Solar

23.Black. STILL in her SINNERS era.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

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

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

Part Seven

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

“You wanna ride me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Then, she sank. 

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

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

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

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

She rode him like she was made for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

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

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

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

“Daddy—”

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

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

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

“No—no, I’m not—”

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

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

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

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

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

Pop. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

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

She started bucking. 

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

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

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

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

“Sanaa—”

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

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

It was working. 

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

And then she rode him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

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

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

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

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

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

And that was it.

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

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

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

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

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

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

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

“Erik—”

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

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

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

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

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

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

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

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

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

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

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

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

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

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

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

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

That was all Erik needed.

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

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

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

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

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

And it was. 

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

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

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

“E—”

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

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

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

“Fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

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

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

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

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

Her body jumped.

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

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

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

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

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

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

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

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

So damn pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

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

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

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

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

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

It was a sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fill me up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

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

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

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

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

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

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

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

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

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

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

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

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

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

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

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

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

“Now lay in it.”

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, here he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s yours.

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

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

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

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

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

5:18 A.M.

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

Erik preferred it this way. 

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

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

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

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

Sanaa. 

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

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

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

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

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

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

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

Nope. 

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

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

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

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

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

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

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

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

This don’t make no damn sense. 

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

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

One notification. 

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

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

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

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

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

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

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

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

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

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

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

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

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

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

“You good, Liyah?” 

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

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

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

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

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

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

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

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

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

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

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

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

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

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

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

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

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

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

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

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

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

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

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

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

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

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

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

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

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

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

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

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

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

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

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

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

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

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

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

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

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

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

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

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

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

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

“…Fruit look old.” 

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

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

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

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

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

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

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

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

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

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

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

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

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

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

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

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

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

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

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

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

“I know enough.” 

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

“Mmmm.” 

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

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

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

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

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

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

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

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

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

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

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

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

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

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

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

“That gotta be Naima.”

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

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

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

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

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

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

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

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

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

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

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

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

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

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

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

“I know.”

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

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

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

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

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

“Damn right.”

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

He still looked unconvinced.

______

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

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

“I’m glad it made it.”

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

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

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

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

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

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

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

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

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

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

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

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

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

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

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

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

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

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

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

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

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

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

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

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sanaa?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[solarssins]

Does Erik do birthdays? Asking for me

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

@solarssins 😝 you know what? That’s actually a really good idea…sis you done gave me an idea!!!!!! Omg…✍🏿

[solarssins]

Make sure you tag me!

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Say My Name

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

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

Part Seven

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

“You wanna ride me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Then, she sank. 

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

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

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

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

She rode him like she was made for it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

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

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

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

“Daddy—”

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

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

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

“No—no, I’m not—”

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

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

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

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

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

Pop. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

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

She started bucking. 

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

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

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

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

“Sanaa—”

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

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

It was working. 

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

And then she rode him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

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

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

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

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

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

And that was it.

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

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

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

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

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

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

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

“Erik—”

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

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

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

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

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

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

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

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

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

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

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

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

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

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

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

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

That was all Erik needed.

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

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

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

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

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

And it was. 

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

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

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

“E—”

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

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

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

“Fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

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

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

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

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

Her body jumped.

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

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

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

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

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

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

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

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

So damn pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

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

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

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

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

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

It was a sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fill me up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

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

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

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

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

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

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

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

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

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

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

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

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

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

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

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

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

“Now lay in it.”

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, here he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s yours.

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

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

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

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

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

5:18 A.M.

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

Erik preferred it this way. 

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

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

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

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

Sanaa. 

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

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

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

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

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

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

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

Nope. 

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

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

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

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

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

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

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

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

This don’t make no damn sense. 

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

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

One notification. 

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

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

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

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

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

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

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

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

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

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

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

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

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

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

“You good, Liyah?” 

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

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

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

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

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

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

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

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

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

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

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

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

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

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

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

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

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

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

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

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

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

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

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

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

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

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

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

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

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

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

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

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

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

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

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

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

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

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

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

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

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

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

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

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

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

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

“…Fruit look old.” 

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

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

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

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

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

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

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

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

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

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

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

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

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

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

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

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

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

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

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

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

“I know enough.” 

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

“Mmmm.” 

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

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

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

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

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

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

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

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

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

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

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

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

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

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

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

“That gotta be Naima.”

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

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

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

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

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

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

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

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

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

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

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

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

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

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

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

“I know.”

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

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

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

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

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

“Damn right.”

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

He still looked unconvinced.

______

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

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

“I’m glad it made it.”

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

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

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

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

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

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

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

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

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

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

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

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

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

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

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

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

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

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

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

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

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

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

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

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

@lizbehave @overzealouszeitgeist @aretasreads @prettypinkprincess29 @palmstreesallday @underated345-blog @4tprincess @dremmmm @xeniaonvenus @mirathebookworm @theogbadbitch @omgffs @sunflowerhelena-vol6 @themindfulwriter16 @blyffe @d1gitalb4rbie @catxo @zunibugsiren @theewealthiestwife @girlmath101 @notniicekay @zion1-ollie @kindofaintrovert @sweettae02 @nova-rae @cdotmvkspaz @ispywithmylileye @plan3tch1ld @championshipshade @charmedthoughts @passionxwrites @cocochannelmoi @raysogroovy @beyoncethsblog @fairysoulja @jaszys-fantasy @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @hotebonynearby @alaysiunaadams23 @soulfulbeauty19 @thatoneleox @naiii444 @imqueenmelanin @blaqwidow91 @novaniskye @aliengal @geemamii @christinabae

[solarssins]

Does Erik do birthdays? Asking for me

[morxwar]

𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓽 𝓑𝓪𝓰 𝓫𝔂 𝓛𝓪 𝓛𝓾𝓷𝓮 (2025)

[solarssins]

Need that

[paper-wounds]

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Hawkins Family Christmas

Summary: Erik doesn’t do holidays. Not the lights, not the music, and definitely not the gatherings. But when an old friend invites him to spend the holidays with his family in Oakland, something makes him say yes.

Warnings: Slow-burn erotic tension/ Age-gap dynamics (consensual, emotionally complex)/Explicit sexual content/Oral sex (m+f)/Face-sitting/Bratty sub behavior/Dominance & praise kink (includes “good girl,” being told what to do)/Hair pulling, face holding, choking (consensual, requested)/Public teasing / risk play (in shared spaces)/Spit play/Mirror sex/Sensory play (blindfolds, textures)/Mutual masturbation / voyeuristic elements/Possessive energy/guided submission/Adult language & graphic detail

Part One

The day before Christmas Eve — Oakland, California

The air outside still held that sharp winter bite, but as soon as Erik stepped onto the porch, he could smell it.

Cinnamon. Fried something. Brown sugar. Black home.

The door was wrapped in thick garland and gold ribbon. White lights lined the windows. Somewhere inside, people were laughing warm and loose with the kind of joy he hadn’t been around in years. The one that reminded you of the holidays.

He lifted a fist and knocked twice. A second later, the door swung open.

“Ayeeee! Nigga, you made it!” Deuce grinned wide, his white tooth grin catching the light, “I was just tellin’ them you wasn’t gonna show.”

Erik smirked, dragging his duffle up the last step, “I said I would.”

Deuce clapped him in tight, a brother’s hug that ended with a half-slap to his back, “Still a ghost though. We gon’ work on that.”

Inside, the house was full of heat, voices, the clatter of pots in the kitchen, the smell of baked mac and yams. Frankie Beverly vinyl was playing low under the noise. The walls were warm taupe, the lights soft and golden. Decorated to feel lived in, not staged. A wreath hung above the mantle. There was a Christmas tree in the far corner, real pine. Full. Not a single bare spot. Gift-wrapped boxes already stacked beneath.

It was too much. Too cozy. Erik’s shoulders rolled slightly under his Northface coat.

“C’mon, lemme show you the dungeon,” Deuce said with a grin.

He led him down a narrow staircase into a finished basement. It was clean, masculine, probably Marlon’s old man cave. There was a large sectional, a mounted TV, a bar cart in the corner, and a guest room with its own bathroom.

“Not the Ritz,” Deuce said, “but it’s got a shower, and it’s yours.”

Erik dropped his bag at the foot of the bed, “It’s solid.”

“You want a drink? Something to eat?”

“Nah. Lemme get settled first.”

Deuce gave a nod, already halfway back upstairs, “We upstairs if you need anything.”

And then he was alone.

Erik sat on the edge of the bed for a second, elbows on knees. The basement was quiet, dim, and cool, a nice change from the warmth upstairs pressing at him like a memory he didn’t ask for. A warmth that read: family, closeness, comfort, familiarity.

He took his time.

Stripped down. Stepped into the shower and let the heat pull tension from his muscles. Washed off the travel, the quiet of the flight, the months of grit behind his eyes. When he came out, he threw on a clean black tee and joggers. Rolled his neck once. Then made his way back upstairs.

That’s when he saw her.

She stood in the kitchen, angled sideways at the sink, pouring something into a glass Pyrex dish. The first thing Erik saw was curves—hips hugged in a soft plum-colored wrap dress. Bare shoulders. Gold hoop earrings swinging gently as she moved. Her curls were voluminous, thick, like a crown. And when she turned…

Hazel eyes.

Warm and unreadable, locked on him before she even said a word.

Deuce called from across the room, “Yo Ma, this my boy I was tellin’ you about. Erik.”

She didn’t smile. Not right away. She gave him a long look. Up. Down. Repeat. Took him in like he was something interesting she hadn’t expected. Like her curiosity peeked.

Then, “So you’re the one my son been braggin’ about.”

Her voice was low and smooth. Smoky. Sultry.

Erik nodded once, “Yes ma’am.”

That made her smirk. Just a little, “You don’t look like you do holidays.”

“I don’t.”

“Well,” she said, brushing her hands dry on a towel, “you in my house now. You gon’ eat, drink, and speak when spoken to. That clear?”

A pause.

Erik’s mouth twitched, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good.” She walked past him, close enough to brush his shoulder with hers, the scent of vanilla and wood clinging to the air behind her.

“Yo Zay!” Deuce shouted, “Come meet my boy!”

And then she appeared—Zaya, steps light, locs pulled half-up, half-down, with flyaways and a nose hoop that glittered when she smiled. She had on high-waisted sweats and a cropped tee that stopped just short of her waist beads. Her skin glowed.

She slid into the kitchen and leaned against the fridge, licking her lips, “Damn.” she said, looking Erik up and down, “You fine as hell.”

“Zaya—” Celeste warned from the other side of the room.

“What?” Zaya popped a spoon with leftover batter from her mouth, “I can look.”

Erik said nothing. Just looked at her, head slightly tilted, heat curling behind his eyes.

Deuce was already halfway into a story about their time overseas, oblivious.

And Erik…he just stood there in the middle of it all. This warm, chaotic, scented, glittering house feeling like he’d just walked into something he wasn’t gonna walk out of clean.

Deuce handed Erik a glass without asking. Neat. Dark. Strong. The type of drink that kicked the back of your throat before it kissed it. Erik sipped and let the burn bloom, grateful for the silence between the two of them. In the corner, the tree blinked gold and green. The scent of baked ham and sweet potatoes curled through the air vents like a living thing, softening everything it touched.

They were seated in the den now, just off the kitchen, where the conversation didn’t have to compete with laughter. Deuce was reclined on the arm of a leather chair while Erik sat low and heavy on the sofa, legs stretched wide, glass balanced in one palm. He was beginning to settle, that thick restlessness in his chest quieting by inches. Deuce was catching him up on his cousin’s divorce drama when another man entered the room.

Stocky frame. Salt-and-pepper beard trimmed clean. Dark slacks, a collared shirt rolled to the elbows. His presence filled the doorway like he built the damn house. Marlon Hawkins.

“Y’all drinkin’ without me?” His voice was deeper than Deuce’s and rougher, like it had run through sandpaper.

Deuce stood and gave his stepfather a dap, “We ain’t startin’ nothin’ serious.”

Erik rose and nodded, “Erik.”

Marlon walked over and offered a hand. Firm grip. No nonsense, “Marlon. Appreciate you comin’ through, son. My boy don’t bring many people around. Especially not folks from the Teams.”

Erik gave a small smile, “He said y’all wouldn’t feed me if I didn’t show.”

Marlon laughed from the belly, “That sounds about right.”

The three of them talked for a while. Drinks in hand. The fire crackling low behind them. Marlon asked about the mission rotation, what it was like running ops in Bahrain, how the new administration was cutting defense contracts like butter. Deuce got a little looser with the bourbon, dropping wild stories from their second deployment. The kind that ended in bruises and stolen motorcycles.

Erik stayed quiet most of the time, not out of shyness but instinct. He preferred to listen. To absorb. But his eyes kept straying—again and again—toward the kitchen.

That’s where Celeste stood, hips leaned into the counter, one hand on a wine glass, the other gently stirring a sauce pot. Her back was to him, that plum dress still clinging to her like it had been sewn on wet. Her legs moved slow, casual, but he caught the moment her eyes flicked toward him in the reflection of the microwave door. She knew he was watching. She didn’t turn to acknowledge. But her movements slowed, like she was letting him look longer. Wanting him to sit in that ache.

Next to her, Zaya leaned over the counter with her bare arms folded under her chest, lip gloss catching the light. She was barefoot, bangles jingling softly every time she moved, those high-waisted sweats riding higher on her hips and sinking between her cheeks. She licked chocolate icing from her thumb, smiling to herself like the joke was private and nasty.

Erik’s jaw flexed once. He brought his glass to his lips, slow.

“I’m glad you came, man,” Deuce said, still talking, “We really do it up around here. We start early. Christmas Eve gon’ be wild. Kwanzaa gon’ be real. And New Year’s…New Year’s gon’ be legendary.”

Marlon lifted his glass, “Ain’t no peace and quiet in this house, brother. Get ready.”

Erik nodded again. But he wasn’t really listening.

The kitchen light flickered slightly, just enough to make Celeste glance up. She stepped back from the stove and adjusted the strap of her dress with one finger, pulling it back into place along her shoulder. Her nails were a warm shade of burgundy, almond-shaped, glossy. When she reached for a dish towel, her dress slid slightly at the chest, revealing a hint of lace underneath. She didn’t bother to fix it. If anything, she paused for just a second longer than necessary.

Zaya said something. Celeste laughed. It was the kind of laugh that didn’t need to be loud to be heard. It hummed across the room like static on skin.

“Yo, Ma!” Deuce called out, “We gon’ play some cards after dinner?”

“Of course,” she called back, “As long as your boy knows how to lose with grace.”

Erik looked up, meeting her hazel gaze full on. Her smirk wasn’t sweet. It was knowing. She took a sip of her wine and didn’t break eye contact.

Behind her, Zaya bent forward, digging into a drawer too low for it to be accidental. The dip of her back, the way her ass rose perfectly with the stretch of her spine. She glanced over her shoulder once, eyes sharp and shining, catching Erik looking just a second too long.

She grinned.

He froze. Like all his movements were restricted. His dick throbbed behind the crotch of his joggers, thick and hungry and missing something. He crossed one leg over the other just to keep it from showing, grinding his teeth gently before lifting his drink again.

Deuce kept talking. Marlon got up to grab more ice. Erik stayed seated, but his thoughts were already pulling him into dark places. The kitchen noise faded behind the thump of his pulse. He knew trouble when he saw it. He’d lived with trouble. Fucked trouble. Buried it in countries that didn’t exist on maps. But this? This was different. This trouble smiled back. Wore cinnamon and cocoa butter like perfume. Walked around barefoot through the house and whispered temptation in the flick of a wrist.

Celeste returned to her prep, back turned. But Erik could still feel her watching.

Zaya sat on the edge of the kitchen stool now, licking more icing from a spoon like it was an audition. She sucked it once, slow, then bit it with a soft pop, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

She didn’t look away.

And Erik didn’t either.

They both leaned into it.

The kitchen smelled like Christmas. Caramelized onions met slow-roasted meat. Clove and honey slid through the air, tangled with the earthiness of collards, the sweet sting of yams glazed in brown sugar, the faint trace of nutmeg hiding in something Celeste hadn’t even pulled from the oven. The oven light clicked off and on. Something bubbled. The warmth coated the walls, thickening the space until it felt less like a house and more like a womb of tradition.

Erik stood near the kitchen entryway, watching the women work.

Celeste had her cell pressed to her ear with one hand, the other drizzling sauce over a roast in slow, looping strokes. Her nails tapped lightly against the edge of the pan between pauses in her conversation. Her voice was low, casual, almost intimate, like whoever was on the other end knew not to interrupt her flow. She didn’t smile much when she spoke, but her mouth stayed soft. Her lashes were long. She listened more than she talked.

Zaya moved around her like a shadow dipped in gold. She’d changed again. Just a fitted long-sleeve top that clung to her waist and made her breasts look like a problem no one was trying to solve. Her skirt hugged her like it had been painted on, the soft, stretchy fabric molding to the curve of her hips and the swell of her ass with every step. It sat high on her waist, cinched just enough to draw the eye downward, but moved like second skin every time she leaned or turned. Her locs were pinned up now, a few falling forward just to tease her face. She hummed to herself as she set the table, hips swaying lightly with the background music.

Erik could feel the heat rolling off both of them. Not from the oven. Not from the food. Something else. Something tense.

Deuce walked up behind him and clapped his shoulder, “Come on, man. Time to eat. You sittin’ next to me. You gon’ need help defending your plate.”

They moved toward the dining room, the lights had been dimmed just enough to make everything feel intimate. A garland centerpiece ran down the center of the table, dotted with candles and fake snow. The dishes were set, heavy ceramic with gold trim. No paper plates here.

Zaya leaned over from behind him and placed the last fork, brushing his back lightly as she passed.

She caught his eye, lips parted just slightly, “Come sit,” she said, voice soft like a dare, “Before I change my mind and keep you all to myself.”

Deuce groaned, “Zaya. Chill.”

Celeste entered last, phone gone now, a pitcher of something ruby-red in her hand. Her dress clung tighter than before, like the steam from the oven had melted it further against her skin. She moved like a woman who didn’t rush for anyone. Her hazel eyes scanned the room once, then landed on Erik.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. But his jaw set tighter.

She poured the drink slowly, fruit and fresh herbs floating near the top.

“House hibiscus tea,” she said, “Infused with rum, orange peel, cinnamon stick, and a touch of lime. Made it this morning.”

Erik took the glass handed to him. It was cool in his palm, beaded with condensation. He sipped. Smooth. Sweet, with a sting just under the tongue.

“Yeah,” Deuce said with a grin, “Told you. Ma don’t play with the punch.”

Zaya slid into the seat beside Erik before he could move. Deuce dropped into the other side of him, already reaching for a roll. Marlon took the head of the table. Celeste sat at the foot, eyes flicking over the spread like a queen surveying her court.

They passed dishes in slow rotation. Platters of roasted chicken, glazed ham, baked macaroni thick with cheese and crisp on top. Bowls of greens, cornbread, stuffing that had to be made from scratch. Zaya leaned in close when she passed the bowl to Erik, brushing her hand against his, her thigh already warm against his under the table.

“Be careful,” she whispered, lips near his ear, “That mac might make you fall in love.”

Erik didn’t answer. Just looked at her, until she smiled like she’d won something.

Celeste sipped her drink, watching the exchange without a word.

“So, Erik,” Marlon said, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin, “tell us somethin’ about you. Where’s home base these days?”

“Everywhere,” Erik said, “I move around a lot. Overseas. East Coast. Not much in one place.”

Celeste tilted her head, “No family nearby?”

He shook his head, “No one that’s still alive.”

Her gaze softened for a fraction of a second, “Well,” she said, “you got us now. For the holidays, anyway.”

Zaya leaned back in her chair, stretching slightly so her breast pressed into his arm before she adjusted again, “You can stay as long as you want,” she said sweetly, “Oakland’s better when it’s got something fine to look at.”

Deuce sighed, “This is why I don’t bring people home.”

Laughter rolled around the table, but Erik’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He kept eating. The greens were sharp and seasoned perfectly. The cornbread melted on contact. The mac really might be dangerous. The flavors settled in his mouth like memory, grounding him in ways he hadn’t expected.

Zaya reached for the tea pitcher and poured him another glass before he could ask.

Celeste watched, her ringed fingers tapping slowly against her wine glass, “Zaya,” she said, voice calm but edged in steel, “don’t crowd the man.”

Zaya smirked, unbothered, “Just bein’ a good host.”

Celeste didn’t respond. Just sipped. Those hazel eyes never left Erik.

The music playing in the background shifted to Donny Hathaway’s “This Christmas.” One they’d played the hell out of since the holiday season kicked off. The sound filled the room like smoke—slow, soulful, familiar. The candles flickered.

Zaya moved closer, her knee now pressing into Erik’s leg. Her perfume was warm, sweet, with the faintest note of vanilla musk. Her foot slid lightly along the floor, just close enough that if she wanted to, she could let it touch his.

Erik chewed slow, letting the layers of flavor melt across his tongue while his body tried to ignore the two women seated across from each other like two sides of a flame. Zaya on his left, Celeste down the table at his diagonal. Both beautiful. Both watching. But not in the same way.

Zaya was the storm. She flirted loud, teased with her eyes, bumped her knee against his under the table every few bites. She was playful with it. Shameless. Young enough to play games but grown enough to mean every one.

Celeste was something else entirely. She didn’t do much. Didn’t need to. She touched her glass a certain way. Tilted her head when she spoke. Her voice slipped under the conversation and stayed there, like the last note of a song you didn’t want to end. When Erik looked at her, she didn’t look away.

“Aight,” Deuce said between bites, nodding toward his mother, “Go on. Tell my boy something about you. So he don’t think I was raised by a robot.”

Celeste dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. Her smile was small, but the gleam in her eyes said she wasn’t about to give anything she didn’t want to.

“Well,” she began, fingers resting delicately on her wine glass, “I’m from Los Angeles originally. Born in ’72. Moved up to the Bay in my early twenties. Used to dance professionally. Toured for a while. Did some choreography work, taught a little. Then had this one—” she motioned to Deuce—“and everything changed.”

Deuce chuckled, mouth full, “She means she tapped out of the spotlight and leveled up on the mom game.”

Celeste gave him a look that was half warning, half affection, “What I got was intentional.” Her gaze flicked back to Erik, “I run a wellness studio now. Yoga. Movement therapy. Feminine energy workshops. Candlework. All the things women don’t get enough of.”

Erik’s eyes moved slowly over her face as she spoke. That voice of hers pulled at the space between each word, dripped heat onto every syllable. She didn’t rush. She let him sit in it. Let him picture her on a hardwood floor, body curved and slow, breathing deep in a room full of incense and mirrors.

“I like anything that slows the body down,” she added, “Makes you feel where the tension lives.”

Zaya sucked her teeth softly and turned to Erik with a grin, “Don’t let her fool you. She be in there with her incense and her moans like she casting spells.”

Celeste didn’t react. Just sipped her wine and smiled, legs crossing slowly under the table.

“And what about you, Zaya?” Erik asked, voice low.

She perked up, “Oh, I’m the fun one.”

“That’s not a job,” Marlon said with a short laugh.

Zaya ignored him, “I do content and branding stuff. Photography. Style consulting. I help women feel good in their skin. Sexy. Present. Confident. I also host these private group sessions for Black women—kinda like…sensual development workshops. We talk body, energy, movement. Self-pleasure. How to ride better. How to talk dirty. You know, all the grown stuff schools should’ve taught us.”

Erik raised his brow slightly. Zaya winked. Deuce groaned and dropped his fork.

“Nah,” he muttered, “Why is this happening?”

“You asked,” Celeste said, lifting a shoulder, “We just answering.”

Deuce pushed back from the table slightly and stood, “I’m about to grab Tasha. She just pulled up out front.”

He disappeared toward the front door, the cold air drifting in from the hallway. Erik heard the jingle of keys, then the warm sound of Deuce’s voice outside as he greeted his girlfriend.

Zaya slid a little closer in his absence, “So,” she said, voice lower now. “You think you can handle this family?”

“I’ve been in warzones,” Erik replied calmly.

She laughed, that husky, spoiled little sound that settled right in his lap, “Mm. That’s real cute. But warzones don’t have women like me.”

Across the table, Celeste’s gaze remained steady. She took another sip of wine and let her eyes linger on the way Erik leaned back in his chair, how his jaw clenched slightly as Zaya’s arm brushed his.

The front door shut. Footsteps padded down the hallway. Then a voice rang out, bright and honey-coated.

“I’m here!” Tasha called, sliding into view in a deep burgundy trench and matching lip gloss.

She was plump, stylish, with tight curls and a body that moved with casual elegance. She kissed Deuce on the cheek, then looked around the table with a polite smile.

“Hey y’all. I was over at my mama’s helping with her last-minute Christmas stuff. Had to sneak away before she started assigning wrapping paper by zodiac sign.”

Everyone laughed. Celeste motioned toward the sink.

“Go wash up, baby. Plate’s waiting.”

Tasha nodded and stepped into the kitchen, the sound of running water beginning behind her.

Zaya leaned in, whispering again, “Don’t worry. She’s sweet. Real locked in. But she not the one you gotta worry about.”

Erik glanced at her, “And who’s that?”

Zaya smiled wider, lifting her glass to sip, “That’s for you to figure out.”

The music shifted in the background, the bassline thickening, the croon of a soulful voice sliding over the clink of silverware and low talk. Erik reached for the pitcher and poured more of the red drink into his glass, slow and deliberate, letting the herbs and fruit swirl. The candle nearest to Zaya burned low, the flame flickering just enough to catch the shine along her collarbone.

Celeste watched it all. Said nothing. But the way her ring finger traced the rim of her glass told him everything he needed to know. She didn’t mind Zaya playing. Not at all. Because she already knew how this game ended.

The table had been cleared, plates stacked high by Zaya while Tasha wrapped the leftovers with foil and flicked away a few crumbs with a kitchen towel. The warmth of the meal still lingered in the walls. The air was thick with roasted spice and the last traces of melted butter, wine, and citrus peel. Erik leaned back in his chair for a moment before standing, the buzz from the rum-soaked hibiscus tea crawling through his blood like slow syrup.

