in, tongue slipping past her lips like it already knew the way. Her knees wobbled.
When they parted, he leaned in close again, “I saw your husband earlier.”
The words hit like a splash of cold so chilling it made her bones ache, “W-What?”
“Yeah, honey. He showed up outside. Fresh off that council banquet. With some lady.”
Marigold’s lips parted, “Lillian.”
Stack smirked, “Didn’t like me askin’ about you.”
Marigold stepped back, hands on her hips, “You did what?”
Stack raised a brow, sipping his bourbon, unbothered.
“You did not—Elias Moore, I swear, if you said anything—”
“I ain’t said nothin’ that gave us away. You think I’m stupid?”
She glared, arms crossed, “Your mouth gon’ get me in trouble.”
“I like trouble,” he grinned.
“This ain’t funny! He may be suspecting now—he may—”
“Woman, hush.”
She opened her mouth again but yelped when his palm popped her backside. Hard. Her head snapped back, but his grin was already cocky.
“Let me see your hand.”
She held up her right.
“Uh uh. Your left.”
She switched.
He took her hand gently, studied the wedding ring glinting on her finger, a slim, silver-gold thing meant to symbolize holiness and commitment.
He slid it off.
Her gasp was soft. But loud in that room. He set the ring down on the edge of his desk, then stepped closer. So close his nose almost touched hers. His voice dropped to a whisper that scraped low in her belly.
“Fuck your husband.”
Marigold blinked. Heart pounding. She should’ve slapped him. She didn’t. Truthfully, deep down, she didn’t want to. He took her hand. Led her past the heavy curtain to his private quarters, the space behind the office where indulgence lived and secrets were kept.
The Sleeping Quarters of Elias Stack Moore
The air in the back room was warmer, thicker. The scent of expensive liquor, spiced cologne, and faint cigar smoke clung to the red velvet curtains. A king-sized bed sat in the center, draped in satin sheets as deep red as a ripe plum, corners slightly rumpled like something wild had happened there not long ago. A vanity mirror reflected the room in soft golden glow, lit by a standing lamp in the corner. A low liquor bar gleamed beside it, crystal decanters full of amber and clear spirits. On the far side, a hidden drawer, slightly ajar, held the flash of steel pistols always close, always loaded. It smelled like sin dressed in silk. The kind of room made for nights you couldn’t take back.
Stack closed the door behind them and locked it. He moved to a nearby armoire and pulled out a plum velvet robe. It was lush, soft, and cool to the touch.
“Strip,” he said, voice low.
Marigold didn’t move at first. So he walked to her. Unbuttoned the first button of her blouse. Then the second. Her breath trembled. She finished the rest. Slipped the blouse off her shoulders. The skirt next. Her stockings rolled down with trembling fingers. She stood in her slip, then even that came off. Bare. Glowing. Trembling with desire and fear and everything she wasn’t allowed to feel as First Lady of Greater Calvary. Stack didn’t leer. He looked like a man beholding something sacred. He handed her the robe.
She slid it on.
It hugged her shoulders. Fell down her back. Barely reached her knees. It made her feel like a woman again. Not a wife, not a church fixture, not a sermon in heels. Just a woman standing in front of a man who wanted her badly enough to undress God’s expectations and wrap her in velvet instead.
“Damn,” Stack said low, eyeing her from head to heel like he hadn’t just seen her five minutes ago. He poured slow from the bottle, brown liquor curling heavy in the glass, then handed it over like it was something precious, “Toast to tonight,” he said with that wolf’s grin, the kind that made her thighs press together, “And to sinning slow.”
Marigold took the glass, brows pinched with suspicion, but still brought it to her lips. The first sip hit hard, sharp enough to bite the back of her throat. She coughed once, caught off guard.
“Oh now, you gon’ have to do better than that,” Stack laughed, reaching out to steady the glass in her hand, “Ain’t nothin’ but a little barrel heat. You coughin’ like you just tasted freedom.”
She glared at him through watery eyes, “You tryna kill me with this mess?”
“Kill you?” He chuckled, low and easy, “If I wanted you dead, I’d just let you keep livin’ the way you been.”
She sucked her teeth and took another sip, slower this time. He watched her do it. Watched her throat move. Watched how she swallowed like she was tryna prove a point.
He leaned his hip against the edge of the dresser, “You best loosen up, though.”
She gave him a side glance, “Loosen up for what?”
“What we doin’ next,” he said simply, eyes never leaving her face, “Don’t need you flinchin’ on me when I start.”
Her brow rose at that, “Start what? What lesson?”
He tilted his head, “Ain’t you eager.”
“I ain’t eager,” she said quick, rolling her eyes like a schoolgirl caught starin’ too long at the wrong boy.
Stack grinned slow, “Coulda fooled me. Sittin’ over there battlin’ that drink like it’s got the answers.”
“You talk too much,” she said, setting the glass down with a clink.
He stepped off the dresser, came toward her with that deliberate kind of walk he always had like he moved to his own beat, and everybody else was just tryin’ to catch the rhythm, “I got a treat for you,” he said, “Real special.”
Marigold narrowed her eyes, “What kinda treat?”
“One that require a little garden trimmin’.”
She blinked, “Garden?”
“Mhmm.”
“What garden you talkin’ about?” Her hands went to her hips, “You speakin’ in riddles.”
“You gon’ find out soon enough,” he said, motioning for her to follow.
She didn’t move. Just stood there, chin high like she was tryin’ to size him up.
He paused in the doorway, turned slow and looked her over with something slick behind his eyes. “Why you so damn disobedient?” he asked, “For a woman that’s holy and devout, you sure as hell don’t like followin’ instructions.”
“I ain’t disobedient,” she snapped.
He came back in the room, closing the space between them. His presence pushed heat into the air. He stopped just close enough for her to feel the brush of his breath, then reached down and tapped his belt buckle once. Her eyes dropped. Real slow. And stayed there.
“You gon’ listen,” he said, voice low like a drawl, “or I’m gon’ have to whip that ass, Goldie?”
Her mouth parted just a little.
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, “The faster we get done, the closer we get to the next lesson. One you need bad, seein’ as you like to run that mouth so damn much.”
She still hadn’t moved. Not forward. Not back. Just stood there, breath shallow, eyes darting between the belt and the man behind it. And Stack…he waited. Waited like he already knew which way she’d go.
“Come on,” Stack said, voice low, dimple flashing, eyes cutting through her like smoke through lace. Marigold hesitated in the doorway, clutching the knot of her robe tighter across her belly.
“This ain’t a request, Goldie. I said come on.”
He turned his back and walked in, leaving the door open. The room was dim, lit by a wall sconce and the amber glow of a standing lamp in the corner. It wasn’t like any bathroom she’d ever seen. No plain white tile or hard church lines. This was Stack’s. Black marble floors. Warm cream walls. A clawfoot tub that looked deep enough to swallow her whole. An ornate vanity with a gold-rimmed basin sat beneath a wide mirror. Everything gleamed. Everything whispered power. And at the center of it all, laid out like a sinful altar, was a shaving kit and a white towel folded smooth on the cushioned stool.
Her feet didn’t move at first.
Stack turned slightly, looking over his shoulder, “Don’t make me come get you.”
That made her walk.
He pulled out the stool with one hand and nodded toward it, “Sit.”
She frowned, “You said you needed to talk to me.”
“I do. That mouth just keeps getting in the way. Now sit your ass down and spread.”
Her cheeks burned hot, “You’re outta your mind if you think—”
He leaned against the sink, arms folded, head tilted, “Ain’t nobody told you to talk back, Goldie. This ain’t about what you think. This about how that sweet little pussy gon’ look when I get done with it.”
She was breathing too fast. Too deep.
His voice dropped to a hush, “Let me clean you up, baby. Make you real pretty.”
She sat.
Stack knelt before her like a man ready to pray, except his hands weren’t folded, they were already sliding the robe off her thighs. The velvet pooled behind her. She was naked underneath.
“Spread,” he whispered.
She did.
He whistled low, shaking his head like a man seeing sunlight for the first time, “Damn, mama. Look at that.” The cool air kissed between her legs. Stack reached up, stroked her inner thigh with his knuckle, “Lil’ more hair comin’ in,” he spoke, rubbing his thumb slowly across her mound, “You want me to leave a lil’ patch up top? Somethin’ cute?”
Marigold’s lashes fluttered, I—I don’t know…”
Stack glanced up at her, lips curled in a knowing smile, “Don’t know, huh?”
She shook her head, embarrassed, thighs twitching where they rested against his chest.
He tapped her gently right above her mound, “Alright then. I’ll leave you a lil’ triangle. Neat and soft. Somethin’ pretty for me to kiss later.”
She bit her lip, trying not to squirm.
Stack leaned in, voice dropping to a hush, “Real ladylike. Real nasty, too.”
He snapped open the shaving tin. His razor was straight-bladed, old-fashioned, shining. He tested the warmth of the water, then dipped a badger-hair brush into a mug of lather and swirled until it foamed thick. Marigold watched his hands. She couldn’t stop. The flick of his wrist. The way he shook off the excess. The way he looked at her like her pussy was a map and he was ready to explore every inch.
“Lay back some. Open wider.”
She adjusted, trembling.
“Good girl.”
The first brush of warm foam made her jolt.
“You ticklish?” Stack chuckled, brushing it gently over her mound and down to the soft folds between her thighs, “I ain’t even started yet, baby.”
She hissed a breath when the razor touched her skin.
“Be still,” he said, voice low, “Let me take my time.”
He shaved her slow. Real slow. Every stroke soft and deliberate. He tilted her, adjusted her thighs, angled her legs over his shoulders so he could get the curve just right. He whispered filth the whole time, soft and warm like it was gospel.
“You know how good this gon’ feel when I eat it bare?”
Stroke.
He scraped the blade slow, careful, exposing more of that tender, untouched skin with each stroke.
Then, voice husky, barely above a whisper, he asked, “You like that I’m doin’ this to you?”
Marigold’s breath hitched. She didn’t answer right away.
Stack smiled without looking up, the blade gliding again, “Don’t gotta say it, baby. I can feel it in the way you breathin’. In how warm you gettin’ down here.” He looked up at her then, eyes heavy, voice velvet-thick, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with likin’ it. I want you to like it.”
Stroke.
“I ain’t just trimming it—I’m claiming it.”
Stroke.
“I want this pussy bald, soft, pretty. For me. For them nights you wear nothin’ but heels and pearls.
She whimpered.
He looked up at her, one brow arched, “You okay?”
She nodded quickly.
“You blushin’.”
“No, I’m not,” she lied.
“You are. Gettin’ shy ‘cause I’m down here talkin’ to your lil pearl like it’s my girl.”
He rinsed the blade and leaned in to blow warm air over her slick mound.
Her hips jumped.
He chuckled and smoothed her thighs, “Settle down, Goldie. I’m almost done. Gotta shape this triangle just right for you.”
She watched. Couldn’t stop. Every detail felt obscene. Beautiful. When he finished, Stack wiped her clean with a warm cloth, his touch careful, almost worshipful. He folded the towel neatly when he was done and stood between her thighs, towering, eyes heavy with heat.
“Look at it,” he said, nudging her chin down with two fingers. His other hand slid an ornate mirror into hers, the frame cold against her warm, trembling palm. Marigold hesitated. The hand mirror hovered, inches from the swell of her thighs, before she finally lowered it. Her breath caught.
She looked. Her pussy was glistening. Soft. Shaved smooth except for the delicate little triangle he’d left just above her slit. It was neat and dainty.
Stack leaned close behind her, voice deep, low, and hot against her neck, “Pretty, ain’t it?”
She didn’t answer.
He smirked, “Bet you never really seen it before. Not like this. All cleaned up, bare…proud.” His hand slid around her waist, anchoring her as she held the mirror steady, “Ain’t no shame in lookin’. That’s you. That’s all yours.”
Her cheeks were burning. She couldn’t look him in the face. Could barely look at herself.
“Don’t turn away,” he said, firm now, “You got a fat lil’ pussy. Plump lips, sittin’ sweet and tight. Pink as a summer peach inside. Look at how wet you are already. Look what I did to you.”
Her legs twitched.
“See how the lips kiss together? All puffy and shy like they don’t know what to do. That lil crease at the bottom—look at it—soft and swollen, like it’s beggin’ to be sucked. You older, yeah. But you still a woman. Still got that heat between your legs.”
She blinked hard, her voice caught in her throat.
He pressed his lips behind her ear, words sinking in like syrup, “That pussy right there? Got power. Power to ruin a man. To bring him to his knees and keep him there.” His hand slid lower, fingertips ghosting just above her mound, “You don’t hide that. You honor it. Be proud of it.”
She swallowed.
“Say it,” he coaxed, “Say you proud of it.”
“I—” her voice cracked.
He cupped her chin, brought her gaze to meet the mirror again, “Say it.”
A pause. Then, quietly, “I’m proud of it.”
“Say it louder, baby.”
“I’m proud of my pussy.”
“There she go,” he grinned, slow and wicked, “Now keep lookin’. ’Cause I ain’t done tellin’ you how pretty it is.”
His lips stayed at her ear, soft and full, brushing her skin as he spoke. The smell of cherry tobacco and spicy bourbon curled around her, thick enough to taste. Each word rolled slow, soaked in heat and weight.
“You see that?” he whispered, “That’s a grown woman’s pussy. Got its own shine to it. That lil’ slit got nerve endings that know exactly what it want. And them lips? Fat enough to talk back.”
Goosebumps chased down her arms. Her nipples stood hard and aching, poking through her robe like chocolate-covered gumdrops, begging for touch. Stack let out a slow hum, chin settling against her shoulder. His eyes dropped to her reflection, dragging over her folds, the slight parting, the wet gleam between. She held the mirror, wide-eyed and flushed, thighs clenching in reaction.
“You feel them chills? That’s you feelin’ seen. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ shy, baby. But you gotta know what you holdin’. You sittin’ on a blessing. On magic.” He circled her slowly, dragging his hand along her hip. Then, he took the mirror from her grip and set it gently down on the sink. She sat there, exposed and buzzing, chest rising and falling, eyes on his every move. He came close again. Closer than before. Leaned down, lips ghosting her neck as he whispered, “You know I slept with it still in my beard?”
She gasped—soft, startled.
“I ain’t em’ wash my face. Layed back in my bed with your taste all on me. Right here,” he tapped his chin, then dragged his fingers down to his throat, “Sweet. Heavy. Had me dreamin’ with your scent in my nose. Mouth still slick.” He tilted his head, licking his bottom lip like the memory alone made him hard again, “Didn’t want to wash it off. I wanted to keep it. Let the night stay wit’ me.” His hand slid down her belly, slow and deliberate, until his knuckles brushed the soft patch of hair he’d left, “You proud of it now, ain’t you?”
Marigold, breathing shaky, whispered, “Yes.”
His lips curled into a grin against her skin, “Good. You should be.” Stack ran his finger along her slit, then sucked it clean. “Goddamn,” he whispered.
“Stack…”
He licked his lips, voice gravel low, “Sweet thing look like it don’t know how to behave.” He smirked, “That’s a goddamn masterpiece sittin’ between your legs.” Then he looked at himself in the mirror, still between her thighs, his hands on her knees, her pussy bare and his, “Now you see this? This how a man supposed to look when he own somethin’.”
Stack stepped back, admiring his work. The white towel hung slack from his hand. Her thighs were parted just enough for him to see the whole glistening gift he’d uncovered. Soft, bare, smooth, with that tiny triangle above like the top of an arrow pointing him exactly where to go. He dropped the towel beside him. Then he went to his knees again. But this time, it wasn’t to shave. He curled his hands beneath her thighs and dragged her to the edge of the stool, slow and thick, until the backs of her knees dangled over his broad shoulders and her pussy hovered open right in front of his mouth. The scent of lilac water mixed with her arousal. Sweet and musky. Clean and obscene. She smelled like a woman now. His woman.
Stack’s voice came low. Throaty.
“Gon’ taste you now.”
Her breath caught.
“Real slow. Real deep. Real nasty.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded as he stared at the slickness between her legs. His lips parted, tongue sliding out to drag a long, slow stripe from her opening all the way up to her clit. Wide, flat, and wet. He didn’t rush. He took it. Every inch of her slit. Like he had all the time in the world. Marigold gasped, legs tightening instinctively around his shoulders.
It was different now. No hair in the way, no friction to dull it. Just the heat of his mouth against freshly bared skin, every flick sharper, wetter, meaner. The smooth glide of his tongue over her slit felt like a hot ribbon. Every lick lit up her spine. His lips sealed around her clit like he was trying to pull something out of her slow and rhythmic at first, then harder, greedier.
She could feel the grain of his beard now, the coarse strands dragging across her softness, catching slick as he sucked her deeper into his mouth. There was nothing to dull the sensation. Every stroke made her gasp. Every swirl made her knees tremble. She reached for the edge of the stool, palm slapping wood, trying to hold herself up as his tongue flattened and pressed hard, then flicked, then circled.
“Oh—”
Her body jolted. Her thighs tried to close around his head, but he held them open, spreading her wider, dragging her closer to the edge of the stool so he could get deeper, hungrier. Stack moaned into her, the vibration shaking her whole core. He pulled back just a little, lips wet, tongue shining. Then he went back in.
And this time? He unhinged.
His mouth opened wide, tongue sliding beneath her folds, scooping her slick straight into his mouth like honey. Slurping it. Sucking it. Letting it run over his tongue before closing his lips and swallowing her with a filthy, greedy hum.
“Mmm-mph…”
He moaned into her, like he liked how clean she was now. Like he could taste her better. Like he was proud of what he’d done and wanted to enjoy the results.
It was too much. Too raw.
The feeling of his tongue sliding over her, the contrast of beard and spit, lips and suction, it made her toes curl. Made her cry out. Made her forget about shame. There was nothing between them now. No modesty left. Just the wet sounds of his mouth. The ache building inside her.
He nosed into her slit, licking up, then down again. Then flattened his tongue and licked sideways. Like a man tracing scripture. Like he needed every part of her memorized.
Marigold’s head tilted back, mouth open in a soft cry, “Mmm-hhhh…Stack…oh my—”
Stack didn’t stop.
He buried his mouth in her. Ate like he was starving. Like she was his first meal after a year of war. He tilted his head to the side to slide in from a different angle, lips wrapping around her clit and sucking slow, deep, pulling it into the heat of his mouth like a ripe piece of fruit. Then let it go with a soft pop.
She jerked.
Her fingers grabbed at his hair, her body starting to shake, but he just tightened his grip beneath her thighs and dove deeper.
“Open your legs wider,” he muttered between licks, lips brushing her folds as he spoke, “Let me have it, Goldie. Don’t you hold back now.”
She tried. She tried. But her knees were trembling too bad.
So he helped.
He pulled her legs open farther, his strong hands cradling the backs of her knees like he was parting a holy book. Then he devoured her. Lips sealed to her entrance. Tongue swirling, dipping in and out. Slurping. Sloshing. Making the nastiest sounds against her soaking slit. Wet, sticky, messy. He liked it messy. Spread her wider with his fingers so he could lick up every drop of cream spilling from her, moaning like it was the best thing he ever tasted.
“Goddamn, baby,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to blow cool air on her clit, “You know how sweet this pussy is?” And his voice, low between licks, “That’s it. Give it to me, baby. Let me taste it all.”
She whimpered.
He looked up at her then. His eyes were molten. Gleaming. Lips slick, chin shiny. He looked like a man possessed, “I said—” he dragged his tongue across her again, slower than before, “do…you…know?”
Her thighs were shaking. Her breath hitched. Her head dropped forward to look at him. Her lips parted. Her skin was flushed everywhere—breasts rising fast with every breath, sweat beading along her collarbone, her chest shimmering.
“No,” she breathed, “I—I don’t…”
Stack grinned, “That’s alright. I’ll show you.”
And he went in.
Mouth wide, tongue rolling in long, slow strokes. Then he tilted his head up and gave her the kind of open-mouthed, sloppy, tongue-heavy kiss right against her clit that made her scream high-pitched, desperate, and raw. He sucked. He slurped. He ate. Over and over. In circles, in flicks, in strong rhythmic pulls. His jaw moved like he was trying to inhale her whole.
“Hnnn—uhhn—unhh—Stack—ah—haaah…”
Her sounds cracked and rolled, turning breathy and broken, lips trembling. She was trying not to cry. He licked straight up her slit and let his lips wrap around the whole mound before pulling back and exhaling deep.
His voice was wrecked, “You milk so pretty, mama. You makin’ a mess down here.”
She covered her face.
“Don’t hide from me,” he growled, grabbing her wrists and pulling her hands away, “Let me see you when you cum.”
“I’m—I’m not close—” she whimpered.
“Yes, you are.”
“No I—ahhh! Stack—!”
He sucked her clit hard, then pulled back and licked side to side, soft and deliberate.
She went still. Then trembled.
Then came.
Her pussy gushed. Not a stream, but a wave, clear and hot over his mouth. Stack groaned, swallowing it like water in a desert. Lips and beard drenched.
“Ohhh…Stack, Stack—” she moaned, trying to close her thighs, but he wouldn’t let her, “I can’t—Stack, baby—I can’t—”
“Don’t run. You wetter than a busted pipe.” he growled, smacking her thighs open again and diving back in, “Gushing all over me—of course you can.” He flicked his tongue like a starved man, then leaned back and hissed with arousal. It was a hiss—pure and primal—like he’d been caught in a snare that felt too good to escape, “drippin’ like a faucet and talkin’ ‘bout can’t? All that tight talk, now look at this mess you done made.”
She arched. Moaned louder. Her thighs squeezed his head so hard it made his ears ring. He licked her through it. Sucked her until her eyes rolled. Slid his tongue into her pulsing hole and fucked her with it, speared her with it, slow and deep, while rubbing her clit with his thumb.
Her toes curled. Her stomach fluttered. Her voice broke again.
“Mmm-mmmmhh—ahhh—uhhhnnn…”
And all she could do was ride it, hips rocking in his face, tears streaming down the sides of her cheeks from how good it felt. How full her body was. How owned she felt in this moment.
Stack owned her pussy. That wasn’t up for debate.
And he knew it. She knew it.
He pulled back finally, mouth soaked, licking his lips slow. Her cum shined on his chin. His eyes were low and thick-lashed, mouth parted like he just finished sipping holy wine.
