1. Watch out for women who prefer to be on top majority of the time.
2. Never give a woman the keys to your place.
3. A woman can't use you if you use her FIRST.
4.Stay away from women who ask what you do work. (GOLD DIGGIN ASS HOES!)
5. DO NO COMMIT, no matter how good the sex is.
6. Stay clear of women who don't reciprocate after you give them head. ( First Come Last Served Disease )
7. Avoid intimate and personal conversations. ( Past Relationships, Emotions ,Family background etc..)
8. Before you get carried away with a women make sure she knows that NO FEELINGS WILL BE INVOLVED whatsoever!
9. We never " make love," it's always casual sex.
10. Always! ALWAYS! WRAP IT UP!
Andre " Dre "Carter
Micah Jones
Corey King
Tremani " Trey" Lucas
Chapter One
" How you doing everybody! We are back at it again today with one of our most anticipated podcasts! My name is Big Mike and to my left of me we have the beautiful Sasha Day and on my right we have my guy Tommy G. First off if you are new to our podcast let me say Welcome to Toxic Talk. Exclusively for the mature and toxic minds only! Yesterday's guest has had you men and women blowing up our Instagram DM's with questions for us and today's guest!" Big Mike said as he sat over the mic opening up the show.
" Now just to catch you up to speed we had our female guest Avery come in and chat with us for a bit here about the sistas protecting themselves out here in the dating and relationship world and it uh got a little heated. Even I had to say she had me really looking at us like damn y'all are we that bad?!"
" YES!" Sasha said laughing.
" Before we get started I'm gonna go to the Quick Call List so you can speak on your thoughts a little bit more about yesterday's conversation."
He leaned back in the chair rubbing his chin. " Thank you for holding Mase. What were your thoughts about yesterday's conversation?"
" I think women are taking it hard for nothing. Men are men and are always gonna be MEN! They can't expect us to always be perfect. Not all men who have cheated on their girls are playa's. Good men stray, bad men stray. Doesn't mean were all fucked up!" Sasha sat back rolling her eyes hearing the mans opinion.
" Whew we choosing violence this good ole Friday, huh Mase?" He laughed.
" So tell me where do you fall in that category?"
"A man who takes advantage of sexual opportunity's that's too good to pass up."
" I mean you could put it that way. But I highly doubt any women would see it that way. Thanks for the call man." He exited out the call and moving on right to the next.
" Alright Charlie, what you thinking man?"
" Uh it definitely gave me a lot to think about and I definitely think she made some points."
" Hmph ok, like?"
"It's all about what you want out your situation. I don't want my woman seeing any other man and I'm more than positive she wouldn't want me seeing another woman. The factor is exclusiveness. I'm hers and she's mine. Nowadays it seems like nobody really wants to be committed for real just want the perks of a relationship but also the freedom to do what they want too."
" THANK YOU! A man with some damn sense!" Sasha chimed in.
" You definitely saying alot there my brotha and I definitely agree with you about the things that you said. Thanks for the call man!"
" Now that we are all caught up to speed today's guest has just arrived." He said giving giving him an introduction. Taking a seat in the open chair next to Sasha. He was someone she was extremely thought of as a MAN. He was too good looking. She crossed her legs just at the sight of his plump limps envisioning them across her body.
She heard that he was just as arrogant as he was good looking. He was a one time divorcé and had a reputation for switching woman like how he switched clothes. He was truly the last of a dying breed. A lot of his opinions came from too many years of experience.
Trying to control her stares at him to keep them at a minimum so she wouldn't look thirsty she occupied herself in her phone.
Now she could fully see how women fell so easy for him regardless of the filth that came out of his mouth. This was a man who used his own experiences to always tell fellows dudes how it was nothing wrong with being a player and accepting it for what it is. Teaching them all how to avoid unwanted commitments.
" Welcome to the show, Dre." Sasha spoke swiftly into the mic.
Dre flashed his billion dollar smile. " Thank y'all for having me."
" How you doing today my brother?" Big Mike asked as the two dapped each other up.
" I'm good man. I'm good. I can't complain at all. Thanks for having me." Dre said as he took a sip from his Essentia water bottle.
UP THE PRICE (MY LADY)
michael b. jordan x wunmi m.
PART ONE
next masterlist
cw: sexual content, spanking, jealous!michael
summary: a year after the unfortunate leak, rumors are still flooding around about who michael has locked down. to the public it’s still a mystery that they want to solve, and behind closed doors things are moving exactly how he wanted them to.
notes: i haven't updated in a while. so sorry y'all. i got a new job at the beginning of may and i've been trying to get used to this schedule. i've just been busy a lot more, but enjoy.
October 2026
Wunmi's house looked like a storm had completely wrecked it. Drawers were pulled open, clothes spread all over the place, shoes were kicked off in random directions, and couch cushions had been tossed aside. Even the kitchen had things out of place, which never happened.
Wunmi stood in the middle of the living room with her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder while she dug through yet another bag for what felt like the hundredth time.
“I don’t understand,” she muttered tightly. “I don’t lose things like this.”
On the other end, Michael was quiet for a second, listening to the sound of things shifting and falling in the background.
“Hey, slow down,” he said, calmer than she felt. "You’re tearing the whole place up.”
She let out a sharp exhale, dropping the bag onto the floor before moving to the next thing.
“I already did tear the whole place up,” she shot back, her accent heavily slipping through. “It’s gone, Michael. I’ve looked everywhere.”
He leaned back in his chair on set, phone pressed to his ear, eyes tracking the movement around him. He ignored the faint sound of someone calling for him to be ready in a few minutes.
“It’s not gone, you just misplaced it, baby,” he said steadily.
Wunmi laughed, but there was no humor in it. She yanked open a drawer, rifling through it quickly.
“The one time I take it off and it goes missing,” she said, her voice starting to crack.
Michael’s jaw tightened slightly at that.
“When did you take it off?”
She paused, thinking, her movements slowing for a second.
“The night I washed my hair. I didn’t want it slipping off or getting caught, so I put it—” She stopped, her brows pulling together. “I put it on the counter I think.”
Her hands moved faster again, more frantic now that she was second-guessing herself.
“Wunmi, stop moving for second,” he said firmly.
She didn’t.
“I can’t stop,” she snapped, moving into the living room and dropping to her knees to check under the couch again. “It’s not here.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to stay patient.
“Aye, listen to me,” he called. "It's fine we'll find it and if we don't—"
Her movements slowed just a little.
“I don’t want another one,” she cut in quickly, sitting back on her heels, her chest rising and falling. “You paid too much money for this one, Michael.”
He shook his head, a small frown forming.
“I don’t care about that.”
“Well, I do,” she said immediately, pushing herself up and started to pace. “And it’s not even just that. You—you really thought about it and took the time to pick it out.”
He rubbed his hand over his mouth, leaning forward slightly.
“And I’ll easily do it again,” he said.
She huffed under her breath, shaking her head like he just wasn’t getting it.
“That’s not the point,” she murmured.
On his end, someone tapped his shoulder lightly. He nodded without looking at them, waving them off for a second.
“Give me a minute.”
He turned his attention fully back to her.
“Alright, listen. You probably left it at my place,” he said.
Wunmi stopped pacing immediately.
“…No, I didn’t.”
“You might’ve,” he pressed. “Think about it. Last time you were here—”
“That was a week ago,” she cut in, frustration creeping back in. “And I didn’t take it off there.”
He paused, tilting his head slightly.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “Why would I take it off there and not put it back on?”
He shrugged even though she couldn’t see it.
“I don’t know. You do a lot when you’re over here.”
That earned him a small, irritated huff.
“Michael,” she warned.
He let out a quiet breath, easing back a little.
“Alright, alright. All I’m saying is it’s somewhere. It didn’t just disappear.”
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she turned slowly, looking over the mess of her home again. The reality of it hit her and her eyes started to burn.
“I don't like not having it on,” she admitted softly.
“Hey, don't do that,” Michael said gently.
She pressed her lips together, blinking a few times as she crouched down again, picking up a pillow just to check under it as if she hadn’t already done that ten times before.
“I just—” she started, her voice wobbling slightly. “You were so thoughtful with it. And now I’ve just lost it and you're being far too calm.”
“Because you're doing enough panicking for the both of us, baby. I'm not going to say it again but you didn't lose it, you just misplaced it." he said.
She didn’t argue, but she didn’t agree either.
“Michael—”
“I’m serious,” he cut in. “You don’t need to stress yourself out like this. It’s not worth it.”
She let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, but not all of it.
On his end, someone called out for him again. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.
“I gotta go,” he told her.
Wunmi nodded even though he couldn’t see it, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of a blanket.
“…Okay.”
He didn’t hang up right away.
“You good?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“…I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t fully believe that.
“Stop tearing your house up and take a break. I'll look for it when I get back. And if we can't find it then I'll get you another one,” he spoke lightly.
“Okay,” she said finally, even though it wasn’t fully okay.
“Alright,” he replied.
“…Be careful. I love you,” she added quietly.
“I love you too.”
The call ended and wunmi stood there in the middle of the mess. Her eyes drifted back down to her bare finger. It just felt so wrong.
She swallowed, pressing her lips together before letting out a slow breath. Her gaze moved around the room one more time, then she shook her head slightly, stepping over a pile of clothes as she moved toward the couch. She sank down into it, exhaustion finally catching up to her.
Wunmi sat there for a while, staring at nothing. Her mind tried to retrace every step she’d taken over the last few days. She pressed her lips together, then pushed herself up from the couch with a quiet exhale.
If she wasn’t going to find it right now, then she at least wasn’t going to keep living in the middle of a disaster. So she started with the living room. She picked things up and put them back into place. Every now and then her eyes would flick down to her hand out of habit, but each time it annoyed her.
She cleaned the kitchen next. Then moved to her bedroom. She was haflway through folding her thrown around clothes when her phone rang from somewhere behind her. She paused, listening for a second before turning and spotting it on the bed. She was able to that it was her good friend Danielle Brooks calling her.
Wunmi blinked, then walked over, picking it up and answering as she sat down on the edge of the mattress.
“Hello?”
“Wunmi!” Danielle’s voice came through bright and warm, full of energy. “Girl, where have you been?”
A small smile pulled at Wunmi’s mouth instantly.
“I’ve been around. You're the one that's been busy,” she said lightly, tucking one leg under herself.
“Okay, that’s fair,” Danielle laughed. “But still. I feel like I haven’t seen you seen you in forever.”
“Same,” Wunmi admitted, her voice softening just a little.
“So what you doing today?” Danielle asked.
Wunmi glanced around her half-clean room
“Nothing, really. Just at home,” she said.
“Perfect. That means you can come out to lunch with me,” Danielle replied immediately.
Wunmi huffed out a quiet laugh.
“You didn't even ask me!”
“Why would I? And I'm not taking no for an answer, so don't say it,” Danielle said.
Wunmi shook her head, smiling despite herself. “I wasn’t going to say no.”
“Good, because I already have the reservations made,” Danielle said. “So you're definitely coming?”
Wunmi hesitated for half a second, her thumb brushed lightly over her ring finger without thinking.
“I’ll come,” she said.
“I'll send you the address because I’m already on the way there, so don’t take forever.”
Wunmi laughed softly. “I won’t.”
“Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay.”
The call ended and Wunmi immediately got to work.
She stood in front of her closet for a minute, scanning her options before deciding on something simple. Once she was dressed, she moved to the mirror, smoothing her hands over her outfit, adjusting small things here and there.
Her gaze lifted to her reflection then dropped. Her bare hand came up slightly.
“…It’s fine,” she murmured to herself.
She reached for her shades, sliding them on before grabbing her purse. The sun hit her with a warmth as soon as she stepped outside. She locked her door, adjusted her bag on her shoulder, then headed to her car.
During the entire drive, Wunmi had the music on low playing softly in the background with er fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel.
Eventually she pulled up to the restauraunt. She parked, grabbed her purse, and stepped out, adjusting her shades slightly as she made her way inside. The place was lively but not overwhelming. Soft chatter filled the air, the clink of glasses and silverware blending into the background. She approached the host stand, offering a small smile.
“Hello.”
“Hi,” the hostess greeted warmly. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. I believe it's under Danielle Brooks?”
The hostess nodded immediately, grabbing a menu. “Right this way.”
Wunmi followed her through the restaurant, weaving past tables and people until they reached the patio doors. Danielle sat at one of the tables, sunglasses perched on the top of her face, her posture relaxed as she scrolled through her phone. She looked up just in time, her expression breaking into a wide smile as she stood up.
“Wunmi!”
They closed the distance quickly, wrapping each other in a warm hug.
“Hey,” Wunmi laughed softly against her shoulder.
“Hey, stranger,” Danielle teased, squeezing her a little tighter before pulling back to look at her.
They both took a second, really taking each other in.
“It’s been too long,” Danielle said.
“It has,” Wunmi agreed.
Danielle shook her head, smiling. “You look good.”
“So do you,” Wunmi replied easily.
They both laughed, that easy, familiar energy settling right back into place like no time had passed at all.
“Come on,” Danielle said, gesturing toward the table as they sat back down.
Wunmi slid into her seat, setting her purse down beside her, her shades still on as she leaned back slightly.
Their server approached not too long after they sat down, a polite smile on her face as she glanced between them.
“Hi, ladies. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
Danielle didn’t even look at the menu.
“Yeah, I’ll do a margarita,” she said easily, handing it back.
The server nodded, then turned to Wunmi.
“And for you?”
Wunmi glanced down briefly, then back up. “I’ll have a French 75.”
“Perfect. I’ll be right back with those.”
They both murmured a quick thank you before the server stepped away. The second she was out of earshot, Danielle leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table.
“Okay, now talk to me. What's been going on with you?,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully.
Wunmi smiled, shaking her head a little as she settled back in her chair.
“Just work and life like always,” she said.
Danielle hummed like she halfway believed her, her gaze drifting casually as she listened. Her eyes dropped right to Wunmi’s hands that were resting on the table.
Wunmi didn’t even realize what Danielle was looking at until she felt her reach across the table.
Danielle grabbed her hand, lifting it, her face twisting in confusion.
“Wait, where's your ring?”
Wunmi’s stomach dropped. She let out a slow sigh, her shoulders sinking just a little.
“I lost it.”
Danielle’s head snapped up.
“Already?!” she gasped.
Wunmi let out another breath, this one heavier, her lips pressing together as she looked down at their hands.
“I’ve been looking for it for days, and I don't know where it is,” she admitted, sounding almost hurt.
“Oh, baby…” she murmured, still holding her hand.
“I turned my whole house upside down to look for it. I don't understand how I lost it…” she trailed off.
Danielle squeezed her hand gently.
“What did Michael say?”
Wunmi let out a small, humorless huff.
“He told me to calm down and we'd find it,” she said. “Or he’d just get me another one if we couldn’t.”
Danielle’s brows lifted slightly. “And you didn’t like that.”
“No,” Wunmi said immediately, shaking her head. “I don’t want another one.”
Danielle nodded slowly, understanding settling in her expression.
“Mm, I get it,” she said gently. “I lost mine before.”
Wunmi blinked, looking up at her.
“You did?”
“Mhm,” Danielle nodded. “Thought I was about to pass out when I realized it too. Tore my whole house up just like you.”
Wunmi let out a small breath, something easing in her chest just a little. “Did you find it?”
Danielle smiled. “I did. It was in the most random place too. You're gonna find it, so don't stress yourself out too much.”
Right then, their server returned with their drinks, carefully placing them down in front of them.
“Margarita for you, and a French 75 for you ,” she said, setting Wunmi’s glass down gently. “Are you ladies ready to order?”
Danielle picked up her drink, taking a quick sip before nodding.
“Yes please."
They both grabbed their menus again, scanning over them briefly as they placed their orders. Danielle confidently went first, while Wunmi took a second longer. The server nodded, jotting everything down. Once she walked away again, Danielle leaned back in her chair, lifting her glass slightly.
They clinked their glasses together and fell right back into conversation. They talked about everything. From work to people to random stories. Danielle filled her in on things she had missed, little industry gossip here and there that made Wunmi laugh and shake her head. Wunmi shared her own updates of things she hadn’t realized she needed to talk about until she was saying them out loud.
Time moved quickly and they hardly even noticed. Their food came and went, plates slowly clearing as they kept talking.
Danielle tilted her head slightly, a knowing look on her face.
“So,” she started, dragging the word out just a little. “How’s wedding planning going?”
Wunmi let out a soft laugh immediately, shaking her head as she set her fork down.
"It’s…a lot.”
“I know it is,” Danielle grinned.
“It’s not even the planning itself, it's the timing,” Wunmi continued.
She reached for her glass, taking a small sip before continuing.
“Michael’s been filming, so everything has to work around his schedule. And when he does have time, it’s like we have to squeeze in ten different things at once. It’s just a lot of back and forth. All of the calls and meetings. where we have to make decisions so quick because we don't know when the next free window is,” Wunmi said.
“So do y’all have a date yet?”
Wunmi picked up her glass and took a small sip.
“Not officially, but we've been looking at spring time or maybe early summer,” she said. “But we’ve been looking at spring. Maybe early summer. I really want May, but that's only if everything lines up properly.”
Danielle raised a brow. “Oh, that's soon soon.”
Wunmi gave a small nod, setting her glass back down. her fingers brushed along the stem of her glass. All of it felt too real.
Wunmi smiled faintly, her fingers brushing along the stem of her glass. The idea of it felt real when she said it out loud like that.
Danielle studied her for a second, then asked, “Are y’all planning to go public before then?”
Wunmi shrugged, her expression easy.
“I don’t really care about that right now. It's not at the top of my list,” she said. “Michael said he’d rather wait until after we get married.”
Danielle hummed, like she was considering that, then a small smirk crept onto her face.
“Mm. Maybe he’s just trying to get his last little bit of fun in ebfore everybody really backs off,” she said casually.
Wunmi didn’t even hesitate to say, “I’m not worried about that.”
“Not even a little bit?”
Wunmi shook her head, leaning back into her seat.
“He's already learned his lesson,” she said simply.
That made Danielle laugh.
“Okay, I hear you,” she said, holding her hands up.
Wunmi just gave a small unbothered smile.
They stayed for a little longer just talking. Eventually their plates were cleared and their dreams were long finisehed.
Danielle glanced around, then back at Wunmi.
“You ready?”
Wunmi nodded. “Yeah.”
Danielle lifted her hand slightly, catching their server’s attention as she passed by.
“Whenever you get a chance, can we get the check?”
The server nodded with a polite smile.
“Of course.”
She disappeared for a moment, and Wunmi reached for her purse. It didn't take long for the server to come back. She didn't set anything on the table. Instead she gave the two women a careful look.
“Actually, your check has already been taken care of,” she said.
Wunmi frowned slightly. “By who?”
The server gave a small, knowing smile, then subtly angled her head toward the inside of the restaurant.
“The gentleman over there.”
Both Wunmi and Danielle turned, their gazes following the direction she’d indicated.
Inside, a small group of men sat at a table not too far from the patio doors. It took a second to even figure out which one she meant until they watched as one of the men leaned back slightly, his attention already on them.
His face wasn’t fully clear from where they were. The lighting inside hit at an angle, shadowing part of it, and he had on a hat that didn’t help. Wunmi narrowed her eyes just a little, trying to place him.
They both turned back toward the server.
“Well…tell him thank you,” Danielle said, still sounding unsure.
“Of course,” the server replied before she walked away.
Wunmi and Danielle exchanged a look. Then they both glanced back toward the table, but the moment had already shifted. The man wasn’t as clearly visible anymore, someone else moving in front of him briefly, the angle changing just enough to make it harder to get a good look.
Danielle leaned closer.
“Do you know him?”
“I don’t—” Wunmi started, then stopped, her eyes narrowing again slightly. “I mean, I can’t see him properly.”
They sat there for another moment, trying to piece it together, but neither of them could land on anything. And then the patio door opened. The man from inside stepped out into the sunlight, moving with an easy confidence. As he got closer, the shadows fell away from his face and Wunmi's breath caught.
Her eyes widened almost immediately in recognition. She quickly turned her head toward Danielle, surprise flickering across her face.
“What? Who is that?” Danielle asked under her breath.
Wunmi didn’t answer. She just looked back at the man as he closed the distance to their table.
“Ladies,” he greeted smoothly as he reached the table.
Danielle straightened slightly, already smiling out of politeness.
“Hi,” she said. “Thank you for paying for us. You didn’t have to do that.”
He waved it off with a small shrug.
“It’s nothing. I figured I'd use it as an excuse to come say hello. Hope you don't mind,” he said.
Danielle glanced at Wunmi briefly before looking back at him.
“No, not at all. That was relaly nice of you,” she said.
Wunmi hadn’t said a word. She kept her posture composed, but her gaze had shifted off to the side for a moment, like she needed a second to collect herself before fully engaging. Because standing in front of her was someone she hadn't seen in literal years. And wasn't expecting to see again.
Tyree Lawson had been someone she had been seeing before Michael even came into the picture. They hadn’t ended badly. They just ended. The distance, timing, and their careers pulled them in opposite directions. He got traded, she picked up a new acting job, and their lives moved on.
But she remembered him. And judging by the way he was looking at her now, he remembered her just as well.
His attention shifted fully to her, a slow smile pulling at his mouth.
“Hi.”
Wunmi cleared her throat softly, finally looking at him.
“Hello.”
The formality of it made his brows lift immediately. A small, amused crease formed between them as he tilted his head.
“Why you acting like you don’t know me?”
Danielle’s eyes flicked between them instantly.
Wunmi exhaled quietly, then extended her hand out.
“Hi,” she said a little less stiff.
He reached out and took it, his grip warm. His thumb brushed lightly across the back of her hand.
“How you been?” he asked.
Wunmi gave him a sharp look and he caught the meaning of it immediately. He smirked.
“I’ve been fine,” she said while pulling her hand back. “Very busy, but fine.”
“I see that. You been everywhere lately,” he nodded, leaning back slightly so he could take her in properly. “I didn’t get to tell you before, but I saw Sinners.”
Wunmi’s expression shifted just a little.
“And?” she asked.
“I liked it a lot. You did your thing in that,” he said. "I'm proud of you."
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate that.”
There was a brief pause before she shifted the focus.
“What are you doing out here? Didn't the season start?” she asked.
He nodded once. “Yeah, it did. I’ve just got some business to handle out here before I head back.”
Wunmi’s brows lifted slightly. “What business?”
“I started a winery.” A small smile tugged at his mouth.
“Congratulations. That's big,” her tone was more warm and animated now.
“Thank you. The grand opening's coming up soon,” he paused. "You should come."
Wunmi looked at him, and for a split second she let whatever was in the air sink into her. She became a little too soft and a little too open.
“I would have to see, but I think it should be fine,” she said.
Danielle sat back in her chair, watching the exchange unfold with quiet interest. Her gaze moved between them. It wasn’t hard to read the situation. There was clearly history there and it hadn't fully gone away.
He was satisfied with that answer.
“I’ll send you the details.”
“Okay,” Wunmi said.
There was another small pause before he glanced between them, stepping back just slightly.
“I won’t hold you any longer,” he added. “Just wanted to say hello.”
Wunmi nodded, pushing her chair back as she stood.
“Yeah, of course.”
She stepped around the table, closing the small distance between them. And they hugged.
This time their contact wasn't awkward. In fact it was easy and familiar. His arms wrapped around her firmly, pulling her in. They slid a little lower than they probably should have.
Wunmi inhaled softly at the contact, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. He’d always been built strong and solid. Her hands rested against him briefly, her fingers pressing lightly against his back. She let out a quiet hum without meaning to.
He dipped his head slightly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before pulling back, his hands lingering at her waist for just a second longer.
“Good seeing you,” he murmured.
“You too,” she replied.
He gave Danielle a quick nod before turning and heading back inside.
Nobody noticed the the camera lens across the street taking pictures of them.
Wunmi sat back down, adjusting her bag at her side, and Danielle was staring at her hard. Wunmi didn’t meet her eyes right away. She just reached for her shades instead and slid them back up.
“What?” she casually asked.
Danielle leaned back, crossing her arms loosely.
“You might not be worried about Michael with other women, but he should probably be a little worried about you,” she said pointedly.
Wunmi let out a quiet hum, not denying it, but not feeding into it either. She grabbed her purse, standing up.
“You ready?” she asked simply.
Danielle stared at her for a second longer, then shook her head with a small laugh as she stood too.
“Yeah, I'm ready,” she said.
A few days had passed, and the ring still hadn’t turned up.
Wunmi had stopped tearing her house apart, but the absence hadn’t gotten any easier. If anything, it got worse. Every time she reached for things or rested her hand on her lap she was reminded of it not being there.
She was leisurely stretched out across her couch when Michael called, one leg tucked under her, and her sketchbook open beside her with loose pages scattered around it.
“Hey,” she answered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she absentmindedly flipped through one of the pages.
“Hey baby,” Michael’s voice came through low and tired. “You find it yet?”
She let out a small sigh. “…No.”
There was a brief pause on his end.
“It's fine.”
Wunmi frowned slightly, her fingers coming up to rub over her bare ring finger.
“It doesn’t feel fine,” she muttered. “My finger feels weird without it.”
That earned a quiet exhale from him, something close to a soft chuckle.
“You'll be okay. It's not permanent,” he said.
She hummed under breath, shifting a little on the couch.
“So how are you feeling about everything?” sheasked while glancing down at her sketchbook.
“About what?” he asked.
“The wedding,” she said.
There was a small pause.
“I’m good,” he answered. “Why? You not?”
“I am,” she said quickly. “It's just that there’s a lot to keep up with.”
Her hand moved across the page, tracing over one of the rough designs she’d started.
“And don’t forget we have that meeting next week with the planner coming up,” she added.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said.
She sat up a bit to reach for a pencil.
“I’ve been trying to get a head start on my dress too,” she continued. “I started sketching some ideas, but I don't know how I feel about any of them.”
On the other end, Michael was half-listening when his phone buzzed. He pulled it away from his ear just enough to glance down at the notification to see that it was a text from his publicist.
How do you want to handle this?
A twitter link followed.
His brows pulled together as he tapped it. The page loaded and his eyes instantly went to the caption.
Academy nominee Wunmi Mosaku and Dallas Cowboys defensive lineman Tyree Lawson seen pretty close at lunch.
Michael blinked once. Then he looked down at the photos. There were multiple pictures of Wunmi and Tyree hugging. His arms wrapped low around her waist and his cheek pressed against hers. There was even a picture where his lips were pressed against her cheek.
Michael was utterly confused and tense all at once.
“Aye, what is this?”
His voice cut her off mid-sentence.
“What are you talking about?”
Instead of answering, he sent the link to her. And at the exact same time, her phone buzzed against her ear. She pulled it away to see that it was a text from her own publicist.
We need to get in front of this.
Her stomach dropped. And as soon as the tweet loaded she felt her whole breath evaporate.
“Oh my God.”
Her eyes widened as she scrolled through the photos, her chest tightening.
On the other end, Michael said nothing he just waited. His silence made her pulse stutter.
“Okay, wait. When I went out with Danielle the other day someone paid for our meal. It was him,” she said quickly. "Then he came over to our table."
“Y’all look pretty close.”
The way he said it was too controlled.
Wunmi exhaled, already feeling that dangerous shift in him.
“Do you remember the guy I told you about that came before you?” she asked.
There was a beat. Then Michael hummed.
She swallowed. “That’s him.”
He remembered the conversation and the way she described how serious it could've been and how much she liked him before things fell apart. And now he was looking at pictures of that same man with his hands on her like that.
“So then what,” Michael said slowly.
Wunmi shifted on the couch, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone.
“It wasn’t like that, baby,” she said. “He just paid for our food and came to say hi. That’s it.”
Michael let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“That don’t look like just saying hi.”
Wunmi frowned, her chest tightening.
“I didn’t know what to do. It caught me off guard,” she said.
He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see it.
“You didn’t know what to do?” he echoed.
She heard the edge in his voice.
“I mean—no,” she said, her tone softening. “I wasn’t expecting to see him. And he just came up—”
“And you hugging him like that?” Michael cut in.
Her lips parted, then pressed together again.
“He did all of that,” she said, quieter now.
“That don’t change what it look like.”
Wunmi exhaled, her shoulders sinking slightly.
“It wasn’t anything. You're making it more than it was,” she insisted.
Michael didn’t respond right away because then he realized something that made this all that much worse.
“And you ain’t have your ring on. Did you at least tell him you were engaged?”
Wunmi froze. She didn't answer right away which made Michael grunt in frustration.
"Oluwunmi…"
“…No,” she admitted softly. Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
Michael let out another low, frustrated grunt, dragging a hand down his face.
“Aight,” he said. "It's cool."
Wunmi sat up straight.
“It’s not—Michael, listen—”
“I said it’s cool,” he repeated.
But it didn’t sound like it was at all.
“I’ll see you later.”
Her brows pulled together immediately. And she went to ask him what he meant by that, but the line had already gone dead. She pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen for a second, confusion settling in just as fast as the panic. He wasn’t supposed to be back for another two days. So really what did he mean?
The rest of the day blurred together.
Her phone stayed in her hand. If she wasn’t on a call, she was answering a text. If she wasn’t answering a text, she was reading something she wished she hadn’t.
Her publicist called her once. Then again. Then a third time, looping her into another call but this time with Michael’s publicist.
Wunmi pressed her lips together, pacing slowly through her living room as she listened, her free hand resting against her forehead.
“It wasn’t like that,” she said for what felt like the tenth time. “He came up to us and I didn’t even know he was there until—”
“We understand that, but perception matters far more than intent right now,” her publicist cut in gently.
Wunmi closed her eyes as she took that statement in because of course it did.
They talked through options of what to do. If she wanted to make a statement and the timing of it, or if she would want to stay silent. By the time that call ended, her head was pounding. And of course, it didn’t stop there.
Danielle called her as well.
“Girl, are you okay?” she asked immediately.
“I’m fine,” Wunmi said, even though she wasn’t.
Danielle sighed. “I didn’t even notice anybody out there taking pictures like that.”
“Me either,” Wunmi muttered, dropping down onto her couch again.
“You talked to Michael?”
“I did and let's just say it didn't go too well. He hung up on me.”
“Okay, well, that's not ideal,” she said slowly.
Wunmi huffed a small, humorless breath. “No, it’s not.”
After that the calls just kept coming. From close friends to family. And they were all asking questions that she didn't really feel like answering. The only person who hadn't was Michael. And not for lack of trying on her part either.
Every time she tried to call him, it went unanswered. Every text was stuck on delivered. She even checked his location at one point, but it was off.
When evening came, her energy was completely drained.
She sat curled up on her couch, her phone resting in her lap as she stared at the screen. The tweet was still circulating, but with more comments and opinions. More people were inserting themselves into something they didn’t understand.
Her thumb hovered over Michael’s name for the fiftieth time that day. She still had nothing from him. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed hard, blinking a few times as that familiar pressure started building behind her eyes. All of this was getting to her.
She slowly moved through her nighttime routine. The house fell still the moment she turned the lights off ready to curl up and hide from the world.
She grabbed her phone one last time, glancing at it, and still nothing. Wunmi let out a quiet breath and set it down on the table. She had started to head to her bedroom when there was a knock on her door.
It was far too late for anyone to just be showing up. So she stood still for second to listen. But then another louder and more insistent knock came.