In the next room, Marlon had kicked off his shoes and claimed the recliner, cigar tucked between his fingers, football humming low on the screen. The click of his lighter broke the quiet for a beat, followed by the faint crackle of tobacco. The scent drifted through the open floor plan, mixing with the fading remnants of dinner and setting the perfect mood for the lull that always came after a full table.

Deuce was leaning against the entryway near the tree, one arm draped around Tasha’s shoulders, the other gesturing lazily as he ran down some story about their second deployment. Tasha smiled with polite curiosity, but her eyes kept moving, sharp and watchful. She was the kind of woman who took notes with her expressions.

Eventually, she looked up at Erik.

“I’m Tasha, by the way,” she said, stepping away from Deuce’s grip and holding out her hand, “I don’t think we were officially introduced.”

Erik took it, grip firm but gentle, “Erik.”

She tilted her head slightly, “You the one been making my man look soft in the stories, huh?”

Deuce groaned, “Don’t gas him.”

Tasha smiled, wide and playful, “Too late.”

Before Erik could reply, Zaya appeared with a deck of cards in one hand and two shot glasses in the other.

“Spades time!” she said, sliding into the room like she’d been summoned by the music, “And y’all better come correct. I don’t carry no weak partners.”

She handed a shot to Tasha, who accepted it without hesitation. Deuce took the other from her hand and sipped. Zaya looked at Erik with expectant eyes, but he held up his tea glass instead, the fruit still bobbing near the bottom. He was warm already. No need to chase the buzz.

He stood, stretching slightly, then made his way into the kitchen. The sink was empty now. The dishes washed and drying on a towel beside the sink. The oven door was cracked, cooling. And Celeste stood with her back to him, slowly wiping down a porcelain platter with a thick cloth.

Her dress had shifted slightly—one shoulder dropped lower than earlier, showing off the dip between her neck and collarbone. She wore slippers, her silver anklet catching the light with every move she made. Her hips swayed gently with the rhythm of a Christmas song playing low from a speaker on the counter. Something soulful and old. A song that touched your skin before it hit your ears.

He stepped into the room without saying a word.

Celeste didn’t turn around.

“You here to help?” she asked, without turning, “or to be nosy in my kitchen?”

Erik’s mouth curved slightly, “Could be both,” he said.

She chuckled under her breath. The sound was warm, like steam from a cup of strong tea, “Smart man,” she said, “You any good with fine china?”

“I can follow directions.”

She handed him a stack of plates—delicate, cream-colored, rimmed in gold, “Cabinet above the fridge,” she said, “Top shelf. Don’t chip nothing.”

He took the plates from her and moved slowly across the kitchen. He could feel her eyes on him now, though she hadn’t turned. As he reached up, he caught her reflection in the glass of the microwave door. She was wiping a second platter. Focused. But there was a calm in her posture that said she was very aware of every breath he took.

He slid the plates into place.

“You do this often?” he asked, returning to her side.

“Entertain? Around the holidays, yes.”

“No,” he said, reaching for the next platter she handed him, “Make men feel like they walking into a trap.”

She looked at him then. Just a glance. No smile. No twitch of her mouth.

“That’s not me,” she said, “Traps require effort. If you walk in, it’s because you want to.”

He nodded once, “Noted.”

She passed him another dish, this one smaller. A serving bowl. Her fingers brushed his—warm, dry, gentle.

“Truth is,” she said, “I like hosting. I like feeding people. It’s the only time I get to slow things down and watch people actually live in their bodies.”

“You teach that too?”

Celeste finally looked at him full on. Her hazel eyes held something steady, something that didn’t pull back or push forward. Just lingered.

“I don’t teach anything I don’t practice.”

He placed the last dish up in the cabinet and closed the door gently.

They stood there for a moment, the soft music curling through the kitchen like mist. Outside the room, Zaya laughed loud at something Deuce said. Marlon’s voice rumbled low from the recliner. The TV flickered with motion and color. The whole house vibrated with life.

But in that kitchen, it was just the two of them.

Celeste picked up her wine glass and took a slow sip, lips parting just enough to leave a faint smudge of gloss on the rim, “You good with cards?” she asked, her voice returning to something lighter.

“I don’t lose.”

She raised one brow, “That sounds like a challenge.”

He stepped back, not far, but enough to put space between them that still felt close, “I don’t challenge women I just met,” he said, “Not unless I know they’ll push back.”

Celeste smiled, finally, “You’ll learn quick,” she said, “There ain’t a woman in this house who won’t.”

Voices got louder. The music shifted to something with more bass—classics dipped in funk and soul. The heat kicked in again, hissing through the vents, and the living room swelled with warmth, laughter, and the smell of tobacco and citrus peel. Marlon sank deeper into the recliner with his cigar, his glass now filled with something darker than tea. The football game played quietly in the background, just enough to glance at during shuffle breaks. Deuce and Tasha sat side by side on the couch, her legs tucked under his thigh, sipping on a shared drink with a cherry at the bottom. Zaya, of course, was already at the card table, shuffling with one hand and licking a smudge of gloss off her thumb.

Erik stood with his arms crossed, observing. The haze of the hibiscus still clung to him—warm, slow, just enough to dull the sharpness in his mind. He didn’t mind it. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking about anything outside these walls.

“Aight!,” Zaya said, slapping the deck on the table, “Who ready to get they ass beat?”

“Oh, we talkin’ spicy already?” Marlon called from the recliner, “Say less. Lemme go on and show y’all why they call me Big Slick.”

Celeste stepped in from the hallway, glass in hand, her curls wild and full around her face. She looked relaxed now, wrapped in a loose knit sweater that hung off one shoulder, exposing her golden brown skin and a long, elegant collarbone that made Erik’s mouth feel too dry. She didn’t look at him as she walked past—but he felt her anyway.

Marlon took the seat across from Zaya, “I want her on my team,” he said, nodding toward Celeste, “She talk the most shit, but she got the best strategy.”

Zaya rolled her eyes, “Of course you want Mama on your team. Y’all always teamin’ up.”

“’Cause we win,” Celeste said, sipping slow, “Simple math.”

Deuce stood and looked around the table, “Alright, we runnin’ two on two. Me and Tasha.”

Tasha shook her head, “Uh uh. I came to watch and drink. I ain’t tryna get yelled at for reneging.”

Zaya turned in her chair to face Erik fully.

“Well then. That means you’re up, soldier.”

Erik smirked slightly and stepped forward, “I’ll play.”

“You any good?” Marlon asked, cutting the cards clean.

Erik pulled out the chair beside Zaya and sat down without hesitation, “I don’t talk unless I got the cards to back it.”

Zaya grinned slow, eyes gleaming, “Mmm. That’s what I like to hear.”

Celeste moved to the kitchen island, standing just close enough to watch but far enough to stay out of the fray. She leaned her hip against the counter, sipping her drink, eyes half-lidded with something unreadable.

Marlon and Celeste on one side. Zaya and Erik on the other.

The cards hit the table with practiced ease. The first hand was all warm-up—Zaya grinning, Erik watching, letting his partner lead while he read the room. But by the second hand, the gloves were off.

“Don’t underbid, old man,” Zaya teased, “You know you too damn competitive!”

“Don’t overbid, little girl,” Marlon shot back, “You ain’t played me yet!”

Erik sat silent, steady, his eyes sweeping over his hand, then flicking briefly to Celeste. She was still standing at the edge of the room, sipping, saying nothing. Just watching. And every time he caught her gaze, she didn’t look away.

“You got that?” Zaya asked him softly.

He nodded once, “Run it.”

She threw a card down with a clap, “Cut that shit.”

Marlon groaned, “Aw, hell.”

The game rolled on. Cards flew. Shots were poured. Tasha laughed so hard at one point she dropped her drink, and Deuce rushed to grab a towel while teasing her. Celeste finally moved closer to refill drinks, her fingers grazing Erik’s shoulder as she leaned over to grab his glass. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t linger. But her scent—vanilla, spice, and something darker—coated the air like smoke.

Erik didn’t flinch. But he noticed.

Zaya leaned in and whispered, “You good, handsome?”

“I’m straight.”

“’Cause you keep starin’ like you about to fold.”

He glanced at her, “I don’t fold.”

“Mm,” she hummed, “We gon’ see.”

The final hand was loud—everybody on edge, drinks half-gone, cheeks flushed, cards slapping with more force. Marlon talked trash through a cloud of cigar smoke. Zaya stood halfway out of her chair at one point, chest bouncing under her shirt, laughing like a woman who knew she just pulled the right card at the right time.

When the game ended, Celeste raised her hand slightly. “Game.”

Marlon stood with his arms wide, “Told y’all. Big Slick don’t lose.”

Zaya groaned, tossing her cards across the table, “I hate y’all. Y’all be cheatin’ with eye contact.”

Celeste only smiled and gathered the cards.

Erik leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, that smooth buzz still thrumming through his chest. He hadn’t won—but he’d learned everything he needed to.

About the way Zaya moved when she was excited. About how Marlon got louder the closer he was to losing. About how Celeste didn’t gloat, didn’t boast—she just played and let the win speak for itself.

He could feel her near again, hear the quiet scuff of her heel against the carpet as she passed behind his chair. She didn’t say anything. Just brushed close enough for her sweater to graze his arm, her body heat lingering in the air after she walked away.

 Erik felt it. The hunger. The challenge. The quiet push-and-pull that had already begun. And he wasn’t backing down from any of it.

The laughter faded into low murmurs from upstairs, the TV turned off with a quiet click, and the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon had settled into the bones of the walls like memory. Even the music had cut out. Only the soft creaks of an old house settling remained, paired with the sound of the heating vent.

Erik made his way down the basement steps, feet heavy, tired. All that good food, strong drink, and too much attention. The guest room was cool but clean. A folded blanket lay at the foot of the bed. His duffle sat in the corner with a quiet yet heavy presence. He unzipped it, pulled out some of his things, and unpacked slowly because it gave him something to do. A way to ease the weight in his chest that had crept in the moment the last card hit the table and Celeste caught his eye across the room without smiling.

He peeled off his shirt and dropped it to the side.

His body was a map of a life few could imagine.

Hard, wide chest cut deep with muscle. Shoulders that flexed even when he wasn’t trying. The thick curve of his biceps told a story of war, discipline, and punishment that hadn’t yet caught up to him. His abdomen—carved. The kind of cut that couldn’t be faked or Photoshopped. A soft groove ran from the center of his chest down to his navel, where a trail of faint hair disappeared into the waistband of his sweats.

Scars ran across him like quiet history. One stretched just below his ribs. Another curled near his right shoulder. A thinner one marked the inside of his forearm, clean and purposeful like it came from a blade. Each one lived there without shame, just part of the frame.

And then there were his locs.

They were tight, deliberate locs, cut with precision, tapered clean along the sides where the fade sharpened the angles of his face. The top held just enough length to fall forward when he leaned or lowered his head, a few locs slipping loose across his forehead like punctuation marks, never messy, never accidental. They didn’t swing or sway freely, they shifted with him, responding to movement the way muscle did beneath skin. Each loc was thick at the root, coiled with purpose, some pressed close together, others separating slightly from heat and wear, creating texture instead of softness. When he exhaled, they barely moved. When he thought too long, his head would tilt, and they would follow, framing his eyes and emphasizing the sharp line of his cheekbones. It was a style that looked restrained until you paid attention, then you realized it was holding something back.

His skin—deep bronze, kissed by the kind of sunlight that left richness behind. Smooth across his chest, glowing faintly with the warm gleam of leftover lotion and clean heat from the upstairs air. It made the ink on his shoulder stand out sharper. Made his gold canines flash brighter when he breathed out a slow laugh to himself.

That’s when the knock came.

He moved toward the door, dragging a hand over his face. His body was wide enough to fill the whole frame when he opened it.

And there she stood.

Celeste.

No sweater now. A deep wine-colored robe, silk or satin, cinched loose at the waist. The collar dipped low, framing the smooth glow of her chest. Her curls had been pulled into a loose, low bun, a few strands brushing her cheek and the curve of her throat. In her hands: a folded set of soft, pale gray blankets.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice a whisper, “Didn’t mean to bother you. Just thought you might want extra covers. It gets colder down here at night.”

Erik said nothing at first.

Just looked at her.

Her eyes moved briefly over his chest—once, quick, before they lifted back to his face like it didn’t rattle her at all. But he saw the shift. The pause in her breath. The way her knuckles tensed just slightly around the edge of the blankets. He took them from her slowly, his fingers grazing hers, warm against warm.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough from quiet.

She nodded once. A little too fast.

He watched her start to turn, her shoulder beginning to pivot away.

But something in him wouldn’t let her leave just yet.

“Wait,” he said, hand still gripping the blankets.

She paused. Looked back over her shoulder.

“I appreciate you,” he said, “For real. For the meal. For letting me in your house. For making it feel like a house.”

Celeste looked at him. Not the way the others had looked. Not with hunger. Not with flirtation.

But with something deeper.

“You’re welcome,” she said, and her voice had lost its playfulness now. It was lower. Slower. She shifted her weight to one hip, hand still resting lightly on the doorframe, “Tomorrow’s a long day,” she added, “Shopping. Prep. Little traditions we don’t miss. Don’t be surprised if Zaya wakes you up with glitter and bullshit.”

Erik cracked a soft grin, “I’ll be ready.”

Celeste gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t stretch across her face but still hit like a warm wave. She stepped back, feet silent against the floor.

“Sleep well, Erik.”

And then she turned.

The robe swayed around her thighs as she turned, catching just enough of the soft hallway light to reveal the slow, hypnotic roll of her ass beneath the satin. Her walk wasn’t exaggerated—just natural. Feminine. Smooth. Every step deliberate and unhurried, like she had nothing to prove and already knew what she carried. She didn’t look back.

But he did.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her disappear down the hall like she wasn’t leaving pieces of him behind.

He dragged a hand over his mouth.

Let out a breath through his nose.

Then shook his head once.

“…Gahdamn.”

The basement was still dark when the door creaked open.

The quiet drag of fuzzy socks whispered across the floor as Zaya crept down the steps, a slight sway in her hips and a phone in her hand glowing with the low light of her Christmas playlist. The bassline thumped gently at her side, barely loud enough to register.

Just enough to soundtrack her little mission.

But the second she reached the doorway, her thumb tapped the screen. The music stopped. Silence slipped in behind her like a partner in crime.

Then she stepped inside.

She eased in slow, hips swaying in a bodycon ribbed mini short that clung like second skin. Her tank top was snug, braless beneath it, the hem just barely brushing the top of her waistband. She smelled like fresh lotion, vanilla shea butter, and that perfume she only wore on days she wanted to be noticed. Something sweet with a twist—like sugarcane kissed with amber. 

In her hand was a coffee mug—red, with big block letters that read:

Silent Night My Ass.

She set it down on the end table with care, then turned her attention to the lump in the bed.

Erik.

He was still asleep. One arm thrown over his face, chest bare, the blanket draped low enough to reveal the deep curve of his waist and that shadowed ridge of V-line muscle that made women second-guess their morals. The room was cool, but his skin glowed warm in the dim light from the hallway—brown, smooth, the tone of wet sand right before it bakes dry. His chest rose slow, steady. Broad. Every inch of him hard-earned and war-built.

And those locs—short, thick, tightly tapered on the sides, the top styled with control. A few of them had shifted in sleep, dangling forward across his brow, one brushing the edge of his cheek. They didn’t flop or hang. They framed. They commanded.

Zaya bit her lip. Just a little.

She whispered to herself, “Damn, you pretty.”

Then her eyes flicked to his bag.

The large black duffel sat by the foot of the bed. Wide open. Unzipped halfway like it had been tossed down and forgotten. She crept closer, curiosity overriding common sense, and pulled the flap back a few inches more. Inside, folded clothes. A pack of rolled socks. A pair of gloves. Cologne. A sleek black towel. But beneath all that—

A chrome pistol.

Sitting right there like it had a name.

Her heart skipped. She didn’t touch it. But the glint alone made her still.

And that’s when it happened.

His hand wrapped around her wrist.

Fast.

She gasped—a sharp little inhale that never left her mouth—because the next second he was up. Standing. Tall. Wide. Unbothered. Bare-chested. One arm flexed around her waist now, dragging her upright like she weighed nothing.

“Don’t know how to knock?” His voice was low. Sharp enough to bite.

Zaya froze, her back pressed against his bare chest now, his arm across her middle, firm and unshaking.

“I—” She tried, turning her head slightly.

He leaned in, face close, voice a little lower now. Eyes half-lidded. Lips parted. Gold catching the light in his canines, “And you goin’ through my shit?”

She swallowed. “I wasn’t—I just saw it open and—”

“You just what?” His voice didn’t change. Just coasted low, like heat behind a closed door.

Zaya stayed still, her breath shallow, her heart knocking hard against her ribs.

Erik glanced at the open door, then let her go. Quick. Controlled.

Zaya stumbled one step forward, brushing her top down as she turned to face him.

He was still shirtless. Sweatpants hanging low. Abs carved like marble. One hand dragging down his jawline as he stared at her like she’d set something off he hadn’t planned on dealing with this early.

“I came to wake you up,” she said finally, cheeks hot but her tone unbothered, “It’s Christmas Eve. We got shit to do. Everybody else is up.”

“You break into everybody’s room when they sleep?”

She smiled, “Just yours.”

He stared.

Her smile grew, “You’re not a morning person, huh?”

“I’m not a people-in-my-room person,” he replied, voice dry.

Zaya shrugged and backed toward the door, her fuzzy socks sliding a little as she moved.

“Well, you’re up now,” she said, eyes dragging over him one more time before she turned, “Coffee’s hot. Don’t waste it.”

And with that, she slipped up the steps.

Erik ran a hand down his face, dragging a sigh from the back of his throat. He looked down at the coffee mug still sitting on the table. The words stared back at him in bold red font.

Silent Night My Ass.

Erik dragged a hand down his face again, exhaling through his nose. Shook his head once, like that might be enough to clear her scent, her voice, her shape, out of his head.

It wasn’t.

He looked down and there it was.

Hard. Thick. Pressed against the inside of his sweats.

He was still standing there with morning wood, half-lidded and wide as hell, his dick heavy from sleep and contact he hadn’t planned for. That girl had crept into his space, poked through his shit, and he’d yoked her up while fully bricked.

And she felt that. No question. The way he pulled her in? That wasn’t a brush. That was full contact. Waist to chest. His hand around her middle, her ass flush against him, soft and warm and right there. He could still feel the curve of her pressed into his palm. Could still smell the way her skin melted with her lotion—sweet, buttery with some kind of warm perfume tucked beneath it. Deep and feminine. It clung to his bare chest like she’d marked him with it.

But it was her smile. Her eyes.

That look she gave him when she turned to face him—eyes bright, skin glowing warm from the rush, lips parted like she was holding in more than she said.

Like she didn’t scare easy.

Like she liked it.

Like she came looking for danger.

 Erik took a long pull from the mug she’d left on the table. The red ceramic was still warm, the scent rising in thick, sweet steam that cut through the sleep hanging off him. Coffee strong, laced with something nutty. Maybe hazelnut. Maybe vanilla. He didn’t care. He drank it, slow at first, then deeper, letting the heat do its job.

He moved around the room in that quiet way he always had, never in a rush, always measuring time like he owned it. The house creaked softly above him. Voices in the distance. Nothing urgent. Nothing he had to respond to.

After finishing the coffee, he rinsed out the mug, set it back on the nightstand, and reached for his things, making his way back to the bathroom. He washed his face, letting the cold water snap the rest of the sleep from his eyes, then brushed his teeth, slow and methodical, the same way he did everything else. No rush. No wasted motion. Once he’d dried off, he stepped back into the room and reached for his things.

From the duffel, he pulled out a red hoodie—clean, rich in color, worn just enough to feel lived-in. It slid over his shoulders easy, the fabric clinging for a second before falling into place. He paired it with grey joggers, soft cotton with a heavy hang, cuffed at the ankle to sit right above his sneakers. He laced up a fresh pair of Jordan 1s, red and black with a white toe box, the kind of detail that mattered to a man who didn’t do flashy, but still showed up with intent.

He stood in front of the mirror, eyes low, jaw tight from sleep, then reached for the small spray bottle tucked in the side pocket of his bag. Lifted it to his scalp, parted his locs gently, and gave them a quick mist. The leave-in moisturizer coated each strand, rich with a subtle sheen. He shaped them with his hands, coaxing the thick tapered coils back into structure. Some laid forward. Some curved toward the crown. They didn’t need to be perfect—just precise. His look was always that: measured, clean, effortless only on the surface.

He took a final look around the room. Bag half-zipped. Blanket still half-folded. The air still smelled faintly of her perfume.

Then he headed upstairs, mug in hand. The second he stepped onto the main floor, the heat hit him first. Then the noise. The kitchen was alive and bright with overhead light, thick with the smell of butter, eggs, pepper, and grease. Celeste was already at the stove, robe tied tight, hair wrapped in a patterned scarf. Her back was to the room, one hand on a skillet of grits, the other reaching for a plate of crisp bacon on the counter behind her. She moved with purpose, like her body already knew where everything was without needing to look.

Tasha stood at the other end of the kitchen cracking eggs into a glass bowl, her curls tied up in a pineapple puff. She wore a silky pajama short set, pale gold with black piping, the top unbuttoned just enough to show a peek of cleavage when she leaned forward. The fabric clung softly to her hips as she danced in place, humming along to the music playing low from the speaker on the window sill—something jazzy, warm, and old-school. You could almost smell the vinyl through it.

In the living room, Marlon was kicked back in his recliner, coffee mug in one hand, remote in the other, watching a recent college football bowl game like it was a championship replay. He wasn’t saying much, just tracking plays and shaking his head every time the defense missed a tackle. His hoodie was zipped halfway, pajama pants tucked into low-top sneakers like he might step out later—but probably wouldn’t. Every now and then, he tipped his mug just a little longer than necessary. The faint scent of cognac floated up from the cup like steam, subtle enough to pass if you weren’t paying attention.

“Zaya gave me the wrong playlist,” Deuce mumbled as he shuffled through the hallway in pajama pants and a hoodie with no strings. His eyes were barely open, “who the hell blasts Sexxy Red at 8:30 in the morning?”

No one answered him.

Erik stepped fully into the kitchen now. No fanfare. No announcement. Just the quiet clink of his mug setting down on the counter and the soft press of his sneakers on the tile.

Celeste turned, just slightly, and handed him a plate.

No words. No extra look.

Just eggs, bacon, grits, and a biscuit, already arranged.

He took it without question.

There was a clink of mugs at the table as someone toasted something half-understood. The scent of maple syrup filled the room next, floating in from a tray someone had just pulled from the oven. The buzz of the morning settled into Erik’s chest like a hum. Nobody was still. Everyone moved. Voices overlapped. Bacon popped in the pan.

It felt like something old. Something solid.

Family.

And for now, at least, he was in it.

Late morning had drifted into early afternoon. The smell of breakfast still lingered in the air, mixing with candle wax and the faint tang of Pine-Sol. The dishwasher hummed. Someone’s playlist looped softly from a speaker in the corner, switching between Donny Hathaway AGAIN and H.E.R. Upstairs, wrapping paper crinkled. Tape snapped. Voices moved in and out of rooms with no real urgency, just the rhythm of family during the holidays.

In the kitchen, Celeste stood near the counter with a notepad in one hand and a pen tapping lightly against her chin.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, “Forgot foil. We need more cream. Batteries. Pie crusts too.”

Deuce was on the floor near the back door, fiddling with a box of tangled string lights.

“Ma, you want me to run out?”

Before she could answer, Marlon looked up from where he was sipping coffee with his feet kicked up.

“Nah, I need you to help me get that patio set up for the fry later. Got some shit in the garage I can’t lift by myself.”

Celeste looked at Deuce, then turned to glance across the room.

Her eyes landed on Erik, who stood near the kitchen island refilling his water.

She didn’t ask him. Not directly.

Just, “You mind riding with me?”

Erik wiped his hand on a towel and nodded once, “Yeah. I got you.”

The ride started quiet.

Celeste drove a black SUV, clean, simple, and surprisingly fast. She didn’t ride slow. Didn’t hesitate at lights or drift between lanes. She drove like she did everything else—with confidence and calm control. One hand rested casually on the wheel, the other adjusting the air. Her hair was still wrapped from earlier, but she’d changed into black leggings, a soft tunic sweater, and slides. No makeup. Just skin, smooth and golden in the light filtering through the windshield.

Erik sat passenger, hoodie up, one hand on his thigh, watching the city move around them.

Oakland was alive. Sidewalks packed. Horns blaring. Aunties in fur-lined coats moving fast with bags in hand. Kids in matching pajamas trailing behind cousins. Parking lots overflowing. Street vendors hollering about handmade wreaths and spiced nuts. 

The chaos hit full force when they pulled up to the local grocery store. Cars double parked. Lines curled past the door. Somebody was already arguing near the carts.

Celeste sighed through her nose, “Let’s make this quick.”

Inside, it was packed. Carts bumping into each other. Shelves half-empty. People talking loud, moving faster. Celeste moved through it like she’d done it a hundred times—which she had. Every few steps, someone greeted her.

“Hey Celeste, baby! Y’all frying fish again this year?”

“Mmhmm. Gotta keep tradition alive,” she replied without stopping.

“Your son still in the service?”

“Back home this week.”

“You look good, girl.”

“Always do.”

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t perform. But people parted when she walked. Moved aside. Smiled wider.

Erik trailed behind her with the cart, bent forward, arms crossed over the handle, observing everything.  He didn’t speak much. Just kept pace beside her.

When she reached for a can on the top shelf, he was already there, grabbing it with an easy stretch and handing it off without a word. When her hands were full, he pushed the cart. When her brow furrowed at a crowded endcap, he cleared the way with the calm presence of a man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make space.

He watched her move—not like a spectacle, but like a rhythm. Efficient. Fluid. She reached for what she needed without overthinking. Checked dates on labels with a quiet diligence. Wrote mental lists on the fly and didn’t miss a beat.

People nodded to her in passing—cashiers, elders, a young girl with a baby in the cart—none of them made a scene. They just acknowledged her like she mattered, like she’d always mattered. She didn’t command attention. She just carried it. With that same quiet authority Erik recognized in himself. No flash. Just weight.

He loaded the car while she double-checked the receipt. Didn’t wait to be asked. Just opened the trunk, packed the bags in a way that kept the eggs from cracking and the greens from getting crushed. It wasn’t for show. It was muscle memory. Consideration without performance.