“I told you,” he rasped, dragging his tongue across his lower lip.
She was trembling. Breathless. Flushed from neck to navel. Stack kissed her inner thigh, then again, then let his tongue trace the crease near her pelvis like a brand.
“You ever taste that sweet before?” he asked, licking his fingers clean. Long tongue damn near licking his chin clean.
She couldn’t answer.
He leaned up, close to her mouth, breath hot and smelling of Sister Marigold’s sweet pussy, fingers still playing lazily between her thighs, “I own this pussy now. Say it.”
She looked dazed. Swallowed. And whispered, wrecked, “Y-Y-You o-o-own it.”
Stack smiled, “That’s right.”
Then he licked her again. Her skin still tingled from his tongue.
And then, he rose. Stack stood up slow, towering. His face was slick with her. His lips looked darker. Wetter. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, collar loose, his chest still glistening where he’d been sweating between her thighs. He reached up, eyes locked on hers, and with that same touch he used between her legs, he slid the plum velvet robe off her shoulders. It fell like it had weight. Like it didn’t want to leave her. She sat there naked. Bare from head to heel. He looked at her like a man looks at his last meal. Like she was made of everything Aunt Pearl made for his kingdom.
And then, without a word, he lifted her. Her gasp caught in his throat. Arms around his shoulders, legs dangling, she clutched him instinctively. She’d never been carried before. Not like this. Not with her body still wet and trembling from his mouth. Stack’s hold was solid. Strong. His chest rose slowly as he carried her out the bathroom, down the short hall, into a room that was all shadow and heat. Every step he took now echoed inside her, like her bones had gone hollow with lust. She was trembling between the legs, robe parted down the middle, and she could feel the air kiss her with every slight movement. Her thighs were damp. Her knees weak. She didn’t even remember breathing.
They were back in Stack’s private room. It didn’t smell like cologne or soap. It smelled like him. Musk and spice. Wood and skin. The curtains were drawn, heavy and dark. The walls were painted deep red and black, rich and expensive, with gold accents at the crown and base. There was a large bed. Larger than any she’d ever seen. The headboard was carved, dark oak with details she couldn’t stop staring at. The sheets were black. Silk. Rumpled. Slept in. The room was lit only by a floor lamp and a small brass sconce near the door, casting amber light across the walls like whiskey poured slow. He sat her down on the edge of the bed like she was delicate.
She felt anything but.
Stack crouched in front of her again. His hands slid up her thighs, then cupped her hips. But he didn’t touch her pussy this time.
He looked at her.
Then raised one hand, dragged the back of his knuckles up her arm, her shoulder, until he reached her cheek. He held her face in one big palm, thumb rubbing over her cheekbone. The way his touch shifted from hungry to soft made her chest ache.
“You so pretty it hurts,” he spoke softly, brushing a stray curl behind her ear.
Then that thumb grazed her lower lip. Pressed. Rubbed.
Her lips parted.
He slid his thumb in.
Not deep. Just enough to sit heavy on her tongue. Marigold’s lashes fluttered. Her thighs tensed.
She sucked.
And Stack smiled.
“You like that?” he whispered.
She nodded, barely. His thumb was still inside.
He took it out slow. Slick with her spit.
And then?
Her eyes dropped.
His shirt was still open, the spread of his chest catching the lamplight. Hard and smooth, a sheen of sweat between his pecs. Her eyes followed the dark line of hair trailing down…
And there it was. A thick, unmistakable bulge behind his slacks. Long. Heavy. Straining the fabric.
Her mouth went dry.
He noticed.
Stack grinned.
He reached down, hand grazing his abs, then lower, slow, like he knew she was watching every inch. His fingers brushed the thick leather of his belt. He gripped the buckle.
Tugged it once.
The clink echoed.
Then he slid his hand down, gripped the length of himself through his slacks. Firm. Big. Like he was palming a weapon. Her thighs clenched. She felt another rush between her legs. She couldn’t even look away. He was watching her watch him.
Low-lidded. Hungry. Silent at first.
Then—
“You wanna see it?” he asked, voice like smoke in a warm room.
She swallowed hard. Gave the tiniest nod.
Stack chuckled, “Saw it in your face, didn’t you?” he teased, stepping closer, slowly working his palm along his dick through the fabric, “Wasn’t peepin’ through the crack of that door enough for you?”
She sucked her teeth, half-embarrassed, half-turned on, “That was an accident—”
“Wasn’t no damn accident. Still lyin’?”
He grabbed her hand and placed it right back where it belonged.
Over the bulge.
“Here—refresh your memory,” he said with a wicked smile, “Been a couple days. You might need a reminder.”
Her palm pressed against it.
Her eyes went wide.
He was so…hard. So hot through the slacks it felt like he’d burn through the fabric. She rubbed without thinking, tentatively at first, but when she felt him twitch beneath her hand, her fingers tightened. She stroked him slow.
Stack hissed through his teeth, “Yeah, just like that, Goldie. Lil’ bit higher though. Mmm. There you go.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his. His jaw was tight. His nostrils flared. His lip was caught between his teeth.
“You missed it?” he asked her low.
She nodded. The honesty poured out before she could stop it, “I thought about it…”
“Thought about what?”
She blinked, “About…your mouth. And your—your…”
He reached down again. Gripped himself. Let her feel the pressure.
“You let a couple glimpses o’ this heavy dick settle in your mind, and now you can’t shake it, huh?” he said, voice velvet-smooth, “Say it. Say what you been sittin’ in that church house daydreamin’ ‘bout.”
“I didn’t say all that.” She crosses her arms, but her eyes won’t meet his. Her thighs press a little tighter.
“Mmhm.”
Stack leaned back, slow, watching her with that half-smile — the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, because his eyes were too busy studying her.
“You ain’t gotta lie, Goldie.” His voice was low. Measured, “That mouth say one thing, but your thighs over there squeezin’ like they beggin’ for the truth.” He stood, steps slow, closing the space between them, “Now I ain’t askin’ to hear it just ‘cause I wanna be flattered.” His head dipped, his breath warm against her cheek, “I want you to own it.” A pause. He let the silence hang, thick, “Say it.” He looked her dead in the eye, “Tell me you been thinkin’ ‘bout my dick.”
Then, barely above a whisper, but clear as daylight, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout your dick.” She exhaled like it knocked the wind out of her to admit it. But her eyes stayed on his now. Wide. Dark. Unblinking, “Too much.”
Stack leaned close, his lips almost brushing hers, “You gon’ do more than just think ‘bout it tonight.”
She didn’t even know what she was doing to him. The way her small hand rubbed up and down the front of his slacks, fingers tentative but curious like she was afraid and fascinated at the same damn time. That shit made Stack’s whole jaw flex tight. His stomach clenched. His dick throbbed against the thick cotton lining, already too hard for this game.
This woman was ruining him
That thing had been in her face, hard as a brick and just as heavy. She’d seen it rise—tall as a steel beam, hot as July—but she ain’t felt it stretch her yet. Her hand had been there, soft and curious. But that was just the first hello. She hadn’t even taken him inside her, and he was already shootin’ off in her hand like a man starved. Her hand looked too soft, too sweet to be wringin’ him dry like that. But she did. With nothin’ but nerves and a shaky grip. She pumped him slow, lips parted like she couldn’t believe what she was holdin’…and he came for her. Just like that. She ain’t say a word, just kept pumpin’—eyes wide, breath held—’til he was gaspin’ and shootin’ thick across her fingers.
He could remember vividly what was going through his mind…
Lord, look at her.
Miss First Lady. Miss white-gloved on Sunday, eyes down when she walk. Miss “that’s improper” and “I’ll pray for you.”
Strokin’ a man’s dick like she don’t even know what she doin’. And still doin’ it so good he could cry.
That pretty lil hand, wrapped ‘round my mean ol’ meat. Thumb barely meetin’ her fingers. Slidin’ over it like she tryna soothe a sin she already committed.
That ain’t no preacher’s wife grip—that’s a woman tryna figure out what power feel like.
And baby, she holdin’ it.
She holdin’ a pole thick as a mule’s back leg. Runnin’ that fist over it all slow and shaky like she scared it’ll bite but she won’t let go.
I oughta bend her over right now. Ain’t even pull my pants all the way down. Just enough to slide in and show her what she wakin’ up. She don’t even know the mess she startin’.
Miss Holy and Devout, starin’ at this slab like it got answers. Like if she keep strokin’ it sweet enough, I might show her heaven.
But all she gonna get is the kind of fuckin’ that make her forget where she put her shoes….
Stack stood in front of her, towering over where she sat perched pretty and bare at the edge of his bed. Her knees just slightly apart. Hair down. Skin dewy and flushed from his mouth. She had one hand braced behind her like she was holding herself steady—and the other, oh Lord—the other was still palming his pecker like it was a question she didn’t know how to answer yet.
Her hand shifted again. Rubbed up the shaft, knuckles dragging against the fabric.
His breath dragged in through his nose, “Fuck…”
It felt too good. Too good.
The pressure of her palm. The hesitation. The way she fidgeted while doing it. Marigold kept glancing up at him, eyes full of something unsure, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to enjoy this. Her lashes lowered. She bit her lip. And then—
That nervous little tick of hers kicked in.
She tucked her chin. Swallowed. Fidgeted again. Still touching him.
Stack grinned slow, teeth flashing beneath the shadow of his lip, “Uh uh,” he said, voice low, rough with restraint. He leaned closer, brushing his fingers beneath her chin to tilt it back up, “Ain’t no lookin’ down when I’m standin’ in front of you like this, Goldie.”
She looked up, eyes wide and already glazed. He stepped closer, enough for his cock to nudge against her knuckles.
“This lesson right here?” his thumb stroked her cheek, “Gon’ show you exactly what you’ll be fed wit’.”
Marigold’s breath hitched. Her hand faltered, then kept moving. Just a little slower. Stack watched her. Watched her fingers slide down the length of his dick through the fabric, tracing it like a shape she didn’t understand yet.
And what a shape it was.
Thick. Long. Straight with a heavy curve at the base. His head flared big and broad beneath the slacks, outlined clear as day. He wasn’t soft—not even close—and the seam of his pants was pulled taut from how hard he was pressing. Her fingers brushed the underside, curved where the weight of him hung, then up again toward the tip. She was exploring it.
And Stack nearly lost it.
He hissed through clenched teeth, forehead dipped low for a moment like he was trying to rein it in. Trying.
But her hand was too small. Too warm. Too fucking sweet.
“Pull him out,” he rasped, voice hoarse with need.
She looked up again.
“Go on,” he whispered, stepping back just enough to give her room, “Start with the belt.”
Her fingers trembled. She lifted both hands to the thick leather strap around his waist, tugging at the buckle slowly—metal clinking. She undid it with care, like it was a ribbon on a gift. Then paused. Looked up at him again.
“Keep goin’,” Stack said, “Unwrap your blessing.”
Marigold bit her lip again, but she obeyed. Her hands slid to the button next, carefully popping it open. Then she reached for the zipper. It slid down with a soft sound. And then—God help him—her hand went in. Stack’s eyes fluttered shut. He tilted his head back, throat exposed. His chest heaved once. He couldn’t help the sound that came out of him.
“Nnnnh—shit…”
She found him.
Warm. Heavy. Throbbing in her palm. She tugged, trying to maneuver it out, and when she finally freed him—when his dick sprung into the air, proud and veined and dripping at the tip—Marigold gasped. Stack opened his eyes again and looked down at her with a crooked smirk. His lip glistened where he’d bitten it. His chest rose and fell harder now, the abs below twitching.
“There she go, good job, baby.” he drawled, “Pretty, ain’t it?”
Marigold didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
She was staring at it like it was carved from marble and granite. Stack was girthy—his dick thick at the base, tapering into a wide, rounded head that was already wet with precum. The shaft was smooth but ridged with veins that pulsed faintly beneath the skin. The curve of it tilted downward as it throbbed, hungry for her mouth. His balls hung heavy, dark, tight. And God bless it—he knew it looked good. He kept himself clean, trimmed just enough for comfort. His skin tone deepened there, rich and dark-brown. His dick was as pretty as the rest of him—too pretty for someone so filthy. A contradiction. A trap.
And all hers.
She stared.
He throbbed in her hand again.
“Mm-mm,” he said, low and dirty, “Don’t just look at it like that. Touch it. Proper.”
Her fingers wrapped around him slow.
He watched.
Watched her palm mold around his thickness. Watched her mouth part just a little in disbelief at how big he really was. Her thumb moved instinctively over the swollen head, catching the bead of slick and smearing it down his shaft.
Stack groaned, “You see what you do to me?” he said through gritted teeth, “You see how hard you got me?”
She nodded faintly, still stroking.
“Good girl,” he said, “Now kiss it.”
Her head snapped up.
“Go on. Right on the tip. Real soft.”
Marigold leaned forward—nervous, blushing—and pressed her mouth to the head of his pretty dick like it was something sacred.
It twitched.
He exhaled sharply, “Fuck…Now do it again. Slower. Let me feel it.”
She kissed the tip again, then trailed another down the side, lips brushing his thick vein. Stack stared down at her—his girl—naked, sitting on his bed, stroking his dick with two hands now just to hold the full weight, kissing it like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life.
He leaned down, grabbed the back of her head, and whispered against her temple, “I waited so long for you to see it, Goldie.” He tilted her chin up. Eyes met, “You ready for what come next?”
Her lips still tingled from kissing the head of it. He was so hard in her hands. So heavy. Her palms weren’t even enough. She had to wrap one hand around the base and hold the rest up with the other—and still, her fingers didn’t fully close. His dick pulsed hot and thick in her grip, and the longer she looked at it, the more unsure she became.
It was beautiful. That was the truth. But it was also…intimidating.
Smooth, veined, the head flushed and shiny with a slick she’d tasted already but hadn’t yet swallowed. She kept glancing up at him—at Stack, standing over her now, shirt open, belt hanging undone, breathing like he was trying not to take over. His abs were flexed. His lips glistened where he kept licking them. His eyes? Fixed on her mouth.
And still, he was patient. Still, he was hers.
She didn’t know where to start. Her fingers trembled slightly as she stroked him again, slow from base to tip. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Blinked hard. Swallowed again.
“I don’t know if I can…” she whispered.
Stack leaned in, low. His fingers brushed her hair from her face, gathering it in one strong hand at the nape of her neck, “You can, baby. Just breathe. You don’t gotta take it all at once. Let me show you.”
She nodded slowly.
“Good girl.”
He gathered the rest of her hair in his fist and gently pulled it back, exposing her neck. Her chest rose high with each breath, nipples tight from the air, thighs pressed together from nerves. He tilted her chin.
“Now look at it,” he said, voice low, “This what you gon’ get fed with. What you earned.”
She did. Her mouth watered.
“Go ‘head and kiss it again. Start at the tip. Use your lips. Get acquainted.”
She leaned forward, nervous, and kissed the head again—soft, warm. He twitched in her grip.
“Mm. That’s it,” he whispered, “Now again. Little lower. That spot right under—yeah, there. That’s where I’m sensitive. Give that spot a lil’ tongue.”
She did. Slowly, shyly, her tongue peeked out and traced beneath the swollen head.
Stack let out a low growl, “Fuck…”
The sound did something to her. Made her bolder. She licked again—this time, longer. Sloppier. She used the flat of her tongue, dragging it along his shaft like he told her. She kissed the base, the thick vein.
The sound did something to her.
The low, sharp hiss that broke from his throat when her tongue touched him—tight, almost pained. It made her bolder. Made something deep inside her flutter and clench. She licked again. This time, longer. Sloppier. She used the flat of her tongue, just like he told her. Dragged it up along the length of him, slow and heavy, feeling the heat of his skin and the pulse of that thick vein pressing back against her tongue. She kissed the base. Then the side. Her lips grazed the thick vein and she moaned before she could stop herself. She couldn’t believe it—how wet her mouth had gotten. Her tongue felt thick. Saliva pooled fast, warm and embarrassing. Like her body was reacting before her mind could catch up. Like her mouth wanted it.
It was filthy. It was insane.
And she liked it.
Her hand trembled where it wrapped around him, trying to keep steady. She’d never done this before. Never been in this position with a man’s dick—his dick—pressed to her lips, twitching under every lick. But now that she had him in her mouth, even just a little…
She wanted more.
Her thighs pressed together. She was already wet again. Her cheeks burned, not just from the act, but from the shame of how much she craved it. The taste of him. The weight. The power of watching his breath stutter, jaw clench, muscles tighten every time she moved. She licked up the shaft again, slower this time, mouth shiny and open. Then back down, her tongue curling under the base like she was starving for it.
And she couldn’t look him in the eye. Not yet. She was too scared he’d see the truth in her face. That she was hooked. That she needed it. That her mouth might never forget how good it felt to please him.
She pressed her lips to his tip again and sucked it—just the tip—trying to figure out how her mouth could stretch enough to take it.
It barely fit. Her jaw ached already.
“I don’t know if it’ll…” she started, pulling off, eyes wide. “It’s so big, Stack.”
He smiled. Soft. Filthy, “I know, baby,” he stroked her cheek, “Don’t rush it. You ain’t gotta shove it down your throat. Not yet. Just suck my tip for me. Real slow. Like it’s one of them butterscotch candies you church ladies keep in their purses.”
She gave a shy laugh, but did as told. Mouth parted. Lips stretched. Tongue out first—then slowly, slowly, she sank her lips around his tip again, cheeks hollowing just slightly as she sucked.
“Yeahhh, just like that,” he moaned, head tipping back, “Keep it right there. Let me feel your mouth. Let me feel how warm you are.”
She could feel it now—how wet her own thighs were. Her slick dripping slow down her inner leg, untouched but burning. Her nipples ached, and her stomach fluttered each time Stack groaned, especially when her tongue did something right.
“Now stroke me while you suck,” he guided, “Real gentle. Base to tip. That’s it.”
Her hand moved up and down while she sucked the head. Her other hand steadied her on the bed. She relaxed her jaw, let her tongue move more freely. She even glanced up once, mouth full, eyes soft.
Stack’s knees buckled.
He groaned, “Shit, Goldie…look at you.” His grip on her hair tightened slightly, “Lean back for me, baby. On your hands.”
She paused. Pulled off with a pop. Her lips were puffy now, slick with him. She leaned back on her hands, her chest pushed forward, hair hanging loose, thighs open just slightly from how she was sitting.
Stack stared. She looked…
Beautiful.
Her lips glistened. Her chin was damp. Her nipples pointed. Her skin flushed.
“You look like a meal sittin’ like that,” he said, voice deep. He stepped closer. His dick hovered near her mouth again, “Go on. Suck just the tip again. Let your tongue swirl a little. Get real messy for me.”
She obeyed.
Her mouth opened—slow, awed—and she took him again, swirling her tongue around the head just like he asked. Her spit coated him. Her jaw worked a little more confidently now.
She moaned.
Stack growled, “Shit, baby…you hear yourself?”
She nodded while sucking.
“Good,” he whispered, “I want you to moan while you taste it. I want you to fall in love with the way I feel in your mouth.”
Her hand slid up and down again, matching the rhythm.
Slurp. Suck. Flick.
She didn’t mean to, but her spit spilled—down her chin, over her hand.
It got messy.
She gasped when it dripped, pulling back with shame in her eyes.
But Stack shook his head. Smiled, “Nah,” he said low, “That’s how I like it.” He bent down, rubbed her mouth with his thumb, then dragged it across her tongue, “Look at you. So pretty. So fuckin’ mine.”
Marigold panted. Her lips were swollen. She stared up at him like she didn’t recognize herself.
But she did. And she liked it.
She liked his taste. The weight of him on her tongue. The way her lips stretched. The way his voice changed when she did it just right. The way he coached her. Praised her.
“Stack…”
He looked down at her. Smirked, “You ready for the next lesson?”
Stack had never seen anything so goddamn beautiful.
She was trying—nervous, soft-eyed, mouth shiny and cheeks flushed, with spit on her chin and his pecker pulsing in her hands. And God help him, it was that effort that was wrecking him. Not the skill. Not the performance. But the raw, newness of her. The hunger trembling just beneath the surface of her uncertainty.
She wanted to please him.
And it was driving him crazy.
“Mm,” he groaned, watching her tongue swirl the head, her lips wrapping around him slow, dragging slick across the most sensitive spot just under the ridge. Her hand stroked him at the same time—gentle, nervous, wet. He could feel her mouth flutter with each moan.
She was learning his body by feel.
Learning how to wreck him.
He stared down at her like a man hypnotized. One hand wrapped firm in her hair, the other cupping her jaw as she sucked him slow and shallow, moaning faintly around the tip like she didn’t know it would throb for her just like that.
And then—he saw it.
The way her lashes flicked down. The moment she inhaled like she was preparing for something.
The shift of her jaw. The parting of her lips a little wider.
She was about to try it.
She wanted to take more.
Stack’s abs tensed. “Goldie…”
She opened wider—and then slowly, carefully, began to sink lower. Past the head. An inch. Then another.
“Shit,” he hissed.
Her throat welcomed more than he thought she could manage on the first try. Her hand dropped to the base. He watched his shaft disappear between her lips, wet and slick.
Then—
She gagged.
Hard.
Her eyes watered. She jerked back quick, coughing once, mouth and nose shining.
“Baby,” Stack said low, reaching for her face, “You okay?”
She nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. But her face was ashamed. Her chin trembled.
“Hey,” he said, voice dropping even lower, soft but still thick with heat, “Don’t be embarrassed.”
She blinked up at him, ashamed.
“You tried. That’s all I asked. You hear me?”
She nodded, still holding his dick in her hand. Her fingers had a little more confidence now, stroking him with more pressure.
Stack smirked, “That mouth ain’t used to nothin’ like me, huh?”
Marigold swallowed and shook her head, “No, Stack…it’s so big.”
He bit his bottom lip at that, “Say it again.”
She looked up at him through her lashes, “You’re too big, Stack…”
“Damn right.” He leaned in, thumb wiping the spit from her lower lip, “But we gon’ work on that.”
She nodded again.
And to his shock—his delight—she opened her mouth, again. Braver this time. Determined.
“Atta girl,” he whispered, “Take your time.”
She eased her mouth down over the tip. Then a little more. And a little more. He felt her tongue flatten.
Then the gag hit again.