Her heart picked up slightly as she walked toward the door with cautious steps.
“Who is it?” she called out.
No verbal answer, only another knock.
She hesitated for half a second before unlocking the door and pulling it open. And her breath caught when she saw Michael standing there with a hood pulled over his head and hands tucked into his pockets.
“Michael—” she gasped in relief. “Baby, I am so—”
“Come on,” he cut in firmly. He left no room for disagreeament.
When she didn't move, Michael stared at her harder.
“Let's go,” he repeated, stepping slightly to the side and holding the door open wider.
Her breath hitched. It was something about the look in her eye that made her really not want to argue with him. She simply turned and went to grab her phone and purse off of the table. She walked past him, his presence heavy as she went by.
He stepped out right after her, pulling the door shut and locking it without a word. Wunmi looked back slightly to watch him. He slipped by her to lead the way.
Once he got to the car, Michael pulled the passenger door open for her to get into. She climbed in with her heart beating faster than normal. The door shut and a second later, he was in the driver’s seat, starting the engine.
The silence inside the car was thick during the drive.
Wunmi glanced at him. His hands were tight on the wheel and eyes forward. She opened her mouth then closed it. Whatever she was about to say didn’t feel like it would go right, so she stayed quiet.
The drive only lasted about fifteen minutes, but it felt much longer.
As soon as they pulled into his driveway, he was out of the car almost immediately, coming around to her side and opening her door before she could even reach for it.
She stepped out, watching him carefully. He led the way inside, unlocking the front door and holding it open for her. She stepped into the house, instantly being met with a comfortable familiarity. He closed the door behind them, locking it again before moving past her.
“Where were you when you took it off?” he asked roughly.
Wunmi blinked, trying to keep up.
“I was washing my hair, but that was back at my—”
She could hardly answer before he turned and headed straight for the stairs. Wunmi followed quickly behind him.
“Michael—” She called for him as they swiftly moved up the stairs.
She knew she hadn’t taken her ring off here, so she didn’t argue. At this point, she didn’t have the energy to push back on anything. Not after the day she’d had. So she just followed him into the bathroom and watched him as he immediately got to work.
He moved around the space like a man on a mission, opening drawers, shifting bottles, checking along the edges of the counter and behind things that hadn’t been touched in days. His movements were completely focused yet annoyed.
Wunmi stood in the doorway for a second before stepping in, her arms folding loosely over her chest as she watched him.
“Michael…” she started softly.
He didn’t even look at her. Instead, he crouched down instead, checking along the base of the cabinets, his fingers running along the small spaces.
Wunmi swallowed. Then slowly, she moved further in, kneeling down on the opposite side, her movements much more hesitant. She checked places she knew didn’t make sense. Behind containers and inside small trays and corners that didn’t hold anything. She wasn’t really expecting to find it, but she helped anyway.
The only sounds in the room were the soft shifting of items and Michael’s quiet, frustrated exhales every few minutes. He was getting irritated and she could not only hear it but see it as well. His shoulders were tight and his jaw flexed every time he searched and came up empty-handed.
Enough time passed for the silence between them to stretch and fill the room.
Michael was crouched low near the side of the counter, his fingers reaching into a narrow gap between the cabinet and the wall. His face was scrunched together when he pulled his hand back. And there it was in his fingers. The ring.
Wunmi let out a relieved exhale, “Oh thank God.”
Michael stood up, holding it between his fingers as he wiped it off against the side of his shirt, inspecting it briefly. Then he looked at her.
“Come here.” His voice was steady.
Wunmi carefully pushed herself up and walked over to him. He held his hand out. She reached for it, her fingers slipping into his automatically. He lifted the ring slightly between them, his gaze flicking from it to her.
“You better not lose it again.”
Wunmi’s lips parted slightly, and she nodded, her voice soft, “I won’t.”
He slid it back onto her finger, the cool metal settling into place.
Wunmi exhaled shakily, her shoulders dropping just a little as she looked down at it. Relief flooded her instantly.
Michael’s expression softened as he took her hand again, bringing it up and pressing a kiss to it. Then he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. He pushed his lips onto hers and she melted into the kiss almost immediately. Her hands came up to rest agaisnt his chest before sliding up around his neck.
The tension from earlier simmered.
She pulled back just a little, her forehead brushing against his as she looked at him.
“I’m sorry for not really telling you,” she said softly.
“It’s alright. I get it,” he said after a second. “I guess this is my payback.”
Wunmi frowned faintly.
“Payback? For what?”
He looked at her, something protective settling back into his expression.
“I don’t like nobody thinking they can come up and be that comfortable with you,” he said. “Especially not somebody you had something with.”
Her breath caught slightly.
“I didn’t—”
“I know. But I'm saying,” he said firmly. "I'm protective over what's mine."
His hand pressed lightly against her waist.
“And I don’t want you going out without your ring so we don't have this problem again,” he added.
Wunmi nodded slowly, her fingers tightening slightly against him.
“Okay.”
He leaned in again, kissing her slower this time.
Her arms wrapped around him fully now, holding him close as she lifted her hand slightly behind his head. The ring caught the light. She smiled softly against his lips.
“I really did miss it,” she murmured.
Michael let out a quiet breath against her skin, his lips trailing from her jaw down to her neck, pressing a few soft kisses there.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her grip tightening just a little. After a moment, she pulled back slightly, catching her breath.
“What are you doing back already? I thought you weren't coming back for two more days,” she asked.
Michael looked at her for a second, then shrugged lightly.
“I had to come handle my business.”
Wunmi bit her lip, her gaze dropping for a second.
“I really am sorry, Michael,” she said again.
He shook his head, stepping back just enough to look at her fully.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m tired.”
He moved past her, already pulling his hoodie off as he headed toward the bedroom.
Wunmi followed, watching him as he stripped down to his boxers.
They both slipped into bed without much more conversation. Wunmi settled in beside him, her hand resting against his chest, her thumb brushing lightly over the ring.
December 2026
Michael had finally wrapped filming for Miami Vice, which meant he was home more, but somehow, that hadn’t made life any less hectic. Now they had wedding stress and awards and press season.
Wunmi had already picked up several nominations. Her name was floating in conversations again. All of the hype was starting to stack on top of everything else.
The wedding planning had been intense. They officially had their date, the venue was picked, and invitations had been sent. That should've made things easier, but it didn't.
Now it was all about the details. They still had to lock a lot of things in while coordinating their schedules around two careers that clearly weren't slowing down. It was a lot.
And Michael had been on her more than usual. He was always touching her or near her. Especially after the whole Tyree thing. Even though they had moved past it, something about it had stuck with him.
They were on the couch with the TV playing something neither of them was fully paying attention to.
Wunmi sat sideways, her legs draped across Michael’s lap and her back resting against the arm of the couch. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs moving as she typed.
Michael’s hand rested on her calf, absentmindedly sliding down to her ankle before coming back up again. His other hand lifted her foot slightly, thumb pressing into the arch, working it gently.
Wunmi exhaled softly at the pressure, not even looking up from her phone.
“Mm,” she hummed.
Michael glanced at her.
“Who you texting?”
“I'm just updating the bridesmaids,” she said while typing.
“About what?”
“The dates that we agreed on for our trips. And the fittings."
Michael shook his head slightly, a quiet breath leaving him.
“This is still so crazy to me,” he muttered.
Wunmi glanced at him briefly, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“What is?”
“The fact that we're getting married.”
“I’m excited,” Wunmi's smile softened.
Michael smiled back at her, then went back to rubbing her foot.
She returned her attention to her phone. And just then a new text came in from an unknown number. Her brows pulled together in confusion as she opened it.
The first message was a picture of an invitation. Then there was a text right under it.
Can’t wait to see you.
Wunmi was utterly confused, until she scrolled up slightly, looked at the number again, then back at the image. That was when it all clicked.
“Oh.”
Michael’s hand paused slightly against her foot.
“What?”
Wunmi’s lips pressed together as she read it again.
“I just got an invitation,” she said.
“To what?”
She hesitated for a second.
“Tyree’s winery opening.”
Michael’s hand stilled completely.
“No.”
It was an immediate rejection that took Wunmi aback.
“You didn’t even let me explain.”
“Didn't have to,” he said as he leaned back against the couch.
Wunmi let out a small breath, sitting up a little.
“He just sent it to me and I don't even have his number,” she added.
“I don’t care. You're not going,” Michael said. His hand dropped from her foot, resting on her leg instead, his fingers tapping once against her skin.
Wunmi frowned, “Baby—”
“You're not going,” he repeated.
She shifted, pulling one of her legs in so she could turn toward him more.
“But I kind of want to go.”
Michael’s eyes snapped to her. “Why?”
Wunmi blinked at his tone, then exhaled.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It just doesn't feel like a big deal. It's a grand opening, so we'll be in public. And it's not like I'm sneaking off somewhere with him.”
Michael stared at her completely unmoved.
“That’s not the point, baby.”
"Then what is the point?" Wunmi tilted her head slightly.
“I don’t trust him.”
Wunmi’s brows lifted slightly.
“It sounds like you don’t trust me?”
“That's not what I said. I trust you,” he said immediately.
“Then—”
“I don’t trust him,” he repeated, slower this time. “And I don’t like the idea of you going somewhere he invited you to like that.”
Wunmi sighed softly, her shoulders dropping a little.
“It’s not like I have feelings for him. Whatever was there is gone,” she said.
Michael’s gaze stayed on her.
“That doesn’t mean it’s gone for him. Especially after how them pictures looked. Now he's inviting you out. I don't like that,” he said.
“I’d be wearing my ring,” she said quietly.
Michael let out a short breath, shaking his head, “That don’t stop nothing if somebody don’t care.”
Wunmi studied him for a second.
“So what? I just don't go?” she asked softly.
“Not unless I’m there,” he said.
Wunmi leaned back against the couch again, thinking.
“I don’t even know if you can go. You might have press,” she said.
“Then you not going,” he replied without hesitation.
She let out a quiet huff, somewhere between frustration and understanding.
“Michael…”
He reached for her leg again, pulling it back across his lap, his hand sliding up her thigh before settling there.
“I’m serious. I'm not about to have a repeat of that,” he said.
Wunmi looked at him, really looked at him this time, and she saw the tension still in his body. So she decided to concede.
“Okay,” she said after a second.
Michael’s shoulders relaxed a bit, his thumb moving against her leg.
The following weekend came quicker than Wunmi was honestly ready for. Between wedding meetings, awards conversations, and Michael attached to her to her body every second, the days just blurred together. Yet she still found time to get ready for unplanned events.
Music was playing lowly from downstairs while Michael moved around the room getting dressed.
Wunmi sat at her vanity in their bedroom, one leg crossed over the other as she leaned closer to the mirror. She had gotten her hair done a few days ago. It was in soft, full curls that fell around her shoulders. Her makeup was simple, especially since she didn't feel like going through her glam team.
She dabbed lightly beneath one eye when she heard Michael’s footsteps getting closer. A second later, he appeared in the mirror behind her with a hoodie on and cologne loud. He glanced at her reflection immediately.
“I’m about to head out,” he said.
Wunmi hummed softly. “Okay.”
But then his eyes narrowed, because she was clearly getting ready too.
“Where you going?”
Wunmi kept her expression neutral as she reached for her gloss.
“Out.”
Michael leaned one shoulder against the doorway, "Out where?"
"Just out," she shrugged.
His eyes stayed on her through the mirror for another second longer than necessary. He was clearly suspicious and she could feel it. But after a moment, he pushed off the doorway and walked over behind her instead. His hands settled warmly onto her shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly into the muscles there.
Wunmi relaxed under the touch.
“You look pretty,” he murmured.
A small smile pulled at her lips, “Thank you.”
His hands slid down slowly before he leaned down toward her face.
“Wait—” she laughed softly, turning her head slightly. “You’re gonna mess up my lip gloss.”
“I don’t care.”
Before she could protest again, his hand tilted her chin toward him and he kissed her anyway. It was only a soft quick one, but it was annoyingly affectionate.
When they pulled apart, Michael looked entirely too satisfied with himself. His hands lingered on her shoulders a second longer before he straightened back up.
“You got my card?”
“Why would I need your card?”
“Just in case.”
“I’m not going to need it.”
Michael reached over and picked up her purse from the vanity chair anyway, unzipping it and slipping the black card inside.
Wunmi rolled her eyes softly but didn’t argue.
He leaned down one more time, brushing his lips briefly against the top of her head this time.
“Text me when you get where you going.”
“Okay.”
He squeezed her shoulder once before finally heading out of the room.
Wunmi waited until she heard the front door downstairs close, then she exhaled. She walked over to her closet to get her dress for the evening. The dress was all-black, but it hugged her body absolutely perfectly.
She stepped into it carefully, pulling it up slowly, and adjusting it into place. Then she turned toward the mirror to look at herself. And honestly she looked a little too good.
She knew that Michael would hate to see her looking this good and going there. Which was exactly why she hadn't told him where she was going. She knew how her man would react, but she also knew that if she didn't go Tyree would only push harder. He was the kind of man that liked the chase. He only got more interested when someone pulled away.
Wunmi slipped on her heels, then sprayed perfume lightly along her neck and wrists. She grabbed her purse and headed downstairs.
When she made it outside the air was cooler than it had been earlier in the week. Her heels clicked softly against the driveway as she walked toward her car. Once inside, she checked herself quickly in the mirror, then started the engine.
The drive was long enough to give her time to think. Streetlights blurred past as her fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel.
Her thoughts swirled with a mix of Michael and Tyree. All she could really think about is if they got caught again just like how they got caught at the restaraunt. Her hand tightened on the wheel and her ring caught the passing lights immediately. She was just glad that she had it on this time.
The venue was on the other side of town, so she ran into some thick traffic. By the time she finally pulled up it was packed. A line of cars stretched down the block. Dozens of blacked-out vehicles rolled forward one after another as valet attendants moved quickly to get them in and out.
Wunmi slowed as she pulled up, immediately spotting the entrance ahead glowing warm against the night. The building itself was gorgeous with modern architecture, dark wood accents, and huge windows revealing pieces of the event happening inside.
Before she could even fully put the car in park, a valet attendant was already stepping forward and opening her door.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
Wunmi gave him a polite smile as she grabbed her purse and phone.
“Thank you.”
The cool evening air brushing against her skin as she stepped out carefully in her heels. A few heads turned as she straightened up fully, smoothing a hand lightly over her dress before handing over her keys.
“Enjoy your evening,” the valet said.
Wunmi nodded softly before making her way toward the entrance.
As soon as she entered into the venue, the more impressed she became because it was beautiful. The lighting was dim with warm gold tones bouncing off dark interiors and polished surfaces. Music floated through the air low enough for conversation, and the entire place smelled faintly of wood and wine.
Before she could get too lost in the beauty of her surroundings, she remembered something important that she was supposed to do. Wunmi reached into her purse and pulled her phone out knowing she needed to say something before he found out another way.
Her fingers moved quickly over the screen.
I know you’re going to be mad but I’m at Tyree’s event. I’m going to let him know that I’m engaged.
She stared at the message for a quick second, then turned her phone completely off. Beccause she knew the second that he saw it, he was going to call her and she honestly didn't feel like dealing with that right now.
She slipped the phone back into her purse and exhaled slowly, squaring her shoulders before continuing further inside.
A server approached her with a tray of wine glasses.
“Would you like one?”
Wunmi glanced down briefly before taking one carefully by the stem.
“Thank you.”
She took a small sip, eyes moving around the room. A few familiar faces caught her attention here and there. Some even greeted her once they noticed her.
She smiled politely through all of the exchanges, stopping for quick conversations here and there and accepting compliments. She was also being very aware of her surroundings, because if she wasn't things could very well become a problem.
She lifted the wine glass to her lips again, taking another small sip as she continued walking through the venue. She took her time moving through the different rooms.
Every section flowed into the next seamlessly. There were private tasting areas, lounge spaces, and long wooden tables filled with bottles and small plates. The lighting stayed dim and warm throughout the entire building, giving everything this intimate feel.
She found herself near one of the display areas where rows of massive wine barrels lined the wall with engraved plaques beneath them. Wunmi lifted her glass for another sip, leaning slightly to read one of the plaques when a hand slid around her waist. Her body instantly tensed up.
She turned quickly, only to come face to face with Tyree. And he was smiling down at her.
“I’m glad you made it,” he said.
His voice was smooth and easy over the music.
Wunmi recovered quickly, giving him a small smile back.
“This place is gorgeous,” she admitted honestly, glancing around again briefly. “Like really gorgeous.”
Tyree chuckled softly, “Appreciate it.”
She lifted her glass slightly, “And the wine’s good too.”
That made him grin wider.
“Alright now, don’t gas me too much.”
Wunmi laughed softly. But then she remembered his hand that was still resting against her waist. Her eyes flicked downward briefly before she subtly stepped sideways out of his hold. The movement was smooth enough not to make a scene, but still he noticed.
Tyree’s brows pulled together as his eyes moved over her slowly.
“You look real good tonight,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He stepped toward her even more. He lifted his arm like he was about to settle it around her waist once more, but Wunmi moved before he could.
“Watch yourself,” she said lightly.
Tyree paused. Confused amusement spread across his face.
“What? Why you acting like this?” he laughed.
Wunmi didn’t verbally answer. Instead, she lifted her left hand up between them. The ring caught the warm lighting, sparkling beautifully against her skin.
Tyree’s eyes dropped to it and he looked genuinely surprised. But his expression smoothed back over.
“When that happen?” he asked.
Wunmi took another sip of her wine before answering casually, “He proposed in August.”
His brows shot up again.
“August, huh?”
She nodded.
“You ain’t have that on at lunch.”
“I lost it and got in so much trouble because of what happened,” she admitted and pointed lightly at him with her glass. “I should’ve told you then that I was happily engaged. Maybe pictures of us wouldn't have ended up all over the internet,” she said.
He briefly glanced away like he was thinking. Then he looked back at her with a dangerously confident smirk on his face.
“I guess I gotta try harder to get you to come over to the best side," he said.
Irritation immediately flashed across Wunmi's face. It was so fast Tyree almost missed it.
“I’m already on the best side,” she said plainly. “And it can’t get any better than my man.”
Tyree sucked his teeth, unconvinced.
“Yeah okay,” he muttered.
Wunmi stared at him for another second before taking another sip from her glass.
Tyree looked at her ring one more time before nodding once.
“You enjoy yourself." he said. Then his mouth curved up. “I’ll be talking to you soon.”
Wunmi narrowed her eyes at that, but she didn’t respond. She just nodded once and watched him walk away through the crowd.
The second he disappeared, she exhaled quietly.
“…Jesus Christ.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of the glass. Now she understood exactly why Michael didn’t want her there. Tyree wasn’t outright disrespectful, but he also clearly wasn’t backing down just because she had a ring on.
After that exchange, she stayed there for about another hour or so. She mingled with people and sampled more wine. But the longer she stayed, the more aware she became of the pit forming in her stomach. Eventually she had to go home where she knew Michael was waiting for her.
She handed off her empty wine glass and headed toward the exit, she already knew she was in a whole lot of trouble.
After an entire drive of Wunmi's stomach twisting knots, she finally pulled into Michael's garage. When she parked the car she noticed that Michael's car wasn't there. She hadn't seen it out front either. Relief washed over her.
She grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car, her heels echoing softly through the garage before she headed inside.
The house was completely dark. A little too dark.
Wunmi paused just inside the doorway, listening carefully. A small breath escaped her. The tension in her shoulders loosened.
She locked the door behind her and kept the lights off, moving quietly through the house before heading upstairs. The bedroom was dark too. That eased her nerves even more because it meant he hadn't even stepped foot in the home.
She set her purse down carefully and headed toward the closet, ready to get out of the dress and wash the night off her.
The closet light was dim as she slipped her heels off first with a relieved sigh. Then her jewelry. Then her dress. She wrapped her robe tight around her body and tied it securely at the waist. Her hair fell softly around her shoulders as she pushed the closet door back open and stepped into the bedroom. She casually reached toward the wall and flipped the light on.
Her breath stopped.
Michael was sitting in the corner chair near the window. Legs spread, body leaned back, arms resting on the arm of the chair, and face blank. The light caught him good, and he was just watching her.
Wunmi physically jumped, her hand flying to her chest.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “You scared me.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at him.
There had been absolutely no sign he was home. His car wasn't around, he made no sound, there was absolutely nothing.
Michael didn’t answer. He just looked at her, giving her a completely unreadable look. His silence somehow made her even more nervous.
Wunmi swallowed hard, trying to recover.
“Hi,” she said softly, attempting a small smile as she bit lightly at her lip.
Still nothing.
The room suddenly felt very warm, very quiet.
Wunmi shifted her weight under his stare.
Slowly, Michael lifted two fingers and crooked them toward himself. He had no words for her, only the simple gesture.
Wunmi’s breath hitched and her stomach tightened, but she obeyed. Her bare feet slowly moved across the carpet until she stood directly in front of him between his spread legs.
Michael leaned back in the chair, his hands settling on her thighs, fingers gripping the thick flesh through the soft fabric of her robe.
“Anything you wanna say?” he finally asked calmly.
Wunmi swallowed. Her fingers twisted lightly together at her sides.
“I’d be lying if I said I was sorry,” she admitted quietly.
Michael’s face tightened and he gave a stiff nod.
The room stayed silent for another long second.
“Get on the bed.”
Wunmi’s eyes widened and her stomach dropped. She knew exactly what kind of mood he was in. And there had only been maybe three times where she had gotten herself in enough trouble to see this side of him.
Wunmi's pulse blared in her ears as she turned toward the bed. She climbed onto the mattress slowly, knees first, then hands, positioning herself on all fours with her back arched just enough to present herself to him.
Michael rose from the chair without a sound. His footsteps were heavy as he approached the bed. He placed one hand between her shoulder blades and pressed down firmly, forcing her upper body to lay flat against the cool sheets. Her cheek pressed into the fabric, arms stretching out in front of her.
"Stay down," he commanded, voice low.
A soft whimper escaped her lips, her body trembling under the weight of his palm. She was completely at his mercy.
"You're gonna count each one," Michael said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And I'm not telling you when it stops."
Wunmi braced herself, fingers curling into the sheets, muscles tensing as she waited for the first hit.
He gathered the hem of her robe and pushed it up over her lower back, exposing her completely. His fingers hooked into the thin straps of her panties next, tugging them up hard and wedging the fabric tight between her cheeks like a makeshift thong. The pull made her gasp, the material pinching her skin, leaving her bare and framed for him.
She had no idea what was going to happen. Her nerves were all over the place.
Then it came. A sharp smack landed on her left cheek. The hit stung like fire and jolted her entire body. It caught her so off guard that her mind blanked, and no words came out of her mouth.
Michael grunted disapprovingly. His hands clamped onto both large cheeks, gripping hard enough to make her wince.
"Count."
"One," she whispered shakily.
The next hit came down harder than the first, the force snapping her hips forward an inch across the bed.
"Two," she managed, sucking in a breath.
"Why'd you go when I told you not to?" he demanded, one hand kneading her flesh roughly.
Wunmi drew a shaky breath, her voice soft against the mattress. "I needed to. If I didn't he'd be all over me."
Michael's eyes narrowed as he processed her words. Without warning, he delivered two quick hits— one on each cheek—the slaps echoing through the room.
She whimpered, body jerking with the double sting, heat spreading fast.
"Three...four," she counted while clinging to the sheets.
"You're in so much trouble," Michael growled, his palm hovering for a beat before delivering the fifth smack, firmly across the center of her right cheek. The heat built, layering over the previous stings.
"Five," she counted, hips twitching involuntarily.
"And you're gonna make it up to Daddy," he added, his voice dropping as the sixth hit landed on the left cheek.
Another groan came from her and her thighs pressed together against the growing ache. "Six."
He didn't pause. The seventh hit was quick and the eighth followed just as quickly. Then the ninth and tenth were all rapid-fire, alternating cheeks. Each one made her skin tingle. The sensations twisted into a mix of pain and pleasure that had her toes curling and breath hitching.
She winced with the seventh, whimpered through the eighth, gasped on the ninth, and let out a shaky whine on the tenth. Her entire backside was throbbing and aching, but somehow that made it more intoxicating.
"You had enough?" Michael's hand rested on her warm skin, rubbing slow circles.
Wunmi nodded frantically, her cheek still pressed to the bed, tears at the corners of her eyes from the intensity.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking softly.
He hummed a low, skeptical sound rumbling from his chest as he shook his head.
"Nah. I don't think you are yet." His fingers tightened on her hip. "Don't move."
Wunmi stayed where she was with her forehead pressed to the sheets and ass raised high as the door to the closet clicked shut behind him. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what he was grabbing. Her breath came in shallow pants and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Then she heard the low hum starting up from somewhere behind her.
Her eyes flew open and a whimper slipped out, "Michael..."
She felt the cool, buzzing head of the vibrator wand press directly against her clit through the wedged fabric of her panties. Her whole body jumped forward on the bed, a startled yelp escaping her as pleasure shot through her like lightning.
"Hold it," he ordered.
Wunmi reached back with one trembling hand, fingers wrapping around the handle. She held it lightly, the vibrations teased her. Still it was too much.
Without giving her a warning, Michael covered her hand with his and pressed down hard. The wand felt intense against her clit. A deep moan tore from her throat, hips pushed back involuntarily.
His free hand landed a hard smack on her already tender cheeks. He kept going, each sharp spank jiggling her body and mixing with the pleasure of the wand.
She moaned loudly, head dropping to the mattress. She could feel herself dripping wet, slickness coating her inner thighs from earlier and now. The wand hummed against her clit, every pulse matching perfectly with the hits of his palm on her ass.
Wunmi felt herself starting to reach that edge quickly. Her body tensed up, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp. Her free hand clutched the sheets in a death grip while her legs trembled. She clenched and pulsed around nothing.
Michael noticed it right away, his rhythm never faltering.
"You better not come," he warned her.
She shook her head, biting her lip hard to fight it. She knew he wanted her to give him the excuse for more punishment, but holding back felt impossible. The pressure was getting worse with every second.
Her body moved on it's own, and her hand pressed wand harder against her clit.Consistent needy moans fell from her lip as she started to grind against the vibrations. She could feel herself right there, she was so close.
Michale snatched the wand from her grip, the sudden absence making a frustrated sound fall from her lips.
"You don't get to come," he stated flatly, tossing it aside.
Wunmi whimpered as every nerve in her body was screaming for release.
Michael gave her two final smacks to each cheek. Then his palms rubbed slow, drawing a soft sigh from her. Then he grabbed her hips and yanked her back toward him, pulling until her lower body pressed against his.
Wunmi felt his straining through his pants, making her throb even more. She couldn't help but to rub against him in a silent plea to be filled.
"I'm not fucking you tonight," he said firmly as his hand cracked down once more on her ass. He stepped away, leaving her empty and wanting.
Wunmi whimpered, fully collapsing onto the bed. She shifted onto her side.
A while later, Michael slid into bed behind her. He held her close, draping one arm possessively over her waist.
For the next three days, Wunmi was denied orgasm after orgasm by Michael. Every time Tyree called or texted, it put her further into trouble.
The first morning, Michael had her on top of the kitchen counter, vibrator pressed against her clit. She was gasping, thighs shaking, and so close her vision blurred. That was until her phone lit up with a "good morning" text from Tyree. Michael instantly snatched the vibrator away, leaving her desperate whining.
One afternoon, after doing some errands for the wedding, Tyree called her as they were getting intside of the car. She ignored it, but Michael noticed.
He slid his hand between her legs, and pushed his fingers so deep into her. He curled them just right and stroked her so good. She rocked against his palm, moans filling the car as she worked her way up. Then he pulled away. He built her back up, only to deny her again. And again for a third time. Each denial left her more wrrecked than the last.
And after three days of torture, Michael finally decided she'd earned a reward.
They were in bed. Him sat up against the headboard, legs spread wide with kneeling between them. Her lips were wrapped around his thick length as she took him deep down her throat.
Michael groaned as his hand gripped the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair to guide her further down, hold there, then back up.
She moaned around him, the vibrations pulling more groans from him.
They were so lost in the moment. Her tongue eagerly swirled around him as she sucked him up. And his eyes couldn't move away from the beautiful sight in front of him. That was until her phone broke the moment by ringing so loud on the nightstand.
Almost instinctively, Wunmi tried to lift her head to check, but Michael's grip tightened. He pushed her head firmly back down onto his dick, keeping her mouth full.
He snatched the phone with his free hand, glancing at the screen. Tyree's name flashed across the screen. Instantly, Michael was annoyed. The ringing stopped only to start up again seconds later.
Wunmi took Michael's brief distraction as opportunity, so she slid him out of her mouth with a soft pop and peered at the screen. She was just as frustrated as her fiancé was and couldn't help but to release the most aggravated sound along with a quick roll of her eyes.
"Just decline it," she urged.
He met her eyes. "Nah. Talk to your little boyfriend."
Before she could protest, he swiped to answer and held the phone out to her.
Wunmi's eyes went wide, panic flickering as she stared at him, trying to understand the challenge in his eyes.
"Michael—" she started, but Tyree's voice cut through.
"Wunmi?"
Michael raised an eyebrow expectantly.
She grabbed the phone with shaky fingers, putting it on speaker.
"Hello?" she said timidly, heart pounding as she knelt between his legs.
Tyree's voice came through the phone, "Hey, gorgeous. What you doing?"
Wunmi shot a quick glance at Michael, biting her lip hard.
"Um...just laying in bed," she murmured.
"Cool. I, uh, just wanted to give you a call so we could talk. It's been a while," Tyree easily replied.
"Mhm, it has," she managed, her free hand fidgeted against Michael's thigh.
Tyree started talking about how the football season was going for him, but Michael took that as his chance. He practically manhandled her. His hands gripped her hips and spun her around to face the end of the bed. He shoved her body down so that her face was buried in the sheets and her ass was in the air.
She gasped at the sudden shift in positions.
"You okay?" Tyree asked.
"I'm fine…" Wunmi swallowed. Her voice shaky as she steadied herself. "
Michael gave her ass a light smack. Wunmi bit her lip hard to stifle the gasp.
He gripped her big, round cheeks in both hands, kneading the soft flesh, spreading her wide. One finger slowly trailed through her dripping wetness, parting her folds, and she let out a breathy sigh.
Tyree kept talking through the speaker, "…I really been thinking about a lot lately and I just gotta say…"
But Wunmi barely registered it. She could only focus on the man behind her and his heated touch. Michael's fingers had found her clit, circling it with teasing pressure, then dipped low to her soaked entrance, sliding a little inside before pulling back out.
She fought to stay quiet, body tensing up, but Tyree pressed on, obliviously.
"You still there? Tell me what you up to this weekend?" It was clear he was expecting a response.
Wunmi opened her mouth to answer Tyree's question, but Michael chose that exact moment to slide deep inside her, filling her completely in one smooth thrust. She clamped down around him, stunned to silence.
He pressed one hand firm between her shoulder blades, pinning her chest flush to the bed, and leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear.
"Answer him," he whispered sending shivers down her spine.
"Uh... n-nothing really," she managed to get out.
Michael gave her a few quick love taps to her inner thigh before pulling back up onto his knees. His gaze dropped to where their bodies joined, watching intently as he slid out slowly, then thrust back in deep.
A quiet, breathy moan escaped her lips. Wunmi moved the phone away from her mouth for a second, sucking in air.