She caught him watching her as she buckled her seatbelt, and for a second, her expression softened—just enough to say she noticed, too. She adjusted the music to a quiet instrumental station. Something with keys and low bass. He sat back, one hand now resting along the inside of the passenger door, the other rubbing a thumb along his knee.

“You must be Superwoman,” Erik said, “In and out that market like you said. Barely broke a sweat.”

Celeste smirked, eyes on the road as she drove, “You keep that up, I might start bringing you every year.”

“Long as I don’t have to cook,” he said—then paused, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Actually…I do like to cook. When I get the time.”

Celeste glanced at him, intrigued, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s one of the few things that slows me down. Feels good to feed people.”

She nodded, a knowing smile forming as she turned back to the road, “Careful. Say something like that around here, you might end up in somebody’s kitchen with an apron on.”

Erik smirked, settling deeper into the passenger seat, “Ain’t a threat if I know what I’m doing.” Then, after a beat—eyes on the windshield, voice low but edged with dry humor, “Besides…long as the food’s good and the company don’t talk too much, I don’t mind pulling up my sleeves.”

Celeste let out a real laugh this time. Low and rich. The kind that warmed the air between them.

The vibe in the car shifted—lighter, looser, a quiet relief from the rush of holiday prep and to-do lists. Something easy passed between them in that silence that followed, wrapped in sunlight, R&B on low, and the scent of cinnamon gum she’d just popped in her mouth.

“My family talk a lot, Erik,” she warned, still smiling, “Wait until the others show up tonight.”

He gave her a look, “I’ll manage.”

“You say that now…”

Another laugh. This time they both did.

And for a few seconds, the world outside the car felt far away.

They made two more stops on the way back.

First: a Black-owned bakery tucked on the corner of a street with cracked pavement and painted bricks. Celeste went in while Erik waited outside with the bags, nodding to a few men on the corner who were talking over a box of warm patties and the latest neighborhood gossip.

When she came back out, her arms were full—sweet potato pie, a caramel cake, and a box of lemon bars stacked neatly in her grasp. The scent hit before she even reached the car, sugar and spice clinging to the bakery box lids.

Erik was already stepping out.

Didn’t hesitate. Just met her halfway on the sidewalk like a gentleman, hands out.

“Lemme get that,” he said, voice low as he took the pies from her—careful, steady, like he knew how to handle fragile things.

Celeste smiled, letting him, “You really trying to make me brag about you when we get back, huh?”

He only smirked, then opened her car door for her without saying a word.

She slid into the seat, and for a second, paused—watching him as he closed the door gently, walked around to his side, and loaded the desserts into the back like they were gold.

Not just helpful.

Attentive.

The kind that paid attention without making it a performance.

And when he got back in beside her, the car filled again with that light hush—R&B still playing, bakery boxes rustling softly in the backseat, and that feeling like the day had just turned a corner.

Then the liquor store.

It was tighter inside. Warm. Smelled like Black & Milds, pine cleaner, and old bills.

Celeste moved through with purpose, grabbing dark rum, whiskey, multiple bottles of wine, and a bottle of gin she didn’t bother to explain.

At the register, she reached into her purse.

Erik stopped her.

“I got it.”

She looked at him, one brow raised, “This is half the bar.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said, “Y’all let me in your house. Fed me. I ain’t showed up empty-handed in years.”

She studied him for a beat, then nodded once and stepped back.

He paid in cash. Crisp bills. Quick count. No hesitation.

They left the store and headed back to the SUV. Bags in hand. The sun was already beginning to drift a little lower in the sky, casting long gold streaks across the pavement. The air smelled like barbecue smoke and pine trees. Somewhere nearby, kids were yelling over a basketball game and Mariah Carey’s voice drifted from someone’s Bluetooth speaker.

Inside the SUV, Celeste buckled her seatbelt and started the engine.

“Appreciate you riding,” she said quietly.

“No problem.”

And that was it.

Back at the house, the living room had been taken over. Wrapping paper was everywhere—candy cane stripes, glittery snowflakes, rich velvet green. Zaya sat cross-legged on the floor like a woman on a mission, scissors between her teeth, tape nowhere to be found, humming along to a sexy R&B Christmas playlist bumping softly through the speakers.

“Who got tape?!” she hollered for the third time.

Tasha was curled on the nearby loveseat, helping with bows and handwritten tags, pausing every so often to sip from her cocoa and roll her eyes.

“You mean the same roll of tape you just had in your lap?” Tasha replied, tossing it at her.

Zaya caught it midair, grinning, “Y’all gon’ miss me when I’m gone!”

Footsteps sounded near the entryway—Erik walking in, grocery bags in both hands, the cold still clinging to his hoodie.

Zaya looked up and lit up like a tree, “Finally! Santa’s back!”

She scrambled up to peek inside one of the bags, “Ooooh y’all got the caramel cake! Bless you.”

Tasha laughed, “Girl, let him breathe.”

Before Erik could fully respond, a voice called from the back of the house.

“Yo E!” Deuce.

He appeared in the hallway, already holding a bag of charcoal and gesturing with his chin. “Come help me set up the patio. We gotta rinse out the cooler, set up the burners, and get the fish fry table ready before Uncle Nate show up with his loud ass.”

Erik sighed with mock dread, but handed off the liquor bag to Zaya and followed without a word.

As he passed through the living room, Zaya yelled, “Don’t forget! no apron, no plate!”

Tasha snorted, “That sound made-up as hell.”

The back patio had been winter-proofed weeks ago. It wasn’t fancy but it was done right.

Deuce had built the structure himself: clear vinyl tarp walls, strung with soft white lights and red-green bulb strands. Heat lamps stood in the corners, humming low like warm sentinels. Folding tables had been set up in a half-U-shape, covered in plaid runners and paper plates already stacked high. A Bluetooth speaker perched on a high shelf, cycling through a mix of Frankie Beverly, Guy, and Anthony Hamilton. The space could easily hold 15 to 20 people, intimate but spacious enough to move around.

Near the back fence, two large coolers sat ready to be filled. A deep fryer and two grills were stationed on the far end under a makeshift awning, along with Deuce’s black apron that read: “You Smell What I’m Cookin’?”

Erik pulled his hoodie tighter around him—it was only 50 degrees, but crisp enough to bite if you stood still too long. He adjusted one of the heat lamps and glanced around. The setup was solid. Felt like it had seen many Christmases before this one.

“Hand me that wrench,” Deuce muttered, crouched by the fryer.

Erik passed it over, no small talk needed between them. They worked easily, fluidly, the silence only broken by the sizzle of preheating oil and distant laughter from inside the house.

Then the front gate creaked open.

Deuce didn’t even look up, “Damn.”

A voice rang out before the man even turned the corner, “Y’all better have cleared me a chair ‘fore I get back there!”

Uncle Nate.

He stomped into the patio like he owned it, wearing a long trench coat that didn’t match his basketball sneakers, scarf crooked like it put up a fight. His booming voice filled the space, dragging behind him a crew: his wife and grown son trailing behind with a tray of deviled eggs.

Deuce stood up slow, already annoyed, “Look who the wind blew in.”

“Better than what you usually blow,” Nate shot back, laughing loud at his own joke.

His eyes landed on Erik immediately.

“Well damn,” he said, eyebrows raised, “Who’s this? Secret Service?”

Erik stepped forward calmly, wiping his hands on a towel, “Erik. Friend of the family.”

Uncle Nate didn’t extend his hand at first—just gave him a look, trying to size him up. The air tensed.

Then Nate reached out with a smirk, “You look like you could throw somebody.”

Erik shook his hand firm, respectful but steady, “Only if I have to.”

Nate let out a deep chuckle, “That grip strong. You a trainer or somethin’? Gym boy?”

“Used to do security,” Erik replied, voice easy.

“Ahhh, used to. That’s code for ‘I done whooped some ass in my time,’ huh?”

Before Erik could answer, the wife swooped in like perfume and smoke.

“Mm! Y’all got it warm back here,” she said, adjusting her ill-fitting wig. It tilted slightly to the left, and the curls were fighting for their lives. Her eyebrows were penciled two inches too high, and a faint mustache glittered on her top lip under the lights like a misguided halo.

She smiled big, “Hey sugar, I’m Naretha. Nate’s better half.”

“I’m Erik. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he replied smoothly.

“Mmm. Got some manners. And them shoulders too. I like that.”

Nate rolled his eyes, “Naretha, don’t start.”

Behind them stood their son, awkward and thin with thick glasses and a navy coat zipped all the way to his chin. He didn’t speak—just nodded at everyone and stayed glued to his Nintendo Switch, thumbs flying.

“What up, Junior,” Deuce said, half-hearted.

“Hey,” the kid replied, eyes still on screen.

Naretha popped her gum. “He playin’ that Pokéman or whatever. Whole ride over, I said, ‘Boy, speak to people!’ He ain’t heard a word.”

Uncle Nate snorted, “Long as he don’t burn down the damn patio tryna catch Pikachu, we good.”

Erik stepped aside to help unload their food onto the table, ignoring Nate’s constant commentary. But he caught Celeste’s voice calling from inside.

“Erik! You still on patio duty or can I borrow you for something?”

He nodded at Deuce, who just smirked and said, “Go on. Before Uncle Nate asks you to arm wrestle.”

As Erik walked off, he caught the older man still watching him, but this time with a little less bark behind the eyes. Maybe even a flicker of…approval.

The house was in full prep mode now—one big Black holiday scramble.

Celeste had a checklist in her head and eyes everywhere.

“Bathrooms wiped, fresh towels out, and y’all better plug in them damn lights by five o’clock or I swear—”

She didn’t finish the threat. She didn’t need to. Everybody moved.

The air in the house started to shift. The chill faded, replaced with comforting layers of scent—warm cashmere vanilla, sharp cinnamon sticks, and fresh pine spray from the tree in the corner. Scented plug-ins clicked on in every hallway socket. A potpourri pot bubbled quietly on the stove behind the sweet potato pie.

Marlon was vacuuming in zigzags across the carpet, muttering to himself the whole time.

“Why we gotta do all this just for people to mess it up again…”

Still, he did it.

Zaya’s Jodeci Christmas album was way too loud in the background—distorted harmonies and sexy ad-libs bouncing off the walls as she danced around the living room, tossing ribbon and tape near Junior, who was still planted on the couch with his Nintendo Switch, unbothered, unmoved, and unblinking.

“WHO GOT THE TAPE?!” Zaya hollered for the third time.

Celeste shot her a look, “Turn that down before my ears start bleeding!”

Meanwhile, Erik had been roped into holiday grunt work.

He shifted a heavy box of light-up reindeer into the corner, then stood on a stepladder to swap out a dead bulb in the hallway fixture. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up, arms flexing as he worked—quiet, efficient, blending in but always watching.

“Boy, you real handy,” Naretha called from the kitchen, sipping on something warm, “You build decks too?”

Erik gave a polite smile but didn’t engage. He was used to auntie flirt.

Tasha and Deuce had slipped away somewhere between the tree adjustments and gift-wrapping chaos. No one noticed. Or maybe no one cared.

Until Marlon yelled from the back porch, “Aye! Deuce! I need your ass for the fryer again!”

Celeste looked up from fluffing pillows, “Where is he?!”

“Gone ghost like always,” Zaya replied, adjusting the volume again, “Check the garage.”

Marlon rolled his eyes, “Man, Erik! Can you go find his big head? Upstairs prolly.”

Erik didn’t argue. He wiped his hands and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time, his body still slightly warm from lifting boxes.

Upstairs, the music was louder. Not Jodeci anymore—this sounded like UGK or some old Memphis bassline.

He walked down the hall, stopping at a cracked door.

Deuce’s room.

Erik knocked once, no answer.

The door creaked open half an inch.

What he saw first was the mirror.

Positioned on the closet door, it reflected everything—the tangled sheets, the dim light…and the sight of Tasha on her knees.

She wasn’t just giving head—she was eating it. No hands. Just throat. Her cheeks hollowed out, lips stretched wide, and she was working it like she had something to prove. Her shirt was pushed up, exposing heavy, spit-slicked breasts, areolas glistening under the soft light.

Deuce’s head was tilted back. Silent. Still.

Erik froze.

He didn’t mean to look—but the mirror wouldn’t let him look away.

Then Tasha’s eyes lifted—locked with his in the glass.

Pop!

She snapped her lips off Deuce’s dick, flustered as hell.

“Deuce, why you ain’t shut the damn door?!”

The door slammed instantly.

BAM!

Erik blinked.

Still paused.

Downstairs, Zaya’s voice floated up through the floorboards.

“TAPE! WHO GOT THE DAMN TAPE?!”

Erik finally turned away, descended the stairs without a word, hands in his pockets.

Nobody asked what took so long.

And he sure as hell didn’t tell them.

The evening crept in slow, but the house moved like it knew what time it was.

Christmas Eve meant one thing: fish fry and cookout.

No fancy tablecloths. No white people food. Just heat, grease, and home.

Tasha and Deuce showed back up downstairs like they hadn’t just been caught doing something filthy.

Tasha’s cheeks were still warm, but not from the cold. She avoided Erik’s eyes when she brushed past him to grab paper towels. Kept her head down. Kept busy.

Deuce was none the wiser. He gave Erik a head nod and a dap, completely unaware of what his boy had seen in the mirror, “What’s good, man. You drinkin’ dark or light?”

Erik didn’t flinch. Just said, “Either,” and kept it moving.

The kitchen became a quiet symphony.

Celeste stood at the center—Queen of the operation. She didn’t shout, didn’t raise a hand, but somehow everybody fell in line like clockwork.

Deuce and Uncle Nate were on frying duty, posted outside on the patio by the portable fish fryer. They wore aprons and attitude, oil already popping. Nate swore by catfish nuggets, Deuce argued for whiting.

“You burn my hushpuppies and I’mma throw this whole fryer in the damn pool,” Nate barked.

“You throw it, I’m throwing you in after it,” Deuce shot back, laughing.

Zaya had taken over the long counter with the sides—pans of baked mac covered in foil, a massive bowl of potato salad chilling, and grilled corn on standby. She had a bottle of wine open, one AirPod in, and was mouthing lyrics between stirring things.

Celeste didn’t need to ask what anyone was doing. She knew. She had her own rhythm, working that oven, checking on her cakes, rotating trays of honey cornbread, whispering to her greens like they had ears.

She didn’t have to look up to say:

“Zaya, don’t forget the paprika. Deuce, tell your uncle to back up off the fryer with that flask. Tasha, wipe that counter again. And Erik, put that wine in the big bucket with ice and make sure we got cups.”

They all moved.

No questions. Just flow.

Erik was on drink patrol, cooler filled with ice and brown bottles of ginger ale, wine chilling in a metal tub, and a massive glass punch bowl in the center of the island. He stirred the punch slow with a long wooden spoon—red, sweet, and fizzy. Cut oranges floated on top. He slid the ladle into place, stepped back, and kept glancing toward the kitchen sink where Tasha was washing out a mixing bowl. She still wouldn’t look at him. Still didn’t say a word. Erik didn’t either.

The music had softened—classic Christmas music giving way to some Jazmine Sullivan Christmas cover. The kitchen smelled like garlic butter, fried fish, smoked paprika, greens, and sweet glaze.

They moved around each other like they’d done this every year.

Shoulders brushed. Hands passed pans. Laughter sparked off old memories. Little Junior was back on the couch with his Switch and a plate of fries. Nate’s wife was dancing by herself in the corner to “Silent Night” like it was a full concert, dragging the fake fur collar of her coat back up every five minutes.

Marlon hollered from the back room, “Who hid the hot sauce?!”

Celeste didn’t even blink, “Check the third drawer, next to the mustard you never put back!”

This was how tradition moved—loud, warm, slightly messy, but full of love.

The house filled up fast.

By 6:00 PM, it was packed. Full.

Uncles, aunties, play cousins, folks from church, the family friend who always brought one of her loud-ass kids and a to-go plate already in her purse.

Coats piled on the guest bed. Shoes lined up by the door. Voices everywhere.

Somebody’s baby was crying. Somebody else was hollering over spades in the dining room. The playlist had switched from soul Christmas to full-on ‘90s Black family reunion—Frankie Beverly, Bobby Brown, back to Luther.

The heat from the oven and the bodies had the walls sweating.

Not real air. Just space.

He eased out of the kitchen, ducked past Marlon who was arguing about the game, and slipped down the narrow stairwell toward the basement. The cool air hit his skin like a relief.

That’s when he heard steps behind him. Light ones.

“Erik—wait.”

Tasha.

He paused. Turned around halfway down the stairs.

Tasha stood at the top of the steps, biting her lip and hugging her arms across her chest. Still wearing that soft cotton tee, still looking like something Erik hadn’t meant to witness—but couldn’t unsee now that he had.

Her voice was low. Embarrassed. She kept her eyes on the floor.

“I just…wanted to say I’m sorry. About earlier. I didn’t know. I thought the door was shut.”

Erik didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. Just nodded.

“It’s all good.” His voice was calm. Quiet. Like he meant it.

She stepped down one step. Hands twisting in front of her, “Still, I feel stupid. That was—hella awkward.”

Erik exhaled slowly through his nose, “You good. Just…keep y’all doors closed, aight?” A pause. Then a dry add-on, “Y’all being risky as hell.”

That made her laugh. A quick one. Soft. She covered her face, still mortified, “I know. You right. I told him to lock it.”

“But he didn’t,” Erik replied, voice even.

Tasha winced, “Damn–I know–yeah…”

Another pause.

She glanced up at him, finally.

Eyes full of apology but also curiosity. Just checking to see if he was really cool. If he was gonna hold this over her. If he was gonna tell. Erik held her gaze a second longer than needed.

But then he turned, “We straight,” he said over his shoulder, continuing down the steps.

Tasha nodded, “Alright. Thanks.”

And then she left.

Down in the basement, Erik turned on the tap, splashed cool water on his face.

But no matter how cold it was…

The image wouldn’t leave his mind.

Those wet, swinging breasts.

Her mouth stretched wide.

That glint of eye contact when she realized he saw.

Erik came up in a fitted cream sweater that hugged his broad chest and rolled slightly at the collar. Clean-lined trousers. Watch glinting beneath his sleeve. Celeste clocked it immediately and gave a little approving glance without saying much, though her own look was just as sharp: burgundy velvet that caught the light with every step, gold hoops, and heels that clicked when she moved through her house like she still owned the night.

Zaya had dressed up too—a curve-hugging sweater dress in a warm shade of rust, soft and ribbed with a mock neck. Her long locs were swept into a low bun at the nape of her neck, neat with a few curls left out at the edges. Gold hoops, glossed lips.  had changed into a ruched black dress with gold jewelry and matching confidence. Deuce had on a clean polo and new jeans, haircut fresh, trying not to make a big deal out of how good he looked. Even Marlon came correct—pressed slacks, navy sweater vest, loafers. But he looked stiff. Jaw tight. And Celeste, for all her shine, was already on her second glass of wine before dinner started.

Erik noticed. The way her lipstick stayed perfect, but her hand kept drifting to the glass before her plate was even set. Something had gone down earlier. He didn’t ask but he clocked it.

The dining table overflowed. Paper plates stacked high. Serving pans spread out buffet style.  Fried catfish and whiting, crispy and golden. Mac and cheese bubbling at the corners. Corn on the cob wrapped in foil, spiced with Cajun butter. Potato salad, deviled eggs, rolls, and Tasha’s lemon bars shining like treasure on the side

People were everywhere—older folks out back in jackets and shawls, crowded near the space heaters and portable speaker Deuce set up on the patio. Laughter carried through the screen door. Line dancing broke out between bites and refills, someone yelling “Ayyyyye!” every time the music dropped.

Kids zipped around the yard in coats and mittens, plastic swords and baby dolls in hand, dragging each other into hiding spots. The younger crowd stayed inside—posted near the kitchen, curled up in corners, leaning on door frames, phones in one hand, red cups in the other, talking over whatever music was playing from Zaya’s speaker dock.

Later in the night, another wave of people came.

A cousin of Deuce’s walked in. One of those smile-too-wide, dap-too-hard types. Handsome, tall, beard lined up, chain out. And right behind him: his girlfriend. Beautiful. Light beat on her face. Slick ponytail and an outfit meant to show skin, even in this cold. She knew she looked good. And she knew everyone else knew it too.

Deuce gave the cousin that tight-lipped nod. Respect, but distance. They didn’t mess with each other like that. Too much ego. Too much competition. The cousin glanced around, then landed on Erik.

Chin lifted, “Who this?”

“Friend of the fam,” Deuce muttered without looking up.

Erik didn’t bristle. Just turned, offered his hand.

“Erik.”

The cousin shook it. Tried to squeeze too hard.

Erik squeezed back harder—without breaking stride. No expression changed. No words needed. When the cousin pulled away, he shook his fingers out like a joke and said, “Alright now—grip like you lay bricks for a living.”

Zaya giggled. Tasha smiled behind her glass. Deuce just looked the other way. After dinner, someone dimmed the lights and turned down the music. The tree glowed like a centerpiece. Warm light, flickering tinsel, and shadows dancing on the ceiling.

Marlon gathered everyone with a raised glass—low, gravelly voice calling over the room, “Let’s get quiet for a minute.”

The chatter slowed.

Celeste stood beside him, lips already shining with a new pour of wine. She didn’t speak right away. Just looked around the room—at the family pressed in close, kids curled up on the floor with cookies, her nieces and nephews clinking glasses, her sisters laughing near the hall.

Then she said, “It’s been a year. Good, bad, everything in between. But we made it. And I’m glad we’re here together.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, “I love y’all. Even when y’all get on my nerves,” she added with a half-smile, “Even when I got to clean behind everybody. Even when folks drink up all the wine. I wouldn’t trade it.”

A soft round of “awws” and laughter circled the room. Erik, standing near the back, felt Zaya press lightly into his arm, her head tilting just enough to brush his shoulder. He didn’t move. Just stood still. Listening.

There was something tired in Celeste’s voice, beneath the velvet of it. Something that said I’m worn, but I’m still going. Erik recognized it. The quiet way women carry everything on holidays like this and still make it feel like magic.

Everyone raised a glass.

“To family,” Marlon said.

“To peace,” Celeste added.

“To this food,” Deuce shouted, and laughter broke the quiet.

Later, when folks were drifting, and music had crept back up, someone shouted from the stairs.

“AYO—JUNIOR!”

His daddy’s voice. Loud.

Murmurs followed. Then heavy footsteps.

“What the hell—boy, is that TITTIES on the screen?!”

People started howling. Marlon yelled, “Lord have mercy! Boy!” while Celeste groaned and covered her face. Junior tried to bolt up the stairs with his Nintendo Switch clutched to his chest, hoodie yanked up to hide. His ears were burning, whole neck and jaw glowing dark with shame. Laughter chased him like a mob.

“Not anime titties!”

“Boy was watching cartoons with nipples!”

“He down there tongue out and everything!”

Even Erik laughed, sipping his drink with a shake of his head.

“Leave that boy alone, Nate,” Celeste said, sipping her wine, “If he wanna watch his little anime titties, let him. He grown.”

They were posted around the dining table, cups sweating, Jenga tower stacked halfway to heaven. The room was loud—liquor talking, bodies leaned back in their chairs, laughter spilling between clinks and bass-heavy music coming from the other room.

Erik nursed his drink, buzz settling behind his eyes. Zaya was tucked close beside him, pretty in that sweater dress, hand sneaking under the table like it belonged there. Fingers slow on his thigh. Stroking light. Casual, like nobody’d notice. Like her touch wasn’t pulling heat low in his stomach.

Tasha caught it. She was across the table, nursing her own drink, eyes glittering with amusement. Gave Zaya a look. Laughed to herself. She didn’t say a word though. Just sipped slow, those glossy lips parting soft. Erik met her eyes for a half second before she looked away—too fast. Too aware.

Deuce was nowhere to be found. Neither was his cousin’s loudmouth girl.

Erik’s gaze moved, sweeping. That subtle recon habit. The kind he never turned off. And when he looked back, Tasha was peeking again. This time longer. Her lips parted like she might say something—but she didn’t. She just wet them. Looked down at her plate like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Zaya’s hand was still moving.

“Go help your mama,” Erik said low, tapping the rim of his glass.

She sucked her teeth but stood up anyway, slow and sulky. Erik didn’t miss the way her ass moved walking away. That tight sway. But his eyes shifted just as quick—Tasha. Those tits sitting up high and soft in whatever stretchy fabric she had on. She wasn’t even doing anything and it still felt intentional.

He focused on his drink. Let the burn clear his head.

Deuce came back first, smirking like he had a secret. A few minutes later, so did the girl. She slid over to her man and leaned in, whispering something that made him stand up fast.

“I’m ready to go,” she said with a coy smile.

And just like that, they were gone.

Tasha stood with a sigh, gathering a few empty glasses as she made her way toward the kitchen to help Celeste. Erik watched her go, hips swaying, waist snug in that dress. Then his gaze shifted.

Deuce was slumped back in his chair, head tilted like the room might be spinning just a little too fast.

“You look fucked up,” Erik muttered with a crooked grin, taking another sip.

Deuce didn’t argue just chuckled, eyes half-lidded, swaying a little.

That’s when Uncle Nate stumbled in.

Drunker than everybody. Loud. Slurring. Face shiny with sweat and too much Hennessy. His button-up half-untucked, shoes scuffed from dancing outside in the yard.

He clocked Erik and grinned big, “Ay, boy!” he bellowed, pointing, “You look like you think you tough. Come on, then!”

He threw his fists up in slow motion—clumsy, wobbling jabs at the air.

Erik smirked, shook his head, “Come on, Unc. Not tonight,” he said, waving him off.

But Nate was already in his face.

Deuce pushed back from the table to intervene. “Unc, chill—”

Too late.

Nate shoved Deuce—hard. The whole table rocked, cups rattling, Jenga collapsing in a clatter of wood and curses.

Deuce’s expression snapped clean. He stood like he meant it—shoulders squared, jaw set, ready to throw hands.

Erik was up first.

One hand firm to Nate’s chest, stopping him mid-sway. “Aight, Unc,” he said, voice low but cutting through the noise, “You need a cut off.”