She coughed, pulled off, but not as fast this time. Her hand stayed on his shaft. She was starting to learn where the stretch became too much.
Stack groaned, “Fuck, Goldie…” His dick throbbed in her grip, “You tryin’ to break this pimpin’ down, huh?”
She let out a shaky breath, “I just wanna do it right…”
He stroked her cheek, then held her jaw gently, “Baby, this is right. Every time you try again? You gettin’ closer. You feel me?”
She nodded.
He looked down at her, his breath ragged, his hips jerking ever so slightly as she wrapped her lips around him again.
“Just relax. Don’t think so much. Let your mouth remember how I feel.”
She moaned around him.
Stack nearly lost his balance.
“Goddamn…”
Her mouth was wetter now. Her tongue more daring—pressing beneath, tracing the thick vein. She sucked gently at first, then a little deeper again.
She tried.
Again.
This time, he watched her shoulders shudder—heard the wet gag, but she didn’t pull away fast. She held. Breathed through her nose. Let her spit pour around the base.
Stack growled, “You don’t even know how pretty you look like this, do you?”
She pulled back with a gasp, a line of spit connecting her lips to the tip.
“No,” she whispered. “I can’t see myself…”
He cupped her chin, “Good.”
He stepped back just slightly, pulled the lamp closer so the light washed over her skin. She was flushed and glistening—spit on her chin, lips pink and swollen, her breath ragged. Her bare chest heaved. Her thighs glistened. Her mouth hung open.
Messy.
Obedient.
Beautiful.
“You’re doin’ better than you know,” he said, voice thicker now. “You hear me? Say yes sir.”
She nodded, swallowing, “Yes, sir.”
He smirked, then brushed her hair back with both hands, “One more time.”
She opened for him.
And when he slid into her mouth again—just the tip—she didn’t gag. She sucked. Let her tongue curl beneath, just like he told her.
Stack couldn’t hold still. His hips rocked forward slow. Just a little.
“Goddamn, Goldie,” he hissed, “That’s it…work that mouth, baby.”
She moaned again. And this time, she didn’t stop. She never thought it would feel like this. The power. The sweetness. The weight of him on her tongue. Stack Moore—smooth talker, filthy-mouthed, belt-slingin’ Stack—was breathing ragged and shaking in front of her. Head tipped back. Mouth parted. Sweat glistening at the hollow of his throat. All because of her. All because of how she was learning to worship him with nothing but her lips and hands.
She felt it—the tension in his thighs, the way his dick throbbed so hard in her mouth it made her moan without meaning to. She tasted him, thick and salty-sweet. And she didn’t pull back. Not this time.
She stayed.
Her hand wrapped firm around his base, slick with spit. Her tongue curled beneath him as her lips slid back down his shaft, slower now, more deliberate, the gag reflex twitching in her throat but not breaking her focus.
Stack groaned. A long, low sound from deep in his chest. His fingers tangled in her hair, not pushing, just gripping, like he didn’t know what else to hold onto.
“Fuuuuck…” The word came ragged, his voice coated in disbelief. “Goldie…baby…”
Her throat tightened. She gagged, just a little. She coughed, pulled back with a wet gasp, chest heaving. One hand flew up and clutched her sternum—Lord. Her jaw ached. Her eyes watered.
But the hunger in her gaze was still there.
Wide. Wet. Wanting.
She looked up at him with trembling lips and whispered something without thinking. Breathless. Innocent and obscene.
“Is this how heaven feeds its men?”
Stack staggered.
She saw it.
The twitch in his jaw. The hard flex of his abs. The way his dick jumped in her hand like it heard her say it too.
He looked down at her like he’d been shot.
His voice was hoarse, “What the hell did you just say?”
He’d hear that line and damn near bust alone. It’s a mix of filth and worship so sweet and nasty—the kind of line that turns a man’s bones to water. It’s submissive but powerful. She’s giving everything in that moment, not just mouth and spit, but mind, pride, and desire.
“Don’t say no mess like that with my dick down your throat. Mouth like yours oughta come with a warning, girl.”
She blinked. Innocent. A little dazed, “I—I just meant…it feels like a holy thing. Having you like this.”
Stack growled. His whole chest shook. He looked like he might drop to his knees, “You better stop talkin’ like that, girl,” he warned, hand tightening in her hair, “You say another line like that, I’m gon’ let off right down your throat.”
Marigold flushed. Her thighs squeezed together. But she leaned forward anyway, smiling just a little. And then she sucked him again.
Harder. Deeper.
She moaned low—on purpose this time—and it sent vibrations through his whole body. Stack choked. His hand slapped the wall beside the bed, steadying himself. His hips jerked forward against her mouth once, involuntarily.
He was coming undone.
“Goldie—” he grunted, voice strangled. “Shit, baby—I’m—” His hand tugged her hair—not to stop her, but to warn her, “I’m close. You hear me? I’m close.”
But she didn’t stop. She moaned again.
Stack’s eyes rolled back. His breath left him in a sharp, ragged exhale. His thighs trembled beneath her grip. He looked down—saw her lips swollen and wet, cheeks hollowing, spit dripping down her wrist.
His pretty church girl, suckin’ him off like she’d been born to do it.
His hand was a fist against the wall now—braced high above her, knuckles flexed, veins bulging from his forearms like he was holding himself together by sheer will alone.
But he was close. Too damn close.
“Goldie…” Stack moaned low, his voice all grit and warning, but still thick with hunger, “You got no clue what you doin’ to me, girl…”
He looked down—saw the glisten on her chin, the way her lips were stretched wide around him, not even taking all of him, but still making him lose his damn mind. She was holding him steady at the base, stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach, twisting slow, teasing him. Her thumb slipped beneath, cradling the most sensitive part, and the ripple that tore through his spine made his knees damn near buckle.
“Shiiit…”
It was heavy in her hand—thick, dark, every vein standing up like it was trying to break through his skin. Her spit made it slick, shiny, and filthy, coating the shaft in long, glistening trails that caught the light each time she pumped. He was throbbing. Harder than he’d been the last time she held him. The tip had gone darker—a flushed plum, stretched tight and leaking steady. Her palm slid over it, guided by the mess they’d made, and she could feel the way he twitched under her grip—sharp, frantic little pulses, like his body was begging to snap like a guitar string.
She squeezed just under the head like he’d taught her. His hips jerked. A thick vein ran along the underside, bold and swollen, pulsing under her thumb every time she slid back down. His balls had drawn up tighter, and the whole length of him felt like it was brimming—full, taut, seconds away from snapping.
Stack’s breath had gone ragged. His stomach was flexing hard, jaw clenched tight, teeth grit like he was holding back more than just words. And Goldie still stroked him—slow at first, then faster—her shy little hand working that dick like she was born to do it. Every pump made him grunt. Every twist of her wrist brought out another hiss. He was slick, spit-soaked, and so hard it looked painful.
And then he growled her name—low, deep, broken.
His jaw clenched, and he bit down on his bottom lip, hard. Not enough to bleed. But enough to feel it. His eyes fluttered half-shut—low, dark, glossy with lust. He was licking his lips between breaths like a man starved, dazed by the feel of her.
“You a nasty lil’ thing, ain’t you, darlin’?” he groaned, voice frayed, breath ragged, “Look at you…suckin’ it like you love it…like it’s candy…”
She moaned, just a soft, sinful hum around him—and he damn near buckled again.
“Oh—fuck, girl. Don’t do that. Don’t moan like that while you got my dick in your mouth,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You tryin’ make daddy l-lose it?”
His voice cracked on the last word. Because that’s what it felt like.
He was right on the edge.
Heat built low in his belly—tight and urgent, pulling tighter and tighter with every glide of her mouth, every swirl of her tongue, every slick stroke of her hand. His thighs were trembling now, struggling to stay still. His abs clenched. The nerves in his back fired like sparks off a match head.
It was crawling up his spine like lightning.
That climax. That crash.
“Ohh—fuck,” he whispered, eyes rolling, hips twitching once against her mouth, “Keep goin’. Keep goin’. That’s it. Just like that. Don’t stop…”
Marigold didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. She stayed on him, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks hollowing just a little more with each suck, each greedy pull. Her fingers flexed tighter around the base, milking him, coaxing him.
Stack’s voice got breathier. Slurred. He was shaking now, sweat sliding down his chest, beading at his temple. His lips parted again as he looked down at her in disbelief.
“You love this dick, don’t you,” he rasped, his words barely holding together, “Love how big it feel in that pretty lil’ mouth. Love makin’ me fall apart…” His hands dropped—one landing heavy on her shoulder, the other sliding to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her wet cheekbone as if he needed to feel her to believe she was real, “Look at you,” he whispered, awestruck. “Ain’t so damn innocent after all…”
That tight pull inside him snapped.
The first wave hit like fire.
“Goldie—” he groaned, deep and helpless. His eyes squeezed shut, brows twisted in tortured pleasure. His whole body seized forward, hips jerking once more as he lost it—thick and hot, his climax spilling into her mouth in strong, aching pulses.
She didn’t know he was going to finish like that.
Not in her mouth. Not all at once. Not with both hands wrapped around her head like that—low, heavy, fingers splayed through her pressed hair, holding her still as his hips slowed and stuttered. Her tongue was still flat beneath him when it happened. Her lips slick. Her jaw open just enough for him to push deeper—not far enough to gag her, but close. Real close.
And then she tasted it.
The first pulse hit the back of her tongue. It didn’t drip. It poured. A deep, warm surge that was bitter, sharp, then thickening with something salt-slick and earthy. Like sweat. Like heat after a storm. Like the smell of his skin when he pressed her into the mattress and whispered what he was gonna do.
She froze.
Not because she didn’t want to take it. Because of how much there was. She hadn’t expected it to fill her mouth like that—heavy, warm, coating the roof and sides, dripping toward her throat faster than she could prepare.
Her first instinct was to pull back. He didn’t let her. She didn’t pull away. She moaned again—soft and surprised—and swallowed. His hand tightened in her hair as the second wave hit.
Then a third.
Each one dragging a ragged grunt from his throat, his eyes barely open, his body twitching as the sensation rolled through him like thunder. His head fell forward, jaw slack, shoulders slumped, chest heaving like he’d just run miles.
“Uh-uh. Mouth wide open, now you best finish what you started. Keep that mouth soft. Let it spill. Let me see you take it like you meant to.”
The way he said that—slow, pointed, with his thumb sliding down to stroke her cheek—made something inside her tighten. She swallowed hard.
The texture shifted. Thick turned wet. Her throat worked to take it down, and she could feel every drop sliding deeper. Still more came. More than she thought was possible. It gathered beneath her tongue, behind her teeth, clinging to the corners of her lips where she could taste him for real.
Not cologne. Not the faint sweetness of wine from earlier.
But him.
It was strong. Raw. The kind of taste she’d never had in her mouth before. Not like that. Not this much. The kind that didn’t just sit on her tongue, but sank into her.
She swallowed again.
And again.
Until she felt empty. Until her mouth was clean, her lips bare, her chin glistening where a single drop had gotten away.
“God…damn…” he muttered, barely audible.
She pulled off slowly, lips wet and parted, tongue flicking to catch what she missed. Stack’s eyes finally opened, glazed and low. His fingers brushed her cheek again. Gently this time.
Stack looked down at her like she’d just done something unholy. Like he couldn’t believe her lips had taken all of him like that. His thumb wiped her chin. Then he brought it to her lips.
“Holy fuck…” he breathed, eyes locked to hers, “Girl, you gon’ take me out if you keep on.”
Her fingers still trembled around the base of him, spit clinging between them, “I thought I was bein’ gentle,” she whispered, “Didn’t think you’d…cum like that.”
Marigold dropped to her knees fully this time—her thighs giving out beneath her like they didn’t know how to hold her up anymore. She was trembling.
It wasn't from fear. Not even from shame.
But from something deeper. Something heavier.
Her lips were still parted, a fine string of spit and seed connecting her mouth to her hand. Her fingers twitched around the base of him, slick and trembling, as her gaze flicked between his face…and it. Still thick and wet. Still glistening like sin in low light. Her breath hitched. She looked dazed. Like she’d just stepped off a cliff and landed somewhere holy and wrong.
Her voice came out hoarse. Quiet, “That was gluttonous…” She blinked. Eyes wide and stunned, like she didn’t recognize herself. Then, lower—like a confession to the walls, “What have you done to me?”
Her eyes fluttered closed.
He just looked down at her—at his Goldie. At the same sweet church woman who used to flinch when he said the word pussy. The same woman who now knelt in front of him, breathless, spit-shined, and glowing like she’d touched divinity and filth all at once.
She looked wrecked. And beautiful. And his.
Stack let out a slow exhale, jaw flexing.
He reached down with both hands, cupping beneath her arms, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She stumbled a little as he pulled her upright, still unsteady and trembling.
And then he kissed her.
No hesitation.
He kissed her deep, like she was the last piece of salvation he’d ever taste. Tongue sliding over hers, chasing the lingering flavor of himself. One hand gripped the back of her neck. The other held her jaw open for him, fingers splayed across her cheek and ear, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.She gasped into him and he moaned into her. Like her mouth was a gospel he’d been waiting to memorize. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Her forehead fell against his chest. His hand smoothed over her spine.
“You wanna know what I done to you?” he whispered low, his lips brushing her hairline. He tilted her face up with two fingers, “I taught you how to take what you want.” He kissed her again, softer this time. Tender. Then against her lips, he whispered, “And you took it, Goldie.”
The bath was already drawn.
Warm and low-lit, with steam curling up in lazy tendrils from the water’s surface. Stack had lit a few candles stolen from one of the girls’ rooms no doubt and the faint scent of gardenia and beeswax hung in the air like perfume on bare skin.
Marigold sank in first, still trembling a little. The heat licked up her thighs, her belly, her breasts, and she let out a soft gasp as the water hugged her tender skin. Her limbs felt boneless, heavy from what had just happened. Her cheeks were still flushed. She just sat there in the bath, knees drawn in, arms wrapped loose around them, heart still racing.
He stepped in behind her. The water shifted. Ripples curled around her waist. And then—he sat. Right behind her. His broad, bare chest met her back. Strapping thighs bracketing her hips. His arms slid around her like a cage made of heat and muscle and something that felt far too much like…
Marigold closed her eyes.
Leaning back.
Resting her head against his collarbone.
“You did real good, baby…” Stack spoke softly, mouth brushing her temple, “Real good.”
She didn’t answer. She just sighed, the sound caught somewhere between pleasure and disbelief.
“I feel ruined,” she whispered finally, “Like I’m never gon’ be the same.”
Stack chuckled against her hair, “You ain’t.”
His hands moved slow. One dipped a sponge into the warm, sudsy water, squeezed it over her shoulders, watched the droplets trace down her collarbones like prayer beads. The other hand slid up her thigh. Not to tease. Just to touch. To remind her.
That she was his.
“Sit up a little,” he said, voice smooth and low.
She obeyed. And he pulled her back between his thighs, legs spread wider now, guiding her to rest between them like she belonged there.
Marigold let her head fall back again.
Stack kissed her jaw. Ran the sponge between the valley of her breasts.
“I ever tell you how good you look in candlelight?” he murmured, “Skin glowin’ like warm honey. My own lil’ psalm in the flesh…”
Marigold flushed deeper, “You stay talkin’ slick like that?”
“What you want—roses and rhyme while I’m down your throat? That it? You want somethin’ soft now? Little bit o’ lace on the way I talk? I could wax poetic if you need it, sugar. But I figured you liked it real.”
“A slick tongue’s fine…but I lean toward a man who know how to stir somethin’ up here first.” She tapped her temple, “I like language. Makes me feel somethin’. Makes me listen.”
“I don’t make you listen?” He runs a thumb along her jaw, “Every time I say somethin’, your body leanin’ in like it’s tryin’ to memorize it.”
“You a man of many words, Stack…” She looked down for a beat, then back up, slower, “You may not be quotin’ no scripture, but—” Her lips curled slightly. Not quite a smile, “You say things that stick. Got a way of makin’ a woman think…question things…wonder.”
Stack’s smile crept in like a slow leak, one dimple deepening as he tilted his head to the side. That look he gave her wasn’t smug—it was knowing. Like he’d been waiting on her to say something like that. Like he already knew she would.
He sat back a little, relaxed into himself, “That’s ‘cause talkin’s always been my lane.” His voice dragged slow, easy, “I’m the mouthpiece. Always been. Smoke—he the quiet one. The kind folks don’t see comin’ ‘til they already laid flat. He don’t need to raise his voice. Just show up. That’s enough.” He glanced off, jaw flexing once before he brought his eyes back to hers, “Me?” He tapped two fingers to his own chest, “I gotta work rooms. Make deals. Talk people into trustin’ us…or fearin’ us. Whatever the day calls for. Talk saved my life more times than a blade ever could.”
He paused then, thumb grazing the edge of her thigh like he wasn’t even aware he was doin’ it, “You learn a lot watchin folks. Learn more listenin’. Especially women.” His tone dropped. Just a little, “Men talk loud. Women carry it different. You watch close enough, they’ll show you everything without sayin’ a word.” His hand stilled, “That’s what I got a knack for. Seein’ past the front. Past the fear. All that polish and pretense…” His eyes moved over her slow, like he wasn’t in a rush to finish the thought, “I see what a woman need—what she don’t even know she cravin’. That’s where I live.”
And for a second, his smile softened. Just a little.
“That’s what make my words stick.”
She didn’t mean to say it. The words slipped out on a breath, softer than the silence between them.
“I had a dream…” Her voice caught, not from nerves exactly, but from the weight of it, “To be a writer.”
Stack didn’t speak. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t poke. Just looked at her the way he had been—like he saw the shape of something behind her eyes that no one else bothered to notice.
She glanced down at her lap, smoothing her thighs with the backs of her fingers, “I don’t know why I’m tellin’ you that.” A small shake of her head, more to herself than him, “Ain’t told nobody that in years.” She let out a short breath, almost like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just disbelief, “Used to carry notebooks everywhere. Little ones. Wrote on scraps when I ran outta pages. Stories, mostly. Sometimes poems. Whole worlds, just sittin’ in my head waitin’ to come out.” Her voice trailed, and she looked back up at him, blinking past the flicker of shame that tried to rise, “But life gets loud. And loud things drown out dreams.”
She hadn’t meant to unravel this much. Not in front of him. But something about the way he looked at her—like she wasn’t just some preacher’s wife tryna be good in public—it loosened things. Shook old dust off the corners of herself she thought were long gone.
Stack didn’t speak right away or rush to fill the space she’d left open. Instead, he reached for her hand—slow and certain—and rested his fingers over hers like they’d belonged there all along. His thumb moved once, tracing the top of her knuckles. Just that. No grip. No weight. Just touch.
“Ain’t nothin’ foolish about wantin’ to put your mind on paper.” His voice was softer now. Not low like when he was tryin’ to seduce her. Just warm. Steady, “You ever think maybe them words still in you? Just waitin’ for you to get quiet enough to hear ‘em again?” He leaned forward, catching her gaze over her shoulder, hands still holding hers, “I bet you see the world different. I bet you feel things harder than most. You don’t just walk through life—you carry it. And women like that?” He nodded once, slow, “They make the best storytellers.” His eyes didn’t move from hers. Not once, “I ain’t read a single word you ever wrote, and I still know you got it.” Then, the smile came back—slight and crooked, one dimple deep, “Long as you don’t go writin’ me in lookin’ too soft. Gotta keep my reputation.”
He winked slow, still holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She laughed.
Not the polite kind. Not the kind she wore at church functions or when Obadiah told one of his stiff, hollow jokes.
This laugh was real.
Soft at first, then fuller. Head tilted back just a little, eyes crinkled, hand slipping from his to press lightly against her chest like she needed to catch her breath.
“You?” she said between laughs, “Soft?” She shook her head, “Please.”
And that’s when he moved. One hand reached for her face, fast but smooth. Fingers curling firm beneath her jaw, thumb just below her bottom lip. Not rough. Not rushed. Just right. Commanding.
Her laughter caught in her throat.
Before she could blink, before she could say another word, he pulled her to him and kissed her.
No warning. No space for hesitation.
His mouth met hers full and sure, like he’d been waiting all night for her to open up that way—laughing, soft, light for once—and he wasn’t about to let it float away. His lips pressed hard, then deepened, tilting her head just so with his hand. He kissed like he talked—deliberate, skillful, just enough tongue to make her breath catch again.
He kissed like he meant to leave something behind. When he finally pulled back, just enough for her to breathe, her lips stayed parted.His lips found her shoulder—bare where the fabric had slipped slightly down her arm. A slow kiss, not rushed or hungry. Just firm enough to make her eyes close. To make her breath hitch. To make her skin rise. He stayed there a second longer, exhaling soft against her skin.
“Sanctified Heat.”
She blinked, “What?”
“That’s your first book title.” He leaned forward, looking down at her, eyes dancing, “Sanctified Heat. Sound like somethin’ I’d read twice.” A pause, then, “Tell some tale about a First Lady on a quest to becomin’ a whole lotta woman.”
She let out a breath—part laugh, part groan—and rolled her eyes hard enough to see the back of her own head.
“You have no serious bone in your body, Elias.”
Stack smirked, “Ain’t true. I got one, right here,” his semi-hard dick twitched against her lower back, “And it’s been mighty serious ‘round you lately.”
She hit his arm before he could finish laughing.
Steam lingered like a ghost in the corners of the room, soft and curling as it clung to the wood-paneled walls. Stack reached for a towel, dragging it down the length of Marigold’s spine with a slow, practiced sweep. Her skin, still warm from the bath, glistened under the soft golden light that spilled in from his bedside lamp. She sat at the edge of the tub with one leg crossed over the other, quiet as she let him handle her.
He’d bathed her like a man who understood worship in motion—hands firm, touch focused. Now he was drying her off the same way. Careful. Lingering. His fingers never missed the hollows: the back of her knee, the dip behind her ear, the swell of her hip where her body curved lush and inviting. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Her eyes were half-lidded, the weight of desire still heavy in her gaze from what they’d already done before.
“Keep breathin’ like that,” he said low, palm skimming the inside of her thigh, “and I’ma drag you right back in that tub.”
Marigold’s lips pulled into a soft smirk, but her voice stayed husky, relaxed, “You say that like it’d be a punishment.”