Michael started with a few slow strokes to ease them both into the rhythm, letting her feel every thick inch stretching her. He built it gradually until his pace turned consistent, her ass bouncing softly against his pelvis.
Wunmi put the phone on mute just in time to release her moans. With each bounce a needy cry spilled out.
"You should come out this way soon. When are you free?" Tyree's voice came through the speaker.
She barely processed it. Her mind was wiped blank by Michael fucking her so good, hitting that spot over and over. Nothing existed but her man. All she could think about was the grip of his hands on her hips.
Wunmi took the phone off mute just long enough to gasp out, "I don't know when," before putting it right back on as another loud moan tore free.
"...we could hit this spot I know downtown, grab drinks, see where the night goes..."
Michael smacked her ass hard then, the hit echoing.
She blurted out, "Oh baby," followed by a deep, throaty moan that she couldn't hold back.
He kept one hand planted firm on her jiggling cheek to control the pace.
When he drove especially deep, she moaned out a shaky "Okay". Her free hand shot back, grabbing his forearm tight as he kept fucking her.
Michael ramped up the speed and depth, pounding into her harder, chasing that release for both of them.
Wunmi tried to take it all—she really did—arching back to meet him, but it really overwhelmed her.
"Okay, Michael, okay," she gasped as he went a little deeper than necessary, nailing that spot right next to her cervix.
"What you keep saying okay for?" He smacked her ass , growling, "Like, come on."
He pushed his hips forward, bouncing her roughly on him, urging her to move on her own. She did, but only just enough, rolling her hips back hesitantly.
"You want me to stop?" he demanded.
"No," she moaned out desperately. At this point she'd completely forgotten about the phone in her hand.
Just then Tyree's voice came through loud and clear. "...whoever that fiance of yours is ain't watching you right. Imma come get you for real."
Michael's face twisted up into a scowl, annoyance built up in him. He leaned down over her back, roughly thrusting in in deeper.
"Michael—Michael—fuck," Wunmi moaned his name over and over.
"Looks like Daddy's gonna have to put a baby in you so they know this pussy's mine," he growled against her ear.
"It's yours. I promise."
"Take it off mute so he can hear how good i'm fucking you," he ordered.
Her hand shook as she obeyed, pressing the button on the screen.
The second the phone came off mute, Michael picked up his thrusts. Driving into her so quick and rough it made her ass bounce loud off of his pelvis. The sound of her soaked pussy filled the room.
Wunmi moaned into the sheets, her cries muffled against the fabric, but Michael wasn't having it. He gripped her hair tight, yanking her head up until her back arched deeper.
"Who this pussy get wet for?" he demanded.
"You, Daddy," she gasped.
Tyree's voice came out sounding confused. "Wunmi? What the—?"
Both of them ignored him completely.
Michael smacked her ass again. Then snatched the phone from her weakened grip and held it so Tyree could hear every moan and every slick sound of her taking him.
"Tell him not to call you anymore," Michael said, pressing the phone right to her mouth.
She moaned through the words. "Don't call me anymore."
Michael hung up then tossed the phone across the bed to thud against the pillows.
"Good girl," Michael murmured, palm rubbing soothing circles over her tender ass. "You wanna come?"
"Yes, Daddy," she whimpered. Her body was already right there. She needed this.
"You did so good with your punishment," he praised, grinding against her walls.
Wunmi felt herself clenching hard as her stomach tightened. "Can I come? Please?"
"Yeah, come for me," one of his hands slid around to rub her clit.
She crumbled almost immediately. Her orgasm crashed through her. She cried out his name as her walls pulsed around him and she soaked the sheets.
Michael kept going, chasing his own release now, groans turning guttural as pleasure tightened in his gut.
"You gonna let me put a baby in you?" his voice was rough as he thrusted harder.
Wunmi moaned, nodding into the bed.
They'd had plenty of conversations about babies. They agreed to wait until at least after the wedding, but it was clear that tonight his possessiveness had him acting different. And she melted under it.
Michael thrusted a few more times before he finally released inside her. He held there, pushing deep, feeling her pulse around him. He pulled out slowly.
Wunmi collapsed forward, breathing heavy, chest heaving as aftershocks rippled through her.
"Don't go near that man again," he said firmly, hand stroking her back. "Block him."
Wunmi nodded weakly, turning her head to meet his eyes. "Okay, baby. I'm sorry."
Late January 2027
Now, into the new year, their lives were completely overtaken. Every day belonged to somebody else. There was barely any room left for themselves in between it all.
Michael had officially started press for The Thomas Crown Affair, and his schedule had exploded. Interviews, photoshoots, appearances, magazine covers. It felt endless. Most of it was alongside Adria Arjona, which only fueled certain online conversations even more.
Meanwhile, Wunmi was deep in awards season.
The Social Reckoning had become a big conversation piece of the year, and her performance had the people talking. Every week brought another event, another panel, and another rumor about if she would end up nominated again or not.
And through all of that, they were less than four months away from getting married. May was practically right around the corner.
Earlier in the month they had finally sat down with both of their publicists to figure out how exactly they were going to reveal the relationship publicly without it becoming a circus before the wedding. The final decision had been simple. Michael would handle most of it.
Strategically, it made the most sense.
Wunmi’s team wanted all attention during awards season to stay centered on her work, not her relationship. So Michael had agreed to slowly start opening the door publicly while still keeping things vague enough to maintain some control.
He actually preferred it that way. Mostly because he was tired of hiding her.
After over a year of rumors, especially after the leaked audio, Michael was exhausted from pretending. And since she was his fiancée now, he wanted to share that with the world.
Still timing mattered…a lot. Everything had to be controlled carefully. And unfortunately, control was the one thing their schedules weren’t allowing them to have right now.
Most days they weren’t even in the same city.
There had been recent stretches where they only saw each other through FaceTime screens and blurry airport selfies. Sometimes one of them was waking up while the other was heading to sleep.
It irritated both of them more than they admitted. Especially Michael. He had been so clingy with her, and now he barely even got the chance to breathe in her direction.
Their conversations had slowly become reduced to logistics. Things like wedding updates and travel plans. They hardly talked about things of substance. It wasn't intentional though. It was just all they had time for.
One night, Wunmi was sitting in her London hotel suite while Michael was back in New York finishing another round of press. She had kicked her heels off and was curled sideways across the bed, exhaustion written all over her face as she held her phone up during their FaceTime call.
Michael was sitting in the backseat of an SUV, chain sitting against a black thermal shirt, one hand rubbing tiredly over his jaw while traffic lights flashed outside the window behind him.
“You look tired,” Wunmi murmured softly.
Michael looked at her through the screen.
“I am tired.”
She smiled faintly, “Poor baby.”
“I’m serious,” he muttered. “I done answered the same damn questions all day. I’m over it. ‘How was it working together?’ ‘Did y’all have chemistry?’”
"Well, did you?" Wunmi grinned.
"Don't start," Michael gave her a flat look through the screen.
She giggled softly, resting her cheek against the pillow, “I was just asking.”
Michael shook his head, but his expression softened while looking at her. God, he missed her. He always had this thought during the day, along with the constant irritation that she wasn't there..
“When do I see you again?” he asked suddenly.
Wunmi sighed dramatically.
“Um…” She reached for her planner nearby. “I think…after the BAFTAS?” she started slowly, flipping through pages.
Michael stared at her.
“That’s not for another week, babe.”
“I know.”
“A whole week?”
Wunmi laughed softly at his expression.
“You’ll survive.”
Michael looked unconvinced.
“You say that now,” he said. “Then you gon’ start crying the longer we're apart.”
“I do not cry.”
“You absolutely do.”
Wunmi sucked her teeth softly, “Whatever.”
Michael smiled for the first time during the call, the tiredness easing slightly from his face.
The conversation naturally shifted to the wedding. And despite how exhausted they both were, those conversations kept them intertwined.
Everywhere Michael went there were cameras waiting for him. Going form film festival to awards gala to museum benefit to private dinners. Tonight wasn't any different.
The carpet outside the event was packed shoulder to shoulder with photographers and journalists.
Michael stepped out of the SUV with his black suit perfectly tailored to his body. Confidence radiated off of him without him even trying.
He adjusted the cuff of his jacket before looking up with a calm and controlled expression.
His publicist walked beside him briefly while fixing the front of his jacket.
“She approved it,” she murmured quietly.
Michael glanced at her.
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
His mouth twitched slightly.
“Aight,” he nodded.
He moved down the carpet, stopping for photos, greeting people, and shaking hands. As he approached the press line, he relaxed himself.
Interview after interview rolled by. They asked him the typical questions about directing, balancing acting and filmmaking. Michael answered each question like he had prepped for it.
Then he reached one platform in particular.
A Black woman stood there holding the microphone, smiling brightly as he approached.
“Michael B. Jordan!” she grinned. “You look good tonight.”
Michael laughed, “Thank you.”
“Everybody's talking about your film already. But what was it like stepping into directing mode again?” she started.
“It was challenging,” he admitted. “But I think I’m at a point now where I trust myself more creatively. I know how I wanna tell stories now. And honestly, I learned a lot from the last few years. Working with different directors, producing more, it changed how I look at filmmaking.”
The interviewer nodded along.
“And you can tell,” she said. “Especially after the year you had last year. Mr. Oscar winner. How has life changed since then? Because it feels like the world has not stopped talking about you.”
Michael laughed softly.
“It's definitely gotten more chaotic,” he admitted. “But I try to stay grounded and keep moving forward.”
The interviewer tilted her head slightly.
“So what does moving forward look like for you now? More directing? Less acting?”
Michael paused for a second.
“Well…” he started slowly, “where I’m at now in my life and career I'm focused on celebrating my wins. And I got some pretty big ones that I need to make room for.”
A tiny smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"As you should," The interviewer smiled.
“I wanna spend more time focused on my family. So there’s definitely a chance I slow down a little," he said honestly. "My fiancée and I have both been incredibly busy with all that's going on in our careers and now wedding planning. But I've been trying to figure out how to even get to the point of slowing down."
The interviewer looked stunned.
“Wow, um…when—”
Michael stepped back with the biggest smirk trying to break across his face.
“You have good one,” he laughed.
“Michael!”
He pointed at her playfully, “Appreciate you though.”
Then before she could ask another question, he walked off down the carpet looking satisfied with himself. He made his way inside, barely even slowing down as he reached for his phone that was in his pocket. There was only one person he wanted to talk to right now.
He tapped Wunmi’s contact immediately. The phone rang a few times before she answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was thick with sleep.
Michael’s face melted.
“Hey baby.”
There was rustling on the other end followed by a small sleepy hum.
“What time is it?” she murmured.
Michael smiled to himself as he ducked into a quieter hallway away from the crowd.
He leaned back against the wall, listening to her breathing through the phone.
“I can’t wait for all this to be over,” she admitted sleepily.
Michael chuckled under his breath, “Me too.”
There was a quiet pause before Wunmi spoke again.
“Did you do it?”
Michael’s grin spread, “Yeah.”
He could practically hear her smiling through the phone even though she barely made a sound. Just a quiet little hum.
Michael shook his head fondly.
“That’s it?” he laughed quietly. “That’s all I get?”
“You woke me up,” she mumbled.
“You're supposed to be excited.”
“I am excited. I'm just sleepy, Mike,” she said.
Michael could picture her perfectly. She was probably curled up in a hotel robe, hair wrapped up, and half asleep with the phone pressed against her face. He missed her so much.
“You gon’ be at the honoring next week?” he asked after a moment.
There was a pause. Then Wunmi sighed.
“…Baby. It's next week with the BAFTAs and my team scheduled a bunch of press here,” she reminded him.
“Damn," He briefly closed his eyes. "So when will I see you again?”
“A week and a half maybe,” she said quietly.
Michael dragged a hand over his face dramatically.
“That's so long”
Wunmi laughed tiredly.
“You’ll survive.”
“That’s what you keep saying.”
“Because you will.”
Michael shook his head with a smile.
“Barely.”
There was another comfortable silence between them.
“Imma let you sleep.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“And I miss you so much.”
Wunmi exhaled softly through the phone.
“I miss you too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come.”
Michael’s expression softened even more.
“Don’t apologize. I’m just being needy.”
That earned another sleepy laugh from her.
“Very needy.”
“Mhm.”
“I still love you though.”
“You better.”
Wunmi smiled against her pillow.
“Goodnight, Michael.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
end notes: so this was actually a looottt longer, but because tumblr has a limit on how many blocks you can do, i have to break it up into more parts than i was planning. so the next update will be sooner than expected, it'll just be after my american dream update.
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taglist: @lilbitt @lizbehave @andtheniws @tonichildsdaughterduh @cinnamonsonnyangel @shamansha @caramelplug @bananajoeclone
@rolemodelshit @brownskincheyenne @mmbee675 @xeebop@adultinginheels @tlt731
*You may want to be careful where and when you open this. Be honest.*
Pairing: Dom!Kevin Atwater x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female receiving) teasing, fingering (female receiving), cum play, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. D/s dynamics.
Summary: Even though it's your last day, you make the most of it by going out for breakfast with Kevin. You don't want the day to end and you get the feeling that Kevin doesn't either.
Word Count: 4,413k
AO3 Link | Part 1 | Part 2
A/N: Thank you so much for being patient with me for this chapter. I plum didn't want to let these two go. So I got a little carried away. But I hope it was well worth the wait. Ya girl was ovulating, okay?! And thank you for your asks, anons. They gave me the kick in the pants to get back to some filth. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.
You were in the middle of a dream. A handsome cop by the name of Kevin Atwater had taken you back to his lair and fucked you ten ways from Sunday. Kevin lit a fire under your skin, to the point that you never wanted to wake up.
A deep pull in your belly wrestled for attention. Oh, oh that felt good. You moaned and wasn't sure if that was in the dream or wakefulness. You did not want to wake up to your empty, cold bed with laundry calling your name and mugs in the sink.
Dream Kevin moaned and it echoed in your ears. What was going on? You roused from sleep reluctantly, suckling between your legs finally registering. You barely had time to open your eyes and see Kevin making out with your pussy with his eyes closed, like he was feasting in Valhalla.
At your movement, he glanced up and caught your eyes, giving you a wink before he returned his lips to your pussy. His tongue to your clit. Your hands flew to either side of you, gripping his sheets in a vice grip as an orgasm tore through you.
Surely, he wrangled every single one out of you by now. Surely, there couldn't be one more. But the man was too determined to keep going, moaning as fresh slick coated his beard. His wet hair slid across your thighs, dragging ragged giggles from you. The fog of the dream competed with each swipe of his tongue.
Kevin moaned, suckled, and devoured your pussy. You twitched with every slide, every lick. "Kev-plea-" you begged but it fell on deaf ears.
Tears pricked your eyes as your back bowed, your lungs burning from screaming through a potent orgasm. The type to make you question what defines life. Kevin brought you there effortlessly, endlessly. You came down with a keening whine while your body jerked and twisted.
Kevin's large hands held your thighs open, easily keeping his plate where he wanted it. "Good morning, gorgeous. See what you coulda had yesterday?"
He placed gentle kisses to your thighs, leaving giant wet spots against your skin. You shivered from the lewdness of it all. "I'm pretty sure I died," you murmured, sleep calling to you again.
Kevin chuckled, burying his nose in your pussy and taking a deep breath. His nose tickled your clit and you jerked away. You were too damn sensitive. Kevin took mercy on you, kissing up your body, leaving a trail of your essence all over your body.
This man was insane. Had to be. Was it possible to be addicted to cumming? Because as sensitive as you were, looking into Kevin's beautiful eyes and that sexy grin of his, you wanted to give him every single orgasm you possessed.
He stopped when he got to your titties, taking a moment to kiss each swell of your breasts. He teased one nipple between his teeth, the sharp tug responding with a twitch of your clit. You ran your hands over his body, kneading, pinching, and caressing. He was real. He was here. He was currently making you so damn horny, you were about to eat him alive.
He switched his attention to the other nipple, his hands coming up to pin you to the mattress. He smirked, returning to sucking on your nipples the same way he sucked on your clit.
"Kevin, please," you whispered. "Too much."
"Shh, I'm just saying hi to my girls. That's all," he said, flicking his tongue against your nipple.
Your teeth chattered and then he moved back to your left titty, teeth grazing your nipple. You arched but he settled his weight on top, careful not to crush you. "I want your whole weight on me," you said.
He smiled and dropped more of his weight on you. You sighed from the feeling of being crushed by him, his heavy body covering you and making you feel protected and safe. It was over for you. There was no more fight left in you. Why fight against this?
Who cared if was quick? Who cared if it was this intense? This connection had to mean something. It didn't happen by accident. You thanked your lucky stars to find a unicorn like him. Someone to match you in all the ways it mattered.
Kevin released your wrists and moved his kisses up, landing on your neck. You rubbed against him like a cat, moving your leg to trap him in place. You lived here now.
"You gon' let me go?" He nipped at your neck, making you hiss with pleasure and pain. You felt like you sucked on a live wire. Everywhere he touched was sensitive. Everywhere he didn't touch felt his phantom touch, like it was only a matter of time before he touched there too.
"Nope," you said, popping the 'P' and grinned at him.
"Good. I got plans for you," he said, finally bringing those sexy pink lips to yours. You tasted yourself on his lips, smelled yourself in his beard. It made your pussy clench painfully. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.
"Mhhm. How would you feel about getting some sun? I can drive you home, you can change, we can take a walk, get some breakfast, come back so I can do nasty things to ya," he said, ticking off each activity with a kiss to your lips. With everything he rattled off, it sounded heavenly.
"Oh yeah, I'ma need that. I keep a spare bag of clothes in my car," you said.
"Oh, you come prepared?" He grinned and kissed you, his kisses lazy and slow. Yep, you definitely lived here now.
"I stay ready so I ain't gotta get ready. I never know where I'll be or when I'll need spare clothes," you corrected, not wanting him to get a big head.
"Okay, if that makes you feel better," he said.
"Shut up!" You giggled. Kevin took that personally, as he started to hunt for ticklish spots. You giggled and slapped his hands away, screaming for mercy. When you sobered, you snuggled further into him, feeling all dainty and cute in his huge presence.
"Then let's get a move on, beautiful," he said. He offered to grab your go bag from your car and you told him where to find your keys. He dressed in sweats and a tank, earning a growl from you, and he chuckled. He made quick work of grabbing your bag and dropping it in the bathroom.
He shed his clothes as he walked into the room, revealing his delicious chest and the curly hair on his belly. He grinned while he approached, dropping a kiss to your lips before he helped you out of his bed.
Once inside the bathroom, he turned on the shower and you dug through your bag for a spare shower bonnet. This bag had saved you in so many ways, it was hard to count. Bad period days, ripped pants, that time you spilled ketchup on your shirt.
You worked with Kevin on a compromise for the best temperature and then he climbed in, letting the water cascade down his hair and face. You stepped in after, the steam enveloping you.
"You are so damn beautiful," Kevin sighed, looking at you like you hung the moon. Fuck, you would never get sick of this.
"Even with this bonnet," you said with a shy grin.
"Especially with the bonnet," he promised.
You talked about nothing and everything, switching between politics, the state of the world's education, and the questionable quality of DC movies. All the while, you and Kevin lathered up washcloths and took turns washing each other.
Though it wasn't sexual in nature, Kevin couldn't help lingering around your titties, kneading the cloth and squeezing your titty with it. He bit his lip at your moan and the ways your eyes fluttered closed. You got your revenge though, wrapping the cloth around his dick.
The cloth couldn't hide that long dick of his, but you made soapy progress, stroking him and paying attention to how it pleased him. Kevin was a vocal lover, moaning in places you did well and coaching you in others.
It was wild to discuss Scream movies and how the first one was the best and only one that mattered while stroking someone's dick, but there you were. Comfortable as hell, present with a wonderful man.
You stroked harder, pulling him down for a scorching kiss that made your knees weak. Kevin moaned into your mouth and hissed with a curse under his breath as he climaxed all over your belly.
It took great effort for Kevin to open his eyes. When he did, you gave him a saucy wink and washed his cum off of your belly. His overwhelming soap filled his shower making you drown in just him.
He grinned. "Alright, I'ma get you back for that," he said. He turned the water off and helped you out of the tub, grabbing a towel to dry you off. He enveloped you in his arms, his body heat doing more work than the towel.
"Ain't nobody shook," you teased, grabbing another towel from the sink and drying him off.
You worked down to his legs, leaning into a squat that put you eye level with his dick at half mast. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, leaning out to plant a kiss on the tip of his dick.
His dick jumped and you leaned back with a giggle. You had yet to give him a blow job and you briefly wondered if you could fit all of that in your mouth. Kevin groaned and took a deep breath. "Don't get hurt, nah," he said.
You grinned. You really ought to stop. He unleashed some inner animal inside of you that just wanted him to live inside you. But technically, you only met the man Friday night so you had to chill. A smidgen.
Kevin helped you stand and looked at you like you were the first ray of sun after a long night. How could you not get carried away when he looked at you like that? Made you feel desired with just a crinkle in his eyes.
You quickly got dressed in a fresh pair of panties, navy leggings, and an olive green shirt. Kevin threw on black sweats with a matching shirt, his gold chain peeking out from beneath. Such a casual outfit and you were ready to tear it off and hop back on him.
"I know where your nasty ass mind is," he said as he held the front door open for you. You trailed your hand down his stomach as you passed and felt his belly clench beneath your fingers.
You grazed his dick and he growled low in his throat. "I'm just passing by," you said sweetly.
Kevin locked up and then took your hand, walking with you outside into the crisp late spring air. He told you about a coffee shop a few blocks down and you told him to lead the way.
Kevin kept pace with you and you were glad for the sweet gesture. Because with his lumbering gait, you'd be out of breath before you reached the end of the corner. You talked about nothing as he stayed on the street side of the sidewalk, blocking most of the wind.
"Have you ever considered moving to a different unit?" You took a deep breath of fresh air. He was right, some sun was needed.
Kevin shook his head. "Nah, I like where I'm at. Them's my folks, you know?"
You nodded. "Claire tells me about some of the wild stories she hears from Jay. I can't even imagine everything you go through."
Kevin shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. He could downplay it all he wanted, but it was still a big deal. "It's hard, that's for sure. I just wanna help. Feels like folks don't help anymore," he said.
You looked around at the surrounding houses, the way it all seemed so undisturbed. When you were younger, you couldn't toss a rock without kids playing out in the front yards. Without retirees sitting out on the porch, watching babies play in a kiddie pool in the summer.
"Yeah, you can say that again. Do you plan on being a cop for a long time?"
"Yeah, as long as they let me. Would that bother you?" Kevin glanced at you.
You took a moment to think it over. It did make you nervous to an extent. There was so much turmoil and hate out in the world. Claire was right, at any point someone could take him out.
Your chest squeezed at the thought of Kevin not being in the world. You'd known him a short time and yet it was like you'd known him forever.
You spent so long compiling the perfect checklist, building the perfect man in your mind. He had to be kind, he had to be gentle, he had to be nasty, and he had to be loyal. When confronted with such a perfect man, your mind searched for reasons not to. Afraid that it was too good to be true, that you truly did find the right man for you.
But, he was a cop, he could be shot or maimed horribly. He could be gunned down by a fellow cop who only sees a threat. He could have a weird habit like picking his teeth with his fingers.
"I want to try," you told him. "I can't say it doesn't bother me. But I know that I want to explore this."
Kevin licked his lips and gave you a sweet grin. "I like that. I want to explore this with you too," he said.
Approaching a local coffee shop, Kevin opened the door for you. You got in line, going over your different tastes in coffee. Kevin was a typical cop. He just liked it black and hot. You teased him about it while you ordered and got a blueberry muffin to go with. Kevin grabbed a breakfast sandwich and you grabbed a table towards the back, eating and talking through a small breakfast.
Kevin kept the conversation lively, talking about the happier side to being a cop. The many people he got to save by being there in the nick of time. He gushed about his siblings and you absolutely melted at the pride and love in his eyes. It made your pussy ache listening to how he stepped up so you shoved that thought out of your mind.
The morning sun turned into early afternoon and the light played off of Kevin's angles. He talked with his whole body, weaving tales as if you were really there with him. Your mind drifted though, distracted by his open face. His long eyelashes were enchanting, his lips plump and juicy while he licked them often. Oh, that bastard. He had to be doing it on purpose.
It was easy to get lost in the conversation, the flow moving so seamlessly that the coffee shop filled up and the sound didn't register at all. It didn't matter what other folks had going on. You just wanted to listen to him.
You told your own stories about work and family, different events you attended with Jay and Claire. You told him about your last vacation to Thailand and how seeing the ruins were your favorite part.
The way he listened made you feel actually heard. He asked questions where he needed and invited you to keep sharing. You never had so much damn fun sitting and talking. Eventually though, the coffee shop got too packed and it was time to head back to his place.
Back to reality.
Neither one of you brought up the subject of returning back to your normal lives. You had to get back to work and chores and trying to relax without guilt. He had to go back to being on call, ready to spring into action at any moment. The bubble would burst and yeah, you were worried that this was just a sex haze.
You hoped that wasn't the case. It didn't feel like it was, but hey, people did stranger things after a few…dozens of orgasms. Dozens. This man trained your body from the very first handshake.
The walk to his place was more somber. He held your hand and held you close, but there were no words to be said. Back at his place, you settled headed for his couch. He pulled you back, giving you a sexy grin.
"I believe there's a policy in place, beautiful," he said.
You giggled. "Oh, you can't be serious," you said.
"There are punishments for breaking the law. Do we want to play that game?" He gave you a devilish grin, begging you to disobey him.
You shivered. But the memory of his first punishment was too fresh in your mind. You couldn't survive another round of watching him cum without it in you or on you. Fuck. He turned you into a sex fiend. Shamelessly too.
You opted to be good, wanting him more than you wanted to be a minx. For now. You stripped out of your clothes, getting butterball naked while he watched with hungry elevator eyes. You felt so sexy in his presence.
"Hm, hm, hm," he muttered, biting his lip as the last of the clothes hit the floor. He took your hand and led you to the living room, sitting down on the couch and pulling you into his lap.
"It's going to be real painful going home after this," you said, wanting to rip the band-aid off. The suspense was killing you and before you went any further, you wanted to lay it all out there.
He sighed in agreement and settled into the sofa, widening his legs so that you could sit comfortably. His hands gripped your hips, rubbing his fingers in circles on your skin. "Why does it feel so damn hard? We're going to see each other again," he said.
The certainty in his tone sent shivers down your spine. Especially in that deep voice of his. You smiled at him. "That's what's frying me!"
You squeezed his arms, needing to feel him. It was insane. But at least you both were feeling it.
"It's not forever. Just for a few days when our schedules align," he said. "And you'll stay until the morning."
"Oh, I will, huh?" You giggled.
Kevin bounced you on his knee making your titties bounce with. He bit his lip and did it again and you giggled harder, gripping his forearms so you wouldn't go flying off. His hands still held you in place, not budging at all in his capable hands.
"You will. I want to wake up to that pretty face again," he said. "With my morning snack."
Your pussy clenched even as you laughed and rolled your eyes. You literally could not with him. "I can definitely get used to that."
"So, we're going to enjoy the rest of tonight. Just you and me," he said.
"I'd really like that," you said, leaning over to kiss him. He moaned and deepened the kiss, his tongue peeking out to duel with yours. He sucked on your bottom lip and then continued to kiss, his hands coming up to cup the back of your head. He pulled you every which way he wanted you to go. You were able to feel all of him, hear his breathy moans, and get lost in the kiss.
Kevin slowly broke away, grinning as you tried to steal one more. He winked at your confused pout and stood up with you in his arms. He carried you to his room, turning on the light as he went.
He deposited you on his bed and he stripped in front of you, never breaking eye contact as he did so. You looked your fill, moaning at every new piece of skin he revealed. He kept his body in shape, his muscles flexing as he moved. He grinned at you and then climbed onto the bed, pulling you beneath him.
He dropped his weight on you and you sighed in pure bliss. It was a struggle to get a full breath and you sighed again, never being able to describe the relief you felt. You greedily clung onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist.
You made out, continuing your earlier dance. Kevin's fingers traveled down your body, bringing goosebumps with it. He reached between you, rubbing your clit and you jerked, moaning into his mouth.
The break gave you both a chance to catch your breath, but his fingers worked overtime. You were wet from the moment he told you to get out of your clothes, but with his fingers working a steady beat, making your legs shake in the most delicious way, the orgasm snuck up on you and you convulsed, screaming his name as the wave rode you.
"That's right, beautiful," he moaned, moving his fingers to slide into your pussy. You clenched around two..no, three of his fingers stretching you, and playing with your G-spot like it was his personal stress relief toy.
Your hands clawed at him, trying to escape and get away. The downside to being crushed by his weight was that he effectively pinned you to the matress and prevented escape. Your body twitched and jerked as another orgasm ripped through, snatching every one of your senses.
As you came down, your body rebooted and came back online. First came your hearing, as you heard Kevin whisper filthy shit in your ear. "I'm going to fill this pussy up. Every last fuckin' drop I got," he said.
He ended his words with a kiss to your neck. Next came feeling, as his lips traveled to the spot beneath your ear, causing your thighs to tingle. Kevin pulled his fingers free of your pussy, bringing them to your lips. You opened your mouth, tasting your essence on his thick fingers.
"Clean it up, baby," he said. He pulled his fingers out and kissed you. His dick throbbed against your ass.
"Fill me up, Kev, please," you moaned. You needed him connected to you, as close as he could possibly get.
"Flip the fuck over," he grunted. He backed off of you and you gulped in fresh pulls of air. He got to his knees with renewed energy, pulling you into the position he wanted without waiting for you to comply.
You laid nearly flat on the bed with your knees putting you at a certain angle. Kevin laid behind you, lining himself up. Without a word, he thrust inside you to the hilt.
"Oh fuck!" You cried out, the sudden fullness sending your mind straight to outer space.
Kevin leaned down until his chest was on your back, his thighs pressed to the back of yours, and a possessive hand around your right hip. He kissed your ear and began to thrust, each deep stroke like a crack of thunder in the quiet room.
There was nothing but your mingled, panicked breaths echoing in the room. The smell of sex and sweat a powerful aphrodisiac. "Oh fuck, Kevin," you moaned into the bed.
"That's it, right there. Fuck you feel so good. Fuckin' made for this dick. This my pussy from now on," he moaned, his thrusts still rocking into you, pounding you into the bed as if you were a nail in the wall.
"Oh, yes, Daddy," you moaned. You never called a man that in your life. And yet Kevin earned the title. And then some. You clenched around his dick, your walls shaking from how easily you gushed for him.
"That's it, baby. Give me what Daddy deserve. Bounce on that dick. Bounce on that dick, baby," he moaned, his dick throbbing inside you.
"Shit, I'm finna—" You screamed as your orgasm rushed through you, more intense than any he's given you the past few days. Your nails dug into his covers, gripping on for dear life.
Kevin stroked a few more times, like his body was moving faster than he could keep up with. He hissed in your ear and moaned as he climaxed, filling your pussy with his cum.
"That's it. That's it, milk it out of me," he said as you bounced on it, squeezing your pussy to capture every drop.
He collapsed on top of you, his panting breaths rivaling your own. Your pussy throbbed in time with his dick, in sync in ways you didn't even know was possible. Kevin softened and gently pulled out of you, a rush of his cum leaking out of you.