Nate blinked like he didn’t hear. Tried to push forward again, but Erik didn’t budge. His palm stayed planted. Calm. Controlled.

“You been on ten all night,” Erik added, “Go sit down before somebody get embarrassed.”

The room held its breath. The laughter died out, all eyes slowly turning toward the scene.

Then Celeste called out from the kitchen, voice sharp as a blade, “Nate, if you don’t get yo’ ass somewhere and sit down—!”

That did it.

Nate groaned, muttered something under his breath, then stumbled back toward the hallway, still cussing but retreating.

Deuce let out a long breath, “Drunk ass.”

Erik sat back down, jaw tight, but calm, “Family fun,” he muttered into his drink.

Tasha moved back toward Deuce, eyes scanning him carefully.

“You good?” she asked, voice lower now—soft, concerned. Girlfriend mode activated. She reached out, lightly touched his arm.

Deuce leaned away slightly, pulling his drink in tighter. “I’m straight,” he said. Quick. Flat. Didn’t even look at her.

Tasha’s brows knit, just for a second. Something flickered in her face—hurt, confusion, maybe both. But she swallowed it down. Didn’t push. Just nodded once, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Okay.”

She turned and walked off, heels clicking as she disappeared back toward the kitchen where Celeste was still fussing over dishes.

Meanwhile, Erik stepped away from the dining table, drifting into the living room where Junior was curled up in a corner of the couch, eyes locked on the TV screen, thumbs moving fast over his Switch controller.

“What you on?” Erik asked, settling beside him with a fresh drink in hand.

Junior didn’t look up, “Smash Bros.”

Erik nodded like that meant something, “I’ll whoop you in that.”

Junior paused, finally glancing over, “You play?”

“Used to.”

Junior smirked, “Pick up a controller then. Let’s see.”

They got into it. Competitive. Loud. Talking shit back and forth, the sounds of button mashing filling the air as the party energy carried on around them.

After a few matches, Junior chuckled and said, “Damn, you better than I thought.”

Erik grinned, sipping slow, “Told you.”

A beat passed—comfortable, easy. Then Erik said, casually, without even looking up from the screen:

“Aye…I watch Hentai too.”

Junior blinked, then broke into a wide, scandalized laugh, “Yo, chill!”

Erik cracked a smile, leaned back. “What? I ain’t judging. I seen some wild shit. Octopus arms and everything.”

Junior damn near dropped his controller, shaking his head, “You sick.”

“Nah, you the one got caught,” Erik said with a side-eye.

They both laughed harder. The tension from earlier had faded. The room felt lighter. Safer. A little bond formed in the middle of animated chaos, laughter, and digital ass-kickings.

From the kitchen, Celeste glanced over and saw them—Junior finally smiling again, Erik leaned back like a big cousin, fitting in easy.

She smiled to herself, just a little.

It was a little past one in the morning.

The house had finally gone quiet, save for the occasional creak from upstairs—footsteps, maybe the sound of someone closing a bedroom door, settling in.

But Erik couldn’t sleep.

He rolled over again in the guest bed, eyes wide open, then sighed and sat up. Slipped on a pair of Nike slides. Moved through the hallway, quiet and smooth, avoiding the floorboards he remembered squeaked earlier. The air still smelled like baked sugar and spice—leftover cake, pies cooling on the counter.

When he got to the kitchen, the light was already on.

Celeste was there in a soft cream robe, hair wrapped, pulling a tea bag from its pouch. She moved slow, deliberate, a woman at the edge of winding down. A black trash bag was by the back door, along with a bin full of recycling.

“I got it,” Erik said, nodding toward it as he stepped in.

Celeste glanced over her shoulder, startled just a little, then gave him a half-smile.

“You sure?”

He was already lifting the bag, “Yeah.”

She held the back door open for him.

When he returned a minute later, he washed his hands at the sink. The sound of the water was loud in the quiet.

He didn’t leave right away. Just leaned on the kitchen island, arms folded loosely, watching the steam rise from her tea mug.

Celeste stirred in honey. Didn’t speak at first.

Then finally—without turning to face him—she started talking.

“I ain’t really in the spirit this year either,” she said, “Used to love the holidays, but lately it just feel like work.”

Erik didn’t interrupt.

She kept going, “Everybody always talking ‘bout how good everything tastes, how nice the place look…but nobody offers to do shit. They just show up, eat, make a mess, then leave. I cook, I clean, I decorate. I do the most, and for what?”

Her voice wasn’t angry. Just tired. A little frayed around the edges.

“I’m sorry,” she added quickly, finally turning around with her mug in hand, “You ain’t gotta listen to all that.”

Erik shook his head, voice even, “It’s cool. I’m listening.”

She stared at him. Took a sip. Then gave a faint smile, something unreadable behind it.

“You got a real heavy presence, Erik,” she said quietly, “Been that way since you walked in my door.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just watched her over the island, his eyes darker than usual in the dim kitchen light.

Celeste blinked. Looked away. Tried to busy her hands again, putting the spoon in the sink, turning on the water. Reaching for the sponge.

But Erik stepped forward.

He didn’t say anything. Just reached and gently took the sponge from her hand, slow. Set it down beside the sink. Celeste’s hand stayed frozen midair for a second. Then she looked up at him. Erik was closer now. Not too close, but enough that she could feel the heat rolling off his body. The quiet steadiness in him.

“You don’t gotta apologize for venting,” he said, voice low and calm, “You do a lot, Celeste. Like…a lot.”

She opened her mouth, like she might deflect, but he kept going.

“I know the holidays ain’t been feeling the same. They don’t for me neither. Not in a long time. I been goin’ through the motions for years now—showin’ up places, eating, leaving. Never really felt like anything.” He paused. His eyes held hers, “But tonight? All this? It felt different. Real shit.”

Celeste blinked. Her throat bobbed slightly.

Erik gave a soft shake of his head, a half-smirk forming, “Even with Uncle Nate’s drunk ass tryna box me in the kitchen.”

Celeste burst out laughing, loud and sudden. A hand over her chest, her whole body tipping forward as she laughed harder than she had all night.

“Boy, please! You handled him better than I did, shoot. Damn fool almost knocked the mac and cheese off the table!”

Erik chuckled too, the corners of his mouth pulling wider now, “Deuce looked like he was ready to tackle him.”

“He was!” Celeste wiped her eye, “You just kept it so cool. That’s why I said you got that heavy presence. You ain’t even gotta raise your voice.”

Erik watched her settle. Her laughter faded into a quiet smile.

“And you,” he said, a little more serious now, “you make this house feel full. Might not seem like folks say it, but it’s felt. You the reason they keep showin’ up. Food, warmth, all that—it’s you.”

Celeste stared at him.

Her eyes welled just slightly. Nothing dramatic. Just a flash of something deep behind them. That ache only women like her knew—being the backbone, but feeling like the afterthought.

She tried to turn back to the sink. Tried to grab the sponge again.

But Erik was already there.

He caught her wrist gently. Took the sponge from her hand, slow. Set it aside.

The silence turned thick.

Her fingers curled around nothing.

She looked up at him again, slower this time. Less guarded.

He was just watching her.

Breathing even.

Then he leaned in.

And kissed her—once. Deep. Slow. His lips warm, deliberate. Like he meant it.

Celeste let him.

Then, almost as quickly, she stepped back.

Her gaze broke first.

She touched her lips, gave a small shake of her head, then turned, walking out of the kitchen without a word.

Robe swaying.

Mug still in hand.

He just stood there, jaw tight, pulse steady but loud in his ears. Staring down at the dish sponge like it had all the answers.

He stood there for a while. Still. Shoulders square, jaw flexing. That kiss—brief as it was—sat on his mouth like weight. Like memory. Not just of how she tasted, but how she trembled just slightly when his lips met hers. How her breath hitched. How she didn’t stop him.

Didn’t pull him closer either.

The low kitchen light cast a soft amber hue across the tile floor, the counters, the back of her robe as she disappeared up the stairs. But Erik didn’t move. Shoulders squared, arms at his sides, jaw tightening like it was holding the weight of what just happened.

That kiss.

It sat on his mouth like heat that hadn’t cooled. Not just the press of her lips, not just the taste of cinnamon and clove that still lingered faintly, but the way her breath had hitched when he leaned in. The way her mouth parted on instinct. The slight, near-imperceptible tremble that rolled through her—not fear, not shock, something else.

She didn’t stop him.

She didn’t pull him closer, either.

And that said more than anything else.

Eventually, Erik reached for the switch and let the light fade to dark. He made his way back down the hallway, footsteps soft, shoulders still tight with that restless energy. Something in his chest wouldn’t sit right. It didn’t matter how many deep breaths he tried to take. That kiss had cracked something open.

He laid down again, pulled the blanket up out of habit, but the bed felt too cold now. Too wide.

He stared at the ceiling.

The dark pressed in from all sides. No windows. Just the faint hum of the old HVAC system kicking on somewhere in the walls. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it crawled. Got under his skin. It filled the room too thick, like it was pressing against his chest.

He closed his eyes.

But all he could see was the shape of her.

The way her robe had opened just slightly at the collarbone. The delicate chain around her neck. The way her fingers twitched near her side, like maybe—just maybe—she almost reached for him. Her voice rang back through his mind, soft but heavy, like it was still stitched into the air.

“You got a real heavy presence, Erik.”

Damn right he did.

But she’d let him in. Even for just a second. That second was enough to pull him under, twist him up, drag something out of him that had been quiet for too long.

He didn’t sleep. Not really. Drifted in and out. Kept seeing her in flashes behind his eyes. Woke again before sunrise, jaw tight, arms folded behind his head. Restless. Still caught in the space between want and restraint.

Christmas Morning 7:00 AM

The scent got him first.

Warm, rich, and layered. Coffee and cinnamon. Sharp and sweet at once, hanging in the air like it’d been brewed just for him. Erik rubbed a hand down his face, sat up slow. Chest bare. A pair of dark sweats slung low on his hips. He skipped the tank top this time. Didn’t rush. Moved quiet through his routine—brushed his teeth, washed his face, splashed cold water across his skin. The chill sobered him a little, but that tension still clung to his body like static.

When he climbed the stairs from the basement guest room, he moved quiet, the way he always did. The house was still peaceful. No chatter. No footsteps above yet. Just that smell—coffee and cinnamon. Something sweet still cooling on the counter, maybe. Banana bread or some kind of coffee cake. He followed it, like scent could guide him through the weight of that memory.

Celeste was already in the kitchen.

Same soft robe. Same calm posture. But her hair was pinned back now, tight and neat, and there was a new stillness to her movements. She wiped the counter slow with a clean rag, eyes focused on the space in front of her like she hadn’t already felt him enter the room.

But she had. He knew it.

She just didn’t turn.

“Morning,” she said.

Her voice was smooth. Velvet and unreadable.

“Morning.”

His reply matched hers—calm, level. No heat. No pressure.

Silence stretched between them.

The hum of the fridge. The tick of the clock.

Something low warming in the oven—maybe cinnamon, maybe nothing.

Erik leaned against the doorframe, watching her move. She didn’t look at him. Not at first.

Then—slowly—Celeste glanced over her shoulder. Not smiling. Not scowling. Just present. Just measured. That same quiet control that made men question themselves.

“I let you kiss me,” she said.

No guilt. No regret. Just the facts.

He felt that—how clean the words landed. No softness to hold on to.

“I know,” he said. “You wanted to.”

Celeste turned now. Fully. One hand braced against the counter, her robe tied clean, her posture composed like she’d never been touched. Like that kiss hadn’t shook anything at all.

“That was a moment,” she said, “And it’s over.”

Erik stepped in. Not too close. Just enough, “But it happened.”

She didn’t answer.

He studied her—how her eyes flicked, not in avoidance, but in calculation. How her body stayed still, not defensive but guarded.

“You kissed me back,” he said quietly.

“I did.”

That fast. No hesitation. She owned it. But her tone didn’t invite more.

“And now?”

Celeste let the silence hold. She looked at him. Really looked. Then, with that same cool finality she used on men who got out of pocket:

“Now I make my coffee. You gonna stand there or pour a cup?”

Erik gave a slow nod. Stepped aside. Reached for a mug.

He poured it black. No sugar. No cream. 

That silence? It wasn’t peace anymore.

It buzzed under the surface—thick, warm, laced with restraint and want. The kind of silence that didn’t end things.

The kind that marked the beginning.

The house is quiet. Dim light filters in through the dining room curtains, soft and gold, pooling at the edges of the hardwood floor. The scent of cinnamon still lingers in the air—warm, baked into the walls like memory.

Erik leans against the counter, bare chest rising slow with every breath. A clean mug rests in his hand, half-full with black coffee. The heat presses into his palm, grounding him. Across the room, the silence between him and Celeste hasn’t moved. It’s thick, like breath caught in the throat. Like everything they didn’t say still hanging between them.

He takes another sip. Lets it burn down the middle of his chest. A slow sting. Something to hold onto.

Then, he hears it.

Footsteps. Light and careless. A laugh.

The distant thump of a playful knock against a hallway wall. Then that voice:

“Merry Christmas, Daddy! You still sleep? Thought so.”

Zaya.

His shoulders react before his mind does. Not a full flinch—just a pull, a slow roll of tension through his back. He doesn’t turn right away. Doesn’t speak. Just listens to her steps glide across the floor behind him, low and smooth like a body that knows it’s being watched.

When he does turn, she’s already in motion.

Tight black leggings sculpted to every curve. A cropped gray hoodie rides just above her waist, the drawstring swinging with every step. Her locs are piled into a loose bun on top of her head, a few strands slipping free to frame her cheekbones. Bare feet. Lips glossed just enough to catch the light when she lifts her water bottle to take a sip. 

She drinks slow. Casual.

Doesn’t glance his way at first. Just moves through the kitchen like she belongs to it. Like she’s always belonged to it. Her body cuts through the quiet like heat through fog.

“Merry Christmas,” she says.

But not to the room.

Just to him.

He watches her close the fridge. Watches her lean against the counter like she’s done it before. Her eyes find him now—bold, unbothered, curious. She lets them linger on his chest. His arms. The line of muscle at his stomach.

Then her mouth curves.

“You my Christmas present?” she asks, “Can I unwrap you?”

His grip tightens on the coffee mug. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Zaya steps closer. Only a few inches separate them now. She reaches for his mug, takes it from his hand without asking. Sips.

Immediately winces, “Yuck. Black coffee? You really drink it like this?”

Erik arches a brow but stays silent.

She grins.

“You need some sugar in this,” she says, voice light and teasing, “Some cream too. You don’t like sugar and cream?”

The way she says it—sweet, high, like it’s innocent—makes his jaw lock tight.

Still, he doesn’t fold.

From the front room, the soft rustle of wrapping paper carries in. Celeste’s voice—low, occupied. She’s sorting gifts under the tree, setting up for the morning before everyone else wakes.

In the kitchen, it’s just them.

Zaya’s hand lifts—fingers brushing the waistband of his black joggers. She tugs. Not hard. Just enough to shift the fabric. Just enough to make him react.

And he does.

Fast.

He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her in hard, chest to chest. Looks down at her, jaw clenched, breath slow and sharp through his nose.

“Why the fuck you keep testing me?”

Zaya stares up at him, lips parted, not an ounce of fear in her face. Her eyes hold his with that same boldness, that same challenge.

“Why you keep acting like you don’t want me to?” she says, “You ain’t got much longer here. Let’s make it count.”

And just like that, she slips free. Smooth. Smiling.

Grabs her yoga mat from the corner near the staircase, tucks it under one arm, and heads for the basement door. The air behind her is still warm with the shape of her. Erik doesn’t move. Just watches the door swing shut. Watches it settle. His coffee’s cold now. His body isn’t. And his jaw’s still tight.

Christmas Morning 9:00 AM

The scent of cinnamon rolls and brewing coffee hung thick in the air, curling through the warm house like a memory you wanted to stay inside forever. Outside the windows, light filtered in soft and hazy, brushing over frost-glazed panes and the trimmed porch wreath like a hush. The fireplace crackled low in the living room. White lights blinked along the branches of the tall fir tree dressed in gold and burgundy ornaments, and a vintage record played faintly in the background. 

Old-school soul music floated through the house, warm as the morning light. The unmistakable crackle of vinyl underpinned every note, filling the room with rhythm and memory. The Temptations’ “Silent Night” rolled in first, deep. Then came Otis Redding’s “Merry Christmas Baby,” smooth and gritty with feeling. Later, Donny Hathaway’s “This Christmas”….again…slipped in like a familiar promise, the kind of song that made the tree lights seem brighter and the hot cocoa taste richer.

It was a playlist stitched together from decades of Black holiday joy, voices that sounded like grandmothers humming over the stove, like uncles dancing with aunties after a little too much rum. It wrapped around them all, humming through the house like love lived in the walls.

Zaya claimed her spot first, dropping down onto the carpet directly in front of the tree with a red plaid blanket tossed across her legs. She wore her Christmas pajamas, red with white snowflakes, cropped just enough to show a teasing sliver of stomach and snug across the curve of her hips. Her locs were piled into a messy bun, edges laid clean. She looked bright and alive, joy humming through her like music. A cinnamon roll sat half-eaten in one hand while the other reached eagerly toward the pile of gifts.

Celeste moved between the kitchen and living room with quiet intention, long silk robe tied neatly at her waist, steam rising from her mug. Her presence anchored the space. Calm. Elegant. Watchful. She carried herself like a woman who knew how to hold a room together without raising her voice.

Marlon emerged from the hallway still yawning, slippers dragging beneath him. He kissed Celeste’s cheek, murmured something low that earned him a small smirk, then settled into his chair with his coffee, eyes already warming at the sight of the tree.

The front door opened and in came Deuce and Tasha in matching green pajama sets with white piping, clearly chosen by Tasha. She bounced in first, curls pulled into two playful puffs, candy cane earrings swinging as she passed out hugs.

“Merry Christmas, y’all,” she said brightly, hugging Zaya, then Celeste, then Marlon.

Deuce followed, scooping Zaya up off the floor in a tight hug before dropping down beside her. They fit together easy, laughter spilling between them like rhythm and bass.

Erik stayed slightly apart at first, leaning against the archway with a mug of coffee in hand, black thermal clinging to his broad shoulders. Quiet. Observant. His eyes moved from face to face, but he didn’t say much. Just watched.

Celeste clapped her hands once, gentle but decisive.

“Alright,” she said, “Let’s do this together.”

Everyone settled in. Wrapping paper crinkled. Tags were read out loud. Laughter rose and fell as boxes were passed around the circle.

Zaya tore into her gifts with delight, squealing over cozy socks and a silk bonnet from Tasha, throwing her arms around her in appreciation. Deuce opened his gifts next, his expression shifting when Celeste handed him a long rectangular box.

Inside sat a gold watch, heavy and elegant.

“Damn,” Deuce breathed, “You went crazy.”

“It’s time you wore something with some weight,” Celeste said simply.

Marlon laughed, nodding in approval.

Tasha unwrapped a perfume bottle shaped like a dark rose and immediately sprayed her wrist, holding it out for Deuce to smell. He leaned in, smiling wide.

Zaya handed her father a folded jersey, crisp and stitched with his favorite team and his old high school number.

“You wild!” Marlon said, holding it up, “Where you even find this?”

Zaya just grinned.

Then Celeste stepped forward with a neatly wrapped box —cream paper, gold ribbon, corners sharp like she’d ironed them into place. She held it out to him, steady.

“For you,” she said.

Erik blinked, genuinely caught off guard, “You ain’t have to do all that, Miss Celeste.”

She tilted her head slightly, a softness settling in her eyes, “I know,” she said, “But I wanted to.”

He accepted the gift slowly, unwrapping it with quiet fingers. Inside was a denim jacket—heavy-duty, sherpa-lined, dark indigo with clean lines. No logos. Just quality. Timeless. Exactly the kind of piece he would buy for himself. The fact that Celeste had chosen it without asking, without missing a beat, landed heavier than the gift itself. It meant she’d been paying attention. Clocked his taste. Knew what warmth looked like on him. And in only two days. 

Marlon glanced over, grinning, “Damn, son,” he said with a chuckle, “Wifey hooked you up! Bet you glad you came anyway, right?”

The room broke into easy laughter. Erik cracked a quiet smile and nodded once, “Yeah…looks like I am.”

He tried the jacket on then and there—shrugged it over his broad shoulders, adjusted the collar.

Laughter rippled through the room.

Erik smiled, just slightly.

Then Zaya scooted forward on the carpet and held out a small black velvet pouch, “For you too,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.

Erik caught it easily, loosening the drawstring. Inside sat a pair of mirrored aviator shades, sleek and silver-rimmed. Tactical. Sexy. Exactly his style.

She tilted her head, “Put ’em on.”

Deuce chimed in immediately, “Yeah, yeah, let’s see ‘em, bro.”

Erik hesitated, then slid them on. When he lifted his chin, the lenses caught the glow of the tree lights, sharpening his jawline and deepening the quiet authority he carried.

“Okay, fineness,” Zaya said openly, biting her lip. “Looking swagged out.”

Tasha laughed, “They look good on you,” she said, sincere, though her eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary.

Deuce shook his head, grinning, “Careful, man. You keep this up, Zaya gon’ pull you under the mistletoe.”

More laughter followed.

“…Appreciate that,” Erik said, fingers brushing the frame of the glasses.

But it landed deeper than gratitude. He had not expected to feel seen.

Deuce slid a wooden box across the floor toward him next.

“For you,” he said, “Remember that trip to Haiti? You wouldn’t shut up about this rum. Took me a minute, but I tracked it down.”

Erik opened it and let out a low breath.

“Damn,” he said, “You really did that?”

Deuce leaned back, “Figured you could use a reason to relax.”

Erik nodded, touched.

Then he reached for a smaller velvet-lined box and handed it to Deuce.

“Open that.”

Deuce did, and his breath caught.

Inside lay a gold pendant, vintage and rare, a perfect match to the one his grandmother had given him as a kid and lost years ago.

“Where the hell did you find this?” Deuce asked quietly.

“New York,” Erik said, “Took some digging. Didn’t care about the price.”

Deuce stood and hugged him hard, clapping his back.

“Man. Thank you.”

Zaya watched the exchange closely, her gaze lingering on Erik now with something softer behind it.

“Photo time!” she announced suddenly, grabbing her phone.

She propped it on the mantel and set the timer.

Everyone shuffled into place. Deuce sat on the floor with Tasha curled against him, laughing. Zaya dropped down beside them, blanket pooled around her legs. Marlon stood behind them, one arm around Celeste’s waist. She rested a hand lightly on her husband’s back.

Erik stood at the edge, aviators still on, jacket folded over his arm, gift bag in hand. Zaya glanced back at him just as the shutter clicked, the smallest smile tugging at the edge of her mouth. No one said anything about the tension but it was there.

And it felt like only the beginning.

@akimi-youngblood @theesmartblonde @daddysmoke @cravemyhoney @dashhoney25 @feral4youu @transparentphantomface @vibrantlymellowknight @queenofklonnie22 @lizbehave @questionable-behaviour @wakandamama @wabi-sabi1090 @brownsugarcoffy @blackamericanprincessy @othermotherchild @underated345-blog @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @5starsirl @longlivemalyce @tnychellee @shecuteforaewok @dutifullythoughtfulenthusiast @weirdwhimsicalblackgirl @og-goddesstrill @themindfulwriter16 @theogbadbitch @theebaddesttt @gtf-o-m-d @iam-whoyouwantmetobe @yassbishimvintage @thickianaaaa @thedutifulone @we-outsiiiide @kimuzostar @raysogroovy @khujiri @stevelee456 @thedondada05 @switchthecolors @girlmath101 @kirayuki22

[solarssins]

Idk how I’m JUST now reading this… Nobody does tension the way that you do omg. I strive to be an author who can properly convey feelings like this. My godt

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

How do you think each twin would deal with a girl running or putting her hand on his stomach during sex?

If she tries to run from Smoke dick:

Smoke wouldn’t let her get more than an inch. The moment he feels her hips shift or her body try to re oil from the sheer size and thickness of his dick his reaction would be instantaneous and physical. He wouldn’t shout or ask why, he would simply react.

He’d reach out with those large, calloused hands and seize her hips in a vice grip. He would haul her back against him with a brutal, singular motion, pinning her firmly against the mattress or the wall. He’d lean in close, his chest hard against her back because we know this man love to bend you over. Then he would speak in a low gravelly rumble against her ear or her neck.

“Where you think you goin’?”

He would use his weight to anchor her, ensuring she feels every inch of that dick pressing into her. He’d slowly drive that thick dick back in her. Smoke doesn’t do “gentle” when he feels her slipping away or trying to run. He takes control. There is no exit until he’s finished.

He’s keeping that stroke, he wants you crying on the dick.

When she presses her palm against his stomach or chest to push back:

It’s a signal, her saying “daddy, it’s too much.” Or “I can’t take it.” When he’s stretching her past her limit.

Smoke don’t react with hesitation he only gets triggered by her body fighting the girth and length of him. It makes his deepest, most possessive instincts come to life. Smoke ain’t a man of many words, and he isn’t one for gentle reassurance. To him, her resistance isn’t a request to stop it’s a sign that he successfully claimed every single inch of her.

Smoke will lean his full, heavy weight forward, pin her deeper into the mattress or the wall with either his hands on the backs of her thighs/knees. He may even bear hug her while he in it. He catches her wrists in one of his large hands with a steel grip and pin her arm above her head or firmly against his own chest.

Smoke would say little to no words. He’ll grunt, growl, breath heavy through his nose. He’ll look down at her his expression hard and neutral (😩😩😩) though the intensity in his gaze is scorching! He wants her to see that he knows exactly what she’s feeling.

“You mine…take it.”

He would hold her there, frozen and stretched, letting her feel the thickness of him pulsing deep inside her. Then with a slow, brutal efficiency, he would begin to drive back into her, he’d use his hips to grind his dick directly against her most sensitive spots, forcing her body to accommodate his size. Every thrust is a heavy, thudding impact that reminds her exactly who owns her. He won’t stop until her nails start to claw at his shoulders, his chest, his abs.

If she tries to run or pull away from his dick:

Stack wouldn’t react like Smoke. Instead, he’d treat it as a challenge, a playful game of cat and mouse. The moment he feels her recoil from his big dick he wouldn’t just grab her he’d tease her about it.