He laughed from deep in his chest and reached for the small cut-glass bottle on the side table. The oil inside was golden-brown and thick, slow to pour. It carried a smell like smoked vanilla, orange peel, and something darker—something sharp beneath it all, like clove left too long in a hot room.
“Got this mix from Cordelia,” he said as he warmed it between his palms, “She say it make a woman’s skin light up under low light.”
“Mm,” Marigold answered, eyelids fluttering, “And what kind of night you plannin’ for me to light up in?”
“The kind where folk don’t forget what they saw.”
His hands worked the oil into her shoulders, down her arms, across the curve of her back. He took his time, knuckles pressing in circles, thumbs sweeping out tension she didn’t even know she carried. When he reached her calves, she uncrossed her legs, spreading slightly so he could reach everywhere.
The room smelled like heat and citrus and the slow smolder of something carnal. Stack stood and reached for her robe, He held it open for her. She slipped her arms through with grace, though her breath caught when the cool lining kissed her still-damp skin. He adjusted it on her shoulders, fingers brushing the tops of her breasts as he smoothed it closed.
There was a knock.
Three quick raps, then a pause.
Stack held her eyes for a beat, reluctant to break the moment, “Be right back, Goldie.”
He left the room with no robe, no shame, just a slow, steady stride that made the wood floor creak underfoot.
The door to his office opened a crack as he leaned out, his voice low, “Who knockin’?”
“It’s me,” Cordelia’s voice answered, smooth and steady, “Brought them shoes you asked for. She need options, don’t she?”
He opened the door fully.
Cordelia didn’t blink at his bare skin. She’d known Stack too long, seen too much. She stood with a parcel in one hand and her other arm draped lazily across her waist. Her lipstick was a deep cherry red tonight, her dress cut low and hugging curves that had made grown men stammer in daylight. Stack took the parcel from her. Inside were three pairs: one black suede with a t-strap, one with a lace vamp and jeweled heel, and the third—a satin pump, soft as ink.
“They all match the dress?” he asked.
“Down to the thread.”
Stack’s face lit with a grin, “You a magician.”
“Don’t start that smooth talk. You’ll have Peaches knockin’ me cross the head.”
He chuckled and started to pull the door closed, but Cordelia placed her palm on the edge.
“One more thing,” she added, leaning in, voice dropping slightly, “Delta Slim and Cornbread just got here. Smoke went to meet ‘em at the depot. They just walked through the front.”
That pulled a genuine whoop from Stack’s chest, “Well, I’ll be damned. That mean the night done started.”
“Just about,” Cordelia said, eyes gleaming, “You gon’ dress, or greet ‘em like that?”
Stack smirked, “Ain’t no shame left in this house.”
“Clearly.” She stepped back and gave him a quick once-over, “Tell Goldie I picked the satin ones for her.”
He nodded and shut the door behind him, grinning.
Stack closed the door with the box of shoes under one arm, still grinning from Cordelia’s parting jab. But as soon as the latch clicked, he glanced down and chuckled low.
“Shit.”
He was still bare as the day he was born, skin slick with the oil he’d rubbed into Marigold not ten minutes before. In the soft lamplight, he crossed to the wardrobe near the back of the room. It stood tall, carved from dark walnut, its doors groaning faintly as he pulled them open. Inside hung pressed shirts in muted jewel tones, suspenders, slacks with sharp creases, and a few vests Cordelia had insisted he keep on hand for appearances.
He didn’t overthink it. He reached for black trousers with a high waist and a button fly, sliding them on with practiced ease. A steel gray shirt followed, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, collar loose. He looped on suspenders, the leather worn soft, before slipping a small silver chain into his pocket—a flask on one end, a matchbook on the other.
He ran a hand over his hair, adjusting the part with his fingers rather than a comb. Then, and only then, did he glance at himself in the mirror. Just long enough to nod once. Not vanity. Just a check. He looked how he needed to look: sharp, effortless, grounded. When he turned to Marigold, she was watching him from the corner, robe tied neat around her, legs tucked under her on the velvet settee, the robe riding just high enough on her thigh to distract him.
“You clean up fast,” she said.
He grinned, “Ain’t like I was dirty. Just distracted.”
She arched a brow when she saw his face, “What’s that smile about?”
Stack tossed the parcel on the bed and started walking toward her, slow, “Cornbread and Delta Slim just got in.”
Marigold looked up from where she sat, brow gently raised, “Those names supposed to mean somethin’ to me?”
He grinned, unbothered, “They will.”
She folded her arms loosely, leaning back into the cushion, “Mm. Let me guess. Some of your old partners in trouble?”
Stack chuckled low, “Somethin’ like that. Cornbread’s from back in Clarksdale—used to crack on me and Smoke like it was a paid job. And Slim…” He paused, rubbing his jaw, “Slim older. Don’t say much unless he got a reason. But when he plays…” Stack shook his head once, “Man could make a room weep.”
Marigold tilted her head, the corners of her lips lifting, “That kind of night, huh?”
He stopped in front of her, heat flickering behind his grin, “That kind of night.”
Stack bent at the waist, brushing his lips across her jawline, voice warm and deep.
“Biggest one yet.”
And with that, he stepped out to meet his past.
The silk of Marigold’s robe clung warm to her thighs as she shifted on the settee, one hand drifting slow along her oiled skin. She listened—half to the hallway, half to her own thoughts. Stack had paused only long enough to throw on trousers, roll up his sleeves, and slick his hair with his fingers before he slipped out the room with that lazy grin still playing on his mouth. He’d said Cornbread and Delta Slim had just arrived, but he hadn’t said what that meant. Not really. And now, with him gone, the quiet wasn’t empty—it thrummed. It curled under her ribs and settled low, the kind of hush that meant something was about to start.
Marigold stood from the settee, the silk of her robe sliding down her hips like a second skin. The room was still warm with the scent of oil and sex, the air thick with the memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice. She crossed the floor barefoot, slow, drawn toward the mirror set into the wardrobe’s tall frame. The glass was slightly clouded with age around the edges, but the center held her clear.
Her reflection met her like a secret kept too long. Her skin gleamed—shoulders, collarbone, thighs—all catching the low light like poured gold. But it wasn’t just the oil that made her glow.
It was what she’d done.
Her hand lifted to touch her jaw, tender along the hinge. The ache was there, deep and steady. A reminder. She’d taken him into her mouth. Sucked him slow while he groaned her name. Let him pour himself onto her tongue and didn’t flinch, didn’t run, didn’t spit. She’d swallowed him down, eyes up, hands steady, trembling only after it was done. The taste still lingered on the back of her tongue—salty, thick, intimate. She didn’t mind it. Not now. Not after the way he looked at her. The way he’d praised her, voice heavy, breathless, like she’d unlocked something in him.
In herself.
Marigold pressed her palm against her belly, letting her breath settle. She’d done something no First Lady would ever speak of, something no woman in her old life would ever admit. Not to a man like him. Not at all. And yet here she stood—bare-legged, oiled, grinning. She tried to smooth the smile from her lips. Tried to blink the heat out of her eyes.
It didn’t work.
It rose anyway, slow and real, curling in the corner of her mouth as she looked at herself. At the woman in the mirror who’d let go of shame and found something sweeter in the wreckage.
A woman becoming.
Then she heard it. A voice that boomed like laughter through wood walls. Familiar in a way that was impossible—bold, country-thick, dipped in mischief and muscle.
Stack’s.
And then, others. Deeper. Slower. Weighted. Like thunder that chose its moment to roll.
She tightened the sash of her robe as she made her way toward the main room.
The speakeasy floor of The Blackline was already humming. The bar glowed low, lined with amber-lit bottles that threw golden reflections against the walls. Liquor warmed the air—rye, gin, absinthe, and sweat. The wood of the floors shone faintly, worn smooth by the shoes of men who whispered sins and the heels of women who didn’t whisper at all.
Behind the long counter, the bartenders moved like smoke. All women. All dangerous in the ways you didn’t see coming. Pippy stood tallest tonight, sharp-faced and smooth-skinned with a cleaver smile and a gold nose ring that caught the light when she leaned forward. Lotta was beside her, wide-hipped and smooth-talking, with a mouth known for spilling both drinks and secrets when she wanted them to travel.
And seated before them—arms outstretched, laughter spilling out like a drum beat—was Cornbread.
Big as she’d imagined a man named Cornbread might be. His shoulders were round and strong beneath a pinstriped shirt, suspenders stretching over the span of his chest. His dark skin caught a dull shine under the low light. His smile took up half his face, and when he slapped the bar in laughter, the whole room seemed to vibrate.
“Boy, you still talk slick with a mouth that ain’t paid rent?” Cornbread said, twisting in his stool to pull Stack into another hug.
Stack, dressed now but with that same lazy grin still tugging his mouth, swatted the back of Cornbread’s head playfully, “You still got breath to waste on bad jokes? Goddamn, I thought you’d be half-dead and missin’ teeth by now.”
“Ha! Missin’ teeth? Naw, I keep mine sharp. Gotta keep up with Theresa, she don’t like no gummy kisses.” Cornbread turned to the bar and tapped his glass for a refill, “Rye, baby. The one with bite.”
Pippy poured it smooth and fast, no smile. She was used to Stack’s boys by now. And just behind them, seated quieter but heavier in presence, was Delta Slim.
Marigold saw him before she felt him. And yet, something about him reached her before her eyes did. He sat with one boot resting on the brass footrail, his body turned slightly from the bar, as if watching the room from an angle no one else understood. A wide-brimmed hat sat next to his elbow, untouched. His vest hugged a narrow frame, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal long, sinewed arms. One hand rested over a glass half-full. The other held a harmonica, thumb brushing over the grooves like it was a living thing. His face was carved in stillness. Deep eyes. High cheekbones. Brown skin marked by time, shadowed by what he’d seen and hadn’t said.
He didn’t laugh. He watched.
Stack approached him with more care, “Unc.”
Delta Slim looked up, slow. The corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. More like acknowledgment.
“Mm. Boy still remember who poured the blues down his throat first,” Slim said, voice husky and deep like a storm refusing to pass.
“You ain’t pour nothin’. You just played so good I ain’t had no choice but to drown in it.”
Stack held out his hand. Slim took it. Their grip was brief but firm.
“You still drinkin’ that piss they call gin?” Slim asked.
“Nah, I done graduated to the good poison.” Stack lifted two fingers, “Pippy, pour Unc whatever he came here for.”
“Already did,” Pippy said without looking, “He ain’t sipped it yet.”
Slim chuckled once, low and dry, “Just savorin’ the quiet before this place fills with the wild.”
Behind the bar, Lotta leaned in toward Cornbread, “Y’all brought the blues with you or just the noise?”
Cornbread wiggled his brows, “Brought both. But the blues gon’ slide in sweeter.”
That was when Marigold stepped closer, her bare feet near silent on the floor. Stack noticed first. His eyes flicked to her, and something shifted in his chest—pride and tension mingling.
“Fellas,” he said, stepping aside. “This here’s Marigold.”
Cornbread turned, his mouth already curving, “Well, damn. You must be the one Stack been keepin’ upstairs like a song he don’t want nobody else to hear.”
Marigold gave a soft smile, one hand resting at her hip, “And you must be the mouthy one.”
“Oooh,” Cornbread wheezed, delighted, “She quick. I like her.”
Slim turned to look at her fully. She felt it—the weight of his gaze. Not invasive. Just seeing.
“Miss Gold,” Slim said, nodding once, “You carry somethin’ in your eyes. Make a man wanna play a slower tune.”
Marigold blinked. Her throat tightened unexpectedly. She didn’t know this man. And yet, it felt like he already knew the shape of her sorrow.
Stack wrapped an arm around her waist, grounding her.
“We got music comin’,” he told them both, “Food on the way. And that back room’s open for who need to sit and sweat it out.”
Slim lifted his glass.
Cornbread winked at Marigold.
The bar swelled with low laughter and the soft clink of glass against wood when the back door swung open—the one that led from the kitchen.
Sammie Moore stepped through, chewing the last bite of a thick slice of cornbread still warm from Aunt Pearl’s skillet. A smear of butter clung to the corner of his mouth, and his guitar hung by a faded strap against his back. He paused just inside the room, blinking against the dimmer light, adjusting his glasses with the back of his knuckle. The sweet and savory smell still clung to him—lard, sugar, woodsmoke.
Stack spotted him instantly, “There he go!” Stack called, grinning wide, “Ain’t even wiped the crumbs off, greedy ass.”
Sammie chuckled and shook his head, finishing the bite, “Aunt Pearl said get it while it’s hot.”
Cornbread turned on his stool, eyebrows lifting, “That little Sammie?”
Stack turned him toward the bar with one hand on his shoulder, “Not so little no more. This here’s Samuel Moore—soon-to-be graduate of Fisk University. And tonight…” Stack turned to Marigold with a grin, “we throwin’ him a celebration. Blues, cooze, and a whole lotta liquor to put some hair on that narrow chest.” Stack stepped aside, beckoning him toward the bar, “C’mere, boy. Lemme introduce you proper.”
Sammie walked over, straightening a little as he approached, pulling the guitar strap from his shoulder and leaning it gently against the bar rail.
Stack turned to Marigold, one hand sweeping between them with theatrical flair, “Lil’ cuz, this here’s Marigold. First Lady Marigold.”
Sammie’s brow rose slightly, but he dipped his head with polite warmth, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
Before Marigold could respond, Cornbread twisted in his seat, already barking out a laugh.
“First Lady? Lord, you done brought a church woman into this wicked house?”
Marigold’s eyes cut to Stack, one brow lifting.
Stack smirked, unfazed, “She been converted.”
Cornbread wheezed, “Chile, I hope you got holy oil on them thighs, ‘cause you gon’ need it before the night’s through.”
Marigold folded her arms and gave Cornbread a look that made him immediately raise both palms.
“I’m jokin’, I’m jokin’. Don’t curse me, Sister.”
Sammie looked between them, unsure whether to laugh or apologize. Marigold just shook her head, letting the corner of her mouth tug up.
Marigold took him in—his pressed slacks, clean fingernails, soft Southern posture—and offered a nod of her own, “Same to you, Mr. Moore.”
Stack leaned in with a crooked grin, “See? She don’t bite.”
Cornbread squinted, “You sure Jedediah know you out here throwin’ his boy into the lion’s den? He liable to catch a train his damn self and drag your ass back to Clarksdale.”
Stack just laughed, pulling Sammie closer, “He grown now. He deserve a night that feels like it.”
He turned to Delta Slim, who was watching the exchange through narrowed eyes, one hand still idling on the neck of his glass.
“You remember little Sammie, don’t you, Unc?”
Slim didn’t nod right away. He looked at Sammie like a man weighing something in his palm. Then he said, voice low and plain, “I know his daddy.”
A long sip, then, “You in school, son?”
“Yes, sir,” Sammie said, “Fisk University. Majoring in English and folklore. Minor in music theory.”
Slim’s eyebrows twitched. He didn’t say anything. Just took another drink.
Stack leaned his elbow on the bar, grinning like the devil, “Unc don’t know—Preacher Boy here? Best blues player in the Delta right now.”
Slim scoffed, finally letting out a slow, drawn laugh.
“Boy, I got socks older than you,” he said, shaking his head, “What the hell you know about the blues?”
Sammie didn’t flinch. He smiled back, cool but sure.
“I can show you better than I can tell you,” he said, “Tonight.”
Cornbread leaned back, impressed, “Oh, he got that Moore heat in him after all.”
Pippy slid a shot glass across to Sammie, the clear liquid catching the light.
He looked at it, then looked at Stack.
“First one’s yours,” Stack said, “Then the night does the rest.”
Sammie took the glass in hand, the faintest tremble in his fingers, and raised it toward the room.
“To family,” he said.
Stack clinked his glass against it, “And freedom.”
And just like that, the music of the night began to tune itself into motion.
The music and voices from the main floor thinned as Marigold pushed through the swinging kitchen door, the weight of the night loosening from her shoulders for just a moment. The air inside was thick with warmth and spice, butter and onion, flour dust and meat smoke. A pot simmered low on the back eye, something sweet wafting from the oven.
Aunt Pearl stood at the center table, strong hands wrist-deep in biscuit dough, her sleeves rolled and her braids pinned up tight beneath a head wrap. Across from her, Minnie was peeling sweet potatoes into a wide tin basin, her soft face already glistening with a light sweat from the heat.
Marigold stepped to the sideboard and reached for a cup. Aunt Pearl’s eyes lifted before she could pour.
“Mm-mm,” she said, wiping her forearm across her brow, “You sit. I’ll get it.”
Marigold obeyed, settling onto the corner stool beside the door. Aunt Pearl poured cool water from a clay jug into a glass and handed it to her without another word.
Marigold drank slow, grateful. The cold hit her throat like clarity. Behind her, Minnie hummed tunelessly and scraped peel after peel into a growing pile.
“What’s all that racket out there?” Aunt Pearl asked, not looking up as she pressed her knuckles into the soft dough, folding it over with care.
Marigold wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, “Some old friends of Stack and Smoke showed up from Clarksdale. Cornbread and Delta Slim.”
The name didn’t even finish falling from her mouth before Aunt Pearl’s whole rhythm stilled.
She paused, hand mid-fold, breath just shy of inhale.
“You say…” she began, voice caught on something too soft for starch, “Delta Slim?”
Marigold blinked, “Yes, ma’am.”
Aunt Pearl’s eyes dropped to the dough, then to her own flour-dusted hands. She stood straight, exhaled through her nose, and moved to the sink. Minnie and Marigold exchanged a look—quiet, knowing. Aunt Pearl washed slowly, almost ceremonially. She scrubbed the dough from her palms, rubbed her forearms clean, splashed her face, then patted it dry with the hem of her apron.
Marigold tilted her head, “You know him?”
Aunt Pearl didn’t answer right away. She stood at the counter with her back turned, removed her headwrap, and smoothing her hair down with both hands, checking her reflection faintly in the glass of the cabinet. She adjusted her braids, dabbed her throat with a clean cloth, and reached for the pair of gold hoops on the windowsill that she usually saved for Sundays.
“Chile,” she finally said, voice thick with something tender, “ain’t seen Delta Slim in years ‘round Little Rock. Him and his buddy Rice—rest his soul—used to get the whole Juke on Eighth Street jumpin’. Music would bleed out into the roads like it was callin’ the whole block to dance.” She chuckled low and soft, smoothing her apron down now, too, “Used to play a piano so sweet it’d make you second-guess whoever you was mad at.”
Marigold sipped her water and just watched.
Aunt Pearl wasn’t trying to be young again—but something about her shifted. Just a little. Her eyes sparkled the way only a woman who’s been seen by a man like Delta Slim would understand. She pressed her lips together, checked her blouse, and straightened her spine.
Minnie leaned in slightly, stage-whispering with a grin, “Miss Pearl, you blushin’.”
“Shut up,” Pearl said without bite, waving her off, “Ain’t nobody blushin’. Just… ain’t no harm in presentin’ yourself decent when company’s in town.”
Marigold smiled around the rim of her glass, warmth rising in her chest. She had never seen Aunt Pearl like this. Always firm, always moving, always humming and judging and fixing. But right now, she was just a woman. A woman remembering a song that once made her heart thump louder than the beat.
It was beautiful.
“Think he gon’ remember you?” Minnie teased gently.
Aunt Pearl side-eyed her, lips twitching, “If he don’t,” she said, tying her apron tighter with a flourish, “he damn sure gon’ see me.
The Blackline wasn’t just full.
It was heaving.
Smoke coiled in the rafters like spirits called down for witness, and the scent of perfume, fried catfish, cherry pipe tobacco, bourbon, cocoa butter, and sweat layered the air so thick it fogged the mind. The band was already kicking—upright bass slapping, trumpet crooning, a piano woman banging keys like she was mad at them but making magic all the same. The place was a dirty cabaret, dressed up like something out a devil’s daydream. Velvet curtains, low amber lights, chandeliers swaying from too much body heat, and that red-lit stage like the gates of hell yawning open. Smoke and Stack’s security—old war buddies turned muscle—prowled the corners in shadow, eyes sharp beneath fedoras, jackets tight with the shape of hidden steel. Ain’t nobody causing trouble here without answering to fire.
And right now, all eyes were on the stage.
Stack Moore, already three drinks in and grinning wide, swaggered to the mic like he owned the whole damn city—which, in some ways, he did. He raised a hand. The band hit a bluesy fanfare. The crowd roared.
“Ladies. Gentlemen. And all you low-down lucky souls between!!!” he drawled into the mic, that Southern slur smooth and rich like molasses poured slow, “Tonight, we celebratin’ a fine young man!!!”
Cheers.
“Some of y’all know him. Some of y’all ‘bout to get acquainted!!!”
More cheers.
“He’s blood. He’s got music in his bones. He’s smart, clean, and fresh from school. But more importantly…” Stack grinned wide, eyes twinkling like a bastard prince. “He just turned twenty!!!”
Applause. Hollers.
“And I aim to ruin him tonight!!!”
The crowd howled.
“Give it up for my cousin—my kin—the one, the only… Preacher Boy Sammie Moore!!!”
🎺 The trumpet let loose. Spotlights swung. 🎺
Sammie, dressed clean in a deep navy three-piece suit with satin lapels, crisp white shirt, collar pin, tie sharp as a blade, and Stacy Adams shoes freshly shined, stepped into the glow. His hair was neatly cropped, his jaw strong, and his posture had that young lion look—a little tense, a little unsure, but ready to run the pride. He clutched the Moore family guitar—once Smoke and Stack’s father— slung on his back like a weapon. And as he moved through the crowd, the spotlights followed him. The room parted like water around a blessing.
Women leaned in. Men nodded. Glasses raised. Sammie smiled, humbled, his dimples deep as the Delta.
And there she was.
Marigold.
Sitting in the private booth lit by candlelight, diamonds in her ears, skin kissed with gold powder, and her body poured into that satin-black dress like it had been sewn to her soul. Cordelia had done her hair up—glossy finger waves that glimmered like oil slicks under the light. Peaches had painted her lips the color of garnet wine and lined her eyes sharp like scripture. She looked like Sunday wrapped in sin, a sermon in hips, back straight, eyes low-lidded. That dress showed shoulder, swelled over her breasts, hugged her waist, then fell like water over her hips. Every step she took whispered. Every turn of her head caught someone’s breath.