Kevin sat back on his haunches and pulled your asscheeks apart to watch him slide down your pussy lips.
"So fuckin' perfect," he whispered in awe.
You yawned and Kevin chuckled, kissing both sides of your ass. He nipped one of them and you hissed at the sharp sting. He chuckled and then got off of the bed to grab a warm washcloth. You groaned while he cleaned you up and he cooed, telling you he was almost done.
You must've fallen asleep because the next thing you knew, the lights were off and Kevin was in bed. When you stirred, he pulled you into him so that he enveloped you completely. His body heat rolled off of him in waves and you shivered with a deep moan, snuggling closer. You wanted to live in the cuddle.
You layed your head on Kevin's arm, feeling so safe and secure and right. You just knew that this was the start to something grounbreaking. Men like him didn't come around often. And no, he wasn't truly perfect. There were bound to be things that irritated you.
But you had all the time in the world to explore him. And explore every drop of pleasure he wrung from you. You were a limp spaghetti noodle in his hands. Nothing but putty for him to mold and squeeze and play with.
"Prepare to be sick of me," he whispered in your ear, his breath fanning across your cheeks.
You giggled sleepily, lalaland calling your name. "You stuck with me at this point," you said.
He kissed your ear. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
The end.
A/N: I know! I know. But it's not goodbye to Kevin forever. He will pop up in a new series so stay tuned!
I always read smuts where Erik is dominant and gives directions to the OC, like "don’t move, dont cum yet", but what do you think his reaction would be if she retaliated like, in the middle of doing the do, she suddenly became the dominant one?
PUSSY GOT YOU QUIET
He had her on her stomach, one hand planted firm at the nape of her neck, the other gripping her hip like he paid for it. Sweat slicked down the dip of her spine, her legs trembling from the fifth—or was it sixth?—orgasm he had already wrung out of her.
“Don’t move,” he growled, low and dark, lips brushing her ear, “Don’t fuckin’ run from it.”
She whimpered, biting her bottom lip until she tasted blood. He was buried deep—thick, heavy, punishing. The headboard slammed against the wall in rhythm, and the only other sound was the wet, obscene slap of skin and her ragged moans.
He reached around to grip her jaw, forcing her face sideways, “You gon’ take all this dick like a good girl, right?”
She nodded weakly.
“Nah,” he barked, slapping her ass hard enough to make her yelp, “Say it.”
“I’ll take it, Daddy,” she choked out, eyes glazed, lips parted.
“That’s what I thought.”
But something in her snapped when he said it. Maybe it was the way he laughed after pulling out, letting the cool air hit her soaked pussy just to tease her. Maybe it was the cocky glint in his eyes as he leaned back on his heels, stroking himself in his fist, slapping the head of his dick against her clit with a devilish smirk.
She twisted suddenly—fast and fluid—and had him flat on his back before he could blink.
“The fuck—?”
She straddled him with a wicked smile, nails digging into his scarred chest as she sank down onto his fat dick in one smooth motion, swallowing him whole. He hissed, head snapping back, tapered locs shielding his onyx eyes, the vein in his neck jumping.
“Don’t move?” she mocked, grinding her hips slow and cruel, “You look real still now.”
His hands flexed at her thighs, muscles tightening—but he didn’t stop her. He couldn’t.
Her pussy gripped him like a vice, warm and dripping, and every slow roll of her hips dragged a curse from his throat. She watched him come undone—those gold fronts catching the light when he bared his teeth, the tendons in his neck tight with restraint.
“I said—” he growled, trying to buck up.
She slapped his chest.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned, breathless, “You don’t get to give orders tonight.”
Erik stared up at her, jaw locked, nostrils flaring. But he didn’t stop her.
Didn’t move.
She rode him mercilessly—faster now, each bounce sloppy and deep, the drag of his dick along her walls making her cry out. Her thighs slapped against his hips, and his hands fisted in the sheets like he was holding on for dear life.
“You like being used?” she panted, nails raking down his chest, “Big bad Killmonger letting a bitch ride him like a toy?”
He didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Eyes rolled back, lips parted, he was panting hard now. Sweat beaded down his temple, jaw twitching as he fought the urge to take control again. He wasn’t used to this—being made to feel this good and this helpless.
“Don’t cum yet,” she mocked him, voice laced with a smile.
“Shiiit,” he grit out, thighs jerking beneath her.
She leaned forward, pressing her chest to his, lips at his ear.
“Beg for it.”
His hand shot up to the back of her neck, lips brushing hers, voice low and rough.
Please.
That was all it took.
But it wasn’t that easy.
He growled, not from pleasure—but from defiance. His hand on her neck tightened just enough to remind her who he usually was, and his gold-lined teeth flashed in challenge.
“You buggin’,” he muttered, biting down on his bottom lip as she clenched around him, “Think I’ma let a lil thing like you—”
She cut him off with a sharp squeeze to his throat.
“I said beg.”
Her tone dropped into something molten, velvet with an edge of command. She shifted her weight forward, hips grinding with purpose—slow, circular, deep—each roll hitting that spot that made his abs seize and his eyes flutter.
“You always run shit, huh? Got your little rules. Got bitches on leashes. But look at you now,” she purred, licking up the column of his throat, “Trapped under me. Pussy got you quiet.”
He grunted through clenched teeth, body taut, hands twitching like he wanted to flip her over—but didn’t. Couldn’t.
Not when her grip was around his throat, not when her pussy was milking him so perfectly he was already twitching inside her.
“Mmm…oh, you feel that?” she taunted, voice all sticky heat and filth, “You close, huh? So fuckin’ close I bet your balls are tight. Bet you could bust right now and embarrass yourself.”
He groaned, a ragged, primal sound, and she smiled—dark and triumphant.
She eased off his throat just a little and slapped his cheek—light, but enough to make his eyes snap open.
“Tell me you need it.”
He didn’t answer. Jaw clenched. Sweat slicking his abs.
So she bore down on him hard—pussy tightening, hips rolling, body dropping until she was flush against him. She circled her hips once. Twice. Squeezed around him like a fist.
“Say it, Erik,” she whispered, her mouth brushing his, “Say please.”
He cursed under his breath, head falling back, throat exposed like a man about to break.
She licked a stripe up his neck, then bit down just under his jaw.
“Say it.”
And then—finally, through grit teeth and pure torment:
“…Please…FUCK.”
She slammed down hard one final time and came with a cry, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders. He grunted beneath her, body jerking, hands finally grabbing her hips tight as he came deep inside her—long, hot, and messy.
When it was over, she collapsed on top of him, slick and trembling, both of them heaving.
He was the first to speak.
“…Aight,” he huffed, voice raw, “That shit was disrespectful.”
She laughed against his neck.
“You loved it.”
His hand slid up her thigh, gripping her ass with a growl, “Yeah, but don’t get used to it, ma. Next time, I’m tying you down.”
includes ~ angst to fluff (comfort) // insecure reader // soft! smoke
word count ~ 1.9k
a/n ~ omggg my first smoke fic :> i kinda bounce between calling him smoke and elijah, just a heads up.
————————————————————————
Smoke noticed everything.
That was what made him dangerous to some people and comforting to you.
He noticed when a room got too quiet. When someone’s smile didn’t reach their eyes. When a man’s hand drifted too close to his waistband. When a lie sat wrong in somebody’s mouth. He noticed exits, shadows, tension, weather, footsteps.
And he noticed you.
Always.
You used to think that should make you nervous, being loved by someone who saw so much. But with Elijah, it was different. He didn’t watch you like he was waiting for you to slip. He watched you like you were something worth keeping safe.
Still, lately, you wished he saw a little less.
You were standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress for the third time. It was a pretty dress. You knew that. Deep brown, soft against your skin, hugging you in places you weren’t sure you wanted hugged tonight. Your hair was done, your lips glossed, earrings brushing your neck.
You looked nice.
At least, you were trying to convince yourself you did.
Outside the room, you could hear low voices and the faint sound of music from downstairs. People were already gathering. Eli and his brother had business to handle, which meant there would be eyes, laughter, drinks poured too heavy, music too loud, and women who looked like they had never once second-guessed how they entered a room.
You hated that thought as soon as it came.
It wasn’t fair. Not to them. Not to you.
But insecurity had never cared much about fairness.
You turned slightly in the mirror and frowned.
The dress clung at your hips. Your stomach didn’t look as flat as you wanted. Your arms looked softer than they had last month. You tugged at the neckline, then the waist, then sighed because nothing was actually wrong with the dress.
The problem was you.
Or at least, that was what your mind was trying to tell you.
“You fighting with that dress?”
Smoke’s voice came from the doorway, low and warm.
You startled, turning quickly. “How long you been standing there?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, hat tilted low, eyes fixed on you with that quiet intensity that always made your stomach flutter.
“Long enough.”
You looked away first. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I got.”
You rolled your eyes, turning back toward the mirror. “I’m almost ready.”
He didn’t move for a second. Then you heard his boots against the floor as he came into the room. He moved slowly, not because he was unsure, but because he knew when to take his time with you.
He stopped behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him at your back, but not touching yet.
His eyes met yours in the mirror.
“You look ready to me.”
You gave a small laugh with no humor in it. “You just saying that.”
His expression didn’t change, but something sharpened behind his eyes.
“I don’t have to say nothing.”
You swallowed.
Smoke tilted his head slightly. “Try again.”
You hated when he did that. When he caught the lie before you could even dress it properly.
You shrugged, pretending to fuss with your bracelet. “I just don’t know if I like this on me.”
His gaze moved over you in the mirror, slow but not careless. It wasn’t the kind of look that made you feel inspected. It made you feel seen. That was almost worse, because you weren’t sure you wanted him seeing the parts of you that felt ugly right now.
“What don’t you like?” he asked.
“Elijah.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because you’re standing here looking at yourself like somebody said sumn' to you, and I want to know if I need to have a conversation.”
You almost smiled despite yourself. “Nobody said anything.”
His jaw worked once. “Then who got you looking like that?”
You didn’t answer.
Smoke’s eyes softened in the mirror.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
That one sound almost broke you.
Because he understood.
He always did.
You looked down, blinking fast. “It’s stupid.”
“No, it ain’t.”
“You don’t even know what I’m thinking.”
“I know enough.”
You turned away from the mirror, crossing your arms over your middle before you realized you were doing it. Smoke noticed that too. His eyes dropped briefly to your arms, then lifted back to your face.
You forced a laugh. “I’m being dramatic. I’ll change and be down in a minute.”
You tried to move past him, but he caught your wrist gently.
Not tight.
Never tight.
Just enough to stop you.
“Look at me.”
You didn’t want to.
“Baby,” he said, softer.
That did it.
You looked up.
His face was serious now. No teasing. No edge. Just Elijah, standing in front of you with concern tucked behind all that calm.
“What’s going on in that head?” he asked.
You took a shaky breath and hated yourself for it. “I just… I don’t feel pretty tonight.”
The words sounded smaller out loud.
Smoke stared at you.
Not shocked. Not confused.
Hurt.
Not because of you. Because for some reason, the idea that you could look at yourself and not see what he saw seemed to actually pain him.
You laughed weakly. “See? Stupid.”
“Don’t call it that.”
“It is.”
“It ain’t.”
You looked away. “There are going to be so many women downstairs, Elijah.”
“And?”
“And they look…” You struggled for the words, embarrassed by every one. “They look perfect. Like they don’t have to try. Like they just walk in and everyone notices.”
He was quiet for a second.
Then he said, “You think I don’t notice you?”
Your eyes snapped back to his. “That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“No. I know you notice me.”
“Do you?”
You hated that your eyes started burning.
Smoke saw it and immediately stepped closer, his hand sliding from your wrist to your fingers.
“Because from where I’m standing,” he said, voice low, “you don’t know it enough.”
You tried to pull your hand back, overwhelmed, but he held on gently. Not trapping you. Anchoring you.
“I just don’t want to feel like I’m standing next to you looking… less than,” you admitted.
His face changed.
“Less than what?”
You gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know.”
“That’s right,” he said, firmer now. “You don’t know. Because there ain’t no answer.”
You sniffled, trying to look away again, but Smoke moved with you, keeping himself in your line of sight.
“You hear me?” he asked.
You nodded, but he didn’t seem satisfied.
“No. Hear me for real.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I don’t bring you around me because you make me look good. I don’t keep you close because of what other folks think when we walk in a room. I don’t love you because you fit some picture somebody else made up.”
Your throat tightened.
He stepped closer until the hem of your dress brushed his leg.
“I love you because you’re you.”
You closed your eyes.
Elijah’s voice softened.
“And yeah, I think you’re beautiful. So beautiful it makes me forget what I was supposed to be doing half the time.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
He lifted his free hand and wiped it away with his thumb.
“But that ain’t all you are,” he continued. “You hear me? You’re not just pretty to me. You’re warm. You’re funny when you ain’t trying to be. You’re stubborn as hell. You care too much and then act like you don’t. You hum when you cook. You roll your eyes when you’re about to smile. You fix my collar like you mad at it. You pray over people who don’t even know you’re praying for them.”
You opened your eyes, tears blurring him.
His own eyes looked softer than you had ever seen them.
“That’s what I see when I look at you,” he said. “Not whatever little thing you standing in that mirror trying to punish yourself over.”
Your lips trembled. “You make it sound easy.”
“It ain’t easy,” he said honestly. “I know that. I know a man can tell you you’re beautiful all day, and some days your mind still won’t let it land.”
That sentence hit you harder than you expected.
He leaned down slightly, his forehead nearly touching yours.
“So I’m not asking you to believe it all at once,” he whispered. “Just don’t stand here lying on yourself while I’m in the room.”
A broken laugh escaped you through the tears.
Smoke’s mouth curved, just barely. “There she go.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Mhm.”
“You think you know everything.”
“Not everything.” His hand moved to your waist, careful and warm. “Just you.”
You looked down at where his hand rested against the dress you had been criticizing minutes ago.
Smoke followed your gaze.
“You want to change?” he asked.
You hesitated.
He nodded once, like your answer already mattered before you said it. “Then change. I’ll wait. You want to wear this? Wear it. I’ll still be looking at you the same.”
Your eyes lifted to his.
He meant it.
There was no pressure in his voice. No impatience. No male pride wounded because you couldn’t immediately accept his compliment. Just choice. Space. Steadiness.
“You like this dress?” you asked quietly.
Smoke’s gaze moved over you once more, slower this time, and his jaw tightened like he was trying to stay respectful about it.
“I love this dress.”
Your cheeks warmed.
His eyes came back to yours. “But I love the woman in it more.”
You tried to fight a smile.
He noticed, of course.
“Mhm,” he murmured. “That’s better.”
“Don’t get smug.”
“Too late.”
You laughed softly, wiping your cheeks.
Smoke reached for the edge of your face with both hands now, holding you like something precious. His thumbs brushed away the last of your tears.
“You know what’s gon’ happen when we go downstairs?” he asked.
“What?”
“I’m gon’ walk in with you. Folks gon’ look, because of course they gon’ look. And you’re gon’ remember that looking don’t mean owning. They can look. They can wonder. They can whisper. But they don’t get to decide nothing about you.”
Your breathing slowed.
“And if you get uncomfortable,” he continued, “you squeeze my hand. We leave. I don’t care who’s there, what’s happening, what needs doing. You squeeze my hand, we gone.”
Your heart softened completely.
“You’d leave your own party?”
“For you?” He looked almost offended. “I’d leave the state.”
You laughed, and this time it was real.
Smoke smiled, small and satisfied, then leaned in and kissed your forehead.
Not your mouth.
Your forehead.
The kind of kiss that made you feel protected instead of desired, which somehow made you feel even more loved.
You leaned into him, resting your cheek against his chest. His arms wrapped around you immediately. For a while, the two of you just stood there in the bedroom, the music downstairs muffled beneath the floor, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
His hand moved over your back. “For what?”
“For needing reassurance.”
Smoke pulled back enough to look at you.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Apologize for letting me love you.”
Your chest squeezed.
He said it so simply. Like it was obvious. Like love was not just the easy parts, the pretty parts, the kissing and laughter and being desired. Like love was this too: standing in front of a mirror on a hard night and letting someone hold up the truth when you couldn’t.
You touched his face. “You’re softer than people think.”
His brow lifted. “Don’t tell nobody.”
“I might.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Risky.”
You smiled. “Very.”
He kissed your palm, then stepped back just enough to take you in again. “You ready?”
You glanced at the mirror.
For the first time all night, you didn’t immediately search for what was wrong.
You saw the dress. Your skin. Your earrings. Your softness. Your nerves. Your beauty, even if you couldn’t fully hold it yet.
Then you saw Smoke behind you, watching like he had never doubted it.
You took a breath.
“Yeah,” you said. “I’m ready.”
Smoke offered his hand.
You took it.
Downstairs, the room was warm and loud. People turned when you entered, just like he said they would. Conversation shifted. Eyes moved. Music played. Someone called Smoke’s name from across the room.
But his hand stayed wrapped around yours.
Steady.
Certain.
He didn’t drop it when people looked. Didn’t step ahead like you were something following behind him. He walked beside you, thumb moving once across your skin like a reminder.
I’m here.
You squeezed his hand lightly.
Not because you wanted to leave.
Just because you could.
Smoke looked down at you immediately.
You smiled.
“I’m okay,” you whispered.
His face softened, only for you.
“I know,” he whispered back.
And maybe you didn’t feel perfect.
Maybe insecurity didn’t disappear just because the man you loved called you beautiful.
But standing beside Elijah, with his hand in yours and his eyes always finding you first, you believed one thing a little more than you had upstairs.
May I request DBF Smoke. (Nicole is 28 & Smoke is 38) Smoke has known her father for about 4 years due to business. Smoke and Nicole have a love/hate relationship, because they both act alike. He secretly loves her!
One family dinner and smoke session later. He has her on her side, balls deep, forearm around her neck, and ruined. 🫠
Sorry I’m ovulating, and feeling really SLUTTY I mean Smutty. 🙂
Ruined & Kept
Pairing: Elijah “Smoke” Moore (DBF) x Nicole (OC)
Series: Request
Summary: Nicole has always had a love-hate relationship with her dad’s best friend. They clash, they tease, they push each other’s buttons because they’re too damn alike. What neither of them says out loud? That tension masks something hotter, filthier, and forbidden.
One family dinner, one smoke session, and one stolen night later, Nicole finds herself ruined in ways she’ll never forget. And Elijah? He’s not about to let her forget it.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY (minors DNI) | DBF trope | Praise kink / degradation | Oral (f receiving) | Side position sex | Overstimulation | Risk of being caught | Sneaky morning-after convo | Taboo / forbidden dynamic | Explicit language & filthy detail
Part 2: What Still Burns
Nicole and Elijah Moore had been circling the same fire for years.
It started the first time her father introduced them — business ties, a handshake that carried weight. Elijah was steady, broad-shouldered, and a decade older than her, the kind of man who walked into a room like it already belonged to him. Nicole was twenty-four then, sharp-tongued and just reckless enough to test him. He’d said something slick; she’d fired back twice as hard. The rhythm was born right there: his gravel against her flame, his patience against her bite.
Everyone called it a love-hate thing. “Y’all too much alike,” her mother used to laugh when the two of them started sparring at family gatherings. Nicole would roll her eyes, Elijah would smirk, and the argument would keep rolling. But under every jab was heat, the kind of tension that hummed too close to want.
They were both stubborn. Both loud when they wanted to be, silent when it mattered most. He called her a brat more than once; she called him an old man, always with that grin that left him gritting his teeth. Four years of it—sideways glances, barbed words, long silences that said more than the fight before them.
By the time that dinner rolled around, everyone at the table thought they couldn’t stand each other. Nobody noticed how often his eyes cut her way.
—
The table was too full that night, laughter and chatter bouncing off the dining room walls. Plates passed hand to hand, forks clinking against ceramic. Her father’s voice carried over everyone else’s, talking business with Elijah like the two were brothers. Nicole sat across from him, chin propped in her palm, eyes sliding toward him every time he reached for his glass.
Elijah didn’t look at her—at least, not directly. But she caught him anyway. The flick of his gaze when she licked gravy from her thumb. The muscle in his jaw tightening when she leaned back, legs crossing slow under the table. He smoked after dinner, always did, and she was already thinking about the curl of it between his lips.
It was a dance. Always had been. Tonight, it was just starting its first steps.
The plates clattered down, heavy with food. Nicole stabbed into her greens like they’d done her wrong. Across the table, Elijah lounged back in his chair, wine glass balanced easy in one hand, the picture of calm. Too calm. She hated when he looked like that — like nothing could touch him.
“You always chew that loud?” he drawled suddenly, just loud enough to reach her, not anyone else. His eyes didn’t lift from his plate, but the smirk tugging at his mouth gave him away.
Nicole’s fork froze mid-air. “Better loud than slow as molasses. Thought you’d be halfway through by now, old man.”
A quiet chuckle slipped from him, low and rough. “Ain’t in a rush. Only kids eat like the food gon’ run away.”
She rolled her eyes, sinking her teeth into cornbread like she meant to break it. “Maybe I eat fast ‘cause I don’t waste time pretending to be unbothered.”
This time, he looked up. Their gazes locked across bowls and platters, her fire sparking against his steady heat.
“You bothered, baby girl?” he asked, voice dipping, daring her.
“Only by you,” she shot back, sweet as venom.
Her father cut in with a booming laugh about some story from work, drawing attention back to him. Conversation flowed again, but Nicole and Elijah stayed locked. A small lift of his brow. Her slow, deliberate sip of sweet tea. Every move was chess, every breath part of the game.
When she finally leaned back, her leg brushed the table leg hard enough to make the silverware rattle. Elijah’s eyes dropped, just for a second, before flicking back to hers.
“You clumsy,” he muttered, smirk sharpening.
She tilted her head, lips curving. “And you nosy.”
It was nothing. It was everything.
Dinner rolled on, laughter, drinks, the easy rhythm of family. But beneath it, the air between them thickened, thread by thread.
Nicole told a story about her friend from work, everyone laughing, but she kept sneaking glances at him, watching his hand curl around the glass, the way the light caught the veins in his wrist. Elijah leaned back, listening to her father talk business, but his attention kept sliding sideways. Every time she smiled, something in his jaw ticked.
No one else noticed. But for the two of them, the table might as well have been empty.
Dinner stretched on in waves — plates scraped clean, voices rising, laughter threading around the long table like smoke curling to the ceiling. Nicole sat with her wine glass in hand, feigning interest in whatever story her father was telling. Her smile stayed polite, but her eyes — sharp, defiant — stayed locked across the table.
On the other end, Elijah leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. One arm rested easy along the chair’s edge, his rings catching the warm light. His gaze was steady, fixed right on her like he could read every thought she didn’t say out loud.
And maybe he could.
“So, Elijah,” Nicole said suddenly, her voice sweet but sharp as a blade wrapped in silk. “How’s business? Still spending more time talking than working?”
Her father chuckled, shaking his head. “Nicole. Don’t go pokin’ the bear. You know he always gets the last word.”
Elijah lifted his glass, slow, deliberate, eyes still pinned on hers. “That’s ‘cause I don’t waste words.” He took a sip, then let the rim of the glass hover against his lip, the faintest smirk ghosting there. “Some people just can’t handle them.”
Her fork tapped the edge of her plate, her smile widening. “Or maybe they can’t handle the attitude.”
The back-and-forth was nothing new. They sparred every time they shared a room, fire and flint, sparking until one of them gave in. Tonight, though, Nicole felt something coil tighter inside her — a sharper heat.
She shifted in her chair, letting her heel slip free from the strap of her shoe. The movement was quiet, hidden beneath the clatter of cutlery and conversation. She slid her bare foot forward under the long table, slow, until her toes brushed against the cuff of his tailored pants.
Elijah didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sipped his wine like nothing had changed, though his jaw twitched once, betraying him.
Nicole pressed a little higher, tracing her foot up his shin. Her lips curved as she leaned back in her chair, tilting her glass toward her mouth. “Don’t choke,” she murmured, the words wrapped in a smile her father mistook as politeness.
Elijah’s eyes narrowed, that dark flash sparking in their depths. He lowered the glass with a soft clink against the table, then set both elbows down, leaning forward. His voice dropped, low enough to disappear into the noise of her father’s laughter.
“You’re gonna regret that,” he said.
Her toes slid higher, teasing along the muscle of his thigh. “Maybe I like regret.”
Her father looked between them, oblivious, still chuckling about the story he was telling. “What’s funny?” he asked when he caught Nicole’s grin.
“Nothing,” she answered quickly, her eyes locked on Elijah’s. “Just enjoying myself.”
Elijah let out a quiet laugh — low, dangerous, like he already knew how the night was going to end. His hand shifted under the table, not to stop her, but to catch her ankle in a firm grip. A warning disguised as restraint.
The squeeze said it all:
Keep playing, and I’ll make you pay later.
The rest of dinner happened in slow, looping waves—conversation rising and falling like warm tide, silverware clicking against porcelain, a chorus of easy laughter that should’ve softened the room and didn’t. Nicole kept her smile polished, chiming in when her father’s business partners dragged the talk toward new contracts and old grudges, but her attention never truly left the opposite end of the table. Every time she dared another swipe of her foot along Elijah’s shin, she felt the small, deliberate flex in his jaw, the measured sip of wine that meant he’d clocked her move and filed it away under later.
He didn’t let her forget it, either. Not with words—he barely spoke to her after that—but with the weight of his gaze whenever the laughter swelled loud enough to cover it. It was a touch all its own, a steady hand on the back of her neck from across polished wood and linen, saying I feel you acting up. I’m not gonna save you from what that earns.
By dessert, she’d slid her heel back on and tucked both feet primly beneath her chair like nothing had happened. It didn’t matter. The damage was done; the table felt smaller, the lights hotter, the air choked with unsaid things. When her father made a toast—something about good work and better friends—glasses lifted and clinked, and Nicole heard her own voice join the chorus while her pulse beat low and insistent, answering another rhythm that wasn’t the room’s.
Chairs scraped. Goodbyes layered the air. Men clapped Elijah on the shoulder, promising to call; women hugged Nicole, promised to set her up with somebody’s perfectly decent son. The house shifted from loud to quiet in pieces, and when the door finally shut behind the last guest, the silence that landed didn’t feel empty. It felt like a held breath.
Nicole carried plates to the kitchen because it gave her hands something to do. Steam curled up from the sink, wine stains bled into soapy water, the familiar domestic hum trying—and failing—to drown out the other hum in her blood. She rinsed and stacked, and still felt his gaze before she heard his steps.
“You gon’ leave all that for me?” her father called from the den, already settling into the comfort of his recliner and a game he’d pretend he wasn’t about to fall asleep on.
Nicole dried her hands on a towel and leaned into the doorway, smile easy. “I got the kitchen, Daddy. It’s your housewarming party part two.”
He waved her off, content. The TV volume went up a notch; the sound of a crowd roared through the walls. Nicole turned back to the sink and found Elijah in the reflection of the window, set back in the shadows just enough to make the chandelier glint off the edges of him—watchband, belt buckle, the silver on his fingers.
“I’ll take the trash out,” he said, voice low and steady, not looking away from her reflection. “Then I’m gettin’ some air.”
“Congratulations,” she said lightly, turning the faucet off. “Heroic.”
“Somethin’ like that.”
He picked up the tied trash bag with one hand, door whispering open, screen nudging after. The night rushed in—warm, crickety, thick with Florida’s late heat. Nicole counted to ten just to prove to herself that she could, that she had a choice, that what happened next would be fully hers. Then she wiped her hands one more time, smoothed the line of her dress like a woman who didn’t need to, and followed the path he’d left open.
The backyard had been dressed for company earlier—string lights draped in soft swags, citronella candles shouldering little halos, the patio table still littered with a few abandoned glasses. Now that it was quiet, the lights felt like stars bent low, listening. The grass held the day’s warmth; the air held the day’s whispers. Elijah stood at the edge of the patio near the old live oak, shoulders angled toward the dark yard, lighter in his hand and a thin roll-up resting behind his ear like a promise.
Nicole let the screen door fall soft behind her. It clicked anyway, and Elijah glanced back. That single flick of attention warmed her more than the summer night.
“You lost?” he asked.
“Found what I was looking for,” she said, matching his calm.
His mouth twitched. He took the joint from behind his ear, thumb rolled the filter, forefinger flicked the lighter. Flame licked, paper glowed, and smoke unfurled in a slow ribbon that caught the string lights and turned them a little hazy. He took the first pull like a man who knew how to savor, then held the smoke a beat too long, like a man who knew exactly who was watching.
She stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to count the gold flecks in his eyes. “You gonna share or you just out here flexing breath control?”
He exhaled on a laugh, passing it to her between his first two fingers. His rings were cool against the back of her knuckles when she took it, his hand steady as a metronome while the heat at the tip traveled. Their fingers stayed there, overlapped, a half-second longer than manners would allow.
“Don’t test my patience,” he said, so quiet it barely disturbed the smoke.
“Maybe I like tests.” She drew in slow, felt the burn and softness hit her chest at the same time, held it till her eyes watered just a little. When she passed it back, she let her nail graze his palm. It was petty. It felt like victory anyway.
“You stay with the little games, huh?” He brought the tip to his mouth, eyes on hers the whole time. “Got all the jokes in front of folks. Feet busy under the table. Think I ain’t notice?”
Her face didn’t betray it. Her pulse did. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, calm as glass.
He stepped a half-shade closer. Not enough to be obvious if someone glanced through the den window. More than enough for her to smell him—cedar, a cut of bourbon he hadn’t even poured, the cologne she knew he used too sparingly on purpose. The smoke ribboned between them—sweet, slow, a curtain they kept passing through with every breath.
“You think I don’t see it?” he asked, passing the joint back; his fingertips brushed the center of her palm this time, drawing a small, involuntary shiver from her wrist to her throat. “How you look at me when you think I ain’t watchin’.”
Nicole let the smoke sit in her mouth before she took it down. It gave her time to tilt her head, to let her eyes go sleepy-cool. “Bold of you to assume I think about you at all.”
“Bold of you to stand here when you could be inside.” He leaned in the last inch to shield the cherry from the breeze, and the heat of him lapped at the shell of her ear. “You could’ve left me out here alone.”
“That why you came?” she countered, flicking ash into the tray on the patio table. “To be alone?”
He made a soft, amused sound. “Nah. I came for quiet.”
“And you want me to leave you to it?”
“I want you to stop pretendin’.” His hand lifted as if to reach for the lighter in her other palm; instead, his fingers brushed the heel of her hand, slow, then closed around the metal. The contact was nothing and everything—wrist to wrist, pulse to pulse, a handshake that told the truth with no witness but the night. He didn’t take the lighter yet. Neither of them moved.
From the den, her father laughed at something on TV, a broad burst of noise that rolled through the open window and died out here beneath the oak as if the yard refused to host it. Crickets took the space back. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked once and thought better of it.
Nicole dragged again, softer. When she passed it back, their hands didn’t part fast enough. His thumb brushed over the ridge of her knuckles, slow as an apology he’d never say out loud. Static jumped her skin; heat followed. She swallowed it like a secret.
“You gon’ keep acting brand-new?” he asked, the words warmer than the air. “After the little stunt under the table?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Got long legs. Tables are small.”