He might let her slide back just an inch, only to catch her by the waist with a low, melodic chuckle. He’d pull her back toward him with a sliding, sensual friction that makes her skin tingle. He’d lean in, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice a smooth, honeyed tone that vibrates through her entire body.

“Now, where you goin’, sugar? We just gettin’ to the best part,” he’d whisper.

Stack uses his charisma to coax her back, kissing her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers to distract her from the intimidation of his size. But once he had her settled, the “pretty gangster” disappears and the predator emerges. He’d grip her thighs, hoisting them higher over his shoulders to open her up completely. He would slide back in her with a slow, agonizing pace, watching her face with a smug, knowing grin. He wants her to feel the stretch to feel the way his dick sits perfectly against her spot.

When she presses her palm against Stack’s stomach, that frantic, trembling push that tells him it’s too much:

That his girth is stretching her to a breaking point. Stack don’t react like Smoke. Instead, he’d react with that chuckle and that smirk. To Stack, her resistance isn’t a signal to stop it’s a compliment. It’s the ultimate validation of his masculinity. He treats her struggle like a game he’s won.

Stack doesn’t pin her down with force he uses his charisma to dismantle her panic. He leans back just a fraction to look in her eyes. He’s got that predatory grin with deep dimples popping as he watches her expression of overwhelming desire. He’ll let her hand stay there for a moment, feeling the heat of her hand against his flexed muscles before slowly wrapping his fingers around her wrist and kissing the inside of it with his eyes still locked. Then he makes his voice sound all smooth and sexy.

“Now, baby…you know you want every single inch of this. Don’t lie to me. I can feel how tight you grippin’ me. You just a little overwhelmed by how big I am, ain’t you?”

Then he’ll guidance her hand down from his stomach, sliding her palm over the hard ridge of his hip and then directly into the base of his dick, forcing her to feel the thick, pulsing vein and the heavy weight of him as he remains buried deep inside her. He wants her to acknowledge the size of him, to feel the way his dick sits deep.

Then he moves, driving that dick at a slow pace. He pulls back until he’s almost out to tease her with the sensation of emptiness then he’s sliding back in with a steady pressure that makes her toes curl. All while watching her face and savoring every reaction.

“Just breath for me…open up for daddy. Take it all. I’m gon’ fill you up so full.”

Now she’s begging him to stop teasing and only then will Stack hammer into her 😩😩😩

[solarssins]

Oh great heavens

[hopefulandromantic]

Good Neighbor (2)

Featuring: Elijah “Smoke” Moore

Warnings: Smut + Age Gap (Smoke is 35 and Divine is 23)! Rm: Don't read if that makes you uncomfortable! 🫶🏾

Lawd, I didn't expect y'all to be so interested in these two! 😭 I hope this ending lives up to the hype...*posts and scurries back to my lair*

Between the soothing sounds of the rain pattering against the wall to wall windows of his bedroom and the moans of the gorgeous woman on top of him, this is the most relaxed Smoke’s been in a while. 

He just returned to Chicago from a week long business trip to New Orleans, and in his desperation to shed the stress of his and his brother's affairs, he called one of his "girlfriends", Malia, to be waiting at his door as soon as he got back.

The back of Smoke’s head sunk further into his pillows, and his eyes fluttered closed. His chest heaved along with his heavy breaths, the feeling of Malia, wet and warm around his length, sending his teeth sinking into his plump, bottom lip. 

When she picked up the pace, pulling herself closer and closer to her peak with her head thrown back in ecstasy, Smoke's hands flew to her toned waist, gripping tight.

"Mm, Fuck, Di." Smoke groaned out without thinking.

The room went completely silent and still. 

"Shit!" Was all Smoke's brain could come up with. It's been well over five months since he slept with Divine. Their relationship literally went right  back to normal, after. Why the fuck is he slipping up and saying her name, right now, of all times?

"You just called me “Di”." Malia said softly, trying to catch her breath. Smoke remained neutral, attempting to gaslight himself out of the hole he just dug for himself.

"No, I didn't."

"Smoke, don't fucking play with me. I'm not stupid!" Malia spat, her angry eyes flicking over his calm and collected features. Smoke gave up the act, releasing a deep sigh while rubbing his hand over his face. "Di? Divine across the hall?You told me you wasn't fucking that girl!"

"I'm not."

"Oh, so you’re just thinking 'bout fucking her?" Malia both asked and implied at the same time.

"Not at the moment." Smoke honestly spoke, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “C’mere. Let’s just—.” He started, grabbing her arms softly and pulling her closer.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Malia spat, snatching away from him and scrambling out of the bed, fuming. "Do you hear yourself?!" Malia yelled, the rise in her tone instantly making him cringe and close his eyes in attempt to combat the rising irritation in his spirit. "You're making zero fucking sense! I'm already overlooking the two other bitches, then here you go fucking one you wanna keep under wraps for some reason!"

"I fucked her one time, Malia." Smoke attempted to tiredly explain. "I ain't touch her since."

"You expect me to believe you, Smoke?!"

"What I gotta lie to you fa?" Smoke asked, face twisting up to show his confusion. "I promise, if I was still fuckin' her, you'd know 'cause I don't care 'bout you knowin', Malia.”

"You know what?" Malia scoffed, shaking her head as she jumped into her sweats. "I should've been done with your sneaky, conniving bullshit. You're just like Stack's trifling ass, and I'm a fucking dumbass for convincing myself that you any different."

 "Is dissin' my brudda really necessary?" Smoke grumbled in response, watching her finish getting dressed in silence with an attitude so potent that he can practically feel it radiating off of her. "My bad." He spoke once she was done, testing the waters to see just how pissed she is.

"Fuck you!" Malia sneered, snatching her purse from his nightstand. "Fuck your lil girlfriend, too!" She barked out behind her, storming out of his room.

"Aye, watch yo’ mouth! She ain’t my girlfriend, either!" Smoke loudly snapped, staring in the direction she went in, irritated.

The sound of his door slamming shut made his jaw tighten, and his eyes squeeze shut. After taking in a deep breath and releasing it, in attempt to calm his nerves, he shook his head and rolled out of the bed.

After trudging to his bathroom in defeat, Smoke snatched the barely used condom off of his softening dick and tossed it into the trash before looking at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but to laugh humorlessly at his luck before deciding to prepare for a long, hot shower.

Smoke scrubbed off Malia and the disappointment from him missing his opportunity to catch a nut, did the rest of his usual nighttime routine, slipped on a pair of black sweat-shorts and black Nike slides, and slinked across the hall with a shirt he got in New Orleans for Divine tight in his grip.

It didn't take Divine long to open the door after hearing his signature knock, the younger beaming uncontrollably at his presence.

Smoke's eyes raked her body that's clad in a pink cropped tube top and blue cotton panties, signaling that she's either getting ready for bed, or was already in bed.

"Hey, Elijah!" Divine greeted, pulling him in as he smiled at her excitement. "You just got back?" She asked, closing and locking the door.

"Like an hour ago." Smoke muttered, stepping closer and trapping her against the wall of the short hallway leading up to the door. "What you doing up, pretty?"

"Nigga, it's not that late." Divine chuckled, "Who slammed the fuck out your door earlier?"

"Man, you heard that bullshit?” Smoke scoffed. “Don't worry 'bout that." He grumbled, shaking his head as he recalled the verbal tussle between him and Malia. "Here go the shirt you asked fa." He held it up to show her the design.

"Oooh!" Divine grinned, snatching it and holding it against her body. After comparing it to her body, she checked the size and smacked her lips. "Smoke, you know damn well I don't wear a fucking large ." She gritted, hitting him in the face with it.

"Damn, girl!" Smoke laughed, "My bad.”

"Whatever." Divine rolled her eyes, smiling softly. "I can work with it." She shrugged, tossing the purple shirt over her shoulder. "You need to be putting this bitch on your damn self." She fussed, pushing him back with a firm nudge to his bare chest and sashaying off.

"You just wanted to cop a feel." Smoke teased, smirking at the natural switch of her hips as he followed her.

"Oh, get over yourself, Elijah Moore." Divine muttered, face heating up. "You're really not gonna tell me who slammed your door?"

"If I tell you, you'll drop it?" Smoke asked, leaning against the doorframe of her dimly lit room that's illuminated by her soft, warm floor lamp in the corner of her room. 

"Probably not." Divine mumbled, glancing at him and shrugging as she brought a few of her anime plushies from her bed to her closet in attempt to make more room for Smoke.

"You know what? I admire yo' honesty." Smoke chuckled, walking over to her bed and making himself comfortable on the unoccupied side of it—propping himself up against the headboard with one leg hanging off the side of the mattress. "C'mere." 

Divine closed the door of her closet, before rushing over to her designated side of the bed, cozying up beside Smoke.

"Tell me." Divine urged, excited to know what she's been wondering for the past hour.

"Malia."

"Why?" Divine pried, leaning closer. "Wait, don't tell me, yet. We're talking about the one with the short red hair, right?"

"Yes, Divine. That's her." Smoke chuckled, pulling her leg on his lap and rubbing her ankle.

"I called her over, we started fuckin', and while she was ridin' me, I called her “Di”."

"Oh my God." Divine grimaced, horrified. "Why in the hell would you do that?"

"I have no idea." Smoke muttered, the back of his head hitting the headboard. "I guess that's what happens when you got somebody in yo' face every damn day."

"Nigga, you was gone for a whole week with no contact." Divine sassed, "You had seven fucking days to reboot your mind and get rid of me, while you tryna get smart. What Stack had you doing down there at them ports, any-damn-way? Don't even try to lie, 'cause I still got your location from when I was making sure you was at the right place to pick up my food, a few weeks ago."

"Thank you for remindin' me that you still got my location, so I cut that bullshit off, nosey ass lil girl." Smoke pointed, slitting his eyes as she smirked proudly. "Stack ain't have me doin' shit." He couldn't help but to chuckle at his brother catching his second stray of the night. "I went down there to handle shit for the both of us."

"Drugs." Divine simply implied, rolling her eyes and making Smoke quirk a brow in amusement. "Anyways, you got that woman thinking I'm hopping on your dick every other night!"

"What's wrong wit’ that?" Smoke asked, biting back a smile while him and Divine held a brief stare-off. "I'm just askin'." He held his hand up in surrender when he saw she wasn't backing down.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you." Divine accused, tilting her head.

"Who wouldn't?" Smoke asked, laughing incredulously. 

"You know what..." Divine trailed off, making a spectacle of turning on her side and fluffing her pillow with an uncontrollable smile on her face. "I'm going to bed." She turned her lamp down two more levels with the remote that was on her nightstand. "I suggest you do the same." She grumbled, making sure her scarf is secure around the sides and edges of her high, voluminous puff.

"I knew you liked our lil sleepovers."

"I just know when you bring your ass over here this late, it ain’t no getting rid of you." Divine bit back, giggling as she made herself comfortable under her covers. "Get under here and go to bed. You get irritating as fuck when you sleepy. Childish, too."

"I’m nowhere near sleepy." Smoke lied.

Sure enough, Smoke was knocked out within three minutes, and Divine quickly followed. Around the 3:22 mark in the night, Smoke continued to sleep soundly, but the thunder from a storm that stirred up while they slumbered startled Divine awake.

"Shit!" Divine gasped, clutching her chest and sitting up to look out her window at the heavy rain that's picking up by the second. As she settled down her heart rate, she noticed that Smoke's soft snoring ceased.

"You good?" Smoke rasped, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Yeah, I just—." Divine started, chuckling nervously, "That scared the shit outta me. I don't like sleeping when the weather gets bad like this." She confessed, trembling softly.

"C'mere."

Divine wasted no time moving closer, allowing Smoke to hold her against him with a secure hold around her waist. She began playing with his chain and listening to his breathing to distract herself.

"When it stormed coming up, Stack used to do the same shit." Smoke muttered, chuckling at the thought. "I used to be dead asleep, and wake up to him climbing in my bed talkin' bout he scared. I never made him feel bad for doing it, but shit, it pissed me off most nights."

"How long he did that for?" Divine asked softly, giggling at the thought of her big, charismatic boss looking to his brother for comfort. Not to tease, but to show how adorable she found the confession.

"I think 'til he was like sixteen." Smoke replied, smiling softly as Divine pressed her forehead against his lips. "One night, he just slept through it. Another came, and he did it again. I eventually asked him 'bout it and he cussed me out, so I guess he just grew out of it."

"I hope I grow out of it, too." Divine expressed under her breath, pressing a kiss onto Smoke's cheek. "Thank you for making me feel better."

"That wasn't exactly the goal, but I guess you welcome." Smoke joked, chuckling when she kicked at one of his legs that's tangled in hers. 

"I'm surprised you ain't run him out, knowing you."

"I'm not as mean as you make me out to be."

"Oh, yes you are, nigga!" Divine countered, giggling when he barked out a laugh. "Ok, I'm lying. You have your rare sweet moments."

"Exactly." Smoke chuckled. "Stop tryna downplay 'em. Especially since one of them rare ass moments was lettin' you talk me into fuckin' you."

"Oh, please. You were being overly dramatic, anyway." Divine sassed, lightheartedly rolling her eyes. "Guess what, we did it and left it alone. You were so convinced that I was gon' get attached, and I ended up playing it cordial with your ass for damn near six fucking months!" She got loud and in Smoke's face towards the end of her statement, making the man smack his lips and turn his head while trying to hide the smile that's fighting to make an appearance on his face. 

"Whatever, man."

"Just loud and wrong." Divine teased, tilting her head and smirking. "You didn't expect me to "get down to business, then go 'bout my day", huh?"

"I know damn well you didn’t just quote me."

"I did." Divine calmly retorted. "Just as much as I loved you fuckin' the shit outta me, I loved proving you wrong even more."

"Hm." Smoke hummed, smirking softly. Oddly, he's impressed. "Well played."

"I know." Divine cockily remarked. "Now that we established that I won, can you please eat my pussy?" She pleaded, dropping the "tough guy" act and softening her eyes in attempt to convince him.

Fortunately for Divine, Smoke didn't need much convincing. Hell, he actually didn't need any.

Divine's ragged breathing filled the air as Smoke pinned her down by her inner thighs—her legs spread so wide that the position is giving his insatiable mouth plenty of access to every single inch of her pussy.

Divine's chest heaved and she cupped her fleshy breasts that she freed from the top that's now bunched around her waist and completely disregarded. 

The feeling of Smoke's tongue whipping against her clit in tandem with his ring and middle fingers sinking in and out of her slick slit pulled a loud gasp from her entire being, her hips jerking harshly. 

The pleasurable frown on her face intensified when she felt the thick digits twist inside of her and the pads of them start to massage the spongy upper wall of her pussy while sucking at her soaked, swollen clit sloppily.

"Oh my God, Smoke." Divine moaned out in awe, stars bursting behind her eyelids. 

Smoke hummed in response, his free hand moving up her body and gripping her breast roughly. The roughness of his warm hand added extra stimulation to her aching nipple and before she knew it, she was gripping his wrist and bucking her hips against the rhythm of his tongue and fingers.

The sloshing between her legs intensified along with the maddening pace of Smoke's fingers. That paired with his skilled tongue roughly swirling against her clit had her writhing like crazy.

"Just like that, Elijaaah!" Divine cried, toes curling and muscles tightening as an abrupt orgasm threatened to crash down on her with sheer force. "Oh my G—!" She breathed, shuddering hard and biting her bottom lip for dear life when it finally made impact.

When Smoke didn't let up, still pressing his fingers against the soft surface and sucking her clit tenderly, Divine choked on a sob, clamping her legs shut around his fingers and twisting her body with her hands gripping her pillows above her head.

Smoke chuckled at her current state, placing open mouth kisses on her soft, plump ass cheek and upper thigh with his fingers still buried inside of her.

Smoke opened her legs back up after she finally regained all her senses, and nestled himself between them. He cupped her face, staring into her dilated eyes as he removed his soiled fingers from her pulsing center and brought them up to her lips. Divine wasted no time opening her mouth to clean them—her tongue outstretched and ready.

"Good fuckin' girl." Smoke grunted, dick twitching at the sight of her sucking his fingers into her mouth and swirling her tongue around them as if they were his dick. "You want som' else in this pretty ass mouth, huh?"

"Mmhm." Divine hummed, looking at him from under her lashes.

Divine practically wrestled him onto the bed, the two eagerly swapping places. She excitedly tugged off his shorts and pulled the bunched up material from around her waist before settling between his legs and taking his dick into her hand.

Divine smiled with excitement and determination, her mouth already watering at the hot and heavy length of him in her grip. She bit down on her bottom lip as she got into a comfortable position on her stomach.

"Wait." Smoke muttered, brows furrowing. "You know what you doing?"

"Well, I never had any complaints, so...I think so." Divine uttered under breath, shrugging. 

She’s engaged with oral sex with both of her “boyfriends”, but they weren't as big as Smoke. Even the dildo that she practiced on in the past wasn't as big as Smoke. With that being said, Divine don't know how in the hell this is going to turn out, but she’s somewhat confident in her abilities.

"Nah, you sound too unsure for me." Smoke remarked, looking down at her skeptically. "Don't bite my fucking dick off, Divine, or I—."

"Hush!" Divine whined. "You're making me nervous, and if I get nervous—! I don’t fucking know what I’ll do!" She stammered.

Smoke closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to resist the urge to laugh at her being overwhelmed in this very serious, but unserious situation.

“Just relax, and take yo’ time.” Smoke encouraged, attempting to calm her down. “Don’t rush, and…watch yo’ teeth, please.”

"I’m not stupid. All I need you to do is just tell me when or if something feels off or unpleasant." Divine told him, eyes flicking up to meet his after observing every inch of him. "I think I can take care of you, though, Smoke." She muttered, more so to herself as she tightened the grip on his shaft. 

Divine dragged her warm, wet tongue along the underside of his dick, even pivoting it a little to trace a vein she encountered on her path. Smoke watched her intensely as she traced his tip that's slick with his pre-cum, her eyes fixed on him and surveying his facial expressions.

From analyzing the way Smoke gave her head during her first time, she concocted a routine by relating what was pleasurable to her to what she’s researched on blowjobs in general: focus on the tip, suck as much as you can, make it sloppy (but not too sloppy), stroke what you can't, and if you're feeling bold—try to deep throat him. 

When she acted out the routine on her two "boyfriends", they seemed to love it. The only thing that she had to tweak was giving the balls attention. The first one told her to during the act, and when she tested it on the second without him having to, he had zero additional notes. Divine felt like she cracked the code!

Unfortunately, it didn't dawn on her at the time that there's some men with ridiculous sized dicks, Smoke being one of them. For some reason, she definitely didn’t anticipate having to suck Smoke’s down the line, anyway (despite literally fantasizing about doing so).

When Divine sucked him into her mouth, she lowered her head, drooled, and focused on relaxing and adjusting her jaws to his size. When she brought her head back up, hollowing her cheeks for gentle suction, her tongue dragged against the velvety skin, making Smoke release a heavy breath that definitely went straight to her head.

The friction grew almost nonexistent, Smoke's dick glistening with saliva, and Divine's head bobbing up and down his shaft with ease despite her jaws already starting to ache. It probably would’ve bothered her if Smoke didn’t sound so sexy moaning and groaning in her ear. While gripping the base firmly with one hand and twisting in short turns, she fondled his balls tenderly with the other.

"Gahdamn, Divine." Smoke moaned deeply, the sound sending a jolt right to her clit and prompting her to press her thighs together tighter to relieve the pressure between them. When her eyes fluttered closed, Smoke gripped her hair—gentle, but firm. "Nah, look at me." He breathed, chest heaving with his eyes locked on hers. “You so fuckin’ sexy, Di. What the Fuck?”

The sight of his gorgeous, dazed face led Divine to feel bold, therefore, she stuffed as much of his dick into her mouth that she could handle. When his tip hit the back of Divine's throat, his eyes rolled back into his skull.

"Fu—uuck." Smoke brokenly moaned, his stomach caving in as Divine gagged lightly. She retracted her head and spat on his dick before slurping it up from all sides of his length breathlessly. 

When she began stroking the soppy tip while licking and sucking on his drenched balls with a soft, teasing moan, his hips began to rise from the bed. 

"Uh uh. Bring yo’ ass here." He growled, practically yanking her up his body.

Divine giggled at his urgency, straddling him as he smashed his lips onto hers in pure desperation. She moaned into his mouth, raising her hips and reaching beneath her to grab his dick. She guided it along her slit, pressing the tip against her drooling center. Divine lowered her body and the second it breached her slit, she whimpered and Smoke's teeth sunk into her bottom lip gently.

Smoke held her close, grumbling a groan into her cheek. His hands roughly kneaded the flesh of her ass as his tongue traced her jawline and settled on the skin just beneath it. 

When he began sucking the area, Divine shakily gasped at the descending warmth down her spine colliding with the stretch and fullness that's currently being inflicted on her pussy the more she struggled to fully seat him inside of her. 

Once she was so stuffed with him that she felt she could barely breathe, she rolled her hips in a futile attempt to adjust. Her head and upper body fell back as she tried to focus on loosening her body completely while also trying not to cum from the intense heat sitting inside of her fluttering walls. 

Smoke lapped at one of her sensitive peaks before sucking it softly, causing Divine to release a shaky gasp and dig her fingers into his pillowy coils. She panted pathetically, her hands moving to Smoke’s shoulders when he began to slowly guide her hips towards a slow, sinful rhythm while giving her other nipple the same treatment. The dull ache mixed with that all too familiar itch being relieved made her shiver and claw at his skin, moaning helplessly.

“There you go.” Smoke drawled, relaxing his upper body against the headboard when Divine picked up where he left off, all on her own. “Just like that, pretty. My good fuckin’ girl.” He whispered, licking his lips and admiring the sight of her on top of him from beneath his lowered eyelids. 

Divine’s richly toned skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, and her voluptuous breasts appears to be making an effort of putting on a show just for him—bouncing beautifully to her messy, yet efficient rhythm.

“Y-You feel s’good inside of me, ‘Lijah.” Divine shakily whined, gripping his forearms for dear life as tears streamed down her face.

When the tip of his dick began to feel too damn good against her sensitive cervix, she reached back and placed her hands on his knees with her mouth parted, opening her legs and bouncing harder.

“Yeah.” Smoke breathed, gripping under her thighs and humming in approval at the sight of her painting, and slicking his dick with her milky arousal. “Ride the fuck out yo’ dick, Di.” He encouraged, biting back a moan as his eyes flicked back up to her blissed out face.

Divine moaned pathetically in response, sucking her shaky bottom lip between her teeth when it dawned on her that she’s really fucking close. Smoke feels it. The tightening of her thigh muscles paired with the pulses of her greedy walls around his stiff length.

“E-Elijah, I—.” Divine stuttered, not even knowing what she was about to say, legs shaking harshly. 

Smoke shushed her and pulled her soft body against him while scooting down and bending his knees. He began to hungrily thrust up into her from below, releasing a deep moan into her neck as she clawed at his arms with a muffled sob. 

“Yes! God, yes!” She cried into his neck, tears and drool hitting his shoulder as her toes curled.

“You cummin’ fa me, pretty?”

“Yes, baby!” Divine mewled, lifting her head and nodding feverishly with her eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck me, daddy! Please, make my pussy cum!”

Smoke grunted roughly at her plea, grabbing the nape of her neck and kissing her passionately. Divine’s muffled moans grew louder and more high pitched as she struggled to keep up with the wild, messy lip lock. 

Before she knew it, an intense wave of euphoric pleasure washed over her, prompting her to disconnect her swollen lips from Smoke’s. Divine  shuddered hard against Smoke’s solid frame, her forehead rolling against his with a guttural moan. Her pussy pulsed and leaked pathetically, the feeling making Smoke’s brows bunch and a soft, breathy “fuck” leave his lips.

“Keep going, baby. Don’t fucking stop.” Divine breathlessly pleaded, locking her leg around Smoke’s waist when he flipped them both on their side. Smoke hummed deeply, driving his dick in and out of her blissfully sore cavern without abandon, gripping the back of her hair. “Mmm, cum all in my fucking pussy, Elijah.” She slurred, damn near delirious.

“Shit, Di.” Smoke moaned deeply, pressing his head against hers. He used his free hand to lift her leg from his waist and hold it up for better access, tightly gripping her ankle. “You want it?” He grunted, his control slipping by the second as his his dick throbbed readily.

“So fucking bad, daddy. I dream about it. I need it.” Divine panted, her breathing intensifying and eyes rolling back into her skull with each rough, sloppy rut. “Uhh! Elijah!” She squealed, her leg flexing in Smoke’s strong hold. She reached back and gripped hard, tugging the sheet of her bed from the corner while bucking through another body shattering orgasm. “Elijah!” She sobbed, issuing the final blow to Smoke’s composure.

Smoke released an animalistic grunt into her neck, bringing his hand down on her ass and pulling her lower half flush to him. He moaned in euphoric relief, teeth sinking into the flushed skin as Divine purred at the feeling of the hot spurts of cum filling her to the brim.

“Damn, that feels—.” Divine breathed out, a lazy grin spreading across her face as she began grinding down on his dick that’s still twitching angrily inside of her along with his muscles. “Fuck, Elijah.” She cooed, gripping her breast roughly and slithering her tongue into his mouth when he placed his on hers, gripping the back of her neck.

“You goin’ to sleep in here?” Smoke asked lowly when he noticed the silence that filled the room, leaning up to get a view of Divine’s face from where she’s sitting between his legs, just to see her looking right back at him.

The water in the expansive tub that was once boiling hot (per Divine’s request) has since reached a barely enjoyable warmth as an indicator of the amount of time that’s passed with them in it.

“Nah, I just noticed the heartbeat you left in my pussy’s almost nonexistent.” Divine muttered, smiling softly when Smoke snickered at her realization.

“You be takin’ this muhfucka.” Smoke gave her props, smirking proudly. “It’s just the aftermath that do yo’ ass in. Shit, you asked for it, though. Remember that?” He asked in her ear, laughing when she swatted at his face.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Divine blushed, shaking her head and giggling. “I don’t even wanna think about it, right now.”

“You need to be thinkin’ ‘bout how we never use a condom ‘fore God make an example outta us.” Smoke lightheartedly fussed, making Divine roll her head against his chest with a loud groan. “This the second time, Di.”