The whole room noticed when Stack made his way to her.
He was drunk. But that kind of pretty drunk—loose at the shoulders, smile hot and hungry. Cigarette tucked behind his ear, top buttons undone, gold tooth flashing every time he grinned.
He reached out a hand, “C’mon, First Lady. Let me steal one.”
Marigold hesitated just a second. Then she slipped her hand into his. He pulled her to the center of the floor. The music kicked up—thick, nasty blues with a heartbeat rhythm.
And Stack showed her how to dance.
He didn’t take it easy.
One spin. Her back to him. His hands on her hips. Then he pulled her sharp—flush against him.
Her breath hitched.
He leaned in close, breath warm behind her ear, “Let me show you how we grind in my house, baby.”
His hands slid from her waist to her hips, then lower— palming her thighs, guiding her into rhythm. Marigold let her body answer. Let her hips roll. Let herself melt back into him, back arched just so. Stack’s palm flattened on her stomach, fingers splayed wide, possessive. He ground against her slow. Hard. His other hand traveled up —over her ribs, under the swell of her breasts, teasing, almost grazing, then sliding back down.
She let out a soft gasp. The crowd watched—entranced.
But this wasn’t performance.
This was a claim.
His jaw at her shoulder. Sweat glistening at their temples. He smelled like spiced liquor and expensive cologne. She felt his desire—heavy and hot at her backside—and it only made her grind deeper.
Her eyes fluttered. Her mouth parted. He whispered something filthy in her ear, and her legs nearly buckled.
This was Stack’s world. And tonight, it was Sammie’s world too.
In the corner booth, Smoke and Violet were lip-locked, her giggle sweet and breathless as she straddled his lap, hands on his chest, one of his big palms cupping the back of her neck like he was the only thing keeping her from floating away.
The Blackline pulsed. The room was glowing. The music wailed. And somewhere between blues and sweat, between velvet and teeth, between whiskey and desire, a boy became a man. A preacher’s wife became a flame.
And Stack? He laughed low against Marigold’s neck and whispered, “You gon’ be the death of me.”
Sammie hadn’t ever seen anything like it.
The Blackline undulated like a living thing—smoke curling in thick ribbons, hips rocking under low lights, velvet and sweat mingling in the air like perfume. Stack had introduced him like royalty, spotlights dragging over the crowd as girls hooted and clapped, calling him “cutie” and “baby Moore” and “preacher boy gone bad.”
Now, sitting in a booth with a tall glass of brown liquor in his hand, Sammie let the weight of it all settle in his chest. His birthday party. His first real drink. His guitar—their daddy’s—resting in a case by his feet like a sleeping memory.
Stack was on the floor, dancing with the preacher’s wife like she belonged to him, hand gripped tight to her waist, body pressed so close it made the air thicken. Marigold. That was her name. And Lord, was she something. The way she moved in that black dress, like a prayer too wicked to say out loud. Smoke and Violet were off in a corner booth, her giggles bubbling over his mouth as he kissed her neck and tugged her closer. Sammie had caught Violet’s wink earlier—that quick hug she gave him when he arrived. She looked good, grown. And even happier.
But none of them knew what was still tugging at the back of his mind.
That girl. That sweet thing in butter-yellow.
He saw her again.
Not in person but in every song that slid over the stage. Every slow sway. Every heat-fueled note. She was stuck in his head like a lyric he hadn’t written down in time.
He drained his glass, heat flooding his stomach, and sat forward.
“Where you goin’, baby Moore?” one of the girls purred from across the table.
“Nowhere yet,” he smiled, dimples flashing. But his eyes? Already drifting toward the front doors.
He hadn’t seen her since earlier at the Shine Parlor, licking her ice cream with that sideways smirk like she knew something he didn’t. She’d said she might come.
He was hoping she meant it.
The room was packed wall to wall with Black elegance and sin. Sequins shimmered. Suspenders stretched. Perfume clung to sweat and smoke like molasses to warm bread. The scent of gin, sweat, and fresh hair grease met in the air like lovers reunited.
Stack leaned halfway over the edge of the small platform stage near the back, half-drunk and fully loud, waving a bottle in the air like he was summoning something holy.
“Ayyyeee, where my blues man at?!”
The crowd clapped and whooped as Delta Slim stood up slow from his corner stool. He was dressed in his sharpest—ink-black trousers, a steel-gray vest, and a shirt rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms roped with age and memory. His silver rings caught the light. A flask of corn liquor rested loose in his hand.
“Ain’t come here for all that shoutin’,” he said gruffly, stepping up. But he was already smirking. “Y’all gon’ wake the dead with all this carryin’ on.”
“Oh, let ‘em wake,” Stack hollered, nearly dropping his drink as he helped guide Slim onto the small riser, “Let the dead hear what real music sound like.”
The crowd roared in response, clapping in rhythm as Delta Slim sank onto the piano bench and cracked his knuckles like a man about to confess something dangerous.
Off to the side, near the open kitchen doors, Aunt Pearl stood watching.
She wasn’t trying to be seen, but she was hard to miss tonight. Her cotton dress hugged her just right, apron still tied, but her waist defined, her gold hoops shining. She’d smoothed her braids into a twist and dabbed her neck with cologne. A soft dusting of rouge touched her cheekbones, and her lips were slicked with her best lipstick—a deep plum shade that caught in the light and looked like temptation in full bloom.
Two of the house girls slipped by with drink trays, eyeing her with warmth and mischief.
“Mmm, Auntie, who you gettin’ fine for tonight?”
“Aunt Pearl, that lipstick got you lookin’ dangerous.”
She swatted at them with her dish towel but didn’t hide the smile that curled up slow. Her eyes never left the stage.
Delta Slim leaned forward, fingers hovering above the keys. The first notes slid out low, aching—like honey stirred into black coffee. The piano crooned under him. He played like the night owed him something. Like every note was a name he hadn’t spoken in decades.
The room fell into a hush before the cheering broke loose again.
“All right now!”
“Woooo! Play them keys, old man!”
“I know that’s right, Slim!”
“Tell it!”
Folks clapped, hips rolled, drinks sloshed. Some danced. Some swayed. Some just sat there, eyes closed, letting the sound wash over them like baptism with better consequences.
Then—Lucille Bogan stepped into the light.
Wearing a body-hugging black dress that clung to every round curve, she climbed onto the piano like she’d been born on it. She adjusted her bosom with a shrug and a grin, one knee bent, shoe dangling off her toe, lipstick smudged from another man’s mouth.
She sang like she didn’t owe anybody an apology.
The crowd hushed, lips parted, leaning into every syllable.
🎶I gotta big fat belly
I gotta big broad ass
And I can fuck any man
With real good class
Talkin’ ‘bout fuckin
Talkin’ ‘bout grindin’, baby, all night long…🎶
The crowd hooted. Chairs scraped. Hands slapped thighs.
🎶You know both a my mens
They are tight like that
They got a great big dick just like a baseball bat—
Oooooooh, fuck me
Do it to me all night long
I want you to do it to me, baby
Honey, till the cows come home…🎶
It was raunchy. Raw. Perfect.
Slim didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just kept playing like the devil himself was keeping tempo at his feet. When the song ended, the room erupted. Glasses raised. Voices hollered. Somebody slapped the wall in time.
Slim leaned back, sweat glistening on his brow. He took one slow sip from his flask.
Then his eyes found her.
Across the room, apron tied neat and lips still glistening, Aunt Pearl stood frozen in her own breath. Slim lifted his flask in her direction, eyes twinkling, grin sharp as a butcher’s knife. Gold teeth flashed in the low light.
Aunt Pearl didn’t smile back right away. But she touched her earring. Adjusted her hem. And in that small shift, that glance she held a beat too long—she answered him.
The music never stopped.
It shifted, swelled, rolled like heat waves off tin. Delta Slim’s piano had settled into a low, steady groove now, punctuated by the slide of steel strings and the stomp of bodies against the floorboards. The room swayed with it—laughter, grinding, hunger—all pressed together under the sultry pull of the blues.
Sammie Moore stood frozen at the edge of it all, guitar slung across his chest, wide eyes catching too much light. He didn’t know where to look. Or rather, he looked everywhere.
Violet was near the center, lost in a slow, filthy grind against Smoke. Her dress was hitched halfway up her thighs, one of his hands firm around her neck, angling her so she could back it up into him just right. His other hand gripped her hip, anchoring her like he was scared she might float off if he let go. Their rhythm wasn’t just dancing—it was a warning. Warning of what was to come later. Every part of Violet moved like it had purpose, like she knew who was watching and didn’t give a damn. And Smoke—dark-eyed, mouth parted—looked like a man made to sin and stay sinnin’.
Sammie swallowed hard and dragged his gaze away.
But it didn’t help.
Girls with shining legs and bare breasts climbed onto tables, bending and twisting, hands in each other’s hair, mouths open, laughing, singing, moaning. A man reclined in a shadowy corner behind a sheer red curtain—shirt undone, head tilted back—while two women knelt between his thighs, heads bobbing in tandem, soft wet sounds swallowed by the music.
Sammie stared too long before he caught himself. His throat burned. His palms were sweating. Something inside him felt like it was breaking open and rising all at once. He adjusted his guitar, pulled it down to cover the obvious press forming in his trousers. The scent of lard and onions wafted in from the kitchen—sweet potatoes, smoked meat, peppery collards steeped in pot liquor. He saw people sopping it up with thick-cut biscuits and hunks of cornbread right from Aunt Pearl’s cast-iron pan, mouths greasy, bellies full, eyes half-lidded from food and drink and desire. It was too much. And not enough. He licked his lips, felt his heart thudding in his ears.
“Don’t breathe too deep, baby boy,” a voice crooned beside him, “You liable to pass clean out.”
It was Pippy, tall and lean with that gold nose ring glinting under the light, a drink in her hand already sweating against her palm.
“Happy birthday, sweet thang,” she said, pressing the glass into his hand.
He looked down at it—reddish gold, rim dusted in sugar and chili salt. Something smelled citrus, something else smoky.
“What is it?” he asked, voice cracked.
She smirked, “Mine.” Then walked off.
He stared after her, stunned, then back to the drink. Somewhere in the background, Lucille Bogan let out another raspy note. A woman cackled. Glass broke. The bass line dropped again.
Sammie raised the glass to his lips and drank deep. The burn was smooth. But the heat didn’t go away. It settled lower. Thicker. He stood there, guitar hiding his ache, the world moving around him in color and sweat and sound—and something inside him shifted. He had never felt more alive. Or more afraid of what that meant.
He stepped away from the crowd, needing a breath, just one moment to gather himself. He moved toward the hallway that led to the kitchen, the guitar still slung across his chest, drink still half-full in his hand.
That’s when it happened.
He turned the corner just as someone rounded the same edge, and they collided—light, but enough to knock her tray sideways.
Plates clattered, nothing broke, but a sweet film of sauce splashed against her forearm.
“Oh—!” she gasped, gripping the tray tighter, shoulders tense.
“I’m sorry,” Sammie said quickly, stepping forward. “I wasn’t lookin’.”
She blinked up at him, startled but composed, dark eyes wide beneath soft lashes. She wore a simple dress, apron tied snug at the waist, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her hair was pinned up loosely, a few curls sticking to her forehead with the sweat of the night. Her cheeks were flushed, but she didn’t frown.
“It’s fine,” she said, voice soft, almost a whisper. “I should’ve called it out.”
“Let me help,” he said, already reaching for the plates that had tilted on the tray. She hesitated, then nodded.
Together, they steadied the mess, and she led the way into the kitchen.
The warmth inside was heavier. Cast iron clanged, grease popped, Aunt Pearl muttered to herself as she pulled fresh cornbread from the oven. Minnie was bent over a roasting pan, humming as she basted something slow and sticky.
Sammie set the tray on the prep table, then turned back toward the girl. She was already rinsing her hands at the sink.
“I really didn’t mean to bump you,” he said again, quieter now.
She turned off the tap and reached for a cloth. “It happens,” she replied, drying her arms. Her smile was gentle, but short-lived.
Sammie swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m Sammie, by the way.”
She looked at him a moment, then replied simply, “Alma Rose.”
It landed soft between them. Nothing flirtatious, nothing deliberate—just the name, given like a secret she didn’t mind him holding.
Before he could say more—
“There your ass go!”
Stack’s voice burst into the kitchen like a gunshot wrapped in laughter. He was already moving, half-drunk and still magnetic, a grin stretched wide across his face.
“You hidin’ in here with biscuits and pretty girls while I’m out there tryna hype your name up?”
Sammie blinked, startled. “I wasn’t hidin’, I just—”
“Come on,” Stack said, already grabbing him by the shoulder, “Slim’s waitin’. I told these folks my lil’ cousin could play. Time to prove me right.”
Sammie glanced back toward Alma Rose. She gave him a small nod, already turning back to the sink.
And then he was gone, pulled back into the heat and holler of the juke, the kitchen door swinging shut behind him.
The lights in The Blackline dimmed without announcement. Not sudden, not dramatic. Just a gradual softening, like the room itself had leaned in. Cigarette smoke hung low and blue, caught in the amber glow of the lamps. Whiskey glasses clinked. Someone laughed too loud near the bar and was hushed by the sound of a piano warming up, keys pressed slow and curious. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, food, anticipation. Something expectant.
Stack stepped onto the edge of the stage, already half drunk, jacket slung loose, grin easy and dangerous, “Alright now!” he said, voice cutting clean through the room, “I want y’all to listen up!”
The crowd quieted. Not fully. But enough.
“This here,” Stack continued, reaching back and catching Sammie by the shoulder, pulling him forward into the light, “is my cousin. Fresh‑turned twenty. Fresh outta school. Preacher’s boy from the Delta, but don’t let that fool you.”
Laughter rolled through the room.
“He gon’ show you somethin’ tonight!”
Delta Slim slapped the piano with delight, “Show these folk how bad a blues man you are, boy!”
Sammie stepped forward. The guitar felt heavier than it ever had. Not because of the wood. It was because of what pressed into his chest when he touched it. He hadn’t played yet, but something in the room had shifted. It was like stepping into deep water without realizing the tide had come in. His breath caught. Just once. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, fingers brushing the worn grain of the guitar Smoke and Stack had given him years ago. Their daddy’s guitar. Passed down not as inheritance, but as permission.
Sammie swallowed. He didn’t know why his hands were shaking. He only knew he needed to play.
Somewhere near the bar, Violet stilled. Her laugh died in her throat as if someone had closed a door inside her chest. A chill ran clean down her spine, sharp enough to make her press her fingers into the edge of the table.
She frowned.
She had seen this before. Not like this—not the room, not the faces—but this feeling. The pull. The hush before sound changed things. She leaned closer to Smoke without knowing why, eyes fixed on Sammie like the answer was waiting in his hands.
Across the room, Liza June had already gone quiet. She stood near the wall, white lace gloves folded together at her waist, head tilted slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. Her breath slowed. Her pupils widened.
They were arriving. Not crashing in. Not screaming.
Just…stepping closer.
The first chord rang out. Low. Open. True. The guitar didn’t just sound—it opened. Sammie’s shoulders dropped as if something had settled into him. His fingers moved before he thought to tell them how. The notes bent, stretched, cried. Not polished. Not practiced. Real. And when he sang, his voice didn’t strain.
It carried.
🎶Somethin’ I been wantin’ to tell you for a long time…I was just a boy, ’bout eight years old…🎶
The room leaned forward.
Liza June sucked in a sharp breath.
Louisa Fields stood near the edge of the stage, small and solemn, bare feet not quite touching the floor. Thirteen forever. Watching Sammie like she recognized him. Behind her, the Harris twins appeared together— Mary Elizabeth and Melvine Grace—hands clasped, dresses identical, eyes bright with something between sorrow and relief. Clarene Bell lingered near the piano, fingers brushing the air as if remembering how it felt to sing. Her mouth trembled when Sammie’s voice cracked, just a little. Larissa Boone stood farther back, arms crossed, head tilted, approval sharp and quiet. Forty‑two years old and still unbowed.
And then the room deepened.
Cressida Weatherford arrived without sound.
She did not drift. She did not fade. She stood. Hands strong. Scarred. Alive with memory. Her palms glowed faintly—not light, not color—but knowing. She moved through the room slowly, the way women do when they know everyone must make space for them. Her eyes passed over the patrons, the dancers, the men with money and the women with laughter clutched tight to their ribs.
And then she stopped.
Marigold.
Cressida hovered just behind her, hands near her shoulders but never touching. Close enough to warm the air. Close enough to remind the blood what it remembered.
Liza June’s knees almost buckled. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Golden‑handed.
The words did not echo. They settled.
Cressida lifted her head and looked straight at Liza June. Not through her. At her. Liza swallowed hard, eyes burning, a smile trembling at the corner of her mouth like she’d been waiting her whole life to be seen.
Sammie kept playing. He didn’t know why his eyes burned. Didn’t know why the room felt bigger than it had any right to be.
🎶They say the truth hurts, so I lie to you…🎶
Somewhere, someone cried and didn’t know why. Past, present, and future pressed close—ancestors of the room, shadows of what had been lost, outlines of what was still to come. They filled the corners, the rafters, the space between bodies.
The music held them. And then there was movement near the back.
Cressida turned.
Her attention shifted like a tide finding a new shore.
Evangeline stood toward the back, half-shadowed by the bodies swaying around her. She wore a soft blue dress—modest at the neck, cinched at the waist, sleeves brushing her elbows. The fabric clung gently to her hips when she moved, nothing showy, but the kind of quiet beauty that made men take notice without knowing why. She wasn’t drinking anything. No fanfare. No fuss. Just standing there, eyes fixed on Sammie. Shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm. Her sway matched the beat like it had lived in her all along. Lips parted. A smile slowly blooming—not one of surprise, but recognition. Like she’d been waiting for this sound. This boy. This night.
Erik fucking plus size OC and he is obsessed with how wet her pussy is/ Erik fucking plus size OC in college and she wants to do it with the lights off.
Warnings: SMUTTY, Hardcore, College Erik, Sorority OC, Fraternity Erik, Inspiration from Zane story called APF. Just a disclaimer I am not a member of any of these sororities and I don’t want to disrespect or take credit.
hey y’all! This is so long and detailed. I’m doing another story with an OC. I’ve been reading this Zane book called APF and it is straight up nasty and I figured if I’m doing college Erik and OC I could put my own twist on this amazing erotica and I hope you guys love it! I recommend reading the book y’all I promise you won’t be disappointed 😩😩😩
You hold your hands in your lap while Erik’s large masculine hand brushed and fondled your upper thigh. He would take his fingers to wrap around your thick thigh before squeezing it. Your eyes trailed down to his smooth veiny hand watching him knead your flesh with a firm grasp before releasing it. This made you move your knees from side to side. Now, Erik’s fingers began to tickle your inner thigh.
“I love how you came out of the house with some pants on, Y/N,” He spoke with a dry tone.
“I’m sorry,” You were going to wear a denim skirt at first but since there were no other plans besides going back to his place you figured the velour tracksuit was better. So much for that. Erik wanted to feel your skin and have easier access to that juicy pussy. You couldn’t blame his persistence and determination to have you. Untamed and primal, Erik fits his large hand no matter how difficult into the front of your track pants. His entire hand cupped your pussy. You felt silky, smooth, delicate, and creamy down there. Satisfaction crowded his features as he maneuvered the car and rubbed his large hand over your heated and engorged lips.
“You tryna sit this swollen pussy on my dick?”
“Mhm, Daddy.” You allow your eyes to watch his hand move up and down between your legs. The fabric of the tracksuit was digging into your hips and frustrating you. Squirming, you pull your pants down and kicked it off along with your slides. Erik was now greeted with the sight of your waxed mound covered in drenched teal green panties. The entire crotch was juicy and sopping wet. Legs wide and limber, you provide better access for Erik’s large hand to rub, flick, and finger your pussy to his enjoyment.
“Dassit’ give that pussy up,” He yanks the crotch of your panties to the side watching your pussy involuntarily contract with need. The third leg in Erik’s track pants throbbed like a pulse. That’s exactly why he wore track pants. His dick needed breathing room so it could grow and expand comfortably.
“Your shit is so wet. Little pussy is begging me right now.”
“Umph, Yes-” you moan as he slaps your pussy.
“Grab my dick. Now.”
You reach across his lap to grab his pipe. Your pussy spasmed.
“Feelin’ that?” He spoke huskily.
“Mhm.”
“This what you playing wit’ tonight, girl. All this long dick.”
“Umph, Daddy-”
“Spread them pussy lips so I can see that sweet pink.”
You used your free hand to spread your pussy wide. Your labia looked like fleshy wings leading up to your erect and succulent clit. Then there was that tight plundering hole with your syrup oozing out and down the crack of your ass. Erik’s tongue poked out and flicked towards his upper lip while making deep grunting and growling sounds.
“You’re so sweet, Baby girl,” Erik takes his fingers to slide them inside your pussy. You choke on a moan because you hadn’t expected that so suddenly. He was finger-fucking your pussy greedily. His fingers worked up a frenzy while your hands weakly grabbed his arm to bury your face in.
“You’re so sweet, so beautiful, baby, oh my God, baby, Y/N, fuck, girl, you’re so fucking sexy, look at my fingers, fuck, look at the way I stuff this pussy with my fingers, shit.”
You couldn’t look no matter how hard you tried. He made you jolt to the rhythm of his fingers. The loud squelching noises coming from your pussy was beyond what you’ve ever heard and experienced. You would have never known your pussy could get this wet if it wasn’t for Erik. Or this stretched with fingers. You find yourself taking a peek and fuck, your pussywas wide open. Erik’s fingers were literally scooping the cream out your pussy. Fingers all fat and curled in that tight puss. Your eyes roll and then just like before, you bury your face into his arm and bite his jacket.
“You watching me?” he murmured.
“Umph, Daddy, I can’t.”
“Why not?” He curls his fingers further, “Mm, I’m getting that ain’t I?”
“Fuck,” Your mouth unhinged.
After increasing the motion of his fingers to make you moan, Erik takes his fingers out to admire. Slimy, creamy, dripping wet from his fingertips down to his wrist, Erik was starved the way he lapped and sucked on his fingers. You would think he was eating a chef special. This man is a savage. Licking and slurping on his fingers like a famished man. It was so primal and sexy you couldn’t hold back the whimpers from your mouth.