He smiled with his eyes more than his mouth, a flash of approval that felt like a hand at the small of her back. “Mm. You bold in the wrong rooms.”
“Maybe I wanted to see if you could sit still.”
“I’m sittin’,” he said. “For now.”
The joint burned lower; the smoke thickened. She should’ve stepped back. He should’ve let her. Instead, they hovered in the pocket they’d made—half-lit, half-wild, the kind of charged quiet where people say things they can’t walk back from.
“You stay talkin’ to me like I don’t know you,” he murmured finally. “But I see you when you not lookin’. I see you at these dinners, bored out your mind. I see you gettin’ smart ‘cause you scared to be sweet.” The smoke curled from his mouth, kissed her collarbone before the breeze stole it. “And I see the part you swear ain’t there.”
“You full of yourself,” she said lightly. It sounded thin to her own ears.
His smile cut precise. “Maybe. And maybe I’m just right.”
Their fingers met again when she reached for the lighter this time. He didn’t let go. For a second that stretched, they just held it together—the little metal thing suddenly a hinge, a leverage point, an excuse. Her skin went electric where his thumb pressed. Her body betrayed her with the smallest sway forward, a magnet seeking its twin. The breath she took wasn’t quite steady.
She laughed, quick and airy, trying to shake it off. “You always like this when the night gets humid?”
“Only when you walk out into it,” he said.
She meant to fire something back and found nothing loaded. The quiet wrapped them. She took one last pull to kill the cherry, crushed it gentle in the tray, and when she straightened, his eyes were exactly where they’d been all night—on her mouth, then her throat, then her mouth again. The look didn’t ask. It promised.
She broke it with a shake of her head and a soft, reckless grin. “You need to relax.”
He tipped his chin toward the dark yard, toward the quiet that had swallowed the house. “Thought that’s what we were doin’.”
“Mm.” She set the lighter down, but her hand didn’t leave the table. Not yet. “We’ll see if you got manners.”
“Manners?” he echoed, amused. “You tryin’ to test me again?”
“Maybe,” she said, and her body did what it had done at the table—told on her, pulse rising where his gaze could see it.
He noticed. Of course he did. “Keep laughin’,” he warned softly, eyes low and steady. “See what you earn.”
She held his stare, let the warning fall over her like warm rain, and smiled like a woman who already knew she wouldn’t run.
And when his knuckles brushed hers one more time—“by accident,” neither of them believing it—their hands didn’t pull away fast enough.
The walk back inside was quiet in steps but loud in pulse. Nicole kept her arms folded, not because she was cold but because she needed something to do with her hands. Elijah’s stride matched hers—measured, easy—but she could feel the heat rolling off him, the same heat that had followed her all through dinner, through smoke drifting in the backyard, through the brush of his thumb over her knuckles.
The door shut behind them with a soft click, and the shift was immediate—the hush of a house winding down for the night. The TV was off. Only the hallway lamp glowed faint in gold, throwing a warm shadow across the foyer. Her father’s voice cut through it, deep and relaxed as he moved toward the staircase.
“Goodnight, baby girl.” He kissed Nicole’s cheek, already half turned toward the steps. “Elijah, you know you welcome to stay the night. Guestroom’s there if you want it. Nicole, set it up for him, alright?”
Nicole’s throat bobbed, caught between protest and pretense. Elijah answered first, smooth and sure. “Appreciate it. I’ll take you up on that.”
Her father nodded, gave them both a smile that trusted too much, then disappeared up the stairs, each heavy footstep creaking against the wood until the last one faded into bedroom quiet.
Silence stretched in the wake. The house settled. Nicole’s pulse didn’t.
She turned toward the kitchen, needing distance, and found Elijah already leaning against the counter, watching her like the last two hours had been foreplay for this exact second.
“What?” she asked, sharper than she meant.
“You really gon’ keep pretendin’?” His voice was low, roughened silk. “Act like you ain’t been on me all night?”
“I wasn’t on you,” she snapped, moving past him to reach for a glass. Her hand shook just enough to clink it against the faucet handle. “You’re full of yourself.”
He pushed off the counter. The sound of his footsteps crossing tile made her chest tighten. “Nah. I’m full of patience. Been sittin’ on it while you out here playin’ games.”
Nicole turned, glass half full, and nearly spilled it when his body closed the space between them. The kitchen light painted his face in gold and shadow, jaw tight, eyes locked on hers like she was prey cornered and too stubborn to admit it.
“Say you don’t want me to touch you,” he said, breath brushing her cheek. “Go ahead.”
Her lips parted, the words stuck behind them. Silence was all the permission he needed.
The kiss hit hard. Filthy, teeth catching lips, mouths dragging open like they’d both been starving too long. The glass slipped from her hand, thunked against the counter without shattering, forgotten the second his palm bracketed her hip and dragged her flush.
She gasped into him, tried to push, ended up clutching. His tongue slid against hers, hot, tasting like smoke and bourbon and danger. Her back pressed into the counter’s edge; his thigh wedged between hers, thick and unyielding. The friction made her bite down on his lip, and he groaned like she’d just given him everything he’d been waiting for.
“You got a smart mouth,” he muttered against her jaw, dragging his lips down to her throat. “But right now, it’s just beggin’ me to use it.”
Her hands fisted in his shirt. “You think you’re the only one wantin’ this?”
“I know I’m the only one gonna have you like this.” His hand slid up her thigh, fingers pushing her dress higher, higher, until the hem bunched at her waist. Calloused fingertips skimmed the damp edge of her panties, and she jolted, breath sharp.
The creak of floorboards upstairs froze them both. Her father’s steps—slow, careful—crossed from one room to the other. Nicole held her breath, nails digging crescents into Elijah’s shoulder.
He didn’t stop. His finger hooked the band of her panties, tugged it aside just enough, the pad of his finger dragging through her slick folds like he was taking inventory. His mouth brushed her ear, whisper-dark and devastating:
“Keep quiet, baby.”
Her knees buckled, caught on his thigh, his hand holding her steady as he teased her entrance with the bare edge of his finger. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, but her body betrayed her, hips rocking into his touch, pulse thrumming like it wanted to give them both away.
The footsteps upstairs stopped. A door clicked shut.
Nicole exhaled shakily, and Elijah grinned against her neck, sliding his finger deeper with a slow, claiming push. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now let me ruin you quietly.”
The kitchen lights were low, only the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the house settling upstairs breaking the silence. Elijah sat Nicole on the counter, her thighs pressed together in a nervous lock, though her smirk said otherwise. Elijah stepped between her knees like he’d been there a thousand times before, his big frame eating up the space.
“Spread ‘em,” he rasped, already tugging at the hem of her dress.
Her lips parted, ready to shoot something smart back, but the look in his eyes snatched the words right out of her throat. That dangerous mix of hunger and authority. She held his stare, slow as sin, and slid her thighs open.
His hand hooked into the lace at her hips, yanking her panties down like they offended him. He didn’t fold them, didn’t set them aside gentle — he tore them down her legs and let them drop on the tile. Nicole gasped when the cool air hit her bare skin, when the counter pressed cold under the swell of her ass.
“Look at you,” he muttered, spreading her knees wider until she was dripping open for him. “Talk all that shit to me across the table, but the second I touch you? Pussy wetter than the faucet.”
She rolled her eyes, but her chest lifted sharp with her breath. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Elijah’s grin was slow, dangerous. “Ain’t gotta. I can smell it.”
Then he buried his face in her. No warning, no tease — just his mouth wide, tongue flat, nose pressed into the heat of her. Nicole slapped a hand against the counter, the other gripping his head instinctively.
“Oh—fuck!” It ripped out of her before she could swallow it down.
He groaned into her, the sound vibrating against her clit, sloppy and greedy. He wasn’t trying to be pretty about it; he was trying to ruin her. His tongue dragged up and down her slit, then circled her clit, then shoved inside her, fucking her with his mouth like he hated the space between them.
Her head fell back against the cabinet, teeth digging into her lip to keep quiet. But it was no use — every time his tongue curled inside her, every time his beard scraped the inside of her thighs, a sound clawed out of her chest.
“Keep it down,” he muttered against her pussy, not lifting his mouth. “Don’t want Daddy comin’ down here, seein’ me eatin’ his daughter like my last meal.”
Her thighs trembled. The filth in his tone made her wetter, dripping down his chin. “You’re—fucking insane,” she gasped.
“And you love it.” His tongue flattened again, relentless, his hand sliding up to pin her belly down so she couldn’t squirm away. He licked her like he had something to prove — dragging every slick sound out into the air until it coated the room thicker than the smoke they’d shared outside.
Her body betrayed her, hips rolling up to meet every stroke of his tongue. He lapped her like he wanted to drink her dry, groaning every time she spilled more. His forearm curled around her thigh, locking her open.
“You taste like trouble,” he murmured, then sucked her clit so hard her whole spine arched. “Sweet, messy trouble.”
Nicole’s nails raked his scalp. She tried to push him back, only for him to growl and shove deeper, tongue fucking her so hard she felt the muscles in her stomach seize.
“Elijah—fuck, wait—”
“Mm-mm,” he cut her off, mouth glued to her. “You gon’ cum on my tongue. Right here, right now. Don’t fight it.”
Her body had no choice but to obey. Her thighs snapped shut around his head as the orgasm tore through her, hot and wet. She tried to choke it back, but her moans spilled, high and broken, the kind that carried even in a quiet house.
Elijah didn’t stop. He licked her through it, groaning like he was addicted, tongue dragging every drop from her until she sagged against the cabinet, limp and shaking.
When he finally pulled back, his beard was soaked, his lips glistening. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, then smirked up at her with dangerous satisfaction.
The air in the kitchen still smelled like her — sharp, sweet, musky — clinging to Elijah’s beard and dripping down his chin. Nicole’s chest heaved, sweat clinging to her collarbones. She thought he’d stop there, thought the risk of someone coming down the stairs would cool him off.
But the way he looked at her said otherwise.
He stepped in tighter, pressing his body between her open thighs until the rough fabric of his pants rubbed against her slickness. His hand slid up her spine, dragging her forward into him. He didn’t kiss her right away — he just stared, his lips wet, beard shiny from her. Then he tilted his head, voice a low rasp.
“You really think I can taste you like that and not fuck you?”
Her stomach flipped. Her hands pressed to his chest, meant to hold him back, but instead they curled into his shirt like she couldn’t let go. “My dad—”
“Asleep.” Elijah’s hand moved lower, gripping the meat of her thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the heat between her legs. “Only one I hear breathin’ right now is you.”
He kissed her then, filthy and unrestrained, his tongue shoving deep into her mouth like he wanted to own her from the inside out. She gasped against him, muffling the sound into his lips as he lifted her higher onto the counter. The scrape of his beard burned delicious against her skin as his mouth dragged down her neck, teeth catching her pulse.
“Quiet now,” he muttered, voice hot against her throat. “Don’t need him coming down here, interrupting us.”
Her body clenched at that — betrayal and thrill spiking together.
Then his pants came down. He didn’t bother with finesse, just shoved them to his thighs, his dick springing out heavy and throbbing. He pressed the swollen tip against her soaked slit, dragging slowly up and down, smearing her all over him. The sound alone was obscene.
Nicole gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles ached. “Elijah—”
“Say it right.” His eyes pinned her in place. “Say Smoke.”
Her lips parted, a whisper breaking free. “…Smoke.”
That was all it took. He thrust forward, burying himself inside her in one brutal stroke that made her back slam against the cabinet. She choked on the moan, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.
“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes screwing shut. “Tight as a fist. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy right here on Daddy’s counter.”
He set the pace, slow at first, dragging out the stretch, savoring the way she clenched around him. Each withdrawal was torture, his dick sliding wet and heavy against her walls, only to slam back in deeper, harder. Her thighs shook, spreading wider to take him.
The slap of skin on skin echoed in the kitchen. The fridge hummed, the clock ticked, but all she could hear was the filthy wet sounds of him fucking into her and his low groans against her ear.
“You feel that?” Smoke pressed his forearm across her chest, pinning her to the cabinet, while his other hand gripped her hip. “Every inch sittin’ inside you.”
Her head rolled back, hitting the cabinet. She tried to breathe quiet, tried to hold the sounds in, but every thrust knocked another moan out of her.
Then a sound froze them both.
A floorboard creaked again upstairs.
They went still, her legs still wrapped around his waist, his dick buried to the hilt. Sweat rolled down her temple as she listened. Another shift, then silence.
Nicole’s heart slammed against her ribs. “We—”
“Shhh.” Smoke’s lips brushed her ear, his voice pure grit. “Stay still, baby.”
He gave one slow thrust, just to hear her choke down a whimper. His smirk was lethal. “See? Can’t even keep quiet. You need to get fucked where it’s safe before you get us both caught.”
Her body trembled when he slid out of her, her cunt clenching on emptiness. He yanked his pants up just enough to cover himself, then leaned close to kiss her — quick, filthy, sealing the taste of her moans on his tongue.
“Guest room,” he whispered, voice sharp with command. “Now.”
He lifted her off the counter, her legs still weak, panties left abandoned on the tile. She scrambled to grab them and the hem of her dress, tugging it down as best she could, her thighs sticky with him. He gripped her wrist and led her out of the kitchen.
The hallway creaked under their weight. The house felt cavernous in the dark, every step amplified, the risk sharpening every nerve. Nicole bit her lip, the adrenaline of being caught making her wetter, dripping down her legs as they climbed the stairs. Smoke’s hand never left her wrist, dragging her like she belonged to him.
The guestroom door shut with a soft click that felt louder than a gunshot in a sleeping house. A hush settled—thin, trembling, almost sacred. Nicole’s back met the wood for a heartbeat, breath catching high in her throat, and Smoke was right there, big body closing the distance like gravity had decided they belonged in the same shape.
He didn’t rush her. He pressed in slow, one palm spreading firm over the side of her neck, not choking—just claiming the real estate—his thumb skimming her pulse like a promise. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was the kind that eats the air, a dark tangle of tongue and teeth that said every second they’d held it together at the table had only wound them tighter. She chased his mouth as he dragged it away, a soft hungry sound caught between them.
“Bed” he rasped, voice rough from smoke and want, “now.”
She didn’t trust her voice. She nodded, fingers already fisting in the front of his tee, walking backward with him crowding every step, the world narrowing to the heat of him, the press of his thighs, the rough drag of denim at her hips when his leg slid between them. Her calves met the mattress, and the bed sighed under her weight as she sat, then lay back. The ceiling fan threw slow shadows over the ceiling, the moon through the half-closed blinds lined him in silver as he stood at the edge, looking down at her like a man who’d worked for something and finally had it in his hands.
They’d already stripped half their decency in the kitchen—her panties gone, the sweet, ruined ache of his mouth still humming between her legs; his pants unbuttoned, zipper eased, control frayed. Here, he took his time because time was cruel, and he liked the cruelty when it served him.
He came down over her on his forearms, body heavy but precise, settling his weight along hers so their chests met. The first contact was a low shock—her nipples brushing his tee, the warmth of his breath at her cheek, the scrape of his stubble on her jaw—then his mouth was on her again, deeper, wetter. She arched up into him like a reflex. He swallowed the little sound she made.
“Open,” he said, not a question. She opened.
His hands skimmed down, big palms mapping her ribcage like he’d been memorizing her by touch for years. He lifted, just enough to peel his tee up, baring thick shoulders, roped forearms, that deep cut line that ran to his waistband. The shirt dropped to the floor without him looking. Nicole’s fingers shook as they traced the planes of his chest, the heat, the ridiculous solidity. He caught one wrist and kissed the inside of it, then planted her hand above her head on the pillow, spread, as if he was framing her for the room to see.
“Dress,” he murmured.
She reached for the side zip; he batted her hand away, a flicker of a smirk in the dark. “I got it.”
He rolled the dress up from her thighs slow—no hurry, no mercy—dragging it high enough that cool air kissed skin his mouth would heat next. He paused at her belly and lowered his face, breathing her in, the barest scrape of teeth at the soft curve had her hips twitching. When he reached the neckline, he sat back on his heels and took the whole thing in one confident pull, the fabric whispering over her shoulders and head, leaving her bare beneath him, sprawled and trembling and already slick from the kitchen sins.
“Look at you,” he said, voice a satisfied drag. “Messy already.”
He bent to her breasts like a man saying grace—palms cupping them heavy, thumbs pressing her peaks until she gasped, then his mouth sealed around one, dark and hungry. He sucked until her back arched off the bed, then licked slow circles to cool the sting. His free hand slid down, down, knuckles grazing the downy trail of her lower belly until he found heat—slick, swollen, pulsing under his touch. He didn’t enter. He teased with two fingers, slow strokes through the wet, spreading it, marking her thighs with it.
“Thought about this all goddamn dinner,” he said against her skin, breath hot, words burning. “You, tryin’ to stare me down while soakin’ for me. You think I ain’t feel that? Thought I couldn’t smell you?”
Her breath hitched. “Elijah—”
He kissed the corner of her mouth to swallow her name, then shushed her with a drag of thumb over her lower lip. “Hush. Keep that sweet little mouth for later.”
He stood, and the bed gave a small protesting creak at the loss of his weight. He shoved his pants down his thighs, the denim catching at the thick line of him. His dick sprang free—heavy, dark, the blunt head wet and gleaming in the low light. She sucked in air like a drowning thing. He smirked at the way her eyes fixed, at the way her thighs pressed together without her permission.
“Spread,” he said.
She did. He climbed back in, bracketing her hips with his knees, and leaned forward until the heat of him lay against her slit, sliding lazy, painting her with pre-come, letting her feel how hard he was, how serious and unhurried and inevitable this was. She rolled her hips for more. He pulled back and denied it. She swore under her breath; he grinned.
“Beg.”
She stared up at him, chin tilted, fire and defiance and hunger all tangled in her face. She didn’t beg. Not in words. She arched, tilted her pelvis just so, and offered slick, open heat to the head of him, a wordless plea his body read just fine. The smile he gave her said that would do.
He lowered, hands under her knees, folding her open, the thick head catching and parting her, pressure building, then—slow, careful, lethal—he pushed in. Inch by claiming inch, he watched her mouth fall open, watched her scramble for a grip on his shoulders, watched her eyes glaze as the stretch lit every nerve in a slow burn. He exhaled a cuss when he bottomed out, hips flush to her, balls snug to the wet. He stayed there, buried, feeling the tight rhythmic squeeze around him.
“Goddamn,” he breathed, forehead dropping to hers. “That’s a grip.”
Her nails bit his back. “Move.”
“Imma move when I’m ready,” he said, and kissed her soft for exactly one second, like he wanted to prove he could. Then he levered up, braced, and finally gave her what she asked for—long, devastating strokes that dragged his length out almost to the tip and slammed back in, punching little gasps out of her, shaking the bed frame against the wall in a rhythm that felt dangerous in a quiet house.
She tried to say his name again; it came out a broken whine. He answered with a low noise in his chest, a rumble of satisfaction, and upped the tempo a hair—still not reckless, not yet, but enough that she couldn’t catch up to the pleasure. Enough that her thighs trembled and her voice kept dissolving.
He kissed her open mouth, swallowed the noise, and then broke the kiss with a ragged inhale. “Turn,” he said.
He didn’t make her do the work. He took her by the hip and shoulder and rolled her like a page in a book, keeping himself inside her, the twist smooth and controlled, his body following in one continuous pivot until her cheek was on the pillow and his broad chest was at her back. He hooked her top knee over his thigh and slid his arm around her throat—not crushing, but firm and absolute—his forearm a bar that anchored and owned. The other hand palmed her lower belly, fingers splaying over the soft there, claiming more territory.
Then he drove.
The angle hit a place that made her see stars—deep, relentless, unarguable. He fucked her balls-deep, every thrust a full-body decision, hips slamming into the round of her ass so hard the headboard ticked the wall in warning. She grabbed at the sheets and then at his forearm at her throat, not to pry it away but to hold it there, to meet the pressure with trust and heat.
“Breathe,” he murmured, voice a rasp against her ear. “I got you.”
She pulled in air when he let her, floated there, then he tightened a hair and the world went bright at the edges. Nothing existed but the wet-slick slide, the thick insistence of him filling her over and over, the anchored hold at her throat that made her feel contained and flung wide at once.
“Talk that shit now,” he gritted, thrusts getting meaner, the line of his body carved with effort. “All that mouth at dinner—where it go? Huh?”
A sound tore out of her, half-laugh, half-cry. “Shut up and—”
He snapped his hips so hard the end of the sentence collapsed into a raw moan. He laughed once, dark and pleased. “Exactly.”
His hand slid from her belly to between her thighs, fingers finding her clit slick and swollen. He circled once, twice, merciless, in time with the thrusts. Her entire body jolted; she bit the pillow and then bit air because biting wasn’t enough.
“Keep it quiet,” he warned, and then sabotaged the warning by pushing her closer to a place that made silence impossible.
The house answered like a sleeping thing—floor settling somewhere far away, the groan of old wood, the ghost of a pipe ticking, then quiet again. The fear threaded the lust and made it brighter. She rocked back to meet him, the wet clap of skin on skin obscene in the hush, and he growled a praise that melted into a curse.
“That’s it. Throw it back. Let me see you work for it.”
She did. She met him, angle for angle, stroke for stroke, and when she almost got ahead of him—when she tried to take control in that thin space—he locked both of their bodies down with that forearm and made a new, ruinous rhythm that had nothing to do with mercy. He shoved her up the bed, chased her, shoved again, chased again, until the sheet bunched under her and her hair stuck to her cheek in damp curls.
“Tell me,” he said, low and dangerous. “Tell me what I’m doin’ to you.”
She tried. It came out in tatters. “You— you’re… deep—”
“Deeper than that,” he corrected, and ground in a circle that lit her nerves like struck matches. “Say it.”
“Ruining me,” she gasped, voice breaking on the word. “You’re—ruining—”
“Good girl,” he said, and everything he put behind the praise wrecked her as much as the thrusts did.
She shattered on his hand, on his dick, on the pressure at her throat, the orgasm ripping through her in a series of helpless clamps that dragged a rough groan out of him. He didn’t stop. He worked her through it, rode her tremors until they blurred into a second wave, wetter and sloppier, her thighs shaking, her cries swallowed by his palm when he covered her mouth for a few brutal strokes to save them both from the house hearing the truth.
“Uh-uh,” he soothed when she writhed, overstimulated. “You asked for me. Take all of me.”
She didn’t remember asking with words. She’d been asking with months of fight. Her body answered anyway, answering yes, yes, yes on a loop while he dragged her past sweet into ragged.
Sweat slicked their skin, a salt sheen under the cool fan-breeze. His forearm at her throat was a brand now, his breath a harsh music at her ear, and his hips a steady machine, each drive bottoming out, the blunt head of his dick kissing a place that made her toes curl hard enough to cramp.
“Quiet,” he reminded when her voice cracked louder. He pressed his mouth at the hinge of her jaw, teeth grazing, and whispered filth that made her wetter. “Feel how you got me? Drippin’ all over me, squeezin’ like you tryna keep me. Drownin’ me, baby.”
She didn’t have language anymore. She had the rhythm. She had the ache. She had the way he owned the pace until she forgot there’d ever been any other. He slowed for three strokes, let her think relief was coming, then gave her five savage, deep drives that knocked her back to the edge. She cried out into his forearm and he smiled into her hair like a sinner satisfied at church.
“She mine,” he told the dark, as if the room needed a record. “Ain’t nobody else puttin’ her to bed like this.”
Another wave built. She felt it like a pull low in her belly, a bright thread winding tight. He felt it too; his fingers on her clit changed from circles to a steady drag that matched the thrusts, perfect and evil. The layered sensation—pressure at her throat, hand on her, dick deep—stacked until it broke her open again, harder than before, so hard she forgot the risk and said his name too loud.
He covered her mouth with his palm, breath stuttering. “That’s it,” he hissed. “Give it to me.”
She came with a tremor that wracked her from shoulder to ankle. The clench dragged his groan from somewhere animal; his hips stuttered. He chased it, swore, lost his rhythm, found it, lost it again. He was close—she could feel the tell: the way his thighs went iron, the way his breath went wild and ugly like he didn’t want to plead but might.
“Where you want it?” he grated, forearm easing enough to let her speak, the question a courtesy he might ignore.
“Inside,” she breathed, no hesitation. “Inside me.”
A sound tore out of him—half surrender, half victory. His hand left her mouth and slid up to hold her jaw, turning her face so he could take her mouth again as he chased the end. The kiss was messy, teeth and tongue and gasp. He broke it with a curse, slammed deep once, twice, three times, then locked there, buried all the way in, grinding like he could carve himself into her. Heat flooded, thick pulses emptying into her, a groan breaking loose from his chest that she swallowed like a prayer.
He didn’t pull out. Not immediately. He held her there, forearm easing from her throat to her collarbones, pressing her down with the weight of him, keeping every drop where he’d put it. The room spun slowly back into focus around their panting.
“Don’t move,” he said, more devotion than order now.
She didn’t. She lay in the heat of it, his sweat on her neck, his heartbeat pounding against her shoulder blade, spread and owned and too gone to pretend otherwise. The fan thumped a lazy beat. Somewhere in the house, a pipe ticked again. The silence hummed with the fact of them.
When he finally slid out, it was a slow retreat, a filthy slick sound that made them both hiss. His spend followed, warm spill on her thigh and the sheets. He caught it with his fingers on reflex, pressed two into her to push it back, not ready to give up the claim. She jerked; the overstimulation shocked through her nerves, a little whimper punching out. He murmured something low and fond and indecent at once, and eased his hand away.
The bed smelled like sex and heat and the kind of trouble that rewrites a life.
He rolled, gathering her to his chest, hauling her flat on her back, then tipped her easily to face him. Big palms framed her face, thumbs sweeping damp hair from her cheekbones. Up close like this, he was all dark eyes and thick lashes and satisfaction he didn’t bother to hide.
“You good?” he asked, low, the gravel gentled.
She nodded, throat tight, breath finally slowing. “Mhm.”
“Color?”
She breathed a laugh—small, grateful. “Green.”
“Yeah.” He kissed her forehead, then each cheek, then her mouth, soft this time, not devouring, more like sealing something they both knew had shifted. “Knew you could take it. Knew you needed it.”
She swallowed. The praise warmed places that had nothing to do with sex. “You’re impossible,” she whispered, but the words carried no fight.
“Mm. And you mouthy.” He brushed a knuckle over the faint sweep his forearm had left at her throat, not bruises yet, just the ghost of pressure. “Beautiful, though.”
He slid from the bed with a reluctant hiss at the loss of heat, padded to the adjoining bathroom. The faucet whispered to life; the dim glow of the vanity lit the doorway. He returned with a warm, damp towel and a glass of water. He cleaned her slow, careful, no rush now, cupping her knee, opening her with his palm to wipe the mess from her thighs, between, the sheet getting darker and darker under each pass. She watched him do it, watched his face soften in these quiet rituals that should have been nothing but felt like vows.
“Gimme your neck,” he said. When she tilted her chin, he pressed kisses to the tender skin, reverent, then rubbed a thumb over it like he was smoothing the memory into place.
“Big talker,” she murmured, teasing thin as breath. “Big… doer.”
He huffed a laugh that felt like a hand smoothing a sheet. “Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish. House asleep don’t mean I am.”
She snorted and winced when the movement tugged at muscle he’d worked mercilessly; he smirked like he’d felt it too. He dropped the towel, climbed back in, and gathered her under his arm, her head tucked under his chin, one leg flung over his thigh like she belonged there. His palm made lazy passes down her spine, the weight of it grounding.
For a long minute they said nothing. The night held.
Then, soft enough the darkness felt like it had to lean in to hear it, he murmured, “You drove me crazy tonight. Foot on me at that table. You know what that did?”
Her smile was a slow thing he felt against his chest. “Knew exactly.”
He kissed her hair. “Yeah. You did.”
A floorboard far down the hall whispered—the house turning over in sleep. They stilled, listening. Nothing followed. He exhaled, tucked her closer, and pressed one last kiss to the hinge of her jaw.
“Gon’ be sore,” he said, not sorry at all. “Gon’ think about me tomorrow every time you move.”
She hummed, a satisfied little sound. “Already do.”
“Good,” he said, and turned off the last stray thought with the steady weight of his arm. “That’s what I wanted.”
The fan kept its quiet spin. The moon moved a fraction across the blinds, laying new silver stripes over the wrecked bed. In the hush, the claim settled—not a word, but a fact—and the rest of the house never knew a thing.
The house smelled like coffee and butter toast by the time Nicole padded down the hall. Her body ached deliciously—deep in her thighs, at the back of her throat where his forearm had pressed, in the stretch of her hips that still hummed with him. Every step whispered of last night. She’d scrubbed the evidence from her skin in the shower, but she couldn’t wash away the soreness, the phantom pulse that reminded her of what they’d done.
Her dad was already at the kitchen table, mug in hand, glasses perched low on his nose as he scanned the paper. Elijah sat across from him, broad shoulders relaxed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when Nicole entered. She forced her face neutral, praying the heat in her cheeks didn’t betray her.
“Morning, baby girl,” her dad said warmly. “You sleep okay?”
She nodded, sliding into the seat next to him, careful not to glance too long at the man across the table who had ruined her on her side, whispering filth into her ear hours earlier.
Elijah sipped his coffee slow, eyes flicking up to catch hers over the rim. That look was quiet, deliberate, and it stripped the air out of her lungs. She dropped her gaze, stabbing butter into her toast with more force than necessary.
Her dad folded the paper and looked at Elijah. “Glad you stayed, man. Always good company. You drive safe heading out, alright?”
Elijah leaned back, that easy grin sliding into place like armor. “Always. Appreciate the hospitality.”
Nicole’s dad rose, kissed her temple, and clapped Elijah on the shoulder before heading down the hall to grab his briefcase.
The second his footsteps faded, Elijah’s chair scraped back. “Walk me out?”
Nicole’s heart stuttered. She swallowed her nerves, muttered something about needing air, and followed him out the front door.
The morning was soft and golden, dew still clinging to the grass, the world so deceptively innocent it made her shiver. Elijah’s truck sat in the drive, black paint catching the light, a hushed witness to their night.
At the driver’s side, he turned, crowding her back against the warm metal door. He didn’t touch her—too risky with curtains that could twitch open at any second—but his presence pressed heavy, all six-plus feet of him a reminder of what she’d taken and what he’d given.
“You walkin’ alright?” he asked, voice low, threaded with smug concern.
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying not to smile. “You know damn well I’m sore.”
His teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “Good. Wanted you rememberin’ me every step you take today.”
She exhaled hard, glancing back at the front door. “My dad’s in the kitchen. You can’t—”
He leaned closer, his breath feathering her ear, cutting her off. “Your dad think I’m just his boy sittin’ at the table. He don’t know I had you beggin’ into the pillow. Don’t know I left you dripping all over that guest bed.”
Her knees wobbled. She gripped the edge of his jacket to keep steady. “You’re insane.”
“Insane for you,” he said, no pause, no shame. “Always been.”
The door creaked faintly behind them—her dad clearing his throat inside. Nicole jerked back, pulse spiking. Elijah only chuckled, opening the truck door. He climbed in, started the engine, and let it purr loud enough to cover the tension.
Before pulling off, he leaned out the open window, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not his grin. “Text me when you get home. Want proof you made it safe—and proof you’re thinkin’ about me.”