“I didn’t expect to get fucked, tonight!” Divine defended. “I promise, I’m usually prepared. I don’t get down and dirty without one.” She assured him, making Smoke hum. “Where’s your accountability? You usually wear ‘em, right?”

“Oh course.” Smoke said in a “duh” tone, chuckling. “You thought I was fuckin’ three different women raw, all this time?”

“Well….”

“Divine, yo’ concept of me is so fucked up.” Smoke grumbled, shaking his head. Divine laughed at the disappointment in his tone. “I ain’t even laughin’.”

“I was just playing, Elijah.” Divine groaned, looking back at him and cupping his face with a smile. “I wouldn’t even be fucking you if I actually thought you were sexually irresponsible.”

“Don’t play wit’ me like that.”

“Man, shut up, crybaby.” Divine smacked her lips, giggling when he wrapped his hand around the front of her throat. Smoke smiled softly when her hands flew to his wrist, pinching at it. 

A comfortable silence engulfed the room after their playful banter died down. Divine gazed straight ahead, loss in thought as Smoke’s hands caressed her thighs mindlessly under the water.

“You think we’re gonna end up doing this again, Smoke?” Divine asked softly, reaching under the water and finding his hand—pleasantly surprised when he wasted no time locking their fingers.

“Yep.”

“Wanna make a deal?”

“Depends on the terms.” Smoke teased, smirking and tapping his forehead against the back of her head. “Talk to me.”

“We use protection with everyone, except for each other.” Divine offered. “Like, it can be our little secret, you know?” She went on, looking up at him and smiling softly. “You’re gonna have to stop being selfish and pull out though ‘cause I’m not fucking messing with any form of birth control.”

“Hol on, you was begging me to nut in you.” Smoke laughed at her trying to rewrite the script. 

“Yeah, and you were too damn ready to do it.” Divine sassed, chuckling. “Ok, we can indulge like two times a month.”

“Hell no.” Smoke scoffed. “Four.”

“Three.”

“Three, then.” Smoke grumbled, smirking softly at his next suggestion. “Shit, If we going down that road, we might as well cut out our third parties altogether.”

“You don’t do attachments, remember.” Divine reminded him, looking up at him with a quirked brow. “That sounds pretty damn close to an attachment, Elijah. Just me and you? No one else?” She went on, grinning when he smacked his lips and narrowed his eyes at her. "You attached, Elijah?"

“Look, I agree to the deal, but only wit’ my negotiations.” Smoke stated, dodging her question and shrugging to indicate finality. “We doin’ this, or not?”

“You know what? Fuck it.” Divine blurted, throwing her hands up in surrender after giving it minimal thought. “I’ll do it for the plot. Let’s lock it in.” She held her hand over her shoulder for him to shake.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Smoke muttered, disregarding her hand and tilting her face up to meet his. 

The pair shared a slow, tantalizing kiss that sent chills down both of their spines. Once their tongues became intertwined, and Smoke’s touch grew to be outright pornographic, Divine moaned and quickly broke the kiss, shaking her head with a beaming smile. 

“What?” Smoke asked, grinning innocently as if he wasn’t trying to get Divine stirred back up. 

“Elijah, I’m fucking tired.” Divine stressed, giggling as she attempted to stand up on her wobbly legs. Meanwhile, Smoke’s eyes are dragging down her frame, admiring the way the soapy water is cascading down her luscious curves while biting back a smile. “Come help me with this shower, so we can take both our horny asses to bed.”

Smoke laughed and followed her out a few feet to the glass shower. After grabbing two washcloths from her shelf and making sure the water was to her liking, he walked her in with a tight grip around her waist, her arms around his neck, and their legs tangled together.

After Smoke slid the glass door closed behind them, Divine collapsed against him again, her face pressed to his damp chest.

“You’re a good neighbor, Smoke.” Divine murmured, hugging his waist tightly. “A good ass friend, too.”

Smoke cracked a soft smile at the praise, wrapping his arm around her neck and kissing her head to show his own usual, wordless appreciation in return.

A Good Neighbor, indeed…

And they live Happily Ever After (as FWB)! Yay! 🥰😭

If you're reading this, thank you so much for being here! ❤️

[solarssins]

Nobody:

Di:

[aizawash0e]

Respectfully, I think dry humping in fics is a lost art that needs to be brought back 🙂‍↕️!

THERE I SAID IT!!

[mauvecherie-writes]

Dry humping. Titty fucking. Thigh gap fucking, thigh riding. Mutual Masturbation. Solo Masturbation. Just making out without an escalation to sex. I will be bringing it.

[multiversxwhore]

*noted* lmao

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

I write about titty fucking & thigh riding as much as I can cuz that’s my shit 🫠🫠

[sugurusplaything]

already was in my plans… ig you could say… i’m always two steps ahead

[solarssins]

Yes

[theegoldenchild]

Chapter Four: City Of Angels (Part 2)

Author’s Note: Wowzers chapter four is FINALLY here. As you can see, this series has a new header. Tumblr flagged my other one. Fingers crossed this one doesn’t violate their guidelines 😒

Warnings: +18 | Explicit Language | Angst | Manipulative/Abusive Past Relationship Mentioned | Mutual Masturbation if you squint| Oral Sex | Fingering | Squirting | Vibrators | Overstimulation | Alexi still needs a hug | Stack gets five golden stars | Smoke is making his hit list and checking it twice | Adam better stay in hiding |

Smoke’s glare lingered heavily, but Stack’s shout pulled him forward. He exhaled like the weight of it burned his lungs, then shoved himself away from the column and trailed his twin toward the dressing rooms.

The attendant at the front counter, a young woman in a pressed uniform and a badge clipped to her chest, raised her brows when Stack came barreling toward the fitting rooms with a mountain of clothes piled against his arms. “Sir,” she said, voice even, “there’s a limit. Ten items per person inside a fitting room.”

Stack frowned, his grin faltering as he looked down at the tower of shirts, jackets, and trousers balanced against his chest. He shifted them once, twice, lips curling in irritation. “Ten?” he grumbled. “The hell I’m gon’ do with ten?” With a grunt, he started sorting, tossing hangers back and forth until the pile thinned out. He shoved ten items into Smoke’s chest, ignoring his brother’s annoyed expression, then turned to Alexi with a mischievous gleam and dropped ten more into her arms.

Her jaw dropped in disbelief as her hands automatically caught the weight before she realized what she was doing. “What, Elias no!” she spat, her eyes snapping toward him. “I’m not—”

Stack smirked, cutting her off. “Ain’t no refusin’. You gon’ make yaself useful an hold somethin’.”

Alexi’s chest rose quick, her irritation sparking. “The dressing rooms are separated by gender,” she hissed. “There’s no way the three of us are fitting in one of those little boxes together.”

Before she could march away, the attendant smiled politely and gestured down the hall. “This is California. We’re gender inclusive here. You can use our family dressing room. It’s larger and more comfortable. It has a lounge seat and a full-length mirror. Perfect for groups.”

Alexi froze, the words cutting her confidence in half. She glared at the attendant, her teeth grinding. “Thanks,” she said flatly, dripping sarcasm.

She bit the inside of her cheek while her stomach twisted into knots. A family dressing room big enough for the three of them, but small enough for every word Smoke had said to her in the store to echo around its walls without anywhere to go. She hated the way her body thrummed at the thought of being enclosed with them again. She hated the burn rising in her chest and the memories of Adam’s voice telling her that pleasure was shameful, unclean, and not hers to hold.

Alexi’s fingers tightened around the hangers. She wished she could run, bolt back into the mall and lose herself in the crowd. But the thought of leaving the twins alone and them possibly getting into something she would have to explain to the police sat heavy on her conscience, so instead she begrudgingly followed.

The family room was exactly as described. Spacious, with a bench pressed against the wall, a small padded chair in the corner, and a mirror tall enough to swallow the room whole. Every surface was clean, bright, and mercilessly reflective.

Stack wasted no time getting undressed. The second the door shut behind them, his vintage suit jacket hit the floor, followed quickly by his shirt, his trousers, and then his socks. He stood in nothing but his boxers grinning at his reflection, already tugging one of the new shirts over his head before peeling it off again to try another.

“Elijah,” he barked, “get to it, nigga!”

Smoke ignored his twin and didn’t move. He stood just inside the door, arms crossed like an unmovable statue, his glare anchored to the mirror but not seeing himself in it. He was shifting his gaze, watching Stack and Alexi through it. He watched the way she hovered near the padded chair like it was a life raft in a storm. Alexi kept her back straight and her arms stiff at her sides, still clutching the hangers Stack had dumped on her. Her knuckles were white around the plastic, but her face gave nothing away. No anger or embarrassment, just that distant glare she had perfected during studio meetings, the one that said; I’m here, but don’t mistake it for me giving a fuck.

Stack shrugged into a pale shirt with pinstripes and stepped toward the mirror. “This one make me look presidential?” he asked no one in particular, then winked at himself. “Call me President Moore. Givin’ speeches, takin’ bitches.”

Alexi rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “You sound like a walking misdemeanor.”

“Least I don’t look like a fuckin’ nun,” Stack fired back, yanking on a pair of trousers. “You over there dressed like you hate color. All that damn fabric could kill joy just by walkin’ in sunlight.”

“I’m comfortable,” she said flatly.

“You hidin’,” he corrected, his voice losing its playful lilt for just a breath before it snapped back like a rubber band. He peeled the pinstripe off and reached for something else, his movements quick and certain, like a man who had never once wasted time doubting himself in front of a mirror.

What he settled on came together piece by piece with the finality of a 1920’s fashionista in the 21st century. A fitted black t-shirt first, the fabric pulling across the broad architecture of his chest and shoulders in clean, unsparing lines. Black jeans next, sitting snug on his hips. Then a red leather jacket, which he shrugged into with one smooth motion. He crouched to lace a pair of black and red Jordans with focused precision, then rose to his full height and faced the mirror. That signature gold tooth of his caught the light when he smiled at what he saw.

Alexi was busy looking at the floor. Suddenly a dust ball in the corner seemed very interesting. 

Stack turned sideways, rolled his neck and adjusted the collar of the leather jacket. He looked at Alexi’s carefully avoidant expression in the mirror and his smile sharpened. “You ain’t gon’ look at me, little writer?”

“I’m looking at the very fascinating wall behind your head,” she said.

“Uh huh.” He turned fully toward her, arms spreading wide. “Tell me how I look.”

“Like someone who has never heard the word ‘no’ and lived to suffer for it.”

Stack barked a laugh, sharp and genuine causing his head to tip back. The sound bounced off the dressing room walls and filled the space completely, and even Smoke’s mouth shifted at one corner, though he would not have admitted it under any form of duress. 

Alexi’s jaw tightened against the traitorous flicker of warmth that rose in her chest at the sight of Smoke almost smiling.

Stack sobered into something more pointed, his eyes cutting down the length of her in one smooth sweep before returning to her face. “Seriously though, sweetheart,” he said, quieter now, “how I look?”

She made herself meet his gaze. She made herself look at him the way she would look at any person whose question required a real answer, and she said simply, “You look fine.”

“Fine?” He repeated the word like it had personally offended him.

“Good,” she amended, because apparently “fine” constituted a personal attack.

Stack’s grin spread wide again, satisfied and luminous, his gold tooth winking in the light. He turned back to the mirror and ran one palm over the front of the leather jacket. “Good,” he echoed, and glanced at Smoke. “Elijah. How I look, nigga?”

Smoke did not look up. “Like a bitch wastin’ time.”

Stack kissed his teeth. “No vision havin’ muthafucka.”

Smoke peeled out of his vintage suit jacket with the efficiency of someone who has never wasted a single movement and folded it over the back of the bench rather than dropping it the way Stack had. He worked his shirt open button by button from the collar down, and Alexi trained her eyes on the mirror behind him instead of the slow reveal of his torso. That was a mistake. The mirror showed her everything she didn't get a proper look at inside of her kitchen. He was a broad specimen with muscle carved ridges across his chest and scattered topography of old scars that mapped a life she had invented on paper but hadn’t truly understood until this moment.

She quickly looked away from the mirror as Smoke’s new clothes came together. A fitted blue polo, the fabric pulled smooth across his shoulders and tucked into a pair of black slacks that sat with precise exactness on his hips. Blue leather dress shoes, polished and clean. These were the kind of shoes that communicated authority without the man wearing them having to open his mouth. He straightened in front of the mirror and he looked like a beautiful fallen angel wearing his Sunday best.

Alexi became suddenly and acutely aware of something she had been trying not to be aware of since Stack shed his trousers. The fitted cut of modern clothing wasn’t generous with its concealment. Stack’s black jeans left very little to the imagination as the outline pressing against the denim was something she had written once in an unpublished draft at two in the morning when she thought no one would ever know what her mind was capable of in the dark. Smoke’s slacks were more structured, but structure had its limits. She was aware of him in the same way she was aware of his twin, and flashbacks from the kitchen began racing through her mind.

This time Alexi diverted her gaze to the ceiling. Something about the gray tiles contrasting with the iridescent lighting seemed really interesting. 

Stack caught her eye line snapping upwards and his grin became something terrible and knowing. “Somethin’ wrong with ya neck?” he asked pleasantly.

“Just stretching it,” she said.

“Mmhm.”

“Are we done?” she asked, her voice crisp and professional. “I’d like to get to the store today.”

“Yeah, we done,” Smoke said, and the sound of his voice pulled her eyes to him despite every instruction she had given herself. He was looking at her through the mirror. His gaze moved over her the way hands might move over something that needed to be understood fully before any decision was made, and Alexi felt it the same way, as pressure without contact, as heat with no visible source. His jaw worked once. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower, then climbed back to her face before she could confirm what it had rested on in between.

“Let’s go,” she said, and spun toward the door before the room got any smaller.

The cashier at the register was a young man of perhaps twenty-three with thick-framed glasses and the particular brand of suppressed excitement that lives in people who know things nobody around them cares about. He began scanning tags with practiced efficiency until Stack reached into the interior pocket of his vintage suit jacket, which he had folded carefully over his arm, and produced the thick, crumpled wad of aged currency with the confidence of a man presenting a crown jewel.

He peeled off several bills and laid them on the counter with the ease of someone who had never once doubted the weight of his own money.

Alexi’s stomach dropped. She opened her mouth. “Stack, I already told you—”

The cashier picked up a bill and his entire body went still. He turned it over with careful fingers, the way someone handles something fragile and extraordinary, barely touching the edges. His eyes went wide behind his thick lenses. “Is this…” He swallowed. “Is this a 1928 Federal Reserve Note?”

Stack straightened, his chest filling. “It is.”

“S-S-Sir.” The young man set the bill down on the counter like it was a sacred artifact and leaned forward, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his voice pitched low with a trembling reverence. “This is a Series 1928 fifty-dollar bill. Do you understand what this is worth? Depending on the grade, a note like this in this condition sells at auction for anywhere between four hundred and eighteen hundred dollars. Maybe more. This single bill covers your whole purchase and then some.”

Stack looked at Alexi.

Alexi looked at the bill.

Then she looked at the cashier.

And finally she looked at the bill again.

The cashier was already nodding frantically, passing the bill back toward Stack with both hands like he was returning something borrowed from a museum. “I would personally love to take this off your hands. I collect. This would complete a set I’ve been building for three years. I’ll take whatever bills you want to let go of and I’ll cover everything you’re purchasing today myself.”

Stack’s smile came slow and enormous, his polished gold tooth surfacing like a sunrise over still water. He let it spread all the way across his face without rushing it, his eyes swinging to Alexi with the particular satisfaction of a man who had just won an argument that had already been declared over. He didn’t say a single word. He simply looked at her and let the silence do what words would have done louder.

Alexi’s mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. “I…” She blinked at the register, at the pile of clothing, at the cashier already reaching for his own wallet with trembling hands. “This is insane,” she said to no one in particular, her voice considerably smaller than she intended.

“Mm,” Stack replied, which somehow made it worse.

The transaction was completed in under four minutes. Stack collected the cashier’s card in case he wanted to sell additional notes, shook the young man’s hand with the calm authority of someone who had just brokered a land deal, and turned away from the register with his bags hanging from one fist and his chin angled at the height of a man who had never once doubted that the universe would validate his faith in himself.

Smoke accepted his bags from the cashier without comment. His face held nothing readable. But there was something moving just below the surface of his composure when Stack turned to show him the receipt the cashier had insisted on printing as a record of the sale. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes but it only lasted two seconds before his look of indifference snapped back into place and he followed his brother toward the exit like none of it had happened.

Alexi trailed after them both, her pride scraped raw, still searching for an appropriate rebuttal.

“Not a word,” she said preemptively.

“I wasn’t gon’ say nothin’, Miss Creator...” Stack simply showed her his teeth, the full smile, all of it. From the gold tooth, to the dimple that showed he possessed the absolute confidence of a man who had always known he was right.

Before another petty argument between Alexi and Stack could bubble to the surface, he became temporarily sidetracked when his nose caught a whiff of baked goods at a nearby pretzel stand. The scent stopped him so completely that Smoke walked four full steps past before registering the absence of his twin at his shoulder. Stack turned towards the smell with the expression of a man who had just heard his name called by a sacred food siren. His nostrils pulled at the air, his brows lifted with a slow, wandering openness that Alexi hadn't seen on his face for anything else they had encountered in the entirety of the morning.

“What… is… that?” he breathed.

Alexi followed Stack’s gaze to the Auntie Annie’s that caught his attention, its golden twisted ropes of dough gleaming under a warming lamp, salt crystals catching the light like tiny scattered diamonds. “It’s a pretzel,” she said.

Stack turned to her. “A what?”

“A pretzel. You’ve never—” She stopped herself. 1920’s. Mississippi. Of course he hadn’t. “It’s bread,” she said. “Soft inside, salted outside. They twist it.”

Stack stared at the stand for another long moment. Then he looked at Smoke. Smoke looked back at him with an expression that said absolutely not. Stack looked at Alexi. Alexi shook her head in silent agreement with Smoke. Stack pointed at the pretzel stand.

“No,” Smoke said flatly.

“One,” Stack said.

“We got groceries to make, Elias.”

“One pretzel ain’t gon’ kill nobody, Elijah.”

“It might kill my patience.”

“Then it’ll die happy,” Stack said, already moving toward the kiosk with a determination that wasn't going to be redirected by anything short of an act of God or a loaded weapon, and possibly not even those.

Alexi watched Smoke’s jaw tick underneath his skin. She watched him weigh the options available to him, which were limited, because the only thing worse than indulging Stack was the spectacle of trying to physically stop him in a crowded mall on a Tuesday afternoon. Smoke exhaled like something was leaving his body permanently and fell into step behind his brother.

Alexi bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

Stack tried to complete his purchase with his old bills again. The teenage girl at the register stared at him in bewildered confusion until Alexi slid her card forward and paid for the six-dollar item before the situation could evolve into another numismatic negotiation. Stack accepted the warm, salt-studded rope of dough with both hands.

The moment he bit into it, he stopped walking. Immediately, he turned to Smoke and he wore the expression of a man who had just discovered that the world contained more than he had previously been allowed to believe. “Elijah,” he said.

Smoke blinked once and looked at his twin like an unamused father entertaining his toddler son. 

“This the best goddamn thing I done ever put in my mouth.”

Smoke looked at the pretzel and then looked at his brother’s face before accepting the morsel of baked goodness Stack held out for him to try. He chewed it and simply grunted before returning his gaze forward with no expression whatsoever. 

Alexi watched them and felt something loosen in her chest, some small, stubborn knot she had been maintaining since the moment they appeared in her kitchen. It wasn’t approval exactly, it was more so akin to tenderness that she didn’t want to have for men who had pointed guns at her and eaten her out on her kitchen counter with no preamble or permission sought. She pushed it back down and pulled her keys from her sweatpants pocket. “Grocery store,” she said. “Now. Before he finds a food court.”

The grocery store was a cathedral. Stack walked through its automatic doors with his chin lifted and his eyes moving over everything at once, hungry and unable to decide where to begin. The fluorescent brightness poured over every surface, over the perfect pyramids of produce, over the gleaming towers of canned goods, over the refrigerated cases that hummed with cold behind their glass doors. Every color was represented somewhere. Every smell competed for dominance. The enormous space smelled like bread, cold air, and the particular sweetness of fruit kept just past the edge of ripeness, and it was so completely removed from anything either twin had ever inhabited that Stack just stood at the entrance for a full five seconds with his mouth slightly open.

“Elias,” Smoke said behind him.

“I hear ya,” Stack murmured, though he didn’t move immediately. He was staring at the produce section, at the stacked towers of citrus and the dark mounds of leafy greens, and the little stickers on every single piece of fruit that told you what it was and where it came from. He walked toward it with the inquisitive pace of a man approaching something that might disappear if he moved too quickly. When he arrived at his desired destination, he picked up an orange, turned it in his palm, read the sticker, and looked at Alexi.

“It tell you where it from?” he asked.

“It tells you what it is,” she said.

“I know what an orange is, smart ass.” He scoffed and pressed his thumb gently against the peel, feeling the give of it, the dimple of oil releasing from the skin at the pressure point, and the faint ghost of citrus rising into the air between them. 

His brow furrowed. “It say it from California. We in California. Why they sellin’ us California oranges in California?”

“Because... someone grew them,” she said.

“Where I’m from, they don't make a fuss 'bout local produce. Only the imported stuff,” he muttered, and set it back in the pile with a gentleness that seemed almost out of place on hands made for wrestling things from the world rather than returning them carefully to their arrangements.

Smoke had claimed a cart. He pushed it with one hand, his other hanging loose at his side, his eyes moving over the store in the same way they moved over any unfamiliar space. He kept an eye out for exits, for the logic of its layout, for anything that required handling before it could become a problem. He watched Stack with one eye and Alexi with the other, but the two observations served entirely different purposes.

Stack, he watched to keep him from doing something that would require an explanation to anyone wearing a badge.

Alexi, he watched because she was a mystery operating in her natural habitat and every detail she revealed here told him something she didn’t know she was saying. The way she navigated without looking at the signs, her feet carrying her through the store on a route worn by years of habit. The way her hand reached for her brand of olive oil without glancing at the shelf label. The small, absentminded hum that left her throat when she found the exact thing she was looking for. The way she picked up a bag of leafy greens and turned it over to read the back, her lips moving silently through the nutrition information the way some people moved their lips through prayer.

She felt him looking. He watched her feel it, the way her shoulders drew up a fraction of an inch, the way her chin angled to check her periphery without turning her head, the way she put the bag back on the shelf a half-second faster than she would have otherwise. When he was finally satisfied with his observation he pulled his gaze away and pushed the cart forward.

Stack, meanwhile, had found the snack aisle and entered it the way great explorers enter uncharted territory. He picked up a bag of pork rinds and shook it. He picked up a box of cereal and studied the cartoon mascot on the front with visible skepticism. He picked up a bag of something neon orange and turned it toward Alexi. “What’s this?”

“Cheese puffs,” she said.

He opened the bag without a care in the world. 

“You have to pay for that first!” she explained.

He completely ignored her and ate one. The moment those processed chemicals touched his tongue, his eyes went briefly, helplessly wide. Then he put the bag in the cart like a man who had just made a non-negotiable life decision and would not be taking questions about it.

The list of what they needed grew the way fires grow in California if you take your eyes off of them for two seconds. Honey butter. Self-rising flour for the cornbread. Pork chops, which Stack selected himself by leaning over the refrigerated case and pressing the back of his hand against each package with an evaluative focus that impressed the woman standing beside him into moving down the case to give him room. Butter, the real kind, enough of it to make Alexi’s left eye twitch. Cabbage. Potatoes by the bag. Garlic, onion, bell pepper, a full bottle of hot sauce that Stack held up to the light and studied before placing reverently in the cart. Milk, eggs, flour, cornmeal, bacon, salt, more cuts of pork, fatback, sausage links, more butter.

One cart eventually became insufficient and Stack retrieved a second without consulting anyone. Smoke moved items between them with economical precision. The cart Alexi had been pushing, the one containing her spirulina, almond flour, organic coconut aminos and her bag of black rice, looked increasingly like an ambassador from a foreign nation navigating a hostile diplomatic summit.

Stack noticed this and picked up her bottle of spirulina, read the back, said “this ain’t no fuckin’ food meant for humans” with the tone of a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis, and placed it back with misplaced gentleness. Alexi snatched it and put it back in her own cart and they stared at each other for three full seconds before she pushed forward.

When they reached checkout with two full carts and one cart that was mostly Alexi’s, Stack produced his old bills again with the theatrical confidence of a man who had learned earlier that morning that the universe validated his financial faith. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with reading glasses on a beaded chain, picked up the bill with the first two fingers of each hand and squinted at it.

Stack straightened to his full height and laid on his southern charm thick. “Babydoll,” he spoke to her like she was worth talking to, “that bill there’s older than this whole store. Collector’s item. Had a man at the mall offer me eighteen hunnid' for just one of ‘em. You go look up 1928 Federal Reserve Note on that little box of technology. I’ll wait.”

The cashier squinted at him over her glasses. If this was any other customer she would’ve called for security to escort him out. Instead she looked at the bill then pulled out her phone. Thirty seconds of silence passed during which Stack stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, Smoke studied the candy display at the end of the lane, and Alexi pressed both palms flat against the handle of her cart, ready to intervene and pay with her card.

“Lord have mercy,” the cashier said softly to her phone screen.

Stack’s mouth curved in delight. She accepted the bill, and even asked if he had any others he wanted to let go of. He very graciously told her she could reach him through the young man at the clothing store, whose card he produced from his pocket with the smooth efficiency of someone who had been in the business of making deals for longer than most people had been breathing. Alexi watched the entire exchange with her jaw somewhere in the vicinity of her shoes.

In the parking garage, loading bags into the AMG’s wide trunk, she finally said, flat and without looking at him, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, little writer?”

“Whatever you’re about to say.”

“I wasn’t gon’ say nothin’.”

“Your face is saying something. It’s always saying something.”

“Guess you should’ve written me as less expressive.”

“I’m not your cre— GET IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

Alexi’s pantry had never looked so conflicted.