“Here,” He uses his wet hand to grab your hand firmly, “Touch Daddy dick.”
While you reached into his track pants to grab his heavy and plump dick, Erik uses his fingers yet again to stroke your pussy.
“Let me dig back in there,” He couldn’t be stopped even if there was a gun pointed to his temple.
“Uh-Uhhh-Uhhhh-Daddy!”
“Yeah? Yeah, baby girl?”
“Mmm!” Your legs went up to push your feet into the dashboard. You were sweating, panting, shuddering. His powerful hand slapped against your mound causing you to lift your hips from the seat to fuck his fingers. It’s intense and wild the way he finger-fucks you.
“GIMMIE that FUCKING cum,” he spoke with a gruff tone while twirling his thick fingers in your tight pussy.
“Oooooo, Babyeee,” You squeeze his dick in your hand as he raked the cum out of your pussy with his fingers alone. He didn’t even need to rub your clit. He was slipping and sliding all around your pussy. His fingers poked and stroked your walls deliciously.
“Keep stroking this Daddy dick, Y/N, come on,” He barked out with his powerful voice that would have brought you to your knees if it wasn’t for this car.
His fingers were rapid, fervent, brutal, thick, merciless.
“YEAH.” He practically roared, “Make a big fucking mess in my seat.” His voice was so damn deep and harsh-sounding. You loved that shit a lot. The complete opposite of hearing him talk in the office during meetings and over the phone. Boy, were you lucky.
His fingers made their way into his mouth again. Erik sucked on each one like they were covered in honey. He started from his pinky all the way to his thumb. That’s how wet you are. You had his entire hand covered in your mess.
“Baby Girl,” Erik reaches across as he approached a red light to grab the back of your neck, “Suck this Daddy dick.”
You unbuckle your seatbelt before crouching down lower in your seat to lean over his lap. As soon as your face hovered over his lap, Erik smoothed your braids from your cheek and palmed the back of your head to bring your lips closer to his dick. You wrap your stretched lips around him and held on tight as the car rocked and swerved. Erik drove one-handed while his other hand bobbed your head up and down his dick.
“Suck it like that,” Erik’s hips would lift from the seat a little to pump into your mouth while his hand pets the back of your head, “Good girls like you get a dick in the mouth. You see this dick?” Erik pulled your mouth off of him by gripping your braids, “It’s your Daddy dick, right?”
“Y-yes,” You were horny, pussy soaked, reaching out to stroke him.
“Give it a nice squeeze,” His black eyes bore into yours before they closed slowly from your little hand wrapped around him tightly, “You know the type of squeeze I’m talking about too,” He smiles.
“Mmm, yes, Daddy-”
“That squeeze that makes my dick jump-”
“Daddy, I want more-”
“This your dick you better suck this motherfucker like it’s yours. Prove it,” Erik spoke roughly.
You practically felt the way Erik’s body shivered when your lips wrapped around him again.
“Hmph,” He would make that noise over and over while breathing deeply through his wide nostrils, “Hmph, mhm,” His dick throbbed in your mouth with each suck. Putting on his turn signal, Erik drove into his penthouse garage. His head would slightly lull back and his mouth would open and close while your lips slurped him up. Now you had his eyelids fluttering as he tried to park his car. As soon as he got his car in his spot it was game over. Erik unfastened his seat belt and fully focused his attention on you now that both of you were safely off the road.
Erik dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, “Oh, my God, girl,” He hisses, “You know Daddy needs his dick sucked.”
“MMM, Daddy-” You speak with a mouth full of rock hard pipe.
“You ain’t going nowhere.” His voice was so gravely and dangerous. It made you shiver.
“Ima’ fuck this pussy up when we get in that house.”
“Daddy, yes-” You look up at him with soft eyes while your hand jerked his spit covered dick.
“You wanna suck on me like this, just you wait.”
“Umph, Daddy-” You talk and moan with a mouth full of dick again. Gotta work that dick until you get every last drop.
“You’re such a good fucking girl, dassit’, DASSIT’, uh-huh, UGHHH, That’s how you make Daddy nut, baby, I need a nasty bitch to please my dick s-so good-”
That dick came hard and strong in your mouth. All that nut shooting down your throat. You are that nasty bitch. He looked so sexy when he came. Even sexier than he already was. Erik grabs the base of his dick to slap your lips with it. Your hand slithered between your legs to rub your clit. Pussy still soaking wet and ready to be entered. With heavy panting and sighing you climb onto Erik’s lap, get into a squat, and grab his dick. His eyes burned into your face when you took it upon yourself to wedge his expansive pipe into your pussy. He was staring daggers at you. That king-sized dick balls deep in your pussy while your graceful body arched and stretched to fuck him. You didn’t move your hips yet. Your brain was still trying to catch up. Erik didn’t move either. He was too busy glaring at you with his sweaty face. You knew that he wanted you in his penthouse but fuck it, that pussy was aching.
“Did you really just sit that pussy on my dick?”
“Umph,” You moan weakly.
“Y/N,” Erik closes his eyes before staring at you again with dilated pupils, “Did-you-just-sit-that-pussy-on-my-dick?!”
“Yes,” You cry and whimper.
“Baby,” Erik harshly slaps your ass with an angry mug on his handsome face, “Why,” He does it again, “Would you do that?” He whacked that ass extra hard like he was using a belt, “HUH?!”
“Daddy! Please fuck me! Please!”
“Why the FUCK did you do that?” Now he was striking your ass without stopping. You cave each time he strikes your ass. Swollen and sore, you can’t take it anymore.
“Answer me,” He growls roughly.
“Because I want some dick,” You reach behind you to push his hands away but Erik had something for that. He popped that ass again causing your head to fall against his shoulder.
“Dick hungry, bitch,” He spoke with spite, “Ride this Daddy dick.”
Y/N was so astounded by Erik’s cutthroat and abrupt tone. He was like a two-faced coin. On one side of the coin he was charming and sweet, a man who strives to improve the health of living organisms, and on the other side of the coin, he was dominant with a filthy mouth, some good dick, and strong sex appeal.
“I don’t feel that pussy gripping my dick you better start bouncing before I pop these big ol’ cheeks on you again…yeah…dassit’…I need this long motherfucker rode just like this, I bet that ass looks so good bouncing off this dick.”
“Daddy, I’m so happy,” You didn’t stop. You kept going. Getting all of Erik’s dick. He was giving you the attention that you needed.
“You needed some dick deep in your pussy, I believe it, baby.” Erik dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, “I’m in your shit now, fuck that.”
You wanted to show Erik that you are definitely a keeper. You could hear your pussy as you fucked him and you were so wet that his dick easily slid in and out of your tightness.
“Damn, baby. You’re a motherfucking beast.” Erik praised you.
“Uhhh! Mmmm, baby-”
“What do you want, girl? Making all that fucking noise,” Erik taps your ass, “Talk to me.”
“Daddy, I want it-”
“What the fuck is IT I don’t know what that is, ma.” His hips started pumping up into yours, “Answer me, Y/N. This good grip on my dick, you better use some words that make sense. you asked for it, ma.”
“I wanna cum,” You grab the back of his neck as your eyes roll into your head, “Oh, my God, Daddy-”
“Spread them legs and hold that position, that’s right, pussy look good as fuck taking all this dick. Pussy pumping my dick like you tryna milk me, girl…this how you give a nigga some pussy.”
“Umph! Ahhhh, Baybeee-”
“Cream on it,” Erik commands.
“Daddy-”
“Want me to fuck this pussy for you?” Erik grabs your hips and pushes his dick up into you, “Want Daddy to keep going until you cum? That shit is wet as fuck, ma.”
“Daddy make my pussy feel good,” You open your mouth but no words come out. Erik’s dick was digging deep in your pussy. He stroked with a rhythm of his hips that made you flutter around him. Your cream coated him and the feeling of you gripping him made Erik hold you up with both his hands, slouch in his seat and thrust his hips urgently until you were squirting all over him.
“Shit, Baby!!!” You speak through clenched teeth while Erik’s hands jiggle your cheeks as you cum on him, “Uhhh! Uhhhhh! uhhhhhh!!!” your strangled moans pierced his ears. You reach your hand out to brace the driver’s side window as your body trembles.
______
Erik’s penthouse has a stunning view of the sprawling city. He was on the 30th floor. That elevator ride was torture. Erik didn’t touch you once while both of you rode the elevator. Your legs quivered and you tried to calm your shaky breaths but his intoxicating smell and the way his sharp onyx eyes would stare across at you made you want to beg for attention. You knew he was doing this on purpose because you hopped up on his dick and practically hit a split. He was such a tease. As good as Erik looked he expected you to wait for the dick? Even when it was out and solid in your face? As soon as you both exit the elevator your arms reach out for him to grab you up and kiss you. Erik caved when he saw you pouting so he sucked on your bottom lip before taking full advantage of your entire mouth with his thick wiggling tongue. His hands squeezed and mashed your breasts together while his thumbs softly plucked your nipples through your tracksuit hoodie.
“Nipples so hard, daaammnn” He wrapped his lips around yours again.
They were painfully hard. Before Erik could even open his door he unzipped your tracksuit jacket, pulled the left cup of your bra down, and released your whole breast. His lips slurped on your nipple. You reach your hand around to cradle the back of his neck while you arch into his mouth. Running your fingers through Erik’s dreads caused him to groan softly and wrinkle the fabric of your tracksuit jacket with his clenched fists. You enjoyed watching his plump lips draw your nipple into his mouth. Erik has his eyes closed and one of his hands coming up to pull down the other cup to your bra so he could taste that nipple too.
“I just know this shit feels good as fuck the way you grabbing for my dick,” He flicked your nipple with his tongue, “Uh-huh, I’m still nice and heavy for you, Baby Girl, see these nuts,” Erik dragged your hand down to make you wrap your fingers around his balls, “Not only does my shit get rock hard, imma shoot like a fucking rocket launcher in that pussy with all this cum in my balls fucking around with you.”
“Umph, Daddy fill this pussy up-”
“Oh, I’m hitting that pussy without question, ain’t no pulling out either.”
“Fuck yeah, Daddy-”
“Hitting pussy deep does things to me,” Erik chuckles, “See, I needed you from the start. I needed a little baby that’s with all the smoke. I don’t fuck around, Y/N.”
“Please me, Daddy,” You whisper, “fill my pussy up.”
“I’m not stopping when I’m in these guts. Bust it wide open like you never felt before.”
You shudder. Erik finally takes his keys from his pants to open the doors. Once fully opened, luxury awaited you ahead. Breathtaking and definitely out of your price range. You imagined Erik fucking you against one of his ceiling to floor windows with the risk of being seen. As you looked around his living room, Erik came up behind you to take off your tracksuit jacket and bra.
“You want something to drink? He asked softly while sprinkling kisses along your shoulder.
“No,” You tell him with a shake of your head. You were too busy whimpering from his mouth sucking on your skin while his hands came up and around to squeeze your breasts and play with your nipples.
“Something to eat?” His tongue trailed up the side of your neck before sucking on your earlobe.
“Some dick?” You whisper.
“The only food you getting outta this dick is all this nut in your belly when I bust all up in you.”
You were convinced enough and determined to come out of the rest of your clothes. That one dick down in the car was just a little taste of what Erik could do. You needed Erik to consume you. Invade your pussy with a force so you can feel everything. Imprison your body so you can obey his every command. You’d be submissive for Erik with the K. Velour pants and panties down and around your ankles, Erik is on his knees behind you kissing and tonguing your ass. Loose-jointed, you bend forward and grab your ankles to give him better access to your wet pussy from the back. Erik was having a moment with your pussy when he stared at it from that position. Phat lips puckered and ready to be nibbled and sucked on. Clit erect and dripping with your juices. He began eating it like it’s the most important meal of the day. He enjoyed making your pussy drip in his mouth each time he ate it up. Erik stands up with a deep sigh and a face covered in your wetness with his finger in your pussy now, twirling it around and sinking it in. His other hand would slap your ass with little force just to watch it bounce. You twerk your cheeks to give him something else to focus on and that’s when you hear him grunt and mumble your name. He was loving your thick ass.
“Thick. Phat. Pussy,” Erik slips his finger out to suck on, “Tryna get fucked like this?”
“Yesss, mmm-”
“Shit, I’m fucking and sucking this pussy like this. The best position to suck pussy, ask for this dick like a good bitch.”
“Ummph, Daddy, Please-” The moaning and whimpering you were doing were driving him crazy.
“I’m tryna’ pound some pussy tonight so I’m gon’ need you to tell me what you want.” He spoke with a harsh tone.
“Fill me up, Daddy-”
“Forever telling Daddy to fill it up,” Erik whacked your ass making it sting, “Talk to Daddy. I’m tryna dig it out real proper. C’ mon, ma, I’m listening to that body and she tells me what she needs but I need you to open that mouth and beg me if you want it deep in that pussy.”
“Oh, Daddy. Fuck my tight pussy baby. Cum in me Daddy. I wanna feel your cum leak from my pussy.”
“Yeah, that’s how you beg for this Daddy dick. Get on the couch and point that ass in the air.”
You walk over to the couch and arched over it with your face smashed into the couch cushions. Erik came up behind you to position you better before undressing himself. Turning your head, you could see Erik’s reflection in the glass of one of his ceiling to floor windows. That dynamic body and whopping pipe all yours to play with. Erik’s large masculine hands smoothed over your ass and up your spine.
“Girl, this beautiful ass. You love being on your stomach don’t you?”
“Ahhh, yes-”
“That’s right,” Erik smacked your pussy with the weight of his dick, “lay on your stomach and give me that fucking pussy.”
“Right there Daddy,” You hold your pussy lips open while rubbing your engorged clit, “Fuck me, baby, Ahhh!”
Erik’s dick spread you open and almost made you explode right then and there. He was already ruining your ass and this was just the second fuck.
“Right there, Daddy! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-” Erik had you making all types of noises.
“That motherfucking ARCH,” Erik started grinding in your pussy and you could feel it in your soul. Erik held fast to the back of the couch above your head and plunged his stiff, throbbing, anxiously awaiting dick inside you. You were afraid to move; the sensation was so euphoric you were sure if he moved even an inch, it would be over long before it started. That didn’t even include the tolerance of pain you endured from the intense pounding. This nut-busting position had you spasming and gyrating rhythmically, grinding Erik deeper inside your pussy. Even laying there under Erik with your ass arched over the couch and his dick blowing your back out you couldn’t control the urge to feel his dick up to the hilt of your pussy. You look back at him through your braids, gazing into his dark and sexy eyes and increased the speed at which you circled his dick with your pussy.
“Keep that arch,” Erik pressed down in the middle of your back, “I don’t care how hard I’m hitting this pussy keep that fucking back arched.”
“Daddy, FUCK-” This position turned Erik into a monster.
“You got Daddy’s big dick all in you, girl. Got my balls slapping this juicy pussy.”
“Oh, Erik, baby, fuck me hard, baby,” You sobbed while Erik’s powerfully built hips smashed and banged into your ass causing it to rebound. “Fuck me, FUCK MEEEEE.” You beg through clenched teeth. Erik’s grimace revealed that he felt good to the core. He reached under you to rub your clit.
“Fuck me, Daddy,” You cried, backing your twat into his meat while looking back at him through the curtain of braids in your hair. Your elbows gave out and now you were going down further into the couch on your chest with an even deeper arch in your back. Erik was killing you. You knew you fucked up changing positions when you could feel that thing in your heart.
“I’m beating this phat pussy! Love me a phat puss…can’t have it no other way,” Two aggressive blows to your ass had you moaning like a bitch in heat being split in half.
“Make you cum on this dick since you had me waiting on this wet pussy for a year.” With spite, Erik beat that ass real good before grabbing hold of your hips to drag that cum out of you. The anger in his gravelly voice was your downfall. Your thighs shook and Erik’s hands went up squeeze your ass cheeks as you squirt all over his fancy couch. Your pussy twitched when his dick slipped out. You needed a moment. That body still arched.
“Umphhh, Daddy, oh my God,” Erik was eating your pussy from the back while stroking his dick. You look at him with a struggle even when his eyes were intent on yours. Staring at you while slurping you’re pussy up with his hand wrapped around that thick dick.
“Here, Daddy,” You rub your hand along your spread open pussy, “I wanna watch you eat my pussy, Baby.”
“I will suck and lick the fuck outta’ that pussy you ain’t even gotta ask, ma,” Erik flipped your body over and pulled your legs over his shoulders. His mouth kissed your clit making it good and wet. Your pussy was like a leaky faucet every time he put his lips, tongue, and fingers in your pussy. Erik could put you to sleep with the way his mouth clung to your pussy. He was teasing the hell out of your knob and making it jump against his tongue.
“Yes, Daddy! You’re a good Daddy, Eat me, eat me!”
“I gotchu, let me know if it’s too much,” His thick raspy voice teased you before his tongue pointed and hooked right under the hood of your clit to flick it. Rock-a-bye baby for sure because your eyes closed and your mouth dropped open and damn near dangled each time he licked with that violent tongue and slurped up your clit.
Coming up for air, Erik thumbed your clit, “I’m doing this on the regular, I need it in my face. Nothing like playing with a phat puss-”
“Oooooo, oh, yeah, baby-”
“Who do you belong to?” Erik struck your inner thigh, “Answer me…who do you belong to, Y/N?”
“Mmmm, you, Daddy-” You gasp when your fresh juices coat Erik’s tongue as he sucked your bulging clit. He was going to make you squirt immediately. You really wanted to apologize at first for ruining his couch like this but it was his own damn fault.
“Oh, This is what I’m talking about,” He growled. Erik picked you up from the couch and laid you flat on his Icelandia White Hand-Knotted Rug. The crisp white contrasted beautifully with your bronze skin.
“I wanna pin your legs down and make you take all this long dick, no pulling out.”
You nibble your bottom lip while watching Erik position his athletic and robust body between your shaky thighs. The muscles in his body flexed as he brought your nimble legs up and back so your knees touched the carpet. He locked your ankles in his hands before his dick pressed inside to fuck you long, with hard strokes. You could hear your pussy lips spread each time he went in and out. His lips claimed yours again so he could feel the vibration of your moans in his mouth. He was up on his fists while his hips swiveled and stroked inside of you. Erik caused you to look around the room like you were on a different planet because you weren’t sure at that point if it’s your pussy he fucking so good.
Erik grabs your jaw to make you look at him, “I want you to feel every inch of this curve filling up ya’ walls while I deep stroke ya’ guts.” Your eyes were closing on him each time he twisted his dick deeper in your hole.
“Imma have you cumming over and over and over again on my dick,” Erik looked down to watch your pussy throb around him, “Girl, you clenching it so hard, I’m pulling ya lips while I fuck it up.”
“Umph,” Your eyes roll back as tears stream down your face. He held his dick deep on purpose. He wanted you to feel every inch of him to remind you that this is what you’ll be getting any time.
Erik shook his head. He watched your sexy ass for a whole year and knew you were going to be a good fuck.
“You can’t even form words cus’ it feels so damn good,” Erik gently kissed your throat, “You can’t even look me in my eyes cus’ every time you try,” Erik pulled all the way out to his fat tip then slammed right back in, “I start hitting-that-spot-HARD,” Erik stuck his tongue in your mouth. Your tongues swirled but the second he hit your G-spot you let out a sharp moan and push at his chest. Erik’s forehead crashed against yours. You reach up weakly to grab his face with both of your hands. Sweat clung to every crevice of your bodies.
Onyx met Chestnut.
You felt his body overheat and spasm. His large arms cradle you as his hips weakly pumped onto yours. Erik’s dreads tickled your cheek and the air from his nose made the hair along your neck stand up. He still delivered strong strokes even at a slow pace. Daddy better nut in your pussy if he keeps fucking you like this. The shit was so good both of your mouths stayed open. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
“That’s that, Daddy, you hitting that spot, stroke it-”
“MMMM DAYUMMMMM,” Erik uttered in a low gruff tone. He sat up onto his hands to stare you in the eyes while his dick encircled your tight puss before pulsating and rippling inside of you, releasing his thick cum deep inside of you. So deep with the way his jacked hips flexed. You let out another sharp moan with a stupefied expression on your face. Erik looked you up and down with a crease of his brow before slipping his length out slowly. You moan weakly with a pout of your lips. You fucked up as soon as your eyes drop down to stare at Erik’s thick veiny erection dripping with his cum and yours.
He gave you that look that said he would give you all of the pleasure you desire and deserve when you’re with him.
____________________
7:15 AM
Your eyes try and focus around you but the wide ceiling to floor mirrors allowing the morning sun to enter blinded you. You pull the covers over your head, seeing nothing but white around you like you escaped to heaven under those warm sheets. Your naked body curled up and your eyes fight to stay open but the thread count in these sheets cuddled you perfectly. Just when you wanted sleep to overcome you again, Someone settled in the bed next to you, pulling the covers back from your eyes. You whimper, covering your face before peeking between your fingers to look up into a sexy face with a dazzling smile and tousled dreads.
“Morning, Big Head,” Erik laughed and you couldn’t help but smile even though you hated when he talked about your head shape.
Rubbing your heavy eyes, you blink up at him, “Shut up, Stevens.”
“You don’t wanna hear my voice now,” Erik sneaks his hand under the covers to tickle your foot, “HUH?!”
“No! No! I do! Stop itttt,” You jerk your foot away and sit up to hide them. He bit down on his bottom lip with a smile showing his deep dimples. Erik was shirtless, herculean body looking mouth-watering on that Tuesday morning. You nibble on your lip as your eyes drag over his frame. If only you didn’t have to go to work. Luckily, Erik lived closer to the company. If he keeps looking at you the way he currently was with those intense eyes you just might call out.
“Mm,” Erik reaches out to grab your chin before giving you a passionate good morning kiss with his tongue down your throat. Erik pulled your naked body up and into his lap. The feeling of his warm skin against yours in the morning was exactly what you wanted to look forward to with him.
“I don’t wanna go to work now,” You kiss his neck, “I wanna stay with you, in this bed, all morning.”
“That sounds,” He lets out a deep sigh as your tongue trailed down his Adam’s apple, “So damn good, but I gotta meet with Bio-Med Tech this afternoon-FUCK, Y/N,” Erik grabs your braids to stop you, “Calm down, kitty kat.”