Her father’s shadow stretched across the porch. Nicole forced her lips into a polite smile, waving as the truck rolled down the street.
But her chest burned with a secret only she and Elijah carried: last night, her dad’s best friend had claimed her in every filthy way—and she wanted more.
May I request DBF Smoke. (Nicole is 28 & Smoke is 38) Smoke has known her father for about 4 years due to business. Smoke and Nicole have a love/hate relationship, because they both act alike. He secretly loves her!
One family dinner and smoke session later. He has her on her side, balls deep, forearm around her neck, and ruined. 🫠
Sorry I’m ovulating, and feeling really SLUTTY I mean Smutty. 🙂
Ruined & Kept
Pairing: Elijah “Smoke” Moore (DBF) x Nicole (OC)
Series: Request
Summary: Nicole has always had a love-hate relationship with her dad’s best friend. They clash, they tease, they push each other’s buttons because they’re too damn alike. What neither of them says out loud? That tension masks something hotter, filthier, and forbidden.
One family dinner, one smoke session, and one stolen night later, Nicole finds herself ruined in ways she’ll never forget. And Elijah? He’s not about to let her forget it.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY (minors DNI) | DBF trope | Praise kink / degradation | Oral (f receiving) | Side position sex | Overstimulation | Risk of being caught | Sneaky morning-after convo | Taboo / forbidden dynamic | Explicit language & filthy detail
Part 2: What Still Burns
Nicole and Elijah Moore had been circling the same fire for years.
It started the first time her father introduced them — business ties, a handshake that carried weight. Elijah was steady, broad-shouldered, and a decade older than her, the kind of man who walked into a room like it already belonged to him. Nicole was twenty-four then, sharp-tongued and just reckless enough to test him. He’d said something slick; she’d fired back twice as hard. The rhythm was born right there: his gravel against her flame, his patience against her bite.
Everyone called it a love-hate thing. “Y’all too much alike,” her mother used to laugh when the two of them started sparring at family gatherings. Nicole would roll her eyes, Elijah would smirk, and the argument would keep rolling. But under every jab was heat, the kind of tension that hummed too close to want.
They were both stubborn. Both loud when they wanted to be, silent when it mattered most. He called her a brat more than once; she called him an old man, always with that grin that left him gritting his teeth. Four years of it—sideways glances, barbed words, long silences that said more than the fight before them.
By the time that dinner rolled around, everyone at the table thought they couldn’t stand each other. Nobody noticed how often his eyes cut her way.
—
The table was too full that night, laughter and chatter bouncing off the dining room walls. Plates passed hand to hand, forks clinking against ceramic. Her father’s voice carried over everyone else’s, talking business with Elijah like the two were brothers. Nicole sat across from him, chin propped in her palm, eyes sliding toward him every time he reached for his glass.
Elijah didn’t look at her—at least, not directly. But she caught him anyway. The flick of his gaze when she licked gravy from her thumb. The muscle in his jaw tightening when she leaned back, legs crossing slow under the table. He smoked after dinner, always did, and she was already thinking about the curl of it between his lips.
It was a dance. Always had been. Tonight, it was just starting its first steps.
The plates clattered down, heavy with food. Nicole stabbed into her greens like they’d done her wrong. Across the table, Elijah lounged back in his chair, wine glass balanced easy in one hand, the picture of calm. Too calm. She hated when he looked like that — like nothing could touch him.
“You always chew that loud?” he drawled suddenly, just loud enough to reach her, not anyone else. His eyes didn’t lift from his plate, but the smirk tugging at his mouth gave him away.
Nicole’s fork froze mid-air. “Better loud than slow as molasses. Thought you’d be halfway through by now, old man.”
A quiet chuckle slipped from him, low and rough. “Ain’t in a rush. Only kids eat like the food gon’ run away.”
She rolled her eyes, sinking her teeth into cornbread like she meant to break it. “Maybe I eat fast ‘cause I don’t waste time pretending to be unbothered.”
This time, he looked up. Their gazes locked across bowls and platters, her fire sparking against his steady heat.
“You bothered, baby girl?” he asked, voice dipping, daring her.
“Only by you,” she shot back, sweet as venom.
Her father cut in with a booming laugh about some story from work, drawing attention back to him. Conversation flowed again, but Nicole and Elijah stayed locked. A small lift of his brow. Her slow, deliberate sip of sweet tea. Every move was chess, every breath part of the game.
When she finally leaned back, her leg brushed the table leg hard enough to make the silverware rattle. Elijah’s eyes dropped, just for a second, before flicking back to hers.
“You clumsy,” he muttered, smirk sharpening.
She tilted her head, lips curving. “And you nosy.”
It was nothing. It was everything.
Dinner rolled on, laughter, drinks, the easy rhythm of family. But beneath it, the air between them thickened, thread by thread.
Nicole told a story about her friend from work, everyone laughing, but she kept sneaking glances at him, watching his hand curl around the glass, the way the light caught the veins in his wrist. Elijah leaned back, listening to her father talk business, but his attention kept sliding sideways. Every time she smiled, something in his jaw ticked.
No one else noticed. But for the two of them, the table might as well have been empty.
Dinner stretched on in waves — plates scraped clean, voices rising, laughter threading around the long table like smoke curling to the ceiling. Nicole sat with her wine glass in hand, feigning interest in whatever story her father was telling. Her smile stayed polite, but her eyes — sharp, defiant — stayed locked across the table.
On the other end, Elijah leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. One arm rested easy along the chair’s edge, his rings catching the warm light. His gaze was steady, fixed right on her like he could read every thought she didn’t say out loud.
And maybe he could.
“So, Elijah,” Nicole said suddenly, her voice sweet but sharp as a blade wrapped in silk. “How’s business? Still spending more time talking than working?”
Her father chuckled, shaking his head. “Nicole. Don’t go pokin’ the bear. You know he always gets the last word.”
Elijah lifted his glass, slow, deliberate, eyes still pinned on hers. “That’s ‘cause I don’t waste words.” He took a sip, then let the rim of the glass hover against his lip, the faintest smirk ghosting there. “Some people just can’t handle them.”
Her fork tapped the edge of her plate, her smile widening. “Or maybe they can’t handle the attitude.”
The back-and-forth was nothing new. They sparred every time they shared a room, fire and flint, sparking until one of them gave in. Tonight, though, Nicole felt something coil tighter inside her — a sharper heat.
She shifted in her chair, letting her heel slip free from the strap of her shoe. The movement was quiet, hidden beneath the clatter of cutlery and conversation. She slid her bare foot forward under the long table, slow, until her toes brushed against the cuff of his tailored pants.
Elijah didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sipped his wine like nothing had changed, though his jaw twitched once, betraying him.
Nicole pressed a little higher, tracing her foot up his shin. Her lips curved as she leaned back in her chair, tilting her glass toward her mouth. “Don’t choke,” she murmured, the words wrapped in a smile her father mistook as politeness.
Elijah’s eyes narrowed, that dark flash sparking in their depths. He lowered the glass with a soft clink against the table, then set both elbows down, leaning forward. His voice dropped, low enough to disappear into the noise of her father’s laughter.
“You’re gonna regret that,” he said.
Her toes slid higher, teasing along the muscle of his thigh. “Maybe I like regret.”
Her father looked between them, oblivious, still chuckling about the story he was telling. “What’s funny?” he asked when he caught Nicole’s grin.
“Nothing,” she answered quickly, her eyes locked on Elijah’s. “Just enjoying myself.”
Elijah let out a quiet laugh — low, dangerous, like he already knew how the night was going to end. His hand shifted under the table, not to stop her, but to catch her ankle in a firm grip. A warning disguised as restraint.
The squeeze said it all:
Keep playing, and I’ll make you pay later.
The rest of dinner happened in slow, looping waves—conversation rising and falling like warm tide, silverware clicking against porcelain, a chorus of easy laughter that should’ve softened the room and didn’t. Nicole kept her smile polished, chiming in when her father’s business partners dragged the talk toward new contracts and old grudges, but her attention never truly left the opposite end of the table. Every time she dared another swipe of her foot along Elijah’s shin, she felt the small, deliberate flex in his jaw, the measured sip of wine that meant he’d clocked her move and filed it away under later.
He didn’t let her forget it, either. Not with words—he barely spoke to her after that—but with the weight of his gaze whenever the laughter swelled loud enough to cover it. It was a touch all its own, a steady hand on the back of her neck from across polished wood and linen, saying I feel you acting up. I’m not gonna save you from what that earns.
By dessert, she’d slid her heel back on and tucked both feet primly beneath her chair like nothing had happened. It didn’t matter. The damage was done; the table felt smaller, the lights hotter, the air choked with unsaid things. When her father made a toast—something about good work and better friends—glasses lifted and clinked, and Nicole heard her own voice join the chorus while her pulse beat low and insistent, answering another rhythm that wasn’t the room’s.
Chairs scraped. Goodbyes layered the air. Men clapped Elijah on the shoulder, promising to call; women hugged Nicole, promised to set her up with somebody’s perfectly decent son. The house shifted from loud to quiet in pieces, and when the door finally shut behind the last guest, the silence that landed didn’t feel empty. It felt like a held breath.
Nicole carried plates to the kitchen because it gave her hands something to do. Steam curled up from the sink, wine stains bled into soapy water, the familiar domestic hum trying—and failing—to drown out the other hum in her blood. She rinsed and stacked, and still felt his gaze before she heard his steps.
“You gon’ leave all that for me?” her father called from the den, already settling into the comfort of his recliner and a game he’d pretend he wasn’t about to fall asleep on.
Nicole dried her hands on a towel and leaned into the doorway, smile easy. “I got the kitchen, Daddy. It’s your housewarming party part two.”
He waved her off, content. The TV volume went up a notch; the sound of a crowd roared through the walls. Nicole turned back to the sink and found Elijah in the reflection of the window, set back in the shadows just enough to make the chandelier glint off the edges of him—watchband, belt buckle, the silver on his fingers.
“I’ll take the trash out,” he said, voice low and steady, not looking away from her reflection. “Then I’m gettin’ some air.”
“Congratulations,” she said lightly, turning the faucet off. “Heroic.”
“Somethin’ like that.”
He picked up the tied trash bag with one hand, door whispering open, screen nudging after. The night rushed in—warm, crickety, thick with Florida’s late heat. Nicole counted to ten just to prove to herself that she could, that she had a choice, that what happened next would be fully hers. Then she wiped her hands one more time, smoothed the line of her dress like a woman who didn’t need to, and followed the path he’d left open.
The backyard had been dressed for company earlier—string lights draped in soft swags, citronella candles shouldering little halos, the patio table still littered with a few abandoned glasses. Now that it was quiet, the lights felt like stars bent low, listening. The grass held the day’s warmth; the air held the day’s whispers. Elijah stood at the edge of the patio near the old live oak, shoulders angled toward the dark yard, lighter in his hand and a thin roll-up resting behind his ear like a promise.
Nicole let the screen door fall soft behind her. It clicked anyway, and Elijah glanced back. That single flick of attention warmed her more than the summer night.
“You lost?” he asked.
“Found what I was looking for,” she said, matching his calm.
His mouth twitched. He took the joint from behind his ear, thumb rolled the filter, forefinger flicked the lighter. Flame licked, paper glowed, and smoke unfurled in a slow ribbon that caught the string lights and turned them a little hazy. He took the first pull like a man who knew how to savor, then held the smoke a beat too long, like a man who knew exactly who was watching.
She stepped closer. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to count the gold flecks in his eyes. “You gonna share or you just out here flexing breath control?”
He exhaled on a laugh, passing it to her between his first two fingers. His rings were cool against the back of her knuckles when she took it, his hand steady as a metronome while the heat at the tip traveled. Their fingers stayed there, overlapped, a half-second longer than manners would allow.
“Don’t test my patience,” he said, so quiet it barely disturbed the smoke.
“Maybe I like tests.” She drew in slow, felt the burn and softness hit her chest at the same time, held it till her eyes watered just a little. When she passed it back, she let her nail graze his palm. It was petty. It felt like victory anyway.
“You stay with the little games, huh?” He brought the tip to his mouth, eyes on hers the whole time. “Got all the jokes in front of folks. Feet busy under the table. Think I ain’t notice?”
Her face didn’t betray it. Her pulse did. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, calm as glass.
He stepped a half-shade closer. Not enough to be obvious if someone glanced through the den window. More than enough for her to smell him—cedar, a cut of bourbon he hadn’t even poured, the cologne she knew he used too sparingly on purpose. The smoke ribboned between them—sweet, slow, a curtain they kept passing through with every breath.
“You think I don’t see it?” he asked, passing the joint back; his fingertips brushed the center of her palm this time, drawing a small, involuntary shiver from her wrist to her throat. “How you look at me when you think I ain’t watchin’.”
Nicole let the smoke sit in her mouth before she took it down. It gave her time to tilt her head, to let her eyes go sleepy-cool. “Bold of you to assume I think about you at all.”
“Bold of you to stand here when you could be inside.” He leaned in the last inch to shield the cherry from the breeze, and the heat of him lapped at the shell of her ear. “You could’ve left me out here alone.”
“That why you came?” she countered, flicking ash into the tray on the patio table. “To be alone?”
He made a soft, amused sound. “Nah. I came for quiet.”
“And you want me to leave you to it?”
“I want you to stop pretendin’.” His hand lifted as if to reach for the lighter in her other palm; instead, his fingers brushed the heel of her hand, slow, then closed around the metal. The contact was nothing and everything—wrist to wrist, pulse to pulse, a handshake that told the truth with no witness but the night. He didn’t take the lighter yet. Neither of them moved.
From the den, her father laughed at something on TV, a broad burst of noise that rolled through the open window and died out here beneath the oak as if the yard refused to host it. Crickets took the space back. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked once and thought better of it.
Nicole dragged again, softer. When she passed it back, their hands didn’t part fast enough. His thumb brushed over the ridge of her knuckles, slow as an apology he’d never say out loud. Static jumped her skin; heat followed. She swallowed it like a secret.
“You gon’ keep acting brand-new?” he asked, the words warmer than the air. “After the little stunt under the table?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Got long legs. Tables are small.”
He smiled with his eyes more than his mouth, a flash of approval that felt like a hand at the small of her back. “Mm. You bold in the wrong rooms.”
“Maybe I wanted to see if you could sit still.”
“I’m sittin’,” he said. “For now.”
The joint burned lower; the smoke thickened. She should’ve stepped back. He should’ve let her. Instead, they hovered in the pocket they’d made—half-lit, half-wild, the kind of charged quiet where people say things they can’t walk back from.
“You stay talkin’ to me like I don’t know you,” he murmured finally. “But I see you when you not lookin’. I see you at these dinners, bored out your mind. I see you gettin’ smart ‘cause you scared to be sweet.” The smoke curled from his mouth, kissed her collarbone before the breeze stole it. “And I see the part you swear ain’t there.”
“You full of yourself,” she said lightly. It sounded thin to her own ears.
His smile cut precise. “Maybe. And maybe I’m just right.”
Their fingers met again when she reached for the lighter this time. He didn’t let go. For a second that stretched, they just held it together—the little metal thing suddenly a hinge, a leverage point, an excuse. Her skin went electric where his thumb pressed. Her body betrayed her with the smallest sway forward, a magnet seeking its twin. The breath she took wasn’t quite steady.
She laughed, quick and airy, trying to shake it off. “You always like this when the night gets humid?”
“Only when you walk out into it,” he said.
She meant to fire something back and found nothing loaded. The quiet wrapped them. She took one last pull to kill the cherry, crushed it gentle in the tray, and when she straightened, his eyes were exactly where they’d been all night—on her mouth, then her throat, then her mouth again. The look didn’t ask. It promised.
She broke it with a shake of her head and a soft, reckless grin. “You need to relax.”
He tipped his chin toward the dark yard, toward the quiet that had swallowed the house. “Thought that’s what we were doin’.”
“Mm.” She set the lighter down, but her hand didn’t leave the table. Not yet. “We’ll see if you got manners.”
“Manners?” he echoed, amused. “You tryin’ to test me again?”
“Maybe,” she said, and her body did what it had done at the table—told on her, pulse rising where his gaze could see it.
He noticed. Of course he did. “Keep laughin’,” he warned softly, eyes low and steady. “See what you earn.”
She held his stare, let the warning fall over her like warm rain, and smiled like a woman who already knew she wouldn’t run.
And when his knuckles brushed hers one more time—“by accident,” neither of them believing it—their hands didn’t pull away fast enough.
The walk back inside was quiet in steps but loud in pulse. Nicole kept her arms folded, not because she was cold but because she needed something to do with her hands. Elijah’s stride matched hers—measured, easy—but she could feel the heat rolling off him, the same heat that had followed her all through dinner, through smoke drifting in the backyard, through the brush of his thumb over her knuckles.
The door shut behind them with a soft click, and the shift was immediate—the hush of a house winding down for the night. The TV was off. Only the hallway lamp glowed faint in gold, throwing a warm shadow across the foyer. Her father’s voice cut through it, deep and relaxed as he moved toward the staircase.
“Goodnight, baby girl.” He kissed Nicole’s cheek, already half turned toward the steps. “Elijah, you know you welcome to stay the night. Guestroom’s there if you want it. Nicole, set it up for him, alright?”
Nicole’s throat bobbed, caught between protest and pretense. Elijah answered first, smooth and sure. “Appreciate it. I’ll take you up on that.”
Her father nodded, gave them both a smile that trusted too much, then disappeared up the stairs, each heavy footstep creaking against the wood until the last one faded into bedroom quiet.
Silence stretched in the wake. The house settled. Nicole’s pulse didn’t.
She turned toward the kitchen, needing distance, and found Elijah already leaning against the counter, watching her like the last two hours had been foreplay for this exact second.
“What?” she asked, sharper than she meant.
“You really gon’ keep pretendin’?” His voice was low, roughened silk. “Act like you ain’t been on me all night?”
“I wasn’t on you,” she snapped, moving past him to reach for a glass. Her hand shook just enough to clink it against the faucet handle. “You’re full of yourself.”
He pushed off the counter. The sound of his footsteps crossing tile made her chest tighten. “Nah. I’m full of patience. Been sittin’ on it while you out here playin’ games.”
Nicole turned, glass half full, and nearly spilled it when his body closed the space between them. The kitchen light painted his face in gold and shadow, jaw tight, eyes locked on hers like she was prey cornered and too stubborn to admit it.
“Say you don’t want me to touch you,” he said, breath brushing her cheek. “Go ahead.”
Her lips parted, the words stuck behind them. Silence was all the permission he needed.
The kiss hit hard. Filthy, teeth catching lips, mouths dragging open like they’d both been starving too long. The glass slipped from her hand, thunked against the counter without shattering, forgotten the second his palm bracketed her hip and dragged her flush.
She gasped into him, tried to push, ended up clutching. His tongue slid against hers, hot, tasting like smoke and bourbon and danger. Her back pressed into the counter’s edge; his thigh wedged between hers, thick and unyielding. The friction made her bite down on his lip, and he groaned like she’d just given him everything he’d been waiting for.
“You got a smart mouth,” he muttered against her jaw, dragging his lips down to her throat. “But right now, it’s just beggin’ me to use it.”
Her hands fisted in his shirt. “You think you’re the only one wantin’ this?”
“I know I’m the only one gonna have you like this.” His hand slid up her thigh, fingers pushing her dress higher, higher, until the hem bunched at her waist. Calloused fingertips skimmed the damp edge of her panties, and she jolted, breath sharp.
The creak of floorboards upstairs froze them both. Her father’s steps—slow, careful—crossed from one room to the other. Nicole held her breath, nails digging crescents into Elijah’s shoulder.
He didn’t stop. His finger hooked the band of her panties, tugged it aside just enough, the pad of his finger dragging through her slick folds like he was taking inventory. His mouth brushed her ear, whisper-dark and devastating:
“Keep quiet, baby.”
Her knees buckled, caught on his thigh, his hand holding her steady as he teased her entrance with the bare edge of his finger. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, but her body betrayed her, hips rocking into his touch, pulse thrumming like it wanted to give them both away.
The footsteps upstairs stopped. A door clicked shut.
Nicole exhaled shakily, and Elijah grinned against her neck, sliding his finger deeper with a slow, claiming push. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now let me ruin you quietly.”
The kitchen lights were low, only the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of the house settling upstairs breaking the silence. Elijah sat Nicole on the counter, her thighs pressed together in a nervous lock, though her smirk said otherwise. Elijah stepped between her knees like he’d been there a thousand times before, his big frame eating up the space.
“Spread ‘em,” he rasped, already tugging at the hem of her dress.
Her lips parted, ready to shoot something smart back, but the look in his eyes snatched the words right out of her throat. That dangerous mix of hunger and authority. She held his stare, slow as sin, and slid her thighs open.
His hand hooked into the lace at her hips, yanking her panties down like they offended him. He didn’t fold them, didn’t set them aside gentle — he tore them down her legs and let them drop on the tile. Nicole gasped when the cool air hit her bare skin, when the counter pressed cold under the swell of her ass.
“Look at you,” he muttered, spreading her knees wider until she was dripping open for him. “Talk all that shit to me across the table, but the second I touch you? Pussy wetter than the faucet.”
She rolled her eyes, but her chest lifted sharp with her breath. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Elijah’s grin was slow, dangerous. “Ain’t gotta. I can smell it.”
Then he buried his face in her. No warning, no tease — just his mouth wide, tongue flat, nose pressed into the heat of her. Nicole slapped a hand against the counter, the other gripping his head instinctively.
“Oh—fuck!” It ripped out of her before she could swallow it down.
He groaned into her, the sound vibrating against her clit, sloppy and greedy. He wasn’t trying to be pretty about it; he was trying to ruin her. His tongue dragged up and down her slit, then circled her clit, then shoved inside her, fucking her with his mouth like he hated the space between them.
Her head fell back against the cabinet, teeth digging into her lip to keep quiet. But it was no use — every time his tongue curled inside her, every time his beard scraped the inside of her thighs, a sound clawed out of her chest.
“Keep it down,” he muttered against her pussy, not lifting his mouth. “Don’t want Daddy comin’ down here, seein’ me eatin’ his daughter like my last meal.”
Her thighs trembled. The filth in his tone made her wetter, dripping down his chin. “You’re—fucking insane,” she gasped.
“And you love it.” His tongue flattened again, relentless, his hand sliding up to pin her belly down so she couldn’t squirm away. He licked her like he had something to prove — dragging every slick sound out into the air until it coated the room thicker than the smoke they’d shared outside.
Her body betrayed her, hips rolling up to meet every stroke of his tongue. He lapped her like he wanted to drink her dry, groaning every time she spilled more. His forearm curled around her thigh, locking her open.
“You taste like trouble,” he murmured, then sucked her clit so hard her whole spine arched. “Sweet, messy trouble.”
Nicole’s nails raked his scalp. She tried to push him back, only for him to growl and shove deeper, tongue fucking her so hard she felt the muscles in her stomach seize.
“Elijah—fuck, wait—”
“Mm-mm,” he cut her off, mouth glued to her. “You gon’ cum on my tongue. Right here, right now. Don’t fight it.”
Her body had no choice but to obey. Her thighs snapped shut around his head as the orgasm tore through her, hot and wet. She tried to choke it back, but her moans spilled, high and broken, the kind that carried even in a quiet house.
Elijah didn’t stop. He licked her through it, groaning like he was addicted, tongue dragging every drop from her until she sagged against the cabinet, limp and shaking.
When he finally pulled back, his beard was soaked, his lips glistening. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, then smirked up at her with dangerous satisfaction.
The air in the kitchen still smelled like her — sharp, sweet, musky — clinging to Elijah’s beard and dripping down his chin. Nicole’s chest heaved, sweat clinging to her collarbones. She thought he’d stop there, thought the risk of someone coming down the stairs would cool him off.
But the way he looked at her said otherwise.
He stepped in tighter, pressing his body between her open thighs until the rough fabric of his pants rubbed against her slickness. His hand slid up her spine, dragging her forward into him. He didn’t kiss her right away — he just stared, his lips wet, beard shiny from her. Then he tilted his head, voice a low rasp.
“You really think I can taste you like that and not fuck you?”
Her stomach flipped. Her hands pressed to his chest, meant to hold him back, but instead they curled into his shirt like she couldn’t let go. “My dad—”
“Asleep.” Elijah’s hand moved lower, gripping the meat of her thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the heat between her legs. “Only one I hear breathin’ right now is you.”
He kissed her then, filthy and unrestrained, his tongue shoving deep into her mouth like he wanted to own her from the inside out. She gasped against him, muffling the sound into his lips as he lifted her higher onto the counter. The scrape of his beard burned delicious against her skin as his mouth dragged down her neck, teeth catching her pulse.
“Quiet now,” he muttered, voice hot against her throat. “Don’t need him coming down here, interrupting us.”
Her body clenched at that — betrayal and thrill spiking together.
Then his pants came down. He didn’t bother with finesse, just shoved them to his thighs, his dick springing out heavy and throbbing. He pressed the swollen tip against her soaked slit, dragging slowly up and down, smearing her all over him. The sound alone was obscene.
Nicole gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles ached. “Elijah—”
“Say it right.” His eyes pinned her in place. “Say Smoke.”
Her lips parted, a whisper breaking free. “…Smoke.”
That was all it took. He thrust forward, burying himself inside her in one brutal stroke that made her back slam against the cabinet. She choked on the moan, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.
“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes screwing shut. “Tight as a fist. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy right here on Daddy’s counter.”
He set the pace, slow at first, dragging out the stretch, savoring the way she clenched around him. Each withdrawal was torture, his dick sliding wet and heavy against her walls, only to slam back in deeper, harder. Her thighs shook, spreading wider to take him.
The slap of skin on skin echoed in the kitchen. The fridge hummed, the clock ticked, but all she could hear was the filthy wet sounds of him fucking into her and his low groans against her ear.
“You feel that?” Smoke pressed his forearm across her chest, pinning her to the cabinet, while his other hand gripped her hip. “Every inch sittin’ inside you.”
Her head rolled back, hitting the cabinet. She tried to breathe quiet, tried to hold the sounds in, but every thrust knocked another moan out of her.
Then a sound froze them both.
A floorboard creaked again upstairs.
They went still, her legs still wrapped around his waist, his dick buried to the hilt. Sweat rolled down her temple as she listened. Another shift, then silence.
Nicole’s heart slammed against her ribs. “We—”
“Shhh.” Smoke’s lips brushed her ear, his voice pure grit. “Stay still, baby.”
He gave one slow thrust, just to hear her choke down a whimper. His smirk was lethal. “See? Can’t even keep quiet. You need to get fucked where it’s safe before you get us both caught.”
Her body trembled when he slid out of her, her cunt clenching on emptiness. He yanked his pants up just enough to cover himself, then leaned close to kiss her — quick, filthy, sealing the taste of her moans on his tongue.
“Guest room,” he whispered, voice sharp with command. “Now.”
He lifted her off the counter, her legs still weak, panties left abandoned on the tile. She scrambled to grab them and the hem of her dress, tugging it down as best she could, her thighs sticky with him. He gripped her wrist and led her out of the kitchen.
The hallway creaked under their weight. The house felt cavernous in the dark, every step amplified, the risk sharpening every nerve. Nicole bit her lip, the adrenaline of being caught making her wetter, dripping down her legs as they climbed the stairs. Smoke’s hand never left her wrist, dragging her like she belonged to him.
The guestroom door shut with a soft click that felt louder than a gunshot in a sleeping house. A hush settled—thin, trembling, almost sacred. Nicole’s back met the wood for a heartbeat, breath catching high in her throat, and Smoke was right there, big body closing the distance like gravity had decided they belonged in the same shape.
He didn’t rush her. He pressed in slow, one palm spreading firm over the side of her neck, not choking—just claiming the real estate—his thumb skimming her pulse like a promise. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was the kind that eats the air, a dark tangle of tongue and teeth that said every second they’d held it together at the table had only wound them tighter. She chased his mouth as he dragged it away, a soft hungry sound caught between them.
“Bed” he rasped, voice rough from smoke and want, “now.”
She didn’t trust her voice. She nodded, fingers already fisting in the front of his tee, walking backward with him crowding every step, the world narrowing to the heat of him, the press of his thighs, the rough drag of denim at her hips when his leg slid between them. Her calves met the mattress, and the bed sighed under her weight as she sat, then lay back. The ceiling fan threw slow shadows over the ceiling, the moon through the half-closed blinds lined him in silver as he stood at the edge, looking down at her like a man who’d worked for something and finally had it in his hands.
They’d already stripped half their decency in the kitchen—her panties gone, the sweet, ruined ache of his mouth still humming between her legs; his pants unbuttoned, zipper eased, control frayed. Here, he took his time because time was cruel, and he liked the cruelty when it served him.
He came down over her on his forearms, body heavy but precise, settling his weight along hers so their chests met. The first contact was a low shock—her nipples brushing his tee, the warmth of his breath at her cheek, the scrape of his stubble on her jaw—then his mouth was on her again, deeper, wetter. She arched up into him like a reflex. He swallowed the little sound she made.
“Open,” he said, not a question. She opened.
His hands skimmed down, big palms mapping her ribcage like he’d been memorizing her by touch for years. He lifted, just enough to peel his tee up, baring thick shoulders, roped forearms, that deep cut line that ran to his waistband. The shirt dropped to the floor without him looking. Nicole’s fingers shook as they traced the planes of his chest, the heat, the ridiculous solidity. He caught one wrist and kissed the inside of it, then planted her hand above her head on the pillow, spread, as if he was framing her for the room to see.
“Dress,” he murmured.
She reached for the side zip; he batted her hand away, a flicker of a smirk in the dark. “I got it.”
He rolled the dress up from her thighs slow—no hurry, no mercy—dragging it high enough that cool air kissed skin his mouth would heat next. He paused at her belly and lowered his face, breathing her in, the barest scrape of teeth at the soft curve had her hips twitching. When he reached the neckline, he sat back on his heels and took the whole thing in one confident pull, the fabric whispering over her shoulders and head, leaving her bare beneath him, sprawled and trembling and already slick from the kitchen sins.
“Look at you,” he said, voice a satisfied drag. “Messy already.”
He bent to her breasts like a man saying grace—palms cupping them heavy, thumbs pressing her peaks until she gasped, then his mouth sealed around one, dark and hungry. He sucked until her back arched off the bed, then licked slow circles to cool the sting. His free hand slid down, down, knuckles grazing the downy trail of her lower belly until he found heat—slick, swollen, pulsing under his touch. He didn’t enter. He teased with two fingers, slow strokes through the wet, spreading it, marking her thighs with it.
“Thought about this all goddamn dinner,” he said against her skin, breath hot, words burning. “You, tryin’ to stare me down while soakin’ for me. You think I ain’t feel that? Thought I couldn’t smell you?”
Her breath hitched. “Elijah—”
He kissed the corner of her mouth to swallow her name, then shushed her with a drag of thumb over her lower lip. “Hush. Keep that sweet little mouth for later.”
He stood, and the bed gave a small protesting creak at the loss of his weight. He shoved his pants down his thighs, the denim catching at the thick line of him. His dick sprang free—heavy, dark, the blunt head wet and gleaming in the low light. She sucked in air like a drowning thing. He smirked at the way her eyes fixed, at the way her thighs pressed together without her permission.
“Spread,” he said.