She stood in its doorway with both hands braced on the frame and surveyed the landscape of its new contents with the expression of a woman watching two worlds collide on her very own shelving. On her side: quinoa in glass jars, raw cacao powder, adaptogen blends in brown paper packaging, oat flour, coconut sugar, matcha in a sealed tin, a row of supplements arranged by function. On their side: a five-pound bag of self-rising flour wedged beside her almond flour like it had claimed the territory by force, butter they refused to refrigerate stacked three packages high, pork rinds in their bag, cornmeal, hot sauce standing tall and unapologetic next to her bottle of apple cider vinegar.

In the kitchen, the twins moved with a synchronized efficiency that had nothing to do with planning and everything to do with a lifetime of proximity. They didn’t speak in full sentences. Stack moved to the counter and began shucking the cabbage of its outer leaves, his large hands stripping them away in clean, practiced motions. Smoke ran water into the sink and submerged the pork chops, inspecting each one before setting it aside. There was a rhythm to them, a call and response that operated beyond language. 

Alexi settled at the kitchen table with her laptop open, her legs folded under her and her reading glasses pushed up her nose. She had emails to answer. A development note from a producer. Two messages from her manager she had been avoiding since before the twins materialized in her kitchen, when her only problem had been Adam’s missed calls and a possible wine-stained carpet. She typed. She read. She typed again. But her eyes moved to the kitchen every few minutes with the compulsion of something she wasn’t ready to name.

The silence in the kitchen never lasted longer than two minutes. This time it was Stack who had begun arguing with Smoke about how sweet the cornbread should be.

“It need sugar!”

“It don’t need no fuckin' sugar,” Smoke replied, not looking up from the pork chops he was pressing seasoning into with his palm.

“Sweet cornbread is cornbread that tastes like somethin’.”

“Cornbread that taste like cake is dessert.”

“The fuck wrong with dessert? We grown.”

“Ain’t makin’ dessert. I’m makin’ cornbread.”

“You makin’ piss-poor cornbread is whatchu makin’.”

Smoke straightened to his full height, turned to look at his brother with the thinned patience of a man who had been making this same argument in various forms for thirty-eight years. “Elias.”

“Elijah.”

“The sugar stays out.”

Stack looked at the bag of sugar he was already holding. He looked at Smoke. He set the sugar down. Thought about it for thirty seconds before picking it back up. Thought about it again, and eventually he decided on sitting it down on the far side of the counter where Smoke couldn’t see it as easily. “Ight,” he said.

Alexi looked down at her laptop so fast her glasses slid down her nose. She fixed them and kept typing, but the smile that lived at the corner of her mouth didn't entirely cooperate.

The kitchen filled slowly with something it hadn’t contained in a very long time, maybe ever. Warmth that wasn't manufactured by a candle or a diffuser but born from food being made by hands that knew what they were doing. The butter went into the cast iron pan she kept in the back of her cabinet and had never used. The smell of it rolled through the kitchen and made her laptop screen seem suddenly less interesting than it had been ten seconds ago. The pork chops went down into seasoned flour and back up again, and the sound of them meeting the hot oil was a small, violent joy. Smoke moved between the stove and the counter with the efficiency of a man who had been feeding people in kitchens that weren’t always safe, in houses that weren’t always whole, and the competence in his hands was the kind that comes from necessity first and mastery second. The cabbage went into a pot with onion, garlic and a heavy pour of the hot sauce, and Stack tasted it from a spoon with his whole face engaged and then added more hot sauce without announcement. Smoke saw him do it and said nothing, which was itself a form of approval.

The mashed potatoes nearly ended in a third argument about whether to add cream or not, resolved by Stack adding cream while Smoke’s back was turned and then handing him the pot to stir.

Alexi pulled her glasses off and pressed them against her chin as she watched the duo over the top of her laptop screen with a sense of peace and comfort she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She blinked the feeling away before it could take root anywhere permanent. These men were not hers. They were fictional. They were temporary. And they were a problem she was going to solve as soon as she figured out how she had created the problem in the first place.

When everything was done cooking, Smoke plated the food with intention. He moved between the stove and the counter, serving the pork chops onto heavy plates, spooning the smothered cabbage alongside them, pressing the mashed potatoes into a smooth mound, cutting the cornbread into thick wedges and laying them at each plate’s edge. He served his brother, he served himself, and he set a third plate on the counter and stepped back. 

Alexi looked at it from the kitchen table without moving. “I’m okay.”

Smoke didn’t look at her as he carried his own plate to the table and sat. Stack was already eating like he hand no home training. He had a pork chop balanced in one hand while he reached for his cornbread with the other, his eyes briefly rolling back at the first bite with the sincere and unbothered pleasure of a man who had not eaten a real meal in over twenty-four hours. Smoke ate quietly with no theater, unlike his twin. The kitchen was quiet except for the sound of utensils scraping plates.

“That plate gettin’ cold,” Smoke said, without raising his eyes from his own food.

Alexi crossed her arms. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“I know what you done told me.” He cut a piece of pork chop. “An I’m tellin’ you what I’m tellin’ you. That plate got a use an it ain’t sittin’ on the counter gettin’ cold.”

“I don’t eat—”

“Little girl.” He finally looked at her, and the weight of his gaze was lethal enough to send shivers down her spine. “I don’t care what you do or don’t eat. That’s business ‘tween you an the Lord. I done told you, we ain't the kind of men that need handouts. You lettin' us stay here, I'm gon' cook, an you gon' eat.”

Alexi was quiet for a moment, the protest in her throat dissolving somewhere between his first and last sentence. She uncrossed her arms.

Stack looked up from his cornbread. “An eat more than one bite,” he said through a mouthful. “You ain’t ate nothin’ but bird food since we got here. You got a whole woman’s body an you out here livin’ on leaf water an chia seeds.” He pointed at the plate with his fork. “You need some meat on them bones.”

Alexi shot daggers at him with a glare and frowned. “There is nothing wrong with my bones,”

“Ain’t sayin’ nothin’s wrong with ‘em.” He gestured at her with the fork in a wide, generous arc. “I’m sayin’ they deserve more company.”

Alexi huffed in defeat and pulled the plate from the counter with an air of wounded dignity, before sitting back down at the table. She picked up her fork, cut a small piece of the pork chop… and brought it to her lips. The flavor hit her like a door swinging open on a warm Sunday afternoon. Salt, fat, something slow-cooked and deeply Southern, and something that tasted the way her grandmother’s kitchen had smelled when she was seven years old and the world was small enough to fit inside a screen door hit her tongue all at once. 

The seasoning had worked its way through the meat in a way that couldn’t be rushed or replicated by anything labeled “plant-based” or “clean.” The cabbage was tender and bright with heat, the broth it had cooked in had clung to every leaf. The mashed potatoes were dense, rich, and absolutely nothing like the cauliflower mash she had been substituting for three years.

Her eyes closed as her shoulders dropped an inch and a small, involuntary sound left her throat. It was so soft and deeply honest, like the sound of a body acknowledging that it had been missing something and had just found it without meaning to look. When she reopened her eyes, Thing one and Thing two were looking at her with their eyebrows quirked up in amusement. 

Stack’s gold tooth was visible, his fork suspended mid-air. Smoke had set his fork down entirely and was watching her with the particular stillness of a man who had just gathered more important intel that needed to be sorted away.

Heat climbed her throat as she quickly tried to dismiss what just happened. “T-The... um... food… it’s… it’s fine.”

“Mmhm,” Stack said, his grin spreading wide and wicked. “That little sound you just made wasn’t ‘fine’, sweetheart. That was a woman who ain’t been fed right in a very long time.” His Mississippi drawl stretched the words out long and warm.

She pointed at him with her fork. “Don’t start with me, Stack.”

“I’m just sayin’ what I heard.”

“I know what you heard and I’m telling you to let it go.”

Smoke picked his fork back up. “While we here,” he said, his voice carrying that quiet finality that functioned as a full stop at the end of every sentence he delivered, “you gon’ eat real food. I don’t know what kinda foolishness you been callin’ meals, but that stops today.” 

Alexi’s fork paused above her plate. “You don’t get to decide—”

“Just did.”

Alexi glared at Smoke but he paid her no mind. She knew that she shouldn’t be surprised by his need to ensure those around him were well taken care of, that was one of her favorite traits she gave him. Regardless of the setting, she always wrote Smoke as a protector and provider that made sure his women were well fed, spoiled, and cared for. Except, Alexi wasn’t one of Smoke’s jade dolls, and she definitely wasn’t his woman… at least in her eyes she wasn’t. As far as she was concerned, through both of their perspectives, she was nothing more than his ‘creator’ who needed to figure out how to send her creation back home.

Stack watched the exchange between Alexi and Smoke with the deep personal satisfaction of a spectator at the best kind of game, then tilted his head and offered, helpfully, “If you worried ’bout all them calories an whatnot, you can always just sweat ‘em out.” He paused, long enough to let the sentence breathe and expand into the air between them. “An if you need a hand with that… I’m right down the hall.”

Alexi felt her face become flustered and turned her face toward the window before continuing to eat her food. She didn’t bother responding to Stack's offer, which was the loudest response available to her.

The guest bedroom had been visibly lived in from the night before. The blankets were piled on one side of the bed like a nest hastily assembled by two very large men who had never negotiated shared sleeping space with any particular diplomacy. One pillow was on the floor. The other was propped against the headboard at an angle that suggested someone had been sitting against it for a long time. Their old suits were now folded over the back of the chair in the corner, brushed clean and pressed flat by hands that respected the clothes even if the clothes no longer fit the world they were in.

Alexi stood in the doorway with a stack of folded blankets in her arms and two extra pillows balanced on top. She looked at the room and then she looked at the two men who carried themselves through the penthouse’s evening air as though they had always occupied it.

She set the blankets on the foot of the bed, propped the pillows at the head, and straightened the comforter with a few efficient tugs before taking a step back.

“Towels are in the cabinet in the bathroom,” she said, her voice strict and brisk. “The shower runs hot fast so don’t burn yourselves. Wifi password is on the back of the router, which is the little black box on the desk, and I know you don’t know what that means yet but I’ll show you tomorrow.” She paused and squinted her eyes before pointing at the duo. “Don’t touch my damn skincare again.”

“Guess good food make a woman a whole lot nicer,” Stack observed, to no one specific.

Smoke made a sound of agreement that was barely audible.

Alexi straightened the pillow she had just straightened and pressed her lips together. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Miss Creator,” Stack chimed back, his voice carrying that warmth he used like a tool. She was at the door when Stack spoke again, his tone shifting into something looser, more amused. “You think if she get some good dick, she’ll make us breakfast too?” he asked his brother.

Smoke’s arm moved quickly with no warning. The flat of his palm connected with the back of Stack’s head, and he ducked forward, hissing, his hand flying to the base of his skull.

“Goodnight.” Smoke said, and the single word carried in its two syllables the entire weight of a dismissal, like a conversation that was finished and wouldn’t be reopened tonight.

Alexi stepped out of the guest room and pulled the door shut behind her. She stood in the hallway for a moment in the dark, her back against the wall and her eyes on the ceiling, breathing with the concentrated determination of a woman who was absolutely not going to stand here and smile about the evening she just had.

The city poured through her windows in long moonlit columns, the lights of it painting slow-moving shapes across her floor and up the white walls of her bedroom, shifting with the traffic below in patterns that looked almost like something if you stare long enough. Alexi lay on her California king in the dark with her arms at her sides and her eyes open with a certian kind of wakefulness that wasn’t insomnia but something adjacent to it. 

She had stripped down to nothing without planning to, her sweatshirt on the floor by the closet, her socks somewhere near the foot of the bed, her sweats in a heap beside the nightstand. The cooling air of the penthouse moved over her bare skin and she lay beneath it without reaching for a blanket, letting it settle. Letting herself think.

Her mind cataloged the day the way her screenwriter’s brain always cataloged things, frame by frame, scene by scene. The dressing room and the outline of them in their new clothes that she shouldn’t have looked at. Stack’s face when the pretzel hit his tongue. Smoke almost smiling in the grocery store when Stack put the cheese puffs in the cart without permission. The way they moved in her kitchen together like two halves of the same equation. The plate set on the counter for her without request or performance. The sound the home cooked meal pulled out of her when she tasted it.

And underneath all of that, older and heavier, came flashbacks of Adam. Their first night together. The way he looked at her like she was a worthless piece of inventory being taken. The shame he had pressed into her like a brand until she stopped questioning whether it belonged to her and simply accepted it as hers.

She let out a disgruntled sigh and turned her head toward the nightstand. Her pink vibrator sat in its usual place and she reached for it. Not because she wanted to. Not really. Or at least that was the story she told herself as her fingers wrapped around it and turned it to its lowest setting. She was tired and frayed at every edge, but she needed something to quiet the noise in her head. She needed some sort of small release valve for a day that had been too full of men who looked at her like they would jump if she told them how high.

She pressed it where she needed it and the sensation crept up her spine. It was familiar, close and almost there, but she found herself pulling back, forcing her orgasms to retreat like a tide she kept refusing to let in.

Over and over again. The rise. The retreat. The silence after. Repeat. 

“You don’t deserve this,” she breathed, so quietly to herself it barely qualified as sound. “You aren’t allowed to make a mess, you embarrass yourself, you’re filthy, you’re—”

The words unspooled from somewhere deep and practiced, from a script she had memorized without meaning to over years of being told the same thing by the same voice in the same bed until it rewired something fundamental in her. Now the voice lived inside her and she couldn’t find where her own thoughts ended and his began.

She edged herself a third time and lay in the aftermath of the almost with her thighs pressed together, her jaw tight and her heart beating in that particular, frustrated ache of a body that has been taught to want what it immediately denies itself. When she did it the fourth time, her breathing became ragged, her inner thighs trembled with the sustained effort of keeping herself back, the muscles of them jumping like she ran a marathon and her body shaking at the edge of a release she kept pulling herself back from on principle, on memory, on years of someone else’s shame wearing her face.

“Women like you don’t get to make messes,” she whispered, her voice a thin, fractured thing in the dark. “Nobody wants that. Nobody wants you like that.” She edged herself a fifth time and the words were still on her lips when the shadow moved in her doorway.

Stack had been wide awake. He was often awake in places he didn’t know yet, in spaces that belonged to someone else, with the lights of a city outside that shined like nothing he had ever seen in his life. He had lain in the dark of the guest room listening to Smoke’s deep, even breathing on the other side of the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the pretzel and about the way Alexi’s eyes had gone soft when she tasted the cornbread, about the shape of her curls against her shoulder in the grocery store aisle, and about a dozen other details he should have been filing under irrelevant.

Initially he had gotten up for a cup of water. The penthouse was silent and dark except for the city light coming through every window, painting the floors in long, cold silver. He moved through the hallway on bare feet, wearing nothing but his boxers. He moved without urgency through the dark, and that was when he heard it. Just barely. The low, mechanical hum of something. And beneath it, the sound of breathing that was too careful like someone was concentrating hard on something they didn’t want to be caught doing. He stopped outside her door, which sat just slightly ajar. The strip of light from the window inside was narrow and he didn’t push the door open. He simply stood in the shadow of the hallway and listened.

The sound of her voice came through the gap like something that belonged only to the dark.

Women like you don’t get to make messes. Nobody wants that.

He stayed very still.

Nobody wants you like that.

The longer Stack listened the more the ease he usually wore slipped from his face, replaced by something harder and far less playful. He had heard similar words before, not from Alexi’s mouth, but from the mouths of women who came to him and his brother already hollowed out by men who had handed them shame instead of care and called it love. He knew the texture of that voice. The specific flatness of it. A bunch of borrowed words filling borrowed space where something real should have lived.

After thirty minutes of ease dropping, he pushed the door open.

Alexi was on her back, the city light washing over every inch of her deep mahogany skin with her curls fanned loose around her head against the white of the pillow. The vibrator hummed against her and her thighs shook from the tension of keeping herself from what her body was desperately trying to arrive at. She was flustered, the warmth of her arousal sitting deep in her skin at her throat and across her collarbones.

Stack stood in the doorway and took all of it in without moving, letting his eyes settle over her like she was a work of art to be marveled at. She hadn’t heard him yet. Her head was tipped back, her lips still moving with the tail end of words he had already heard. Words she had no business saying about herself in the dark when she thought no one was listening.

“A woman as beautiful an mouthy as you,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying enough warmth to fill the room from the doorway, “shouldn’t be talkin’ ’bout herself like that.”

At the sound of Stack’s voice, Alexi came off the bed like a live wire. The vibrator hit the sheets, her knees snapped together, and her arms flew to the nearest blanket, which she yanked around herself in one frantic motion, her eyes wide and her chest heaving with the combined force of interrupted arousal and sheer, scorching mortification. “Stack! What the— Nigga, how long have you been standing there?!?”

He ignored her question and stepped fully inside of the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him and turning the lock. He didn’t bother advancing towards the bed, instead he stood with his back against the door and his arms loose at his sides, looking at her like an experienced Dom who was deciding how much rope to give before he started pulling it back in.

The room sat in an uncomfortable stillness for a moment. Stack’s eyes moved over Alexi’s form hidden beneath her blanket with the focused attention of a man conducting a private inventory.

“You been in here,” he said, keeping his voice low and as calm as possible. Like a wolf trying not to scare off a lamb, “for damn near thirty minutes.” His gaze dropped briefly to the lump of the vibrator under the blanket. “That toy been runnin’ this whole time.” He returned his eyes to her face. “An you ain’t finished not one single time.”

Alexi’s grip on the blanket tightened until her knuckles pressed pale through her dark skin. “Get out.”

“Nah.”

“Stack—”

“Alexandria.” 

“You a creep?” she shot at him, some of her fire climbing back into her voice, that particular edge she kept sharpened and ready. “You’ve been standing in my doorway watching me?”

“Heard you on my way to the kitchen,” he said, simple and unbothered. “Wasn’t lookin’ for nothin’. Found somethin’ anyway.”

“Then you should’ve kept walking!”

“Should’ve,” he agreed. “Couldn’t.” He let that sit in the air between them for a moment, let her feel the weight of it. “Specially not after what I heard you sayin’.”

She looked away from him and frowned as the muscle in her throat jumped. He pushed off the door and moved to the foot of the bed, his bare feet soundless on the oak floor, and came to rest with both hands on the footboard, his gaze making the slow journey from the top of her head to where the blanket ended at her feet, then back up to her face. Up close, he could see the trembling in her inner thighs where they pressed together beneath the fabric, the fine shiver running through the muscles of her stomach, the tear tracks that had dried at her temples. His eyes caught every detail and he filed each one in his mind. 

“You been denyin’ yaself like how you did in the kitchen,” he said. “Five times I counted. Talkin’ yaself outta it each time.” He leaned forward slightly on the footboard. “That toy been on long enough, it ought to be doin’ somethin’. But it ain’t.” His voice was level, clinical, and somehow that made it worse than if he had been teasing. 

Alexi’s throat worked. “I was stopping on purpose,” she said. “I was building. That’s called edging. You clearly don’t know what that is.”

Something moved through his eyes, brief and sharp, a glint of challenge picked up and weighed. “Yeah?” he said. “So if you wanted to, right now, you could just take yaself all the way there? No problem?”

“Yes,” she said, the lie assembled from pride and delivered without a single falter.

He looked at her for a long, quiet moment. “Ight,” he said.

She blinked and he moved from the footboard, to settle onto the edge of the mattress with the territorial ease of a man sitting somewhere he intended to stay awhile. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest and fixed her with a stare that challenged her obvious lie. “Then do it.”

Her eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He held her gaze, his gold tooth catching moonlight at the edge of his mouth. “You say you can finish whenever you want. So finish.” He settled deeper into the mattress, looking exactly like the type of unhinged Dom she’s written about on multiple occasions. “Prove Daddy wrong.”

Alexi stared at him. Every nerve in her body buzzed with the frequency of someone who had been cornered by their own words and knew it, but refused to say so. “You can look, but you can’t touch,” she said.

“That’s fair enough. I’ll sit right here, won’t lay a finger on you. You just go on ‘head an do what you said you could do.” He watched her with those eyes that had been hunting since the moment they arrived in her kitchen and had found something specific and alive to pursue. 

“And don’t tell Smoke,” she quickly added, her voice dropping into a lighter register. 

Stack tilted his head to the side in false confusion before speaking again, “Why can’t I tell Smoke?”

Alexi shyly looked away from him and the silence that refilled the room wasn’t empty but densely inhabited by everything she refused to say out loud. Her gaze stayed fixed on a point somewhere near the window, her jaw tight and her throat working without sound. Stack read between the unspoken lines. She wanted Smoke and didn’t know how to go about vocalizing her desires without putting her stubborn pride to the side. And Smoke wanted her but wouldn’t move on his desires because he didn’t know which parts of his desire were his and which parts had been authored. Two people pulling in the same direction while facing away from each other.

Stack understood this. He also understood that he didn’t share either of their complications when it came to his own desire.

“Ight, Miss Creator,” he said, his voice softening a single degree without losing its hold. “You don’t have to answer that. But you do have to take that blanket off.” He tilted his head. “Hidin’ that body an talkin’ yaself outta feelin’ good while you alone in the dark ain’t somethin’ I’m gon’ let you keep doin.”

She looked at him and how his expression didn’t carry any of the cruelty, mockery, or the sharpness he wore in the morning when he was hunting for a reaction. He looked like something rare; a man being straightforward… and… a safe place?

Her fingers moved to the edge of the blanket. “Look,” she said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be. “But don’t touch me.”

“I said I wouldn’t,” he replied.

“I mean it, Stack.”

“Mhm, I know you do.” He held her gaze, steady and certain.

She let the blanket fall and Stack let his eyes take in the full scope of her body without rushing, without making a performance of what he saw. Every curve of her, the soft architecture of her waist sweeping into her hips, the long lines of her thighs pressed together, the rhinestone heart catching the moonlight in the same way it had caught the kitchen’s fluorescent light that morning, glittering above the slick, swollen evidence of thirty minutes of being denied what she needed. His gaze moved over her like a man reading something written in a language he had always known and was only now given permission to study openly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, a long, controlled breath that said everything he didn’t. “Lie back for me. Lemme see all of you.” 

Alexi was hesitant at first, but slowly returned to a comfortable position on her back. The view wasn’t enough for Stack as he reached forward and lifted both her ankles, wrapping his hands around them with the grip of someone who had done this before and knew exactly how much pressure was needed. He pressed them back toward her ears in one smooth arc, opening her completely to the moonlight and to him. She cursed him immediately and sharply, the words cutting through the quiet room with genuine heat, but he didn’t care as he arranged her the way he wanted.

He looked at what was in front of him with the complete, locked attention of a man who had been waiting longer than he’d realized. “Turn that bullshit doohickey back on.” 

She let one more disrespectful sentence slip from her mouth before reaching for the vibrator. The sound of it filling the room again was almost unbearable. She pressed it on her aching clit and the sound that left her was a helpless whine that she hadn’t intended to make with that much volume, but couldn’t retrieve once it left her throat. 

Stack’s eyes narrowed and his jaw moved once, but he kept his promise and he stayed very still as he watched. 

His eyes tracked every subtle movement, from the way her stomach pulled tight and caved with each sharp breath, to the way her toes curled against his hands where he held her ankles. How the muscles of her inner thighs jumped and flexed against his forearms in rhythmic, involuntary pulses. The way the rhinestones caught light every time her hips shifted. He paid special attention to how she was dripping wet, gleaming with evidence of arousal due to how long her body had been working and waiting. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her curls spread wider as her head pressed deeper into the pillow, the way her free hand bunched the sheet beside her in a fist that tightened and released with the climbing waves of sensation. He watched it all and didn’t let one twitch slip from his line of vision. 

Fifty seconds. Sixty seconds. Seventy... Stack bit down on his bottom lip as he watched a thin, bright trickle of clear honey run slowly down toward the sheets and decided he couldn’t sit back any longer. He bent forward, just barely, just enough, and pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, causing Alexi to jolt from the sudden contact. He did it again, further up, dragging his plump lips slowly along the trembling inner line of her thigh, and then bit down with precise pressure, not enough to leave a mark but enough to make his desire for her loud and clear. 

The sound that came out of her this time was fractured and high as she lost focus and unintentionally knocked her vibrator sideways with the involuntary arch of her hips. She quickly tried to reposition it and found his hand already there, wrapping around hers, steady and immovable, pressing it back into place and holding it firm against her pulsating center.

“Stop movin’ it,” he said against her inner thigh, his voice a dark, low hum.

“Stack—”

“I said stop movin’ it.” His hand kept hers locked in place, the vibrator held steady against her needy bundle of nerves. “Keep it right there. You flutterin’ I know you close.”

“I’m going to—” Her voice broke in half. “I-I need to stop—I’m going to make a m-mess—”

“I know, Alexandria. Make a mess for me,” he said simply, and the complete absence of horror in those words, the lack of disgust, the plain and matter-of-fact acknowledgment of what was coming and his utter indifference to anything about it except wanting to witness it, cracked something in her chest that she had been running from for way too long.

Her eyes filled without warning. The tears arrived before she understood what was happening, spilling over her temples and into her hair. Her breath stuttered out of her in a broken, jagged sob that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the overwhelming, terrifying sensation of being seen doing something she had been taught was wrong to do at all.

Stack felt the change in the air immediately. He felt the tension in her shift from the straining wire of arousal barely contained, to something more fragile and urgent, like she was on the verge of shutting down entirely. His eyes moved over her face and it took him two seconds to read it and understand what was happening. The tight desperate pull of her brows, the way her lips trembled around the sob she was trying to swallow back down, the rigid set of her shoulders as she tried to curl inward even while her body was demanding to open.

He released her legs and kissed his way up her body with methodical attention, his lips finding the inside of her knee first, pressing there soft and warm, lingering long enough for her to feel that she was chosen. Then the soft skin of her inner thigh, a kiss and then a slow drag of his lips along the curve of it. Then the sharp ridge of her hip, where he let his mouth rest for a moment, breathing against her skin, warm and patient. Then the dip of her waist, then the rise of her ribs, each kiss placed with a quiet message that he wasn’t there to judge her. He swatted her hand away from the vibrator and took control of it himself, keeping it exactly where it needed to be, the pressure steady and constant as he kissed the fallen tears from her temples, one side then the other. 

“Hey,” he said against her cheekbone, his voice stripped of all its playfulness. “Look at me.”