“Daddy,” You take your teeth to pull on his bottom lip, “Please…”
“Oh, my God,” He chuckles before grabbing your neck lightly, “Stop it, girl. I got you after work, okay? I promise,” He pecked your lips softly, “I got you….”
You roll your eyes but the kisses he gave to your forehead caused you to blush. How could you be mad at him?
“I got breakfast for you in the kitchen, and some hibiscus tea.”
“You remembered that’s my favorite tea!”
“I pay attention,” Erik kissed your hair, “Get cleaned up, baby. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
It was torture watching him leave that room in just his briefs. Groaning, you get up from the comfy bed and head to the bathroom to shower. After your long steaming shower that helped with your tense muscles, you rub down with some of Erik’s shea butter whip before walking butt naked back to his room. You grab your faux fur tote from Erik’s closet to pull out today’s attire. Light grey turtleneck dress that was form-fitting with a pair of Fendi boots in black satin. You apply oil to your scalp and spray down with Chanel No.5. Diamond studs, Fendi clutch in hand, You walk out of Erik’s room and towards the kitchen. Holding a mug of coffee in his hand taking careful sips while staring at his phone gave you a chance to admire him. Light brown tailored suit with Salvatore Ferragamo eyeglasses in rose gold over his eyes, dreads combed to the side, onyx earrings in his ears that matched the color of his eyes. Your legs felt like jello.
“Is that bagel for me?” You spoke sweetly while pointing to a half bit bagel on a napkin.
“Nah,” Erik points to your plate filled with scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, and a large buttery croissant, “That’s you.”
You really just wanted to eat him.
“Last night was…” You place some of your braids behind your ear while gripping the edge of the kitchen island.
Erik looked you up and down, bringing that coffee mug closer to his lips, “Was?”
“You raise both of your brows, “Um, I think you know what I’m trying to say,” you tease.
“Nah, talk to me.” He picks up his bagel to take a large bite. Erik’s tongue swipes the corner of his mouth to catch the crumbs.
“You fucked me so well-”
“I told you, didn’t I?” He swallowed his food, “Didn’t I tell you that I was gonna take care of that thing and fix that stiff back?” He raises a brow while waiting for your response.
“See,” You walk over towards him, “You can’t talk to me like that and think I won’t drop to my knees right now and suck your dick.”
Erik smiles at you while darkness clouded his eyes. He chuckled before taking his finger to scrape some cream cheese from his bagel. Erik brings his finger to your mouth, dragging it along your lower lip, “Suck on Daddy Dick?”
“Yessss,” You moan, “Pleaseeee.”
“Ma,” Erik slips his finger in your mouth and watches you suck on it, “You can suck on this long dick later, aight?”
Your pussy was twitching. Clit jumping in your panties.
He was playing with you.
Working you up to a horny mess.
“You coppin’ an attitude?” Erik’s eyes squinted down at you.
“No,” You don’t quite meet his eyes.
“Keep it that way unless you want me to fix you.”
Your jaw went tight.
“Now go eat,” Erik finished off his bagel before palming your ass hard, walking away.
______________
“Good morning,” Regina gave you a tired smile. She went back to focusing on her phone. Everyone was rather sluggish today except for you of course. Erik gave you a lot of energy. A body fueled and ready for round two, three, four, and five.
“No rest?” You ask with a chipper tone.
“Not much, my show came on last night,” Regina glanced up at you, “What is in your morning tea? You’re acting really jolly.”
“Just hibiscus and honey,” You grin, “Tasty.”
“Um, Y/N? Is there something that you aren’t telling me? Something juicy and exciting to help me get through this morning?”
“You cross your leg over the other while typing in your login information to your desktop, “Just know that I slept good knowing that I’m taken care of.”
“Y/N,” Regina’s eyes grew wide before she gasped, “No you didn’t-”
“Sis, I did that,” You giggle softly at Regina’s reaction. This girl was ready to jump out of her seat and do her famous two-step with her tongue poked out. You clutch your forehead and quietly laugh to yourself.
“BITCH,” Regina spoke quietly, “Tell me everything.”
“Later,” You kiss your teeth when Regina pouted, “Too many virgin ears around.”
“Girl, please,” Regina rolls her eyes, “Calvin was just talking about how he got fucked in the butt over the weekend.”
You grimace.
Erik rode the elevator with you but didn’t get off on the fifth floor. Instead, he got off on the 3rd floor; Bio-Tech Department. That’s where Erik worked before he decided to move to the fifth floor to work as an Environmental Engineer. He said the people he worked with were envious of his achievements and it slowly became a competition every time he came to work. Erik was responsible for the design and equipment of devices such as artificial internal organs and machines for diagnosing medical problems. He even won a few NAACP awards for his medical research and technological skills. Work bae wouldn’t be in his office for another few hours at least. Now, you really had to suck it up and work even though Regina did make the experience fun.
Slowly but surely, 11:07 AM rolled around and you just got finished filing in the database. It took forever only because you allowed it to pile up. Cracking your knuckles, you grab your water bottle, taking a long sip because your throat was dry. Regina was too busy singing to herself and typing away in her email.
“How many times are you going to stare at his office?” Regina didn’t even have to look at you to know that that’s exactly what you’re currently doing.
Not too long it seems.
“Erik, Good morning, friend,” Regina’s eyes danced with humor, “Did BioTech piss you off?”
“They want me back on that floor, not gonna happen,” Erik’s eyes landed on you before scanning your body, “What’s up? Nice dress,” He licked his lips.
“T-thanks,” You take in a deep breath while giving him a small smile. The little stare down between you both felt like it lasted for hours but it was only five seconds.
“Time to work, lunch later, Y/N?”
“Definitely,” You blush.
“Cool,” Erik places his hand on your shoulder before squeezing it. You fight the urge to bring your hand up to caress his. His hand slowly leaves your shoulder before his fingertips discreetly tickle your neck. You shivered.
“I see you took my advice,” Regine smiled wickedly.
12:20 PM.
Absolutely bored and tired of getting up to grab water, you pull out a book to read, You Can’t Touch My Hair by Phoebe Robinson. You pick up a pineapple from your container of fruit that you purchased from the food court, bringing it to your mouth. In the middle of chewing, an IM comes through on your desktop computer.
Erik.
-Looking real yummy today.
-Thank you, Daddy.
-What do you want for lunch?
-Bend me up like a pretzel and fuck me good.
-Now you got me wanting to check in with that pussy to see if she straight.
-How is that phat wet puss doing?
You glance right and then left before placing your book face down and leaning your chair in closer to your desk. You open your legs, ankles wobbling with need, taking your hand to rub the crotch of your panties. Definitely drenched.
-Super wet, Daddy.
-Then I gotta get in them guts. Put that puss to good use. You feel me?
-Please me pleaseeee babyyyyy.
You shake with need in your seat. That underwear was wedged tightly around your ass while the crotch of your panties molded around your wet pussy practically wrinkling the thin fabric.
-Last night I was looking down like, damn…she don’t know where she at right now. Dick had you dazed.
That’s how good he was fucking you.
-Because you were in there so deep. I couldn’t believe it.
-You woke me all the way up this morning.
You could feel your phone vibrate against the desk. Picking it up, you see a message from Erik. An image attachment. Swallowing spit, you open your phone, pulling up your text messages and gasped lightly to the sight of Erik’s dick curved in his light brown slacks.
Ping Ping
-Just wanna make my baby girl pussy feel good.
You look towards the ceiling. That wasn’t the best because if you looked at him you would risk it all. Your job. His job. All of it.
-I need that mouth again. You got some serious talent.
-Daddy, stop it!
You really wanted to get up, walk to that bathroom, pull your dress up, arch over the sink, pull the crotch of your soiled panties to the side, finger-fuck that wet pussy, and take a picture of your sloppy mess.
-Then you can let Daddy devour that sweet little pussy.
-Imma lick that shit up.
-Wow, girl.
You had enough. Ignoring Erik’s scorching messages you lift from your seat to go to the bathroom. Fuck that, you needed to play all in your pussy. Lock that bathroom stall and go to town on that juice box. Mistakenly, you lock eyes with Erik. He sat back in his chair, swiveling from side to side with a vacant expression on his face. But those eyes…those eyes said it all.
The reader having an office fling with Erik/Work Hubby
Warnings: SMUT
It’s gonna be two parts because it’s really long and detailed to start. LIKE & REBLOG
**RE UPLOAD**
You wake up on a Monday morning after enjoying your short weekend to start another 9-5 workweek. Even though a part of you wished that you could work from home another part of you wanted to go into the office so you could see Erik. Your work boyfriend. On Saturday you got your hair done in some knotless box braids, went to the spa, and did a little bit of shopping for some new office attire. Today you decided to wear some of that office attire. Nude wrap skirt, a mauve colored wrap top with bell sleeves and some So Kate pumps in a nude color. Your boyfriend and Erik shared the same name but instead, your boyfriend’s name was spelled with a “C”, not a “K”. That boyfriend in question was a personal trainer and vlogger who traveled to try different restaurants mainly in Cali and NYC. He took a two week trip to NYC with a group of his guy friends. You were used to it and grew not to care so much about it. He was living his life to the fullest.
But were you living your life?
Working as a Secretary for an Environmental Technology company that makes billions of dollars gave excellent pay. The money is good but the only thing to look forward to is your gossiping friend Regina who sat in a cubicle directly next to you and Erik, the Lead Environmental Engineer who was also a Biomedical Engineer. He’s charming, witty, mesmerizing, attractive, hardworking, can be very headstrong at times, loves ramen, and has a cat named Paws. Erik with the “K” has you blushing whenever he locked eyes with you, stuttering while you both have random conversations during tea and coffee breaks, texted you funny memes during meetings when you were supposed to be taking notes, instant messages you from his cubicle computer to bug you saying things like:
-Wyd big head?
-Did Eric with the “C” see you leave the house today in that short ass skirt?
-Connie keeps talking to me with her funky ass breath. Help me 🥺.
-So, when are you going to boss up and get an office? I wanna be next to my work bae.
-You wanna get lunch together? My treat. It’s a surprise.
-I know you and Regina are gossiping about me 😌.
-I missed you after work yesterday.
He’s also the reason why you stayed later on Wednesday and Thursday nights. You would help him brainstorm ideas about improving pollution and what he should say in his speech about global issues such as climate change. He even asked you if you wanted to come with him to Alaska to test the water there but you hadn’t given him an answer yet. You really really wanted to but being alone with Erik wasn’t such a good idea. You were afraid to be in another location besides LA with him for reasons you’d rather not admit to.
After making Erik and yourself an egg white and veggie omelet with a Belgian waffle you headed out the door and to your Prius. Arriving at the office on time, you badge in and take the lobby elevators up to the fifth floor. Stepping off of the crowded elevator, you walk towards the newly decorated staff lounge to put away the food. It was 8:25 am and Erik wouldn’t be in for another ten to fifteen minutes. The lounge had Dunkin Donuts laid out and freshly brewed coffee. You fought the temptation of grabbing a chocolate glazed donut to go to your cubicle and boot your Mac desktop computer so you could check your company email. You said Goodmorning as you walked by. Regina was playing Candy Crush on her cell when you arrived.
“Goodmorning, Gina.” You placed your Chanel bag behind the desktop computer in your cubicle.
“Morning, sis,” Regina tapped away on her phone, “Did you sleep okay?”
“Better this time around, yes,” You flipped your box braids over your shoulder while leaning back in your office chair to talk to Regina, “I haven’t heard from Eric all weekend.”
“Which one?”
You pursed your lips, “You know which one.”
She laughs, “Erik with the C. What’s up with that?”
You shrug, “Don’t know and don’t care. He acts like he can’t answer my calls or texts so I can check up on him so I’ll act like he doesn’t exist.”
Regina gave you a knowing look, “I’m sure you and Erik with the K, aka Captain Planet, texted his work bae, Miss Y/N, all weekend long.”
You bite your bottom lip to fight a goofy smile.
“See,” Regina crosses her dark chocolate legs, “he’s not just your work bae. He’s Daddy.”
“Stop!” You throw a pen at her chest, before lowering your voice, “Erik and I are not having sex, Gina. We may flirt and text outside of work-“
“And during work hours,” Regina interjected.
“Like I said, we are not having sex-“
“Who’s not having sex?”
Regina and your head turned to stare up at Erik Stevens. He had his briefcase in one hand and a black coffee with extra brown sugar in his other hand. Tailored suit colored navy blue with gold cuff links. Burberry dress shoes on his feet. Vintage gold-plated oval eyeglasses over his onyx eyes. He gave Regina and you a teasing smile. The smile where he raised one corner of his mouth to reveal a single deep dimple.
“Y/N,” Regina answered with wide playful eyes.
“Oh?” Erik gave Y/N a mournful look, “Damn, ma. That’s too bad.”
You glare at them both, “I will ignore both of y’all the rest of the day if you keep fucking with me.”
You got up from your seat, pushing in your chair, and tried your best to ignore the snickering from them both. Walking away, Erik was right on your tail, his hand reaching out to grab your shoulder to stop you.
“Calm down, it’s all jokes,” he licks his full lips, “But seriously…no sex between you and your man?”
Groaning, you walk into the lounge to grab the food.
“Why are we having this conversation?”
“Because I’m concerned,” Erik turned his back to lean against the counter with his arms folded over his chest, “You know you can talk to me, right?”
You place his food inside the microwave to heat, “I know. It’s just embarrassing, Erik.”
Erik grabs your chin to make you stare at him instead of the microwave, “Don’t even give me that excuse. Remember, we shared a lot of embarrassing stories in this office after hours.”
How could you forget?
“Yeah…it’s boring, Erik. I’m sure you’re having the best sex of your life in your fancy penthouse. Probably having orgies with models and actresses. They love a sweet and caring guy,” Y/N said sarcastically.
Erik’s tongue grazes the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling, “Why orgies specifically?”
“Is that all you focused on?!!” You shove him before taking his food out, “gosh, I hate you.”
Erik takes a swig of his coffee, “which is girl code for gosh, I love you,”
You shook your head with a grin, “leave me alone.”
“Which means, give me attention,” Erik grabs both of your shoulders, before bringing his head around to plant a kiss on your cheek, “I know y’all female dictionary like the back of my hand.”
Your head turned to face him after his lips caressed your cheek. Now, that area was warm and ticklish. Erik grabs his food and walks over to one of the tables. That gave you some time to breathe and heat your food as a distraction. Why did he have to kiss you? It’s not like he’s never done it before but every time he did it, Erik made you melt and wish it were your lips instead.
“You make some bomb food, girl. I think I’m jealous of Eric with a C.”
“Says the guy who makes the best shrimp and grits I have ever tasted besides my grandma,” you take a seat in front of him. While you ate you watched him cut into his waffle covered in syrup. His long lashes curled each time he blinked and his lips were so pouty and kissable whenever he concentrates the way he does. You felt like a schoolgirl watching him eat.
“So,” Erik chews his food some more before talking, “Alaska.”
“What about it?” You play it off by cutting your omelet up.
“Y/N,” Erik raised his brow at you, “You know about Alaska this is my fourth time bringing it up.”
“When is it?”
“In a month,” Erik takes a swig of his coffee to wash down his food before leaning forward on his elbows to make you look at him, “it’s gonna be for a week, all paid for, a mini-vacay with skiing, Matanuska Glacier walk, and lunch, helicopter tour, cozy cabin…”
Erik tilted his head at you and smiled. You looked down at your food bashfully. It all sounded so tempting. You would love to go…
“I don’t know, Erik,” you shake your head, “Eric will be home and-“
“How many trips does he take leaving you home?”
“More than I can count,” you reply shamefully.
“Exactly. I ain’t tryna overstep but…” Erik left it at that and went back to his food. You slouch in your chair deep in thought. Erik has a point. Your boyfriend traveled whenever he pleased and didn’t even ask how you felt about it once. You respected that he wanted to drop his career as a teacher to travel, eat, and vlog. Not once did he suggest taking you on one of his food journeys. You honestly felt left out.
You deserve some fun too.
Moving your food around with your fork, you finally come to a decision.
“I’ll go.” You spoke softly as if you couldn’t believe you’d just agreed to it.
“Seriously?” Erik asked with his eyes unblinking and on yours.
“Yes,” you let out a breath, “I’ll go to Alaska and have some fun for once. I haven’t been out of town in so long it’ll feel good to go.”
Alaska with Erik Stevens. For an entire week. Just you and him. Your knees shook under the table.
“See,” he smirked while stabbing a piece of omelet with his fork, “It’s crazy how I had to ask your ass four times total to come with me.”
“Why is that crazy?” You asked with a laugh.
“Because it never takes a woman this long to say yes to me,” he says in a very boastful manner.
“I’m not your woman though,” you say before you could even stop yourself.
“You are my woman,” Erik rested his tongue on his upper lip before grinning, “just at work and without the sex, kissing, taking showers together-“
“Okay, you made your point, boyfriend.” You stop him before he continued.
“Does Eric know about me?”
“A little,” you look towards the ceiling, “ he’d probably cancel all his travel plans if he knew how you looked.”
Erik bit into his bottom lip, “how do I look, Y/N?”
“Fine as hell,” you giggle as if you were drunk, “He already thinks he’s the finest thing walking.”
“That’s your man though,” Erik chuckles, “You think he’s fine, right?”
“I mean, yeah, of course.”
Both of you laugh.
“I swear,” you wave him away, “you play too much.”
“Don’t make me steal you away from him.” Erik laughed. His laugh made your stomach do summer salts.
“Okay, Erik,” you speak in a dismissive tone.
“I mean, I could though.”
“Why do you insist on playing?! If I was single-“
“You would be mine,” Erik finished.
“You can have any woman you want. Why me?”
Erik scanned your body at that table, “Really? What you mean? Have you seen yourself, ma?”
“Stop,” you giggle. He can’t be serious. Erik is a flirt but why on earth would he play like this?
“You always think a nigga playing when I say that shit.” He sounded offended. You didn’t have a reply for that. Avoiding his intense eyes you finished your food while Erik closed his empty container and placed it on the counter next to the thermal lunch bag you brought the food in.
“Aight let me get to my desk,” he grabs his coffee and walked up towards you. Erik moves your box braids from your shoulder before grabbing the back of your neck gently. The feel of his smooth fingertips on your skin made the hairs on the back of your neck and arms rise.
“I’ll see you later, babe.”
You blush with a mouth full of food, “Okay, I’ll see you later too, baby.”
His fingers left your neck and combed through your box braids before he walked away and out of the lounge. You were so preoccupied with his fingers on the back of your neck and in your hair that you lost your appetite.
——
You stood at Regina’s cubicle halfway listening to her speak and the other half focusing on Erik in his office. He looked bored as hell. Your eyes watched him ball up random printer paper from his fax machine to shoot into his document waste basketball hoop that he had in the corner near the door. He made it perfectly every time. Erik had the coolest office out of all the other Environmental Engineers. Besides the typical Newton’s Cradle pendulum balls that’s a famous desk accessory, he had a tropical tabletop fountain, stress relief visual illusion toys, stainless steel pin art hand mold, darts, a Rubik’s cube, Nintendo switch, and many other cool and fun shit.
“Girl,” Regina said chewing on a granola bar, “You’re not even paying attention to me.”
“I am,” You allow your eyes to fall on her accusatory ones, “I’m just…looking around.”
“No,” Regina puts up a hand to stop you, “You’re looking at Erik.”
Both Regina and yourself look over at him, spotting Erik walking back and forth now with his suit jacket removed and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up. He was finger juggling a pen with his right hand while speaking into a Bluetooth in his ear.
“You might as well let him ruin you, Y/N,” Regina says with a whisper.
“Oh my God, Gina,” you stomp across the carpeted floor in your pumps before taking your seat again to finish organizing in Microsoft Excel.
“He could flirt with any other woman in here. Connie, Demetria, Anita, Nicole, any of those chicks, but he chooses you. Why is that, Y/N?”
“I don’t know, Gina, enlighten me,” You roll your eyes.
“No need. You already know. Erik is feeling you, heavy baby. Heavy like that ass in that skirt that we both know you purposefully wore today to make him look.”
“OKAY.” You stop her with an abrupt tone, “Fine. Yes, Gina. Yes, I know Erik is feeling me. But I am in a relationship and I can’t just-“
“Heffa, please,” Regina laughs, “don’t even try that shit with me. You are feeling him just the same. You and Eric with the C don’t even exist when you walk in here. It’s obvious you don’t want to be with that man anymore and I wouldn’t be surprised if he is fucking some chick in NYC and secretly taking her on his little food quests. You can look at me like that all you want but deep down you know I’m speaking facts.”
“Gina,” you speak with a warning, “I will throw this stapler at your head next.”
“Won’t. Change. The. Truth,” Regina flips her long ponytail.
A part of you did believe that Eric was cheating on you. It was so obvious at times but you didn’t want it to come to that. You and Eric have been together for about five years. But then again, that shit doesn’t matter. If it did, he would be worried about fixing the relationship instead of traveling for views.
Ping Ping
-Here comes Connie. Let me take a big gulp of air before she walks in here.
Erik instant messaged you. You snicker like a child doing some sneaky shit. He was so damn goofy.
-Damn. Why don’t you just offer her some gum?
-If I do that she’ll know I think her breath stink.
-Just play it cool. Have some sitting out, grab a piece, and offer her a stick. It’s that simple.
-she talks too damn much. Just talk to me about the Alaska job so I can be prepared. That’s why I’m glad you’re coming with me.
You looked up over your cubicle to watch Connie talking animatedly while Erik swivels in his chair from side to side.
Catch my eye.
Onyx met chestnut.
Erik covered his mouth with his fist to hold in his laughter before placing his hand up at Connie, from what it looked like, to reassure her that he wasn’t laughing at what she’d said.
-want me to drag her out of there by that takky blouse?
-Why are you such a gangsta, girl? LOL aight, come handle my light work, ma
-not before I get a hospital mask so I don’t breathe in her toxic fumes. Llab
-😂😂😂😂😂 straight stupid.
You snicker again.
“What is so damn funny?” Regina peered over at you with curious eyes.
“Just IM with Erik,” you bite the gel acrylic on your thumb nail to smother your giggles, “He can’t stand Connie.”
“Mhm,” Regina smiles, “y’all so damn cute just get married already.”