She did. He climbed back in, bracketing her hips with his knees, and leaned forward until the heat of him lay against her slit, sliding lazy, painting her with pre-come, letting her feel how hard he was, how serious and unhurried and inevitable this was. She rolled her hips for more. He pulled back and denied it. She swore under her breath; he grinned.
“Beg.”
She stared up at him, chin tilted, fire and defiance and hunger all tangled in her face. She didn’t beg. Not in words. She arched, tilted her pelvis just so, and offered slick, open heat to the head of him, a wordless plea his body read just fine. The smile he gave her said that would do.
He lowered, hands under her knees, folding her open, the thick head catching and parting her, pressure building, then—slow, careful, lethal—he pushed in. Inch by claiming inch, he watched her mouth fall open, watched her scramble for a grip on his shoulders, watched her eyes glaze as the stretch lit every nerve in a slow burn. He exhaled a cuss when he bottomed out, hips flush to her, balls snug to the wet. He stayed there, buried, feeling the tight rhythmic squeeze around him.
“Goddamn,” he breathed, forehead dropping to hers. “That’s a grip.”
Her nails bit his back. “Move.”
“Imma move when I’m ready,” he said, and kissed her soft for exactly one second, like he wanted to prove he could. Then he levered up, braced, and finally gave her what she asked for—long, devastating strokes that dragged his length out almost to the tip and slammed back in, punching little gasps out of her, shaking the bed frame against the wall in a rhythm that felt dangerous in a quiet house.
She tried to say his name again; it came out a broken whine. He answered with a low noise in his chest, a rumble of satisfaction, and upped the tempo a hair—still not reckless, not yet, but enough that she couldn’t catch up to the pleasure. Enough that her thighs trembled and her voice kept dissolving.
He kissed her open mouth, swallowed the noise, and then broke the kiss with a ragged inhale. “Turn,” he said.
He didn’t make her do the work. He took her by the hip and shoulder and rolled her like a page in a book, keeping himself inside her, the twist smooth and controlled, his body following in one continuous pivot until her cheek was on the pillow and his broad chest was at her back. He hooked her top knee over his thigh and slid his arm around her throat—not crushing, but firm and absolute—his forearm a bar that anchored and owned. The other hand palmed her lower belly, fingers splaying over the soft there, claiming more territory.
Then he drove.
The angle hit a place that made her see stars—deep, relentless, unarguable. He fucked her balls-deep, every thrust a full-body decision, hips slamming into the round of her ass so hard the headboard ticked the wall in warning. She grabbed at the sheets and then at his forearm at her throat, not to pry it away but to hold it there, to meet the pressure with trust and heat.
“Breathe,” he murmured, voice a rasp against her ear. “I got you.”
She pulled in air when he let her, floated there, then he tightened a hair and the world went bright at the edges. Nothing existed but the wet-slick slide, the thick insistence of him filling her over and over, the anchored hold at her throat that made her feel contained and flung wide at once.
“Talk that shit now,” he gritted, thrusts getting meaner, the line of his body carved with effort. “All that mouth at dinner—where it go? Huh?”
A sound tore out of her, half-laugh, half-cry. “Shut up and—”
He snapped his hips so hard the end of the sentence collapsed into a raw moan. He laughed once, dark and pleased. “Exactly.”
His hand slid from her belly to between her thighs, fingers finding her clit slick and swollen. He circled once, twice, merciless, in time with the thrusts. Her entire body jolted; she bit the pillow and then bit air because biting wasn’t enough.
“Keep it quiet,” he warned, and then sabotaged the warning by pushing her closer to a place that made silence impossible.
The house answered like a sleeping thing—floor settling somewhere far away, the groan of old wood, the ghost of a pipe ticking, then quiet again. The fear threaded the lust and made it brighter. She rocked back to meet him, the wet clap of skin on skin obscene in the hush, and he growled a praise that melted into a curse.
“That’s it. Throw it back. Let me see you work for it.”
She did. She met him, angle for angle, stroke for stroke, and when she almost got ahead of him—when she tried to take control in that thin space—he locked both of their bodies down with that forearm and made a new, ruinous rhythm that had nothing to do with mercy. He shoved her up the bed, chased her, shoved again, chased again, until the sheet bunched under her and her hair stuck to her cheek in damp curls.
“Tell me,” he said, low and dangerous. “Tell me what I’m doin’ to you.”
She tried. It came out in tatters. “You— you’re… deep—”
“Deeper than that,” he corrected, and ground in a circle that lit her nerves like struck matches. “Say it.”
“Ruining me,” she gasped, voice breaking on the word. “You’re—ruining—”
“Good girl,” he said, and everything he put behind the praise wrecked her as much as the thrusts did.
She shattered on his hand, on his dick, on the pressure at her throat, the orgasm ripping through her in a series of helpless clamps that dragged a rough groan out of him. He didn’t stop. He worked her through it, rode her tremors until they blurred into a second wave, wetter and sloppier, her thighs shaking, her cries swallowed by his palm when he covered her mouth for a few brutal strokes to save them both from the house hearing the truth.
“Uh-uh,” he soothed when she writhed, overstimulated. “You asked for me. Take all of me.”
She didn’t remember asking with words. She’d been asking with months of fight. Her body answered anyway, answering yes, yes, yes on a loop while he dragged her past sweet into ragged.
Sweat slicked their skin, a salt sheen under the cool fan-breeze. His forearm at her throat was a brand now, his breath a harsh music at her ear, and his hips a steady machine, each drive bottoming out, the blunt head of his dick kissing a place that made her toes curl hard enough to cramp.
“Quiet,” he reminded when her voice cracked louder. He pressed his mouth at the hinge of her jaw, teeth grazing, and whispered filth that made her wetter. “Feel how you got me? Drippin’ all over me, squeezin’ like you tryna keep me. Drownin’ me, baby.”
She didn’t have language anymore. She had the rhythm. She had the ache. She had the way he owned the pace until she forgot there’d ever been any other. He slowed for three strokes, let her think relief was coming, then gave her five savage, deep drives that knocked her back to the edge. She cried out into his forearm and he smiled into her hair like a sinner satisfied at church.
“She mine,” he told the dark, as if the room needed a record. “Ain’t nobody else puttin’ her to bed like this.”
Another wave built. She felt it like a pull low in her belly, a bright thread winding tight. He felt it too; his fingers on her clit changed from circles to a steady drag that matched the thrusts, perfect and evil. The layered sensation—pressure at her throat, hand on her, dick deep—stacked until it broke her open again, harder than before, so hard she forgot the risk and said his name too loud.
He covered her mouth with his palm, breath stuttering. “That’s it,” he hissed. “Give it to me.”
She came with a tremor that wracked her from shoulder to ankle. The clench dragged his groan from somewhere animal; his hips stuttered. He chased it, swore, lost his rhythm, found it, lost it again. He was close—she could feel the tell: the way his thighs went iron, the way his breath went wild and ugly like he didn’t want to plead but might.
“Where you want it?” he grated, forearm easing enough to let her speak, the question a courtesy he might ignore.
“Inside,” she breathed, no hesitation. “Inside me.”
A sound tore out of him—half surrender, half victory. His hand left her mouth and slid up to hold her jaw, turning her face so he could take her mouth again as he chased the end. The kiss was messy, teeth and tongue and gasp. He broke it with a curse, slammed deep once, twice, three times, then locked there, buried all the way in, grinding like he could carve himself into her. Heat flooded, thick pulses emptying into her, a groan breaking loose from his chest that she swallowed like a prayer.
He didn’t pull out. Not immediately. He held her there, forearm easing from her throat to her collarbones, pressing her down with the weight of him, keeping every drop where he’d put it. The room spun slowly back into focus around their panting.
“Don’t move,” he said, more devotion than order now.
She didn’t. She lay in the heat of it, his sweat on her neck, his heartbeat pounding against her shoulder blade, spread and owned and too gone to pretend otherwise. The fan thumped a lazy beat. Somewhere in the house, a pipe ticked again. The silence hummed with the fact of them.
When he finally slid out, it was a slow retreat, a filthy slick sound that made them both hiss. His spend followed, warm spill on her thigh and the sheets. He caught it with his fingers on reflex, pressed two into her to push it back, not ready to give up the claim. She jerked; the overstimulation shocked through her nerves, a little whimper punching out. He murmured something low and fond and indecent at once, and eased his hand away.
The bed smelled like sex and heat and the kind of trouble that rewrites a life.
He rolled, gathering her to his chest, hauling her flat on her back, then tipped her easily to face him. Big palms framed her face, thumbs sweeping damp hair from her cheekbones. Up close like this, he was all dark eyes and thick lashes and satisfaction he didn’t bother to hide.
“You good?” he asked, low, the gravel gentled.
She nodded, throat tight, breath finally slowing. “Mhm.”
“Color?”
She breathed a laugh—small, grateful. “Green.”
“Yeah.” He kissed her forehead, then each cheek, then her mouth, soft this time, not devouring, more like sealing something they both knew had shifted. “Knew you could take it. Knew you needed it.”
She swallowed. The praise warmed places that had nothing to do with sex. “You’re impossible,” she whispered, but the words carried no fight.
“Mm. And you mouthy.” He brushed a knuckle over the faint sweep his forearm had left at her throat, not bruises yet, just the ghost of pressure. “Beautiful, though.”
He slid from the bed with a reluctant hiss at the loss of heat, padded to the adjoining bathroom. The faucet whispered to life; the dim glow of the vanity lit the doorway. He returned with a warm, damp towel and a glass of water. He cleaned her slow, careful, no rush now, cupping her knee, opening her with his palm to wipe the mess from her thighs, between, the sheet getting darker and darker under each pass. She watched him do it, watched his face soften in these quiet rituals that should have been nothing but felt like vows.
“Gimme your neck,” he said. When she tilted her chin, he pressed kisses to the tender skin, reverent, then rubbed a thumb over it like he was smoothing the memory into place.
“Big talker,” she murmured, teasing thin as breath. “Big… doer.”
He huffed a laugh that felt like a hand smoothing a sheet. “Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish. House asleep don’t mean I am.”
She snorted and winced when the movement tugged at muscle he’d worked mercilessly; he smirked like he’d felt it too. He dropped the towel, climbed back in, and gathered her under his arm, her head tucked under his chin, one leg flung over his thigh like she belonged there. His palm made lazy passes down her spine, the weight of it grounding.
For a long minute they said nothing. The night held.
Then, soft enough the darkness felt like it had to lean in to hear it, he murmured, “You drove me crazy tonight. Foot on me at that table. You know what that did?”
Her smile was a slow thing he felt against his chest. “Knew exactly.”
He kissed her hair. “Yeah. You did.”
A floorboard far down the hall whispered—the house turning over in sleep. They stilled, listening. Nothing followed. He exhaled, tucked her closer, and pressed one last kiss to the hinge of her jaw.
“Gon’ be sore,” he said, not sorry at all. “Gon’ think about me tomorrow every time you move.”
She hummed, a satisfied little sound. “Already do.”
“Good,” he said, and turned off the last stray thought with the steady weight of his arm. “That’s what I wanted.”
The fan kept its quiet spin. The moon moved a fraction across the blinds, laying new silver stripes over the wrecked bed. In the hush, the claim settled—not a word, but a fact—and the rest of the house never knew a thing.
The house smelled like coffee and butter toast by the time Nicole padded down the hall. Her body ached deliciously—deep in her thighs, at the back of her throat where his forearm had pressed, in the stretch of her hips that still hummed with him. Every step whispered of last night. She’d scrubbed the evidence from her skin in the shower, but she couldn’t wash away the soreness, the phantom pulse that reminded her of what they’d done.
Her dad was already at the kitchen table, mug in hand, glasses perched low on his nose as he scanned the paper. Elijah sat across from him, broad shoulders relaxed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when Nicole entered. She forced her face neutral, praying the heat in her cheeks didn’t betray her.
“Morning, baby girl,” her dad said warmly. “You sleep okay?”
She nodded, sliding into the seat next to him, careful not to glance too long at the man across the table who had ruined her on her side, whispering filth into her ear hours earlier.
Elijah sipped his coffee slow, eyes flicking up to catch hers over the rim. That look was quiet, deliberate, and it stripped the air out of her lungs. She dropped her gaze, stabbing butter into her toast with more force than necessary.
Her dad folded the paper and looked at Elijah. “Glad you stayed, man. Always good company. You drive safe heading out, alright?”
Elijah leaned back, that easy grin sliding into place like armor. “Always. Appreciate the hospitality.”
Nicole’s dad rose, kissed her temple, and clapped Elijah on the shoulder before heading down the hall to grab his briefcase.
The second his footsteps faded, Elijah’s chair scraped back. “Walk me out?”
Nicole’s heart stuttered. She swallowed her nerves, muttered something about needing air, and followed him out the front door.
The morning was soft and golden, dew still clinging to the grass, the world so deceptively innocent it made her shiver. Elijah’s truck sat in the drive, black paint catching the light, a hushed witness to their night.
At the driver’s side, he turned, crowding her back against the warm metal door. He didn’t touch her—too risky with curtains that could twitch open at any second—but his presence pressed heavy, all six-plus feet of him a reminder of what she’d taken and what he’d given.
“You walkin’ alright?” he asked, voice low, threaded with smug concern.
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying not to smile. “You know damn well I’m sore.”
His teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “Good. Wanted you rememberin’ me every step you take today.”
She exhaled hard, glancing back at the front door. “My dad’s in the kitchen. You can’t—”
He leaned closer, his breath feathering her ear, cutting her off. “Your dad think I’m just his boy sittin’ at the table. He don’t know I had you beggin’ into the pillow. Don’t know I left you dripping all over that guest bed.”
Her knees wobbled. She gripped the edge of his jacket to keep steady. “You’re insane.”
“Insane for you,” he said, no pause, no shame. “Always been.”
The door creaked faintly behind them—her dad clearing his throat inside. Nicole jerked back, pulse spiking. Elijah only chuckled, opening the truck door. He climbed in, started the engine, and let it purr loud enough to cover the tension.
Before pulling off, he leaned out the open window, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not his grin. “Text me when you get home. Want proof you made it safe—and proof you’re thinkin’ about me.”
Her father’s shadow stretched across the porch. Nicole forced her lips into a polite smile, waving as the truck rolled down the street.
But her chest burned with a secret only she and Elijah carried: last night, her dad’s best friend had claimed her in every filthy way—and she wanted more.
Sexual content beware, reluctance/non-con, and creampies!
Summary: Some time has passed since Annie slept with Elijah. After a couple of weeks of the couple breaking up and inaction on her part, Elijah had enough and stalked her to the opening of a new gallery in town where she was getting too familiar with the artist. Unfortunately for her, Elijah is not letting her go.
He had overestimated his hand.
Elijah analyzed the night he took Annie’s virginity. He narrowed down his failure to one thing; losing his mind in her pussy. He had lost his composure too soon, eager to get in between the paradise that was Annie’s body, eager to get her tight pussy to wet his dick, eager to pour his cum into her unprotected pussy. Clothes were removed too quickly, too many salacious words, too much pounding.
And now he was watching the result of said failure play out in front of him.
After pouring what felt like years of pent up cum and frustration into Annie, his lady quietly gathered her clothes and slipped out of his home as he was making her breakfast.
He knew she left.
He let her go and figured she would gather her thoughts and call him back like the good girl she was.
How wrong he was.
He received a text four hours later that same day from her stating she wanted to break up. That she was overwhelmed and wanted to gather her thoughts.
Two weeks later he was watching the consequences of his actions play out in front of him.
The Alowa exhibit was touring the southern states and Clarksdale, Mississippi was the 4th stop on the tour. The Caide Thurston was well known for his work on marrying concepts: luxury and poverty, integration and segregation, but his most prized work focused on African occult. His collection is beautiful.
And it was also Annie’s favorite.
He knew she would be here, she wouldn’t miss the opportunity, that he was sure. Which is why he found himself on a Thursday night, nursing a shot of whiskey as he walked through the exhibit hunting for Annie. Sammie, through word of Pearline, told him she would be here tonight.
It all happened so quickly. Annie left Elijah’s house quietly, his cum still steadily leaking out of her hours later. She placed some tissues in her panties and drove home carefully to take a scorching hot bath. As soon as she got home, Annie took off her clothes, her cum soaked tissue filled panties and slowly eased into the tub, the throbbing pain between her legs acting as a reminder, her head against the tub deep in thought. Everything happened so quickly. The pain was mind numbing, but so was the pleasure. But what scared her the most was the change in character from Elijah.
The mask slowly slipped as he got more and more from her. The gripping of her thighs as he pulled her forcibly towards his mouth. The persistence of his fingers as he tried to fit them inside her. The crazed look in his one once he successfully introduced all, what felt like a foot into, her body.
All Annie could think was. “Was Elijah always like this? How come she didn’t see it?”
The bath water turned tepid, after rinsing off she headed straight to Pearline’s.
Elijah sauntered through the exhibit, barely glancing at the works bidding his time.
Suddenly to his left, he heard a giggle suddenly erupt amongst the chatter of the public.
His giggle. Annie’s giggle.
He turned to see Annie giggling with the artist, Caide Thurston as they looked over one of his works. Elijah felt his neutral expression slip, his left eyebrow twitching as he looked them over. Annie was wearing a black and white gown, her breasts pressed indecently against the fabric, her neck adorned by the diamond necklace he gifted her on their one year anniversary.
Elijah was incensed. Two and some days of no contact, and her she was her titties almost spilling out, wearing the diamonds he gifted her, giving her precious smile, her precious time, her precious attention to another man.
Another man. Not him.
Elijah let his mask completely slip and dropped his expression. It would do no good to play with her anymore, I mean this was the woman he chose as his wife and she already had a glimpse of who he truly was that night.
It was no use.
Set in his decision, Elijah quietly walked up on them from behind.
“Excuse me.”
Elijah watched as Annie’s shoulders tense as she turned around, her beautiful brown doe eyes wide in fear. Elijah cocked his head to the side seeing that. He would rather see pleasure in her beautiful eyes when it comes to him.
He’ll fix that soon.
He slid his hand around her waist, then lower subtly palming her generous behind with his right hand.
“I apologize for interrupting. Dr. Elijah Moore, Annie’s partner.”
He nodded his head at the man.
Caide’s left eyebrow twitched as his eyes went to the placement of Elijah's hand on Annie.
Annie stood still, heart racing as she attempted to get her wits about her. After two weeks of no contact, she thought it was over. He got her virginity, he got what he wanted, but how wrong she was.
He came back.
Caide looked back at the man and murmured, “Annie, didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend.”
Elijah looked down at Annie, “I’ve been busy these past two weeks, the hospital has had an increase in complex cases. I had to let things cool down–
Annie felt him give her a soft tap.
“--before I could come out tonight.”
Elijah looked back at the man, his patience running thin. Here he was weeks without a taste of Annie’s pussy, wasting his time on a man that clearly wanted to fuck his woman.
“We’ll have to cut this visit short unfortunately. Excuse us.”
Caide and Annie both opened their mouths.
“Actually, I planned on purchasing—
“Annie wanted to look my Wallor mask some more—
Elijah looked over Caide as he put his hand on Annie’s waist pulling her to him.
“I’ll have my assistant call you about the purchase of the Wallor mask. A gift for my baby.
Excuse me us.”
Caide looked disgruntled at being so thoroughly dismissed.
Elijah took Annie’s hand without a word and pulled her outside.
Annie sat in his car in silence as he drove to his house.
She briefly glanced over at his emotionless face, before facing forward. Her heart racing and palms sweaty.
“I drove to the exhibit. Who's going to get my car?”
“I’ll have it towed home.”
Annie’s heart fluttered.
“...whose home?”
Elijah paused at a red light. He turned his head towards Annie, his face expressionless and his eyes passionate.
“Our home.”
Annie exhaled, troubled.
“Elijah, did you see the text I sent you about two weeks ago.”
“Yes.” Elijah turned left onto the back road leading to his home.
“And you saw it said that I wanted to break up with you.”
He steadily drove down the road before making a right, into his expansive driveway.
“I saw the text baby.”
He pulled out the keys from his car and turned towards Annie.
He stared at her for a moment before asking, “Can you come in? I need to talk to you about something important. If you still want to leave, you’re free to do so.”
They sat down on the couch. Elijah on the far end and Annie on the other of the sectional.
“Come closer, I won’t bite.”
Annie smacked her teeth at the comment, a pulse of uneasiness running through her, but replied, “No, thank you. I’m ok here. You said you wanted to talk?”
Elijah stared at her, before walking over and sitting inches within touching distance.
He stared at her before asking.
“Are you testing me?”
Annie’s face scrunched in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
Elijah replied, “You left the morning after we made love and broke up with me over text. Is this your way of testing me to see if I chase you down?”
Annie stared at him before laughing in disbelief.
“Elijah, you pressured me to lose my virginity, had me damn near limping for three days, and to make matters worse you came inside me after I asked you not to. You know I’m not on birth control.”
Annie stood up, before looking down at Elijah.
“And the way you looked at me, it scared me. Who are you? Is this what you wanted all along? My virginity? You threw some money at me, just get at me right? You got it. You won. My virginity is yours. Go find your next victim.”
Elijah tried to contain his outburst, but Annie had a way of bringing out these emotions.
He stood up and gently grabbed her shoulders and pushed her to straddle his lap.
He gently caressed her face, her deep brown skin glistening under his finger tips.
He slowly moved his hands towards her neck before gently grabbing it and dragging her to his face.
Now mere inches away from each other, Elijah could smell her minty breath as her heart beat raced.
He looked into her eyes.
“I have been looking for a woman like you for years, Annie. I’ve come too far not to get what I want and I want you Annie.”
Annie attempted to pull herself from his hold.
“Annie, I love you.”
Tears started pricking her eyes as she pushed at his chest.
“You crazy ass nigga!”
Elijah nipped at her chin lovingly before kissing her on the lips.
“I’m your crazy ass nigga.”
He swiftly gathered her in his arms before throwing her over his shoulder and headed straight into the bedroom.
He threw her on the bed. Annie kicked her legs at him, aiming to hit his nose.
He grabbed onto her wiggling legs and kissed her ankles lovingly.
“I’ve wanted you since the day I saw you help Ms. Celia in the hospital. You were so beautiful in your dark blue dress. Your titties almost spilling out—
Elijah grabbed onto the top of the dress, causing her heavy titties to bounce out. He couldn’t help but to groan and suck heavily on each one.
Annie couldn’t contain her moan as she watched Elijah lose his composure. Annie felt her pussy get wet from the sensation, she couldn’t believe the way her body was betraying her.
He popped his mouth off her nipples and began to lick.
“--of your dress. So beautiful. I got sources to give me information about you. Your kindness was so well known. Such a beautiful soul, I couldn’t help but fall for you.”
He panted and turned her over, face down and hastily unzipped her gown.
“Elijah, please hold on, let's talk. Slow down baby.”
He gently grabbed her shoulders and turned her back. He started pulling the dress down her body and replied, “I can multitask.”
Dress off her, he straddled her, making sure she didn’t move as he hastily took off his suit.
He glanced down at the diamond necklace glittering above her big bouncing titties and her black lacy panties being ate up by her big behind.
“I can’t believe you. You’ve been stalking me?”, Annie exclaimed.
Half-way naked with only his pants to remove, Elijah glanced down at her only to reply, “You don’t know half of the stuff I did to get you Annie. Half the stuff I did to make sure you were protected. I know you like I know the back of my hand, baby.”
He reached for his belt buckle. The sound of the belt opening rang through the room.
Annie’s eyes widened, remembering the warm log that seated itself deep into her pussy and left her walking funny for days.
“Wait, wait, baby, I’m still sore. We can talk, can we talk?!”
Elijah stopped right before he unzipped his pants and stared at her with humor glittering his eyes.
“ Not even five hours ago, you were playing in my pussy. I know you didn’t cum so why are you so hesitant.”
Annie couldn’t believe her ears and took a double take.
“What–you wha–how do you know that? Oh my God, I can’t, you’re crazy!”
He was losing his patience and decided to spill.
He pushed all his body weight on top of her until she tired out.
Whimpering in exhaustion and defeat Annie stilled. He gently nipped her full lips
“I saw you in that hospital and learned everything about you. Your childhood, where you went to school, who was in your social circle, your everyday life. Annie, I saw that you deserved so much better and I knew I could provide. I knew you had to make it in this world, that as an orphan you went from group home to group home–
Annie's eyes teared up and she attempted to turn her head to the side to avoid his eyes. It was painful reliving that time in her life.
He turned her head back to him and held her gaze.
“--trying to make something of yourself. I knew you had an ungrateful boyfriend who did nothing for you. I knew he did little to appreciate the goddess in front of him. I knew your experiences caused you to be wary of physical touch and hid your sexual nature. I knew I could fix it all baby.”
He leant down, lips kissing her forehead, then nose, then lips.
He moved to her ear, kissing it as he whispered, “I got rid of that useless ass nigga. I broke his kneecaps, and baby, I thought about letting him go with no permanent injuries, but he didn’t even beg to stay with you. He didn’t even beg me to not hurt you or anything. He cried for himself and left like a pussy--”
Annie couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out.
Elijah continued, switching side and kissing her other ear.
“But I would never leave you. I installed cameras all over your home,watching you cook, clean, dance, and play with my pussy.”
Annie gasped, embarrassed, shocked and scared. She closed her eyes and attempted to turn her head from his kisses. He followed her head.
“Don’t be embarrassed baby. Those precious moments were so beautiful and God the nasty shit you were watching…”
Elijah chuckled as the heat from her cheeks grew.
He pulled away from her ears to stare into her eyes, their lips barely touching, he started reciting her porn searches.
“Deep pussy creampie ebony, surprise creampie ebony, unprotected sex ebony, cum in pussy ebony, multiple creampies ebony..”
Annie attempted to push at his chest and move him. It was unsuccessful.
She felt herself becoming wetter and wetter as he continued.
“..and my favorite, reluctant insemination ebony.”
She grit her teeth, “ Do you enjoy embarrassing me?”
Elijah pulled back slightly and looked down at her erect nipples.
He grabbed handfuls and gently pulled her nipples as he looked deep into her eyes.
“Why would I want to embarrass the woman that I love? Why would I mock her pleasure, when her pleasure is mine? You say I’m crazy and I agree, I am. It's not everyday that a diagnosed psychopath falls in love, but I’m your psychopath Annie. I would do everything to make sure your wants and needs are answered. I would fall to your feet and become your slave and worship you. Nothing could ever make me leave you.”
Annie’s resolve cracked. She thought about all the times she was never chosen or put first. She thought about her past relationship and how she wasn’t even a priority in that.
She looked at Elijah.
This handsome, sexy, successful albeit crazy man wanted to devote himself to her.
Why was she fighting so much?
Seeing an in Elijah, started unzipping his dress pants and pulling down his boxers.
“You don’t win that easily. The way you went at me did not interest me at all.”
Elijah pulled off his pants and boxers in one go, his dick bouncing off his stomach, the purple tip flush with blood, his precum leaking steadily past his dick , pooling on his balls.
He grabbed his dick and continued to stroke as he answered her.
“I’ve been waiting for you for a long time Annie. I made it my goal to get in that tight ass pussy before we made it to two years. I was six months early in my planning.”
Annie scoffed before rolling her eyes.
“Sorry.”
Annie glared at him, “You’re not sorry.”
Elijah groaned as he sped up his stroking.
“You’re right baby, I’m not sorry.”
He lent down and spread her thighs, his eyes set on the honey between her thighs.
“Elijah, what are you—
Annie groaned as he licked her from her clit to the end of her pussy.
Elijah groaned as he sucked her clit. With his other hand, he carefully placed one finger in, sawing in and out of Annie.
He slightly curled his finger and Annie’s mouth dropped as she struggled to catch her breath.
Within 30 minutes she took two curled fingers inside her.
The wetness all over her thighs was obscene, the squelching echoed off the walls along with Annie’s cries. Unable to help herself, she pushed Elijah’s head down as she poured her cum in his mouth. Happily, Elijah continued to suck her dry before Annie laid out on the bed, closed her eyes chest heaving, exhausted and unable to move much.
“I knew you had it in you, baby. I know you’re tired but you know what time it is.”
Annie opened her eyes wide, forgetting the pulsing dick waiting for her.
“Elijah baby, I’m tired. I can’t move.”
She peaked down, dread sinking her stomach as she watched his dick jump, the head two inches past his belly button. Elijah increased the speed of his stroking as he followed her gaze.
His beard soaked, he kissed her allowing her to taste herself. It also provided a great distraction as he hit her clit with his dick multiple times.
Annie gasped and looked down as the head of his dick struggled to pop into her.
“Elijah, wha–”
“You don’t have to do much baby. You just open up that pussy for me. Give me that pussy.”
He reached down to spread her pussy lips and bear down, popping the head of his dick in her pussy.
Annie’s face couldn’t help but to contort. She remembers this feeling, the stretch and slight burn as her pussy attempted to accommodate his dick.
“Ugh!”
She pushed down on his abs, trying to slow him down.
“Slow down baby!”
Elijah continued to bare down on her, feeding her pussy inch by inch.
“I am trying, baby. Honestly, I am but something about this pussy–”
He pushed his dick all the way inside and Annie’s eyes crossed as her mouth dropped, drool spilling out.
“--has me losing all my composure. I’ll be quick baby, just hold on.”
Annie attempted to uncross her eyes and she gasped out, “Qui-quick, huh, wa-wait wha-what hold on?”
Elijah didn’t answer, but started furiously sawing in and out of Annie’s pussy. The headboard started banging against the wall, he moved to place her thighs to her ears.
“Elijah!”
He couldn’t answer her even if he wanted to. He was too far gone. Weeks without his pussy had him more fixated than usual. Her juicy pussy spilled her cum down his dick and onto his balls and he couldn’t help but to groan. He lent down and sucked on her nipples as he changed positions, now feeding his dick down into her pussy.
Annie started squealing, “Elijah, wait, I feel you in my stomach ahh! Oh my God, it’s too deep! It’s too deep!”
Elijah started increasing his speed and Annie went mute, unable to speak anymore.
“I’m almost there baby, hold on.”
He lent down placing all his weight on top of Annie, her breasts contained by his chest as he furiously heaved into her.
“I missed my pussy so much. I know I’m in your guts baby, but I’ll teach you how to take this dick.”
He leaned down, placing his tongue in her ears and her legs on his thighs.
A groan came from deep inside.
Annie felt his dick start jumping in her, clearing her mind enough to remember that she still was not on birth control.
She repeatedly hit his shoulder in panic.
“Baby, ba-baby wa-wait!”
Elijah pulled his mouth from her ears, groaning, “What’s wrong? I’m not beating this pussy right? Huh!
He increased his speed and Annie started crying in pleasure.
He stared into her eyes groaning, “I’m cumming in this pussy again. Don’t you want Daddy’s nut sloshing in you when you walk around? I’m going to bust my nut in you baby, deep into your pussy. You’ll be leaking for hours. Oh fuck Annie, I’m nutting in my pussy!”
Annie, cried out, “Pul–
Elijah pulled her legs straight up, stared into her eyes and pulsed deep in her pussy. Spat after spat of cum filled her pussy as he continued groaning. Annie looked down in horror and Elijah looked down in lust seeing his creamy sperm spilled out of Annie with him still inside her. Still cumming he spat his cum all over her pussy lips, digging his dick in her lips, before placing his dick back inside to continue cumming in her pussy.
Elijah and Annie shared eye contact as he continued to cum in her for another couple of minutes. By the time he was done, Annie pussy was drowning in sperm.
Elijah fell down on top of Annie, laying his head between her big titties.
Annie looked down at her man, panting as if she had fought for her life.
I just know Terry's got the type of dick where he needs to force you to sit on it. You're just hovering over a few inches, baby so big you don't got the strength in you to willingly take him fully.
First, he'll tell you nicely "C'mon, sit on it baby. You got it. What you can't ride your dick?"
But he won't ask again. If you don't get it right after that, he's placing his hands on your hips and lowering you onto him. He'll go slow, though. Rest assured. If you're in reverse, he'll praise you in silent, wet kisses on you back.
He's a soul snatcher, I just know it. And until you've a little limp in your step the next morning? A random smile on your face everytime you think of him. He's doing it again, and again and again.
Shit, I need to lay of the wine. It's really gets me to thinking😭
-🌹
A/N: I can never write a drabble for this man, I fear 😪 But I appreciate your faith in me to deliver a little sumn 🥵
The Little Death
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Fluff, cursing, smut, PIV, sweet and possessive Terry, oral (female receiving), teasing, dirty talk, established relationship, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.
Summary: After an incredible date night out, you can no longer stick to the six-month no sex rule you have in place. Terry makes it extremely difficult to think of anything other than him and the sexy promise in those beautiful eyes of his.
Word Count: 4,287k
AO3 Link
A/N: I may have mixed feelings on the actor, but baby, I am still over the moon for Terry. Thank you for rocking with the new way of doing things. I've been missing that man so I hope a few others have been as well. I've been busy revamping this novel so it's something I'm proud of. I swear it's coming LOL. But that's where my focus has been. This will be the last regular one-shot for a while so I can dive into my 14 series.
PSA, I no longer have a taglist for Terry fics. Please follow the side blog @lost-lovers-club and turn on all notifications. The only ones still tagged are part of my permanent list. Please don't ask to be on the permanent list just to get tagged for Terry. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.
Terry Richmond would likely be the death of you.
Not for any violent reason; the rough pads of his fingers just felt heavenly against your skin as he idly rubbed them across your neck. He sat behind you on a stool and had you tucked in front of him, so that the heat of his chest seeped through your back and warmed you in all of the right places. All of them.
A soft rock band called Infinity Song was on a small stage belting out their most popular song, Hater's Anthem. The sibling quartet had a vibrancy on stage as they danced along with the music, played instruments, and engaged back and forth with the intimate audience.
When Terry suggested that you go to a distillery for a date…yeah, you had reservations. But it surprised you with the wide open patio behind the distillery's bar that had a roof so you weren't getting burnt by the setting sun, a food truck that made the most delicious pizza you'd ever had outside of Italy itself, and plenty of wooden benches, tables, and stools to linger around. Plus, the smell from the grains used to make the whiskey was absolutely divine and you wished you had a candle to capture it. The music had a folksy, almost R&B kind of feel that made you sway your shoulders.
The middle of the floor was kept open for people who wanted to dance and there were plenty of couples both young and old who took advantage. There was an older Black couple on the floor dancing, the man twirling his wife around. His wife had the biggest grin across her face, instantly making her look like she was in her twenties again. The husband only had eyes for her and you had to blink away some unexpected tears.
"You want another drink?" Even sitting down, Terry was a massive giant. His lips pressed against the top of your ear so as he spoke his lips tickled you. His breath fanned across your neck and you suppressed a shiver.
"Yes, please," you said.
"Another Sweet Potato?" He asked. You nodded so he collected the empty glasses on the small, square table and walked towards the bar. He wore light wash denim jeans, a long sleeve white thermal, and thick heavy boots. His gold chain rested on the inside of his shirt, but every now and then, it caught the light and sparkled against his almond colored skin. The bar was located inside the distillery, so he bent to clear the door and then disappeared inside.
You finally had time to breathe and collect yourself. It had been six, long months of not going further than second base. That was your decision and Terry had been nothing but a gentleman, willing to go at your own pace. You started the six month standard because these men out here were absolute dogs.
You'd never met a consistent liar who could be patient for six months and abstain from sex. If you were going to invite someone into your bed, they better have the personality to match the bass in their tone. And so far…Terry most definitely matched it. He was funny with his dry humor, sexy as sin, and was nothing but a gentle giant. Those stormy eyes and secret smirk of his promised there was a whole other side to him you weren't familiar with and you were excited to see where that took you.
But he also frightened the absolute hell out of you. Terry walked like it was heavy with big steps and a slow gait. More than a few times, you felt that monster brush up against your hand while making out or against your ass when he stood behind you. And that was him at rest. You'd never taken someone as big as him and quite frankly, you didn't know what to do with all of that.
You had better learn quick though, because you didn't know how much longer you could hold out. Terry exited the bar with two glasses and he smiled as he walked back to you. Every time you saw him, however brief the absence, he took your damn breath away. He was letting his hair grow out, so he had a neat crop of curls that made your belly flip. He handed the glass to you and you took a sip, letting the whiskey cocktail work its magic. It had a toasted marshmallow as a garnish and you took bites as you sipped the drink.
Terry returned to his seat behind you, tucking you back into his chest. One hand wrapped around your waist possessively, while the other wrapped around his own drink. You weren't typically a whiskey girlie, especially the high proof ones Terry preferred, but this had been one of the best dates you'd ever went on.
"So what did you think about my band?" Terry asked.
"Not bad, not bad," you had to turn to the side just to be heard over the music. Your shirt rode up, exposing your back. Terry adjusted your shirt without prompting, pulling it down to protect your modesty. Your heart and pussy melted even further.
One of the female members, Momo, wore a sparkly blue dress that caught the light from the bulbs around the sign proclaiming them as the headliner for the night. She was in the middle of a solo song, so it was easier to talk, but only just.
"I see why you like them. They have a vibe," you continued.
Terry nodded. "A friend introduced me to them after her wife put her on. I figured you'd like them."
"Oh, you know me like that, huh?" You asked. You grinned at him and he playfully narrowed his eyes.
"I know a lot about you," he said quietly and from the look in his eyes, you wondered just how much he knew. As if he could read your mind, his thumb absently caressed your hip.
"Yeah? Like what?" You asked.
Terry only responded with a smirk. The bastard. He took a sip of his drink and his fingers wrapped around the glass in a way that made it look tiny. His lips wrapped around the edge and you watched, mesmerized, as his throat worked to take a quick sip.
The song ended and everyone began to clap and cheer, pulling you from eye-fucking the man. The oldest band member, Abraham, started talking to the crowd, saying they were going to play one more and then end the night. He thanked everyone for coming out, sounding like he was sixty-seven with his mannerisms and proper way of speaking.
"Dance with me," Terry said.
You turned back to him and nodded. Maybe that was what you needed. Because after sitting and drinking, you were warm and fuzzy all over forgetting why you had the rule in place. You needed some movement, somewhere for all the pent-up energy to go.
Terry stood and held out his hand for you. Other couples had the same idea, getting onto the dance floor as well. You took his hand and let him lead you to a spot and then he drew you closer, pulling you by the waist so that there wasn't an inch of space left to the imagination.
Terry drew you into him and you fit like the last piece of the puzzle. He was able to hold you and make you feel wholly engulfed in him even though your hand was on his shoulder and not round his neck or he had to bend slightly to hold you. He didn't complain, didn't show an ounce of it bothering him, as he carefully maneuvered you around the other dancers flailing their partner around.
Terry's thumb rubbed circles into your back and you kind of regretted the thick, ribbed, mustard colored shirt. You felt his thumb, but you wanted to feel it skin to skin. You shook that errant thought away.
"You are so damn beautiful," Terry said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest and vibrated against yours.
You dipped your head so he wouldn't see the bashful grin on your face. "You are very good for the ego, Mr. Richmond," you giggled. "Thank you."
Terry chuckled, spun you away from him, spun you back, and dipped you slightly. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" You couldn't help but ask. This man was impossible.
Terry righted you and smirked. "Doing what?" He asked, picture of innocence.
"This…you…" You couldn't bring yourself to name it because he had it. He had a presence most people didn't. Intense but not stiff, confident without being cocky, or secure without throwing his weight around. It was honestly a miracle no one had snatched him up by now.
Hell, you were doing the same thing in a way. Keeping him at arm's length because there was no way someone like him could exist. He wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. He had a few habits that bothered you but not enough to kick him to the curb. He was a terrible dancer with any song faster than a slow dance, drank whiskey that could choke a horse, and was an early riser.
None of that lessened the impact he had on you whenever you got around him. Like all of those minor annoyances faded to the background the minute he smirked or joked. And when he gave you a full, unobstructed view of that grin…it fueled plenty of fantasies over the weeks.
It doesn't have to be a fantasy.
Terry spun you again, waiting for your response. But the only thoughts on your mind right now…was filthy and disgusting and you were tired of fighting it. You gave up, gave in, and surrendered.
When you were back against his chest, you looked him in the eye and grinned. "Take me back to your place?" You asked.
His eyebrows shot up in the most adorable way but he recovered enough with a grin. "Are you sure? There's no pressure," he said.
You pressed closer to him, your boobs resting against his chest. "I want you," you said with a low, sultry tone. It'd been long enough. You were God's strongest soldier for six months and now you were beyond denying yourself what was clearly a fun ride. You'd just have to communicate that he had to go extremely slow. Otherwise he'd split you open and you didn't want to explain that to EMT's.
Terry's eyes dipped from your titties and then to your face. Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand and dragged you off of the dance floor. Your giggles were impossible to stop as he grabbed your jacket and helped you into it. He chuckled with you, the both of you acting like you were teenagers off to do something naughty.
Terry pushed the boundaries of speeding as he drove to his place, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. The casual way he showed his possession was one of the first things that made you fall for the man. Consent was always sexy, but sometimes you wanted to feel wanted. And he made you feel wanted each and every time you were around him.
Terry pulled into his driveway, outside of a modest one story brick house with white trimmings and a black roof. You'd been here plenty of times before over the months you'd started dating, but now practically felt like the first time.
Terry hopped out, coming round to your side to help you out of his colossal truck. Once out, it took no time at all for him to open his door and let you inside. He flipped on a few lights to illuminate the way, but once the door was closed, his lips descended upon yours.
You kissed him back, no longer restricting yourself. No longer holding yourself back. You gave yourself permission to enjoy the way his soft lips crashed to yours, as if should he stop, even for a second, you'd disappear. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, digging your nails in.
His knee pushed your thighs apart and then he rested it against your pussy, giving you much needed pressure but it wasn't enough for any true relief. His hands grabbed and squeezed your ass, sitting you more fully on his knee. You moaned into his mouth, the whiskey on your tongue dancing with his.
Your brain needed more oxygen so you were forced to break apart to get more air into your lungs. Terry's hands went wandering, unbuttoning your shirt to reveal your brown lacy bra beneath it.
He groaned as he looked his fill. He cupped your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, and ran his thumbs across your nipples.
"Fuuuuck," you moaned.
"So fuckin' beautiful," he murmured.
The alcohol plus his comments made your cheeks turn flaming hot. Sweat beaded against your temple and your rational side fought with your irrational side. You needed to slow down, needed to get a few ground rules out of the way. But your body wanted more, more, more. Your hips canted against his knee, seeking a type of relief that only comes with either his mouth, fingers, or dick.
His juicy big lips returned to yours and he sucked on your bottom lip. You felt the answering tug in your pussy, your clit throbbing for some attention as well.
"Terry, wait," you whispered, so out of breath you were light headed.
Terry immediately stilled, his hands around your waist and he pulled back to look at you. "Talk to me," he said.
You giggled at the seriousness but he was only turning you on more. "I, uh, I should," you started but took a deep breath and started over. "I very much want to have sex with you. But I think we should go slow. You know how big your dick is, right?"
Terry chuckled, closing his eyes to laugh with his full body. He shook in your arms and you couldn't help but join in. When he sobered, he gave you a serious look. "We can go as slow as you want, I promise."
You nodded but you weren't that convinced. After all, that monster pushed against the fabric of his jeans and it looked painful. Something on your face must've given away your thoughts, because Terry retreated.
"Wait, no!" You said.
Terry chuckled and stepped closer once more. The heat of his skin was a balm to your racing heart. The woodsy scent of his soap wrapped around you until that was the only thing you could smell. One of his hands came up to cup your face. His thumb traced a pattern against your jaw and he gave you a kiss so damn tender, you gasped. "We have plenty of time to explore all of the ungodly things I want to do to you. But tonight, we'll take it as slow as you want. Deal?"
"Deal," you said with a grin.
He stepped back so he could untie his boots. You did the same, kicking off your shoes and taking off your jacket. Your shirt hung loose from when he opened it, so you let that fall to the floor as well.
Terry grabbed your hand and led you further into the house, bypassing a cozy living room with the bare essentials and dark, wooden tables and a leather sofa. His kitchen was just as clean, not a fork or cup out of place. At the end of the hallway, Terry turned on the light to his bedroom, dimming it to make it more intimate.
The curtains were drawn and his king-sized bed still looked too small for his big ass. The carpet underneath muffled your footfalls as you joined him at the foot of the bed, reaching for each other at the same time to peel off your clothes.
His shirt went first, his gold chain swinging and then settling back against his broad chest. He had a light smattering of hair dusted around and you greedily ran your hands all over him. He did the same, his hands never lingering anywhere long as if he didn't know where to start.
He opted for your jeans, unbuttoning them and stripping it and your panties in one fell swoop. You stepped out of it, taking your socks off as well. You helped Terry with his pants, giggling as you fought with the button.
"It's a little tricky," he said.
"I can handle a button," you said, tugging the damn thing free and sliding the zipper down. He hissed as your fingers brushed his erection through his boxer briefs, his long eye-lashes fanning across his cheeks as his eyes narrowed with unfiltered lust.
Fully naked, Terry backed you into the bed. Once the back of your legs hit the edge, he pushed you onto it and encouraged you to bare yourself to him. He kept his hands on your knees, looking at the very core of you.
"Terry," you squirmed from his scrutiny.
"You are so damn gorgeous," he said, looking at you like you just presented him with the best gift ever. Yup, this man would be the death of you.
"You're so fuckin' hot, it hurts," you confessed.
Terry gave you a sexy grin and then knelt on the ground. He wrapped his arms beneath your legs and then yanked until your ass half hung off the bed. Without preamble, his lips suckled your clit into his mouth and you screamed from the pressure.
Terry suckled, licked, and kissed on your pussy until his mouth was coated with your juices. Your body flailed on the bed, gripping the berry colored comforter with everything you had. Your nails dragged against the fabric as your body tried to process Terry's wicked machinations.
"Oue shit, oue shit," you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. His popcorn ceiling winked in and out of view, your mind caught between the physical plane and somewhere else entirely. Somewhere of Terry's own making because all you could hear was him moaning. All you could feel was his tongue lapping up your juices like a man starved. The scent of your essence filled the room quickly; Terry turning you on so much that you'd explode right there on the spot.
One hand kept you open for him while his other arm jerked. You had enough strength to peek and found his arm jerking furiously. You moaned and went off like a firework, building and building, until your body broke apart in a shower of sparks and light and colors.
Terry didn't slow. He kept going, tasting one orgasm with a lick of his lips and a curse and then wrung another one right behind it. "Shiiiiiit," you moaned, your thighs squeezing his head. You didn't mean to, but fuck, you couldn't help yourself. It felt too good. Too amazing. So damn good you feared you died somewhere in the middle of it and his tongue brought you back.
Terry moved both his hands to open you wider while he drowned in your pussy. Your legs shook from being too sensitive. You slapped at his head and whined. He chuckled and then moved to nibble and kiss your thighs.
"I want you to ride me. You can control the pace," he whispered against your slick thighs.
"Can't. Too dead," you panted for air.
Terry chuckled. He nipped your thigh and you jerked, ending it with a giggle. He chuckled again while he stood up. "Dead folk don't giggle."
You groaned but it was time to put your money where your mouth was. You got to your elbows and examined every delicious inch of him. His body was well-honed and chiseled from many hours spent in the gym or hiking. Corded muscle flexed with every movement he made. His dick swung heavily, tapping lightly against his thigh.
You lied. You were not prepared for how big he was. The pants he's worn around you must've been designed to hide it, because there was no way this was the same dick you felt up on earlier.
"You better stop lookin' at me like that," he said with a smirk. He turned to approach his nightstand, pulling out lube and a condom.
"Or what?" You taunted, getting onto your knees to walk across the bed to him. He sighed as you ran your hands over his shoulders, his back, and down his bubble ass. You gripped him tight and he chuckled.
"Or I'ma put you through this mattress," he said. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he turned away to uncap the lube.
"I'm on the pill," you said and kissed his back.
He stilled. "Don't play with me right now." His voice took on a darker, raspier tone that made you shiver.
"I want you. No barriers. If you're comfortable," you said. You waited long enough. You just wanted to feel him in every way you could. Anyone else, you'd tell them to double wrap it. But Terry could have you ten ways from Sunday and you were done denying yourself that.
Terry growled low in his throat. He turned and gave you a scorching kiss, hot enough to make your skin bead with sweat. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself in the middle. He pulled you until you climbed on top of him, reverse cow girl, popping your ass in his face.
He chuckled and gave you a few quick smacks. You moaned while he grabbed the lube and rubbed his dick with it. "We go at your pace, okay?"
"Yes, sir," you said.
"Fuck me, you're perfect," he said. He helped guide you until he was lined up. Then he let you take over as you slowly took him in.
It burned deliciously but it did burn from the stretch. How the hell did women bounce on big dicks like their favorite trampoline? His tip was barely inside you and you were ready to call it quits.
"Nice and slow. There's no rush. Take your time, baby," he encouraged as you slipped further and further down. You leaned up and then slid back down on it, finding a nice, slow rhythm.
He hummed and groaned, digging his thumbs into your back. "Ouue shit," you moaned. Between his fingers and his dick, fuck cloud nine. You were on cloud five hundred.
He gave you wet kisses to your back while you rode him but you couldn't manage to fit all of him inside. It was already too much. He filled you completely, dick throbbing deep inside. You felt every last veiny inch of him sliding against your slick inner walls.
"Sit on it," he demanded.
You shook your head, though he couldn't see your face.
"No fuckin' way," you sighed with a giggle.
Terry chuckled. He gripped your arms and pulled you backwards, opening you in a way that you were able to fit more of him inside. He leaned forward and then trapped your arms when he brought his hands around to cup your breasts and squeeze your nipples.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, your pussy clenching around the length of him.
"Sit your pretty ass on this dick. To the base," he commanded, his deep voice working a spell on you.
"I can't," you whispered. You were too afraid, too nervous to take him fully. You didn't know why. Or perhaps you did and you just didn't want to face the truth. This man was going to ruin you for all others.
He already has.
You whined, but you worked with him, trying to work more of him inside. He retreated so that he could apply more lube, the sweet, sweet man making sure that you were comfortable. Then, he slammed you down in one rough thrust that immediately made you scream, curse, and go cross eyed as another orgasm tore through you. Your nails raked his thighs as the overwhelming pleasure was a little too much. Nothing made sense; you're pretty sure you could taste colors, as Terry fucked you through it.
Nonsense poured from his lips as you took him to the base. The pace was still lazy and slow, but he made you feel it all. He thrust a few more times.
"I'm finna bust," he groaned low in the back of his throat.
He bit your shoulder, fingers pinching your nipples to bring delectable pain, as he finally bust. His hot cum flooded you, gushing out, causing you to smack lewdly against his pelvis. He groaned and jerked, his dick throbbing a steady beat.
"Fuuck," you whined. You couldn't describe how otherwordly it felt while he emptied himself, but it was over too soon as he panted against your damp skin.
"You're fuckin' perfect," he said. He turned your chin so that he could kiss you. It was an awkward angle, but you were already greedy for more. He nibbled on your lower lip before he pulled away to nuzzle your neck.
"Wanna get cleaned up?" He asked.
You already felt him throb once more, his erection was only half mast but seemed to be rising. You chuckled and looked back at him. "You are so damn nasty," you said with a wide grin.
"I can be worse," he promised.
You had no doubt in your mind that he could be. It didn't stop you from following him into the shower where you got all kinds of dirty before you could get cleaned up again.
Yup, Terry Richmond would be the death of you. And that didn't matter one bit to you.
The end.
Thank you so much for reading. There's so much more!
Summary : Betrayal, wicked love, undeserved serving time, loneliness. So much and less terms to describe Viper. An housewife, for some a scammer and drug dealer, others more empathetic knew her as the beautiful pastry shop owner. The dream ended when she took years for a man who did not bother visiting her once at parlor. She made the sacrifice, he reaped the flowers. His only mistake was to not end her life where he’d sent her to die. Mama is back for paycheck, and papa better be ready to pay.
Pairing : Melannie (Annie) x Smoke (Elijah)
Sub pairing (non canon) : Melannie x Various OC ; Smoke x Thania
“Apparently Annie had been released from jail. How you feel?”
Seventeen years and Smoke didn’t visit her once. He had let Stack handle the parlor mess, too busy clearing his image.
“Like a busy businessman, Stack. You deal with her.”
“She was your girl Smoke. Melannie took those years for you.”
“And I’m grateful.” He signed another paperwork and looked at his brother, pen still in hand. “But when the past is dirty. You mopped it clean.” He stood up and tapped his brother’s shoulder once — firm, final. “Give me great news by tonight.”
Smoke left his office and Stack stood there, cupping his face.
Killing a stranger was not complicated.
But killing his best friend was something he never expected to do in his life.
He dialed Tay — one of his men he’d ordered to tail Melannie.
“Hey. Is there movement? (…) the 9th Avenue? (…) keep an eye on her.”
San Jose penitentiary should have been more strict — Stack had thought, still outraged by Smoke’s orders.
“I’m sorry poupée, your last time is now.”
“Melannie— you don’t listen to me at all. I have children, I can’t have you there.”
“Shana I just need somewhere to sleep until I figure out how to get my share.” Annie begged, explaining.
“And from what? The biggest Chocolate Factory in the country? The recipe you handed to your ex-husband who happened to be one of the richest men alive? And as who exactly? A jailbird sentenced for selling edible drugs and allegedly being part of a dangerous gang?”
Annie clenched her jaw, working it. Her eyes flicked side to side — a small habit she’d picked up somewhere between year two and year three inside. She wasn’t always aware she did it.
“You safe here?” She asked.
“Why?” Shana retorted.
“I’m under a plea deal, I can’t tell you everything — but I didn’t do all of that. Please. Just this one night. I’ll—”
“I begged Stack. He made sure nobody demolished your pastry. You can stay there. Here it’s not possible Melannie, I got kids. Sorry.”
Annie understood. Of course it would be troublesome with children around.
She smiled short, eyes dropping to her shoes. “I’ll take the keys please.” She concluded.
“Here.”
Shana pressed the keys into her palm and shut the door. Annie stood on the step a beat, then moved. Cautiously she worked the neighborhood block by block, reading each street before she crossed it. Then came the national lane — she made a stop, exchanged two words with an old woman on a porch — then drove through the highland road to her destination.
“Thank you very much.” She said to the old woman.
Her pastry sat two stops away. From there she could already see the sign, tilting east the way it always had.
She didn’t move immediately.
“You best pull the trigger before me.” She exhaled, her hand hovering over her front waistband. “Stack.”
“I’m sorry Annie…”
POW.
A gunshot. A body hitting the dusty valley floor, blood opening dark into the dry ground.
It wasn’t hers though.
“A millisecond ago and I would have been the one dying on this ground.” She crouched, balancing the pistol over Stack’s glazing eyes. “The little guy you ordered to follow me around. What was his name again?”
A strangled moan. That was all she got from the man agonizing under the valley’s hellish sun.
“Ha.” Annie sighed. “It’s difficult to talk with broken ribs.” She slid her sunglasses on. Her red polished fingers drummed the gun’s chamber while her brain ran a mile. “I will call an ambulance.”
Stack spat blood — his eyes dangerously shutting.
“Convey this message to Smoke.” She stood, smoothed her jeans, and smiled. “I’m coming to visit, papa.”
The ambulance siren announced her departure. She walked, unhurried, and disappeared inside the pastry building.
Nothing prepared Smoke for that kind of news.
The first chair hit the floor before his assistant finished the report. Books cleared from the shelves in one sweep of his arm, paper scattering across Italian marble. The office that had taken three interior designers and four months to complete absorbed it all without comment.
Then the carnage stopped.
He straightened. Adjusted his cuffs.
One could still read the rage on his face, a different kind from minutes ago : more controlled, cold and calculated.
“Sir, the reunion—”
“Therise.” He cut a deadly glance at her. “Tell Conrad to bring the car.”
Therise’s strict bun spiked but the hairs at her edges curled, moistening. Therise disliked working for the Moore. She had once begged her husband Conrad to resign but he’d refused, mentioning stupid words like loyalty and friendship.
Dead men don’t bother themselves with futilities. Yet Cornbread — that how she used to call him — failed to understand.
What kind of friend always rang your phone when he needs you to clean the mess he made? And Therise might not know every details but something was fishy about that sudden summon.
“Alright Mr Moore.”
She would tell her husband — Conrad — about the urgency, hopefully he learned the truth on his own soon.
She left.
Standing in the middle of his office wreckage, Smoke exhaled through his nose before dropping into his chair and loosening his tie. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, repeating Tay call : Stack. Hospital.
An uncalled sneering laugh escaped his lips.
“Viper.” He muttered, tasting the word. “You didn’t lose anything to the years after all.”
He leaned over his desk and picked up the phone :
“Aymar. I want full badge access on every floor by end of week. Staff, maintenance, catering, everybody walking through that building gets badged or they don’t walk through. Visitors need a clearance code out of my office before they even pull into the parking lot.” He opened his drawer, uncapped a pen and started signing where he’d left off. “No code, no entry, zero exceptions. I don’t care if it’s the mayor, no code means your boys turns them around at the gate.” He wrote something down. “I want the system live before Friday. Make it happen.”
He hung up and leaned back.
Annie wanted his empire. Fine. She was welcome to try.
“Kff— Kff…Damnit they could have at least keep it clean— Kff Kff” Melannie coughed, covering her mouth with her palm.
The whole room was covered of dust and spider webs. Tables were flipped over, chairs stacked against a far wall, the floorboards were covered of bullets marks.
Annie locked the entry behind her and lit up the light. At least Stack kept paying the bills. It couldn’t be Smoke that was for sure.
She crouched, dropped her gun by her side, fluttered the marks with her fingertips and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Elijah—“
“Gnn— baby no—! Leave her alone”
The cuffs tautening, chafing her wrists.
The police siren’s sound.
Stack knocked unconscious on the ground, riddled with bullets.
Two officers pressing their forearms against Smoke’s neck — his whole body crashed on the floor.
And Pearline. The young woman she had welcomed in, not meeting her gaze, discussing with officers.
She hadn’t heard clearly, nothing else than a congratulations agent and Pearline smiling small, wearing a police badge.
An Indic then.
“That bitch.” Annie opened her eyes, breathing hard.
She stood up and walked around the counter to the back quarters. Nothing changed, except for the spiders’ webs, dusty windows and—?
“Where is it?” Alarmed, she searched for her souvenir.
A odd one.
Not like she was attached to it in anyway but it was hers : that picture of three of them.
At the time when love and friendship meant something. That time where money and ambition were far away from their threshold.
Nowhere to be found. It seemed useless to keep searching.
“I could use a drink.” Annie sighed, balancing her bag on the too worn mattress. “That being said, let clean up a bit.”
She styled her coils in a loose bun and walked out to the grocery store. The street changed — the barbershop she’d known were replaced by a Western Union spot, beside it, the store itself grew bigger but kept the same narrow aisles and the same fluorescent buzz overhead that gave everybody the same ashy undertone under the light. She grabbed a basket at the entrance, moved through without stopping, picking her essentials : bleach, scrub brush, mop head, garbage bags, a bar of soap, a washcloth and some other little things she might need.
The teen cashier looked at her up and down then inside of her basket and said : “28$”
Annie didn’t move.
“I said 28$.”
“Your education? Kinda cheap I must say.”
The boy’s ears went red. He cleared his throat and looked back at his register. “28 dollars ma’am.”
Annie sneered and counted the bills. She gave him the exact amount — no more no less, took her bags and exited.
She spent hours mopping, scrubbing, cleaning the quarters from the bathroom to the kitchenette. Her labors done, she prepared her bath, filling the old tub until the pipes stopped groaning. She undressed, stepped in and sat with her knees bent, eyes closed, the water cooling around her by the time she was done. She dried off, pulled on clean clothes — dark jeans, a fitted top, her jacket over it — checked the gun, slid it back into the waistband and picked up her bag.
“I’m wondering if Joe still by the Avenue.” She left by the back door and locked behind her.
Stack was half conscious when Smoke crossed the threshold of the hospital sterile room. He dropped into the chair at his bedside, taking in him hooked to half a dozen machines.
“How’s the viper’s bite?”
“Just a little kiss…” Stack struggled to retort, his ribs broken and aching.
“Ts. I wonder where she learned to aim that well.” He smirked, praising his own teaching.
“Hope you keep that smile — gnn.” Stack winced.
“What do you mean?”
“She left a message for you. I’m coming to visit, papa.”
Smoke’s eyes widened and he grinned, a cigarette hanging between his lips, unlit.
That crazy woman.
He let out a short chuckle then turned toward the door. “Guess I’ll have to set an extra plate then.” He muttered, amused. “I had the guys outside your room tonight. Rest.”
He left.
Conrad kept the drive in pure silence. At least for one or two miles, then he cracked up.
“I heard Annie is back, Smoke.”
“Mhm. I also heard.”
“What you going to do, I mean between you all?”
“Cornbread.” He cut straight.
The bulky chauffeur stiffened, hands tightening on the wheel. He felt the air turned icy.
“Me and Annie it’s over. I don’t spend time between jail bird’s legs.” He opened the car door, as they arrived in his sumptuous six stories full glasses and marble house. “Don’t be that tight. And keep an eye on Stack. Don’t let anything happen to my brother.”
“Yes, Smoke.”
Korinne the head maid welcomed him in, taking his bags and jacket before he strode to his glamorous living room.
You are trespassing in my property so I advise you to get out before I call the police.
Are you listen to me? How rude— I’m telling you to leave. I don’t tolerate criminal in my space
“Korinne.” Smoke called, recognizing the high-pitched authoritarian voice.
“Yes sir.”
“Is Thania here?”
“Yes, she is receiving one of your guest.”
“A guest?” He thought out loud. “Alright, brew me an earl grey please. Add some scotch to it.”
“Alright Sir.”
A guest?
Slim?
Smoke walked easy, opened the glassed gold-ornate door and his heart skipped a beat.
“Ah Smoke, you here. Could you tell your Barbie hundred percent plastic to stop barking in my ears, I can’t hear the bugs flying.”
His eyes grazed up from the red stiletto heels at her feet, through the flared fine fabric black pants hugging the top of her thighs to her face : those big brown eyes that had him under spell for so many years, that hearty mouth glossed with brilliance he’d spent nights and nights kissing, that mahogany complexion that had nothing to envy the finest tastiest cocoa silk.
Years did her good.
Annie.
“Viper.”
He had expected her at his company building not his house. At least not that soon.