-she’s gone 😁
-let’s celebrate lol.
Erik sends fireworks through the IM. You send balloons.
-enough about her. I see you 👀
-what’s that?
-you showing off. That attire is hella tight. What you doing with all of that?
-nothing. Lol, why do I have to be doing something?
-I know you wore that for my eyes only. I feel special.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. He was going down that lane. You weren’t prepared but still, you typed away.
-I figured you would appreciate it since my man wasn’t home to admire it before I left.
-Yo’ nigga got some screws loose because I wouldn’t be away letting my girl walk out the house like that.
-like what?
-with all that ass sitting in that skirt.
-can’t help that I have a lot to work with.
-ain’t no problem for me. If you were fucking with me Y/N I’d make you forget your name. Real talk.
You crossed your legs under the desk and rubbed the back of your neck. If he fucking bitches to make them forget their identities then that means his dick really ain’t nothing to play with.
-nothing to say huh?
-I’m just thinking.
-about what? Talk to me.
-why you really want me to come to Alaska with you.
-😌
-well? You’re gonna tell me why?
-Because I want you to myself.
-So I can show you something you’ve been missing.
-Eric ain’t putting it down on my work bae like he should be.
You were so damn nervous. Day by day Erik would grow more frustrated with Eric and your situation. Like Regina said, just let Erik ruin you. It’s a shame to say that you haven’t had sex in about a month. It was just you, your fingers, and your favorite vibrator. It could be Erik, his fingers, his dick, his mouth, and multiple orgasms.
-He’s not. It’s been too long. ☹️
-You ain’t gotta tell me how long. I can see it in your body language.
You twirl a braid in your hand. Looking away from your computer, you try to be discreet, bringing your eyes to peer over the top of your cubicle into Erik’s office. He was drinking a bottle of water while his eyes concentrated on the computer screen with knitted brows. He placed his bottle on the desk and leaned in, typing again.
Ping ping
-Don’t ignore me before I walk over there.
-ooooo I’m scared.
-Aight, bet. I’m coming.
-I want you to think long and hard about that, Stevens.
You were flustered, wet, shaken up that he wanted to “show you” what you’ve been missing, and willing to risk it all if he left his office space to come to talk to you.
-that’s what she said. 😈
You chuckle. He could turn any topic into sex.
“Hey, Erik,”
You look up to find him standing next to your cubicle while Regina looked at the both of you with interest. You stand from your seat, ready to get yourself some water but Erik has your shoulders.
“Where you going?” His husky voice tickled your ear.
“For some water.”
Erik starts massaging your shoulders lightly.
“Can I come with you? I need to stretch my legs.”
“Whatever, I don’t care.” You lead the way.
But you did care. You wondered what he was up to. Now that you walked ahead of him with that very tight wrap skirt on you felt exposed like he has x-ray vision and can see your phat dimpled cheeks bounce and sway. Thank God for an empty lounge. You walk over to the fountain, grabbing a cup, and Erik was right on your side, holding the tap down for you. Your cheeks poke out to hide your blush.
“Thank you,” you speak softly. His eyes were intent on you. Not once did you give in and look his way while drinking that ice-cold water. Suddenly unable to breathe you back up a little to make some space between you two. Erik followed with his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
“Don’t you have a ton of work to do?” You ask to try and divert the attention away from you. Too late. Erik was determined to make you weak in front of him.
“I do but we have a long day, ma. I’ll get it done. I just couldn’t stand being away from my work bae.”
You rub your fingers along the wet cup, “I’m convinced now that you only come to work to be near me.”
“I’m cool with that,” He shrugs, “I could be a whole lot of things if it wasn’t for your man who’s supposed to be home with you.”
“He’ll be back-“
“And then he’ll be gone again,” Erik let’s out a sigh, “We’re playing too many games, Y/N. I’m tired of the flirting back and forth when I know you really want me. Stop coming in here to impress me with these bomb-ass outfits. I’ve been impressed for over a year now.”
Erik closed the space between you both, pressing his chest against your fuller one. You look over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming and when the coast was clear you focused your heated gaze on him.
“I’m tryna undress you with my fucking hands, not my eyes.” Erik takes his fingers to play with the bow of your wrap skirt, “You feel what I’m saying?”
You couldn’t speak. Your eyes were to busy admiring this gorgeous man who wanted to fuck you. His inviting eyes saw exactly what you wanted. A long, hard, fuck. Taking his fingers, Erik grabs your chin delicately to stroke. He made you feel so precious and desired.
“So, can I do that?” Erik asked with his lips kissing along your jawline. Your eyes landed on the door to check it and still, no one was there.
“Can I take care of you, ma?”
Yes.
You had this look in your eyes, this look that said, please, Daddy, come fuck me. He smelled so damn good. So invigorating and moisturizing. You could make out a hint of exotic arabica coffee and coconut oil on the skin of his neck.
“No,” you lick your upper lip, “No, you can’t.”
His lips found yours. He swallowed that no with his full lips and tongue. Both of you knew that your answer was disbelieving when your hands came up to wrap around his neck. That was a green light for Erik. His hands came around your waist, and then down to cup your ass. He would alternate between rubbing your spine and making your cheeks bounce in his hands. Erik rests his chin on your shoulder so he could peer behind you to watch his hands squeezing all that ass on you. He would let it go and watch it bounce before slapping it lightly so he wouldn’t make a lot of noise. You felt your heart in your throat. Now, his crotch was pressed into yours. Long and hard indeed. Let’s not forget thick.
“You free tonight?” He whispered in your ear.
“Yeah,” you could feel him lifting you from the floor to sit your bottom on the counter. He was between your legs while your hands reach for his tie to tug on. It distracted you from being so nervous. His hands rested on your exposed upper thighs rubbing your warm skin in slow circles to sooth you. All he was doing was killing you. His touch was so soft and gentle but under all of that was a rough dominating grasp that you yearned for
You weren’t sure which throbbing you wanted to quiet more—the throbbing between your legs or the throbbing from your heartbeat against your chest. All those daydreams about rubbing your swollen pussy lips all over Erik’s face until you came. Now that the both of you crossed yet another line——the touching and kissing line, there was no telling what would happen next. Sex after hours in the office on his desk? Walks to the parking lot only to fuck in the back seat of his car? Happy hour on Friday evenings only to get drunk and have sex at his penthouse?
“Can I come over to keep you company?”
“I don’t know, E. This office fling situation can fuck with both of our jobs.” You nibble on your bottom lip the second his lips came into contact with your throat.
“Nobody gotta know,” his plush lips sought out yours again, “It can be our little secret, baby.”
“But what if someone does find out?”
“It won’t happen like that, trust me,” Erik grabs your hand to rest against his crotch. Erik was swelled to cum-inspiring proportions, making you want to finger-fuck yourself with mounting enthusiasm.
“Damn, Erik.” Now you were thinking about this office fling as a carnal delight after hours.
“I know, right? Imagine me walking around all day, watching you with these big titties…shapely legs…and round ass…”
You had the body, beauty, and brains. That meant that you seldom went unnoticed; especially not by Erik, your work bae. Your slant eyes and supple body reminded him of a jungle cat that, when tamed, purred like a kitten. He wanted to hear you mewl and whimper in his ear while his dick that was currently twisted and curved in his briefs bounced off the walls of your pussy. He could see the lust in your feline eyes how quickly you noticed his arched appendage. You were probably fantasizing about what wonderful things it could do for your G-spot.
“Keep looking at me like that and watch I finger-fuck this pussy right here,” Erik’s eyes went down to look at the Apple watch on his wrist, “It’s almost that time to eat. I’m tryna eat something else though…”
“Eat me?” You couldn’t control that slipping from your mouth.
“Slob on this yummy pussy,” his hand was between your legs now, caressing the outside of your saturated panties, “You gonna feed me?”
“Where?” You whisper.
“Shit, we can go to my car for lunch. I got tinted windows.” Erik was desperate to slide his tongue inside you.
“Erik, this is crazy.” You laugh faintly before he took your face into his hands, gazed into your eyes, and kissed you so urgently it felt as if you were floating away. You could think of nothing else but how good he made you feel. Erik explores your mouth with his tongue, not wanting you to miss an inch of how skilled he was using his mouth.
“You’ll be begging me to make this pussy feel good in a minute.”
You were relentless with your hands squeezing the weight of Erik’s curved erection in his black slacks. You really wanted to untuck his dress shirt, get down on your knees, and suck him with a wide-open mouth. Keep your mouth as wide-open as was physically possible—anxiously awaiting your reward.
“Don’t worry babe,” Erik gently pulls your hand away from his crotch, “wait for lunch and you can have me all to yourself, okay?”
———
You waited and waited. As soon as Erik left that lounge to go back to his desk a last-minute meeting was called and of course, you had to attend as well. Everyone got up from their designated spots to head to the conference room. You squeezed into the same elevator cart as Erik, moving to the back so you could be near him. On purpose, you settle in front of him. Erik’s hand reached out to play with your thick ass while you focused on your phone. That only lasted for about ten seconds because now you were on the 6th floor. Hungry for his touch again you allow everyone else to leave so he could slap your ass.
During the hour-long meeting, both of your eyes would meet and knowing smiles would appear on both of your faces. You didn’t like the fact that Demetria was seated next to him with her cleavage hanging out from her black blazer. She tried her best to make Erik notice her but he didn’t give a fuck about her thirsty actions.
It was well past lunchtime and most of the office had gone to either the food court in the building or outside to find something different to eat for a change. Your stomach was rumbling waiting for Erik. Groaning, you put your computer to sleep before grabbing your Chanel bag to leave for lunch by yourself. It wasn’t Erik’s fault, you knew that, but you couldn’t help being upset and sexually frustrated. No pussy eating or dick sucking in his G Wagon 550 SUV in a desert silver metallic color.
Eating alone was boring and lonely. You played with your Caesar salad and hardly even toughed the veggie lasagna. How were you supposed to feed your appetite when it was salivating for dick? You were so excited to finally hook up with Erik. Checking the time on your phone, you had about two hours left in your shift. You pack away the food and decide to save it for dinner tonight. Standing up, you push in the silver chair at the food court table, walking away with a click-clack of your So Kate pumps. You thumb the elevator button before slipping a piece of gum into your mouth. The doors open up and you enter, turning to watch them shut as your reflection appeared.
Ping ping
Erik -where did you go?
-To lunch. I was hungry.
Erik- Really? Why didn’t you wait for me?
-Because I was STARVING. Plus, you were busy.
Erik- I’m not busy anymore. Where are you now?
-Heading back upstairs.
Erik- I’ll wait for you.
-Erik, I have to go back to work!
Erik- fuck that you know what I want.
DING. Fifth Floor.
“Told you I’ll wait for you,” He smiles at you dangerously.
You almost swallow your gum the way he approached you. You and him, alone in that elevator. Erik kisses your lips, savoring the minty taste from the gum. He pulled back, taking his thumb to wipe the spit from his bottom lip. He turns around to press the 4th-floor button since that’s were the garage entrance was. Suddenly you were shaking in your pumps. It was really going to happen. Finally, your pussy wouldn’t feel painfully neglected. Finally, you could have the touch of a man on your body after an entire month.
“Are you okay?” Erik asked while looking down at you.
“Yeah, I’m cool,” you give him a reassuring smile.
DING. Fourth Floor.
Down a hallway and through the garage door you both went with your hand in Erik’s. You walk along the concrete ground as your ears took in the sounds of sirens and car horns honking in the middle of traffic. His G-Wagon was parked in a private spot. Erik took his keys out of his suit jacket and unlocked it with a click of a button, even started it up as well. You could hear the engine rumble. The large SUV vibrates as the sound of his radio playing blasted through the speakers. Erik opened the back door, reclining the backseats to lay flat like a bed. He takes off his suit jacket, tossing it in the passenger seat before turning to you, lifting you up, and sitting you in the back.
Once there, you take off your heels and place them far enough away so Erik and you could have plenty of space. Erik sat down, leaning forward to remove his shoes. After that, he unbuttoned his dress shirt before pulling it off and balling it up to toss at the front with his suit jacket. He finally turns, crawling his large chiseled body towards you with playful eyes.
“Is that pussy still as wet as it was earlier today? Can I taste that kitty?”
Erik pulled your legs, laying you down on your back. He was on his knees between your legs, opening them wide causing your skirt to lift and bunch around your waist. He came face to face with that phat puss covered in wet fabric. Your voice was stuck in your throat. Erik takes both of his masculine hands to pull down your already saturated panties, spreading open your legs further, and staring at that pink pussy coated with cream. He could smell your scent. His car smelling like your wet pussy.
“Yeah, this pussy still sloppy,” Erik listened to you purr as he flicked your clit with his thumb. Erik continues to do this while slapping your pussy with his fingers. Each time he slapped your pussy, your juices would build and build to the point of making puddles beneath your ass in his car.
“Can I stuff this pussy with my fingers now,” Erik licked his thick fingers clean, “I wanna squeeze in there deep, baby girl.”
“Yes,” Your cunt was starving.
“Good, girl.”
He plunged first one, then two, then three fingers deep inside your pussy, flickering at your clit at the same time. He was directly over your G spot with the pads of his fingers repeatedly rubbing you there. Your legs went wider and wider. The sound of your succulent pussy increased in such severity that it was almost deafening. Your moans mixed with the sound of The palm of Erik’s hand slapping your cunt each time he finger-fucked you had him grunting and groaning.
“Faster, faster,” You called out while gyrating your hips to fuck his fingers.
“There you go, fuck my fingers, just like that, get it, baby,” Erik bites his lip, “look at you ready to bust a nut on my hand, mmm, get that shit, baby.”
A rush of juices flooded the back seat. Erik’s eyes grew wide as your fingers tightened around him. That liquid poured each time he moved his fingers inside of you. All you could do was moan and shake beneath him. Your ass was glued to that surface.
“Damn, Y/N.” Erik takes his fingers out slowly before licking them clean. He got up on his knees to reach into his trunk, bringing a Puma gym bag over towards him. He opened it with his wet hands, pulling out a thick black towel that was wrapped in a body wash. Erik places that towel beneath your ass to soak up your mess.
“Making a mess in my fucking car.”
“I’m sorry,” You cover your face with embarrassment, “I do that a lot.”
“Don’t apologize about that, ma, I don’t give a fuck. Keep doing it like that on these fingers. Better yet…do it like that on my tongue,” Erik laid flat on his stomach, “You can squirt in Daddy’s mouth too.”
Erik began lapping away at your pussy with such zeal that you were squirming and squealing within minutes. With the flat of his tongue, Erik assaulted your pussy with such a lashing that your legs turned to jello. Erik then probed ever so deeply inside your dripping wet pussy with his pointed tongue, tongue-fucking your slot until your eyes rolled up into your head. He found your throbbing, erect clit and tortured you sweetly with licks and nibbles that sent electric charges throughout your entire body. Grabbing your thighs to squeeze, feasting on that syrupy pussy, Erik’s dick dripped pre-cum in anticipation of your walls capturing his dick and holding tight, while he thrust himself deeper and deeper inside of you.
“Damn, ma, I’m literally drinking this pussy dry.”
“You make me feel so good! Make me feel good, Erik.”
Erik’s tongue circled around your pussy. Each time he did that your hips would jerk. He was fighting that pussy back with his lips and tongue each time you pumped your hips. You gazed into his dark, sexy eyes and increased the movement of your hips.
“Oh, fuck!” Erik wrapped his whole mouth around your pussy and started slurping. All Erik could think about was how good you tasted and the heat radiating from your pussy.
“Shit tastes so good, girl,” He licked his plate clean, “fuck, look at my dick.”
His shit was twisted and curved to the right in those pants. Erik got on his knees to undo his pants. He let out a long sigh of relief the minute his pants and briefs made it down his thighs, resting at his knees. He sat down and pulled the rest of his clothes off, now he was naked from the waist down. You watch his thick dick jerk in his hand. That dick looked like it could bench press a barbell with how hard he was as Erik slid his hand up and down his burgeoning erection. His dick skyrocketed to its highest capacity causing your mouth to drool. Erik pointed out that dick at your mouth. Doing that caused his slit to open and show you his pre-cum waiting to be sucked out.
“Come suck me, baby,” His grip was so tight on his dick.
You obeyed every word and sucked him up into your mouth. Damn, Erik was a big boy. So girthy and veiny. Intimidating for sure. His tip blossomed so thickly your lips had a hard time wrapping around it to suck. Erik with a C ain’t have nothing on this dick. A beautiful slab of tasty meat gliding across your tongue and poking the back of your throat.
“Damn, this is how you do it, ma? You should have warned a nigga first.”
He held the back of your head to guide your mouth lower. Each time he did that, he would grunt and whisper oh, my God, which made you super wet. All you wanted him to do was splatter your mouth with his cum. He was already so close to detonation so you opened up as wide as you could stretch to fill him all the way in.
“DAYUM!!!” Erik bellowed, “Good girl, don’t waste a fucking drop when I bust in this pretty mouth. Never.”
You graduated from plain old hungry to ravenous. That cum of his sputtering and spurting forth was your reward. The suctioning noise of your hand jerking him empty into your throat mixed with Erik’s deep moans made your pussy convulse around nothing even though you could feel it dripping. You slapped his ever-expanding dick against your tongue.
“Shit,” Erik looked from his wet dick to your face, “Baby girl, I ain’t cum this hard in a minute from getting head.”
You plant kisses all over his dick, working yourself up to more sucking, “I can give you more, Daddy.”
“Give me more of that mouth,” Erik played with your braids, “Swallow my shit and lick my balls.”
“Mmm, okay, Daddy.”
Erik’s eyes rolled back when your lips would suck and then pop off his sack. He had to control himself from cumming in your hair.
“Shit doesn’t make no sense,” Erik looked at you with disbelief before a strangled look filled with passion overtook his features.
“Fffuckkk!!!” He groaned as he blasted inside your mouth with his sweet, sticky offering. You ran your index finger over your bottom lip to retrieve a dollop of cum. That only left you more famished than before causing you to enthusiastically slurp on his rigid pipe again until it was damn near raw and your pussy was sopping wet.
“Y/N,” Erik’s fingers were tight in your hair. You tasted a bit of leftover cum from his slit with your hungry tongue.
Ring Ring
Erik’s cell was going off.
“Shit,” He reached into his pants pockets while you jerked his dick. He answered his phone with an annoyed expression.
“What’s going on, Greg,” Greg was a fellow Environmental Engineer, “What? Right now?” Erik closed his eyes before tossing his head back, “Okay, give me ten minutes.”
Erik hung up his phone.
“We gotta go, ma,” You could hear the disappointment in his voice, “Supposedly it’s something urgent about Alaska.”
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “Should I be worried about the trip?”
Erik gave you a soft smile, “Nah, Alaska is happening regardless. Don’t worry, bae, we good.”
You pulled your skirt down and placed your wet panties in your bag. You watched Erik fasten his belt in place before he opened the back door to let some air in. You rose from the car, Erik helping you put on your pumps before placing you on your feet. Digging into your bag you sprayed yourself with a little of your Chanel No.5, hoping to camouflage the lingering scent of sex.
Looking in Erik’s rearview mirror, you fix your lipgloss and clothes, everything else good to go. Erik was currently spraying himself down with some Gucci cologne from his Puma gym bag and buttoning his suit jacket. He looked just as crisp as he did when he came in this morning.
“You still ain’t answer my question, beautiful.”
“What question,” Erik grabs your hand while the both of you walked back inside.
“Can I keep you company later?”
You chew on your bottom lip in thought. Eric with the C, your actual boyfriend, might call you later and you didn’t want Erik with the K to be around to raise suspicion. Still, no word from Eric and the longer that happened the more you didn’t give a fuck.
“Am I pressing too much?” Erik asks with soft eyes.
“No, no,” you reassured him, “I just think it would be better to come to your place instead. That’s all.”
“We can do that,” Erik walked towards you with his body pressed into yours, “Bring an overnight bag. You’re not going back home.”
His lips attacked your throat again, sucking and licking you there.
“I ain’t give my work bae some dick yet so you know I gotta take care of you,” His hands found their way back between your legs and on your sensitive pussy, “You gonna let me do that for you?” He asked huskily.
“Oh, Daddy, please do,” you responded.
————
You got home around 6:30 PM. You showered, finished the rest of your lunch since your appetite for dick was satisfied and drank a little bit of red wine.
Surprised, shocked, nervous, you decided to wear a black velour tracksuit with your Fenty slides to Erik’s place and packed away everything else you needed on a faux fur tote bag. Phone sitting on the charger, you go to check it since you received a few notifications since coming home.
Eric with the C.
Eric- I’m alright. Sorry for the lack of communication. Really busy.
-that’s okay. Be safe.
He didn’t respond back.
No I love you, I miss you, I’m thinking about you, nothing.
Luckily the picture Erik sent to you made up for that. It was a shower picture. From his broad shoulders down to his well-knit waist with that v cut covered in soap and water. You had the urge to satisfy the cries leaking from your pussy at the moment. You had half the mind to pull your pants down and finger-fuck your pussy into multiple orgasms leaving your slit covered in sticky cum for him to find. How dare he tease you like that? Since you were spending the night you can look forward to shower with him. This entire fling had your skin tingling. Your fingers scrolled down to read the texts he left you. You really wished you hadn’t because now you were whimpering.
Erik- Can’t wait for you to put that work in for Daddy.
Erik- where you at? I’m tryna put this thang in your gut.
Erik- want me to come to get you?
He was blowing you up. Eric with the C never did this.
-Hey, sorry, I was getting my things together. You don’t have to pick me up.
HONK HONK.
Erik- too late.
You walk to your living room to find Erik parked outside. He was typing away on his phone.
Ping Ping
Erik- Stop making me wait, girl.
You grab your bag, phone, and keys before locking up and leaving. Walking down your cobblestone trail, Erik hops out of his car, walking around to meet you. He was wearing a black Burberry ribbed beanie with a Pyer Moss color block Reebok windbreaker tracksuit on and the same brand of shoes on his feet. He tongued you down before taking your bag to place in the back seat that was now cleaned and placed normally. Erik opened your door to help you up inside before shutting it to return to the driver’s side. You watched him walk all the way around and get inside with sultry eyes. With his hand on your upper thigh, he drove off and towards his Penthouse.
His Snookums @perfectedcrown - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