She turned her face toward him through the blur of tears, her lashes wet, and her lips parted on unsteady breath. He was close enough for her to admire the warmth beneath his dark brown eyes. His expression wasn’t the expression of a man who was performing or taking score of her vulnerabilities. It was the expression of a man who was paying attention, fully and without agenda.

“You allowed to feel good, Miss Creator,” his words left no room for her to slip between them and find a way to disagree. “You hear me? You allowed.”

She shook her head slightly, the reflex of it involuntary.

“Yeah you are,” he said, firmly but without raising his voice. “Whatever that nigga done told you, whatever he made you believe ‘bout ya’ body, ‘bout what you do when it feel good, ‘bout the way you react when somebody actually take care of you the right way—” His jaw moved once. “He was wrong. You hear me? He was dead wrong ‘bout all of it.”

Alexi’s chin trembled and Stack placed tender kisses on it before speaking again. 

“You ain’t filthy,” Stack said. “You ain’t broken. You ain’t too much. You ain’t somethin’ to be ashamed of.” He pressed his forehead against hers and held it there. “You a woman that deserve every single thing her body capable of feelin’. An I need you to stop talkin’ actin’ like you ain’t.”

She looked at him with eyes that were wide and vulnerable, like a part of her that had been locked in a room for years was standing at the crack of the door hearing the key turn for the first time.

“Can you do that for me?” he whispered low against her temple. “Just for tonight. Can you stop fightin’ it an just let yaself feel good?”

Her mouth found his before either of them arranged it that way, and she opened to it because there was nothing left in her that knew how to hold herself back from something this honest. Especially not with the vibrator still humming between them and her body coiling towards its breaking point.

Five seconds passed and she came apart against his mouth. The sound she made into him was something between a sob and a moan, shapeless and deeply real. Her hands clawed at his back hard enough to leave the memory of her on his skin. Her whole body convulsed in long, rolling shudders that started at her core and moved outward in waves until her legs were shaking and her toes had curled. The sheets beneath her were wet in a way that couldn’t be argued with, explained away, or minimized, and she had no language left for shame because her body had used everything she had on something else entirely.

Stack held the vibrator steady between them until the convulsions slowed to trembling and the trembling slowed to shivering. Then he tossed it aside and stayed with his forehead pressed to hers, breathing heavily, his own chest moving faster than it had any right to for a man who didn’t do anything beyond kissing.

He felt the dampness between them. He felt the warmth of it through his boxers. There was an abundance of evidence, of everything she had been told made her disgusting, everything she had spent thirty minutes trying to stop herself from making, everything Adam had branded as filth and hidden from her like a verdict she was supposed to live inside forever.

Stack groaned against her hair, the sound pulled from somewhere low and involuntary. “Lord,” he breathed, “one day I’m gon’ be inside you… stretchin’ out that pretty pussy the way it need.”

Alexi was still trembling. Her hands moved weakly at his back, pushing at him with the strength of someone still struggling with accepting her pleasure. “I-I’m sorry… I made a mess,” she whispered, her apology automatic. The reflex of a woman trying to soften the blow of verbal lashings before being compared to scum of the earth.

“Yeah you did,” Stack said, and his tone carried not a single thread of judgment, just dark satisfaction. He leaned up on one arm and looked down at her, at the tears still drying on her temples, at the absolute wreck of her in the best possible way, and he pulled himself free from the waistband of his boxers and let her see how excited she made him. He held her gaze as he did it, giving her the information with full eye contact and no apology, watching her face.

Alexi stayed silent as she looked at Stack’s massive erection. Even though she wrote countless chapters about how well endowed both him and his brother were, she never expected for them to land in her reality and see it in person. It was just like how she described it; 8.5 inches in length, thicker than a soda can, and a visible vein trailing down the side like a snickers bar. Stack’s manhood curved upwards to the left up so it was safe to assume her description of Smoke’s curving upwards to the right was correct. Up until this point, Adam was the only man she had ever seen fully naked and his tiny pecker was nothing to get excited over. 

Her chest rose sharply, her breath catching hard against her ribs. Her nipples hardened to dark, stiff peaks. Between her thighs, what had just been so thoroughly undone twitched once, twice, three times, then twice more in quick succession, her walls clenching at the empty air, her body asking its own question in its own language with no words available to interrupt it.

Stack watched every single twitch and his eyes darkened as he bit down on his bottom lip while loosely stroking himself, using his precum as lube. His eyes traveled back up to her face, tracking the dilation of her eyes and the way her bottom lip fell open.

“You gon’ lemme taste that pretty mess you made, babydoll?” he asked.

She blinked at him, her mind moving through honey.

While he waited for an answer, he repositioned his body and slid the flat of himself along her center from entrance to clit in one long, torturous drag, his hips barely moving but the contact feather-light and maddening, causing her back to arch off the mattress without her permission. He did it again, but this time he pulled back the delicate hood of her over-stimulated clit with two fingers and focused the friction there, rolling slow circles, and she seized at the sheets with both fists.

When he noticed her hips rocking against him trying to match his rhythm, he asked his question again. “Can I taste you, little writer?”

She shook her head, not no but not yes, caught in the paralysis of wanting too much to ask for it out loud.

He stopped moving entirely and eyed her like a hawk.

She made a sound of protest that was deeply undignified and entirely honest.

“Words,” he said.

“E-Elias—”

“Full words, baby girl. You grown.”

She bit her lip and turned her face away. He waited with his weight settled between her thighs and nothing touching where she needed it. The absence was worse than all her prior sessions of edging combined. The seconds stretched before she turned back.

“Yes,” she conceded.

“Yes what?” His voice was back with that slightly playful edge.

She knew exactly what he wanted to hear as she rolled her eyes and letting out an annoyed sigh. Her pride made one last, valiant effort in an attempt to be stubborn, but the patience on his face told her he could hold out all night until she finally gave in.

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, and then, quieter, before she could think better of it, “please… taste me.”

The second Alexi addressed Stack properly, he made his way back down her body. He took his time starting at her inner thigh first, pressing his mouth there and letting his breath warm her skin before his tongue traced a slow, meandering path upward along the trembling inside of her thigh, teasing, mapping, moving toward where she needed him and then pulling just slightly back. She whimpered in frustration and he smiled against her skin.

When he finally reached her center he pressed his lips to the rhinestone heart first, the lightest pressure imaginable, barely a kiss, and she made a sound so frustrated it curled at the edges. He moved lower. The flat of his tongue dragged from her entrance upward in one long, thorough stroke that covered every inch of her core. He settled into feasting on her pussy like a man sitting down for a meal he had been looking forward to for a long time.

His tongue circled her clit with grinding pressure, tracing it in tight figure eights that never broke rhythm, and then pulling her hood back with two fingers to press the flat of his tongue directly against the swollen center of her and holding it there while he hummed low in his throat, the vibration of it traveling up her spine. She cried out and her thighs tried to close around his head, but he pinned them open with his forearms, and continued enjoying his midnight snack.

He savored every second she allowed him between her legs. He didn’t rush toward the finish line, he adjusted when she tensed, applied more pressure when she tried to close her legs, and listened to the specific pitch of every sound she made before calibrating his movements accordingly. When she got close he could feel it in the clench of her thighs against his arms and the way her hips grounded up toward him seeking more friction, and he gave her more, licking harder and swirling faster, until she broke.

He didn’t bother stopping as he eased through her second release of the night with long, stroking sweeps of his tongue, letting her breathe for half a breath, and then sliding two fingers inside her while his mouth stayed on her clit. His experienced fingers curled upward toward the soft, spongy place she had never let anyone find before. He pressed there and dragged his tongue across her at the same time, and the sound she made was so helpless and so loud that she clapped her own hand over her mouth which made him grunting dissatisfaction before reaching up and pulling it away.

“Don’t,” he said against her, the word vibrating into her. “Let Daddy hear you.”

The third release hit harder than the first two, her walls clenched around his fingers so tightly, her pussy almost succeeded in forcefully pushing him out. He groaned against her heat and the vibration of it sent her higher. She was clawing at the back of his head and the nape of his neck, her nails dragging crescent lines across his skin, and he took it without flinching and kept going.

By the fourth orgasm she was begging, genuinely and without her pride anywhere nearby to object, her voice wrecked and breathless, her body stripped of every defense she had built since she was twenty-five years old and someone told her this was shameful. She pulled at his hair and he groaned again, he didn’t relent until she was shaking from her hips to her ankles and her voice had run out of whatever it had been using to make sound.

When he finally lifted his head she was boneless like a chicken nugget. Spread across her sheets like something poured out and left to settle in whatever shape the container allowed. His lips were wet, his facial hair was damp, and he looked at her like he just discovered the missing puzzle to his life.

Stack kissed the inside of her knee. Her hip. Her ribs. Then her mouth, briefly, letting her taste herself on his tongue. “Our secret,” he said, his voice low and warm against her jaw. “For now.” His eyes carried a knowing that wasn’t cruel. “But if you really the conjure woman I think you are, sweetheart… you already know secrets like this don’t keep long ‘tween me an my twin.”

Alexi knew he was right but didn’t say anything as he kissed her once more on the corner of her mouth. He slid off the bed and adjusted his angry erection that looked like it was throbbing with need. She was thankful he didn’t ask for more than what she was willing to give, but a part of her wondered what it would be like to bring satisfaction to a man like that, not just write about it. 

Before turning to leave, his palm came down on the full, soft curve of her backside with a sharp, resonant crack that sent the sound bouncing off the walls and made her lurch forward on the mattress, clutching the sheet with both fists and wide eyes.

“That’s for every time you tried to stop yaself,” he said, his grin lit up by the gold tooth and the city light. “You wanna feel good, just call me. That gadget ain’t worth a damn compared to what you got right down the hall.” He pulled the door open. “An if I hear you talkin’ bad ‘bout yaself again in the dark, I’m comin’ back. An next time I ain’t gonna be as patient.”

“Get OUT, Elias,” she hissed, her voice rough at the edges and stripped of everything except the most basic, exhausted version of herself. But there was no fire behind it. He heard the absence of it.

The guest bedroom was dark except for the long column of city light falling through the window, and Smoke stood within it, his back to the room, a cigarette burning between two fingers, the ember casting a faint orange crescent against the glass that reflected the skyline back at him in thousands of fractured pieces. The city, this new world confused him. Too much light. Too much noise suspended even in the deep of the night, the suggestion of ten thousand lives being lived simultaneously in the building glass and headlights below, a world loud even in its sleep.

He heard Stack come in, but he didn’t bother turning around.  “How was ya’ midnight snack?” he asked. His voice was level and it carried in its question a double door, one that opened onto the literal and one that opened onto everything else.

Stack stopped just inside the room. He looked at the still set of his brother’s shoulders, at the slow, burning ember of the cigarette, at the way Smoke held himself like a man who already knew the answer and was asking the question only to confirm what his ears had heard through the walls.

Stack leaned against a nearby wall and crossed his arms loosely over his bare chest before grinning. “Sweeter than a bowl of pecan pralines,” he said.

Smoke drew on the cigarette. He exhaled slowly, the smoke rising in the column of city light and dispersing into nothing. He didn’t say anything else as he continued to get lost in his thoughts. 

Stack watched him for a moment, reading the stillness of him before moving to his side of the bed and laying down, staring at the ceiling.

Smoke finished his cigarette at the window, the city still burning below him. 

Just like that first night, sleep never came to anyone in the penthouse. They lay there in the dark, wide-eyed and restless, counting the seconds until sunrise, until the light forced the truth out of the shadows and made it impossible to deny the reality waiting to swallow them whole.

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Author's Note: I'm so quick with these updates, I'm the overnight delivery. I deserve a medal of honor or something teeheeeeeeee. Back to the lab I gooooooooo 🤸🏾‍♀️

Taglist (It's been so long *cough* let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist) : @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theethighpriestess @imagining-greatness @blackpantherismyish @theogbadbitch @queenofklonnie22 @underated345-blog @bxrbie1 @harleycativy @hermyowney @kcundercover0 @cleo92bitch-i-am-old @gtf-o-m-d @merranerra @afroslacks @wingedpeachjudgegiant @smutattack @solarssins @xoxodaedreams @rolemodelshit @chrisevansmentee @honggihwa @softy212 @michifilmz @hon3yjaxx @ladymac82 @fruitypatooties-blog @whysoceerious @deexoxomuah @nanamiismine @monstaxmomma0 @a4g3lstarfire @blk-afrodite @melodyofmbaku @championshipshade @aretasreads @nubiagurllll @wabi-sabi1090 @swiftscepterdragon @midnightmemoirsofher @plan3tch1ld @dutifullythoughtfulenthusiast @iceyyycapsicle @honeytoffee @joonseuph0ria @desire4ella @li-da-savage @lizbehave @solarssins

[solarssins]

I love rereading this fic specifically, the dynamics are just so good.

[hopelessromanticwh0re]

im sorry but as a society we need to start making rue bennett fanfic

[tinyfandomknight]

Hiding | Rue Bennett

Pairing: Rue Bennett x Reader Summary: You finally see your ex-girlfriend (who you've been avoiding for a month) at a party. This time, you can't run away. Themes & Warnings: TENSION, wlw, rue is california sober, did i mention tension??, arguing, ansgty, jealousy, i love rue bennett my crush on her is massive, s1/2 euphoria, SPICY, kinda toxic, resolution!

The party reeked of liquor and perfumed sweat. Glitter swirled in the air, a purple hue falling onto your skin and making you feel like everything was a dream. Another party thrown by the football team - somewhere you wouldn't typically show your face. But your best friend didn't give you a choice this time.

Maddy's manicured hand gripped your arm, yanking you to her side.

"Bitch!" She exclaimed, her other hand thrusting a drink, full to the brim with something startlingly blue, into yours. "Drink. You aren't gonna be miserable tonight."

You stared the liquid down like it had personally offended you. The last thing you needed was to get sloppy drunk and embarrass yourself with how you'd been feeling recently. Depressed. Icky. Lonely, but too stubborn to reach out for company. And angry. You couldn't lie, the idea of taking revenge at a party had been alluring to you before. But now that you were here, it seemed too daring.

It was evident, though, that Maddie had finally had enough.

You took a breath to speak, trying to push the cup away.

"No." She held up a single finger, the acrylic tip painted with glaring red, and pressed it to your lips before you could protest. "I've watched you rot in your bedroom for like, a month. You've left me on read, bailed on that thing with Kat, and you haven't even let Cassie give her annoying mom-hug." Her eyes narrowed, dark and dangerous. "So tonight, you are going to drink this disgusting blue shit and have fun. With me."

Madeleine Perez had claimed you as her best friend freshman year without asking permission. She'd decided, correctly, somehow, that your energy was the perfect counterbalance to her whirlwind. She'd towed you into her orbit and never let go. Underneath the razor-sharp eyeliner and the casual cruelty she could weaponize at will, Maddy loved with a ferocity that bordered on terrifying. You were hers, and she took your pain as a personal insult.

You rolled your eyes, taking the cup.

"You know I don't want to be here. I don't want to see her, and-"

"And what?" Maddy cut you off with a sharp laugh. "You're gonna hide forever? You think Rue Bennett is gonna vanish off the face of the earth just because you've been ghosting the entire town?" She tilted her head, earrings swaying. "News flash, babe. She's still here. You just need to show her what she fucked up and lost."

"Maddy," Cassie's voice came from behind you, gentle and warning. She'd materialized without you noticing, Kat trailing in her wake. "Maybe don't."

"What? I'm not saying anything that isn't true." Maddy shrugged, unrepentant. "Rue hangs out with Jules now. She didn't cut herself off from planet Earth. My girl isn't going to either."

The name hit you square in the chest. Jules. Of course. Rue and Jules. Jules and Rue. The new girl with the cotton-candy hair and the artistic laugh and the way of looking at Rue that made you want to throw something. You didn't have the right to be jealous, though.. You'd ignored a plethora of texts from Rue.

In fact, that was exactly why you didn't want to be here. You were throwing yourself to the wolves. Exposing yourself to Rue and waiting for her to pounce.

Your phone had buzzed constantly that first week. You'd read every message through the notification preview, never opening them, never giving her the satisfaction of a read receipt.

can we talk

i know you're pissed just let me explain

please

y/n come on

And then, after three days of silence on your end: i'm sorry.

Then nothing for two weeks. Then, just last Tuesday, a single message at 2:47 AM: i still have your hoodie. the grey one with the paint stain. do you want it back?

You hadn't responded to that one either. But you'd cried for an hour afterward, because that hoodie wasn't just a hoodie. It was the one you'd been wearing the night she first kissed you. The night she'd pulled back, breathless and wide-eyed, and whispered, "Is this okay?" like she couldn't quite believe you wanted her.

You'd kept every message. You'd reread them until the words blurred. And you'd never, not once, typed a reply.

You knew, deep down, that Rue didn't deserve one. She couldn't stay clean, she couldn't stop lying, she couldn't stop doing everything she'd sworn she wouldn't. You were angry at her. You were forcing yourself to stay strong. And Maddy was by your side, always.

She plucked the blue drink from your hand and took a sip herself, grimacing. "Ugh. This tastes like battery acid. Why do football players have such terrible taste in everything?"

"They're football players," Kat said flatly. "That's the answer."

Cassie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "Maybe... maybe you should talk to her, though? Not tonight," she added quickly, seeing Maddy's expression. "But eventually. You can't avoid her forever. And she does look really sad."

"Cassie, no," Maddy groaned. "We're not doing the 'she looks sad' thing. Rue is a big girl. She can handle her own feelings."

"I'm just saying! Closure is important. My therapist says-"

"Your therapist also said you should stop dating guys who look like they've never heard of moisturizer, but here we are."

"That's not fair. McKay has great skin."

"And has the emotional depth of a pet rock," Kat muttered.

You let their bickering fade into the background, your eyes drifting across the party against your will. You couldn't help it. Some magnetic, masochistic part of you needed to find her in the crowd.

And you did.

Rue was in the corner, near the speakers, where the purple lights didn't quite reach. She wasn't alone. Jules was beside her, all long legs and ethereal energy, her hair a cotton-candy cloud in the dim room, and some guy you vaguely recognized from your English class was talking animatedly, gesturing with a red solo cup. Rue wasn't listening to him. You could tell by the distant look in her eyes, the way her fingers were absently picking at the sleeve of her hoodie.

But she was watching you.

Those dark eyes, half-lidded and unreadable, were fixed on your face with an intensity that made your stomach clench. Her jaw was tight. Her shoulders were rigid. She looked away the second your gazes met, ducking her head toward Jules like she'd been paying attention all along. But the muscle in her temple was jumping.

"Bitch, are you even listening to me?"

You snapped back to Maddy, who was staring at you with narrowed eyes.

"Sorry. What?"

"I said," Maddy enunciated slowly, "that you need another drink. A stronger one. Because I refuse to let you spiral." She snatched your cup, still mostly full, and dumped it into a nearby potted plant without a shred of remorse. "We're doing shots."

"Maddy-"

"Shots!"

An hour later, you were drunk.

Not tipsy. Not buzzed. Drunk. The kind of drunk where the edges of the room went soft and the music stopped being noise and started being something you felt in your bones. The kind of drunk where Maddy's laughter sounded like wind chimes and Cassie's worried looks stopped registering and Kat's sarcastic commentary became genuinely hilarious.

The kind of drunk where you stopped thinking about Rue.

Mostly.

"She's still looking at you," Kat murmured, appearing at your elbow with a cup of water she'd been trying to push on you for the last ten minutes.

"Who?" You knew exactly who.

"Don't play dumb. Corner. Three o'clock. She's been staring at you since we got here, and honestly, it's getting a little creepy. Like, blink twice if you're being held hostage, Rue."

You didn't look. You refused to look. Instead, you grabbed the water from Kat's hand and took a sip, even though your coordination was shot and a little of it dribbled down your chin.

"Attractive," Kat said dryly, handing you a napkin.

"I'm very attractive. I'm a catch." The words slurred together slightly. "Maddy said so."

Maddy was already materializing beside you, her eyes glittering with a dangerous, scheming light that you recognized all too well.

"Okay," she said, looping her arm through yours. "Don't be mad."

"Why would I be mad? You only say 'don't be mad' when you've done something I'm definitely gonna be mad about."

Maddy grinned, unrepentant. "There's a girl over by the stairs. She's been checking you out all night, and I may have told her you were single and emotionally available."

"You what?"

"Don't freak out. She's cute. Like, really cute. Dark hair, great cheekbones, definitely your type-"

"Maddy, what the fuck!"

"Come," she insisted, steering you through the crowd with surprising strength for someone her size. "You've been moping for a month. A month! And I love you, but you need to get back out there. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Or on top. I don't know your preferences."

"Maddy, stop it." You whined.

But it was too late. You were already face-to-face with the girl from the stairs.

She was cute. Annoyingly cute. Dark hair cropped close on the sides, longer on top, a silver ring glinting in her nose. She had a sharp smile and the kind of confident energy that made your drunk brain short-circuit.

"Hey," she said, her voice low and smooth. "Maddy told me your name, but I want to hear you say it."

Maybe Maddy was right. It was time to explore. After all, you couldn't let all the self-torture be for no reason.

Before you knew it, all of your hesitance flew out the window. A shy, drunk smile spread over your lips as you looked down at your feet, then back up. The girl tilted her head, waiting for you to speak.

"Y/n L/n." You said, holding a manicured hand out for her to take.

"Avery." Her grip was warm and firm, her thumb brushing deliberately over your knuckles before she let go. "Nice to finally meet you. I've seen you around."

"Have you?" Your drunk brain was slow, syrupy, but not so far gone that you missed the way her eyes dropped to your mouth.

"Hard to miss." She leaned a shoulder against the wall, casual, confident. "You're always with Maddy. She's kind of terrifying."

"She's very terrifying," you agreed, glancing back at Maddy, who shot you an exaggerated thumbs up and a mouthed get it, bitch before Kat dragged her away.

And then it was just you and Avery. And the music. And the purple lights. And the two shots of tequila still burning pleasantly in your stomach.

Avery was easy to talk to. She was a senior, she told you, transferred from a school two towns over. She asked about your classes, your taste in music, the book you'd been reading when she spotted you in the library last week. The conversation flowed without effort, lubricated by alcohol and the giddy rush of someone new paying attention to you.

At some point, she'd stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell her perfume - something woodsy, clean. Close enough that her knee brushed yours when she laughed at something you said.

"So," she said, tilting her head, "you're single?"

"Complicatedly single."

"That's the best kind." She grinned. "Complicated means there's a story. I like stories."

"There's definitely a story."

"Tell me?"

You should have said no. You should have changed the subject, asked her about her own stories instead. But the tequila had loosened your tongue, and the words were already spilling out before you could stop them.

"My ex is here." The confession tasted like lime and salt and poor decisions. "She's been staring at me all night. It's... a lot."

She followed your gaze across the room. Rue was still in the corner. Jules had drifted toward the dance floor, leaving Rue alone with her thoughts and her red solo cup and her murderous expression. She was looking at you again - no, not at you. At Avery. The way she was leaning into your space, one hand on the wall beside your head, her body angled toward you like a parenthesis closing around a sentence.

"Rue Bennett," Avery stated simply. "She's your ex?"

"You know her?" The question came out sharper than you intended.

"Everyone knows Rue. Or knows of her, at least." Avery's expression was unreadable. "She's got a reputation. Recovering addict, right? OD'd over the summer?"

Your stomach twisted. Hearing it spoken so casually, so matter-of-fact, made something defensive flare up in your chest. Rue's overdose wasn't gossip. It wasn't a talking point. It was the worst night of your life, the hospital waiting room, the fluorescent lights, the way you'd sobbed into Maddy's shoulder until you couldn't breathe.

"Yeah," you said quietly. "She's been through a lot."

Avery held up her hands. "No judgment. Just repeating what I've heard." She tilted her head, studying you with new interest. "You're still hung up on her."

It wasn't a question.

"I..." You swallowed hard. "It's complicated."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

She hummed, leaning into you. Her lips met your ear with a gentleness that made a warm wave curl down your spine.

"I can help you figure things out."

Your breath caught. The tequila was swimming through your veins, making everything slow and syrupy and unreal. Avery's perfume was dizzying and nothing like Rue's familiar old spice and laundry detergent. Her hand settled on your hip, light, questioning. Providing you with an option if you wanted it.

You didn't pull away.

"Yeah?" Your voice came out breathier than you intended.

"Yeah." She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her sharp smile softening into something more genuine. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... a good time. You look like you could use one."

Maybe she was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed, something simple, something uncomplicated, something that wasn't wrapped up in overdoses and relapses and 3 AM phone calls that made your heart stop. Avery didn't know you. She didn't know about the hospital waiting room or the unanswered texts or the way you'd cried until your ribs ached. She just saw a girl at a party who looked sad and lonely and in need of a distraction.

And God, you wanted to be distracted.

"I don't usually do this," you admitted, but you didn't step back. Didn't remove her hand from your hip.

"What, talk to attractive strangers at parties?"

"Something like that."

"Then I'm honored." She tilted her head, that dark hair falling across her forehead. "Seriously, though. If you want me to back off, say the word. I'm not here to add to the drama. I just think you're beautiful, and your ex is an idiot for letting you go."

Your drunk brain latched onto that. Your ex is an idiot. Rue was an idiot. Rue had let you go. Rue had chosen pills over you, numbness over you, oblivion over you. And now she was standing in the corner with Jules and her red solo cup, watching you like she had any right to be angry.

Screw her.

"I don't want you to back off," you heard yourself say.

Avery's smile widened. "Good."

She leaned in again. This time, her lips found the corner of your jaw. a barely-there brush that sent sparks skittering across your skin. Your eyes fluttered shut. Your hand came up to grip her shoulder, steadying yourself. The party dissolved around you. the bass, the laughter, the purple lights, until there was nothing but the warmth of her mouth tracing a slow path toward your ear.

"Still okay?" she murmured against your skin.

"Yeah," you breathed. "Still okay."

What you didn't see, what you couldn't see, with your eyes closed and your head tilted back, was Rue.

Rue, who had gone completely rigid in her corner.

Rue, whose knuckles were white around her solo cup.

Rue, whose dark eyes had shifted from murderous to something far more devastating. Something broken. The look of a girl watching the only thing she'd ever truly loved slip through her fingers in real time.

Jules noticed. Of course she noticed. She followed Rue's gaze across the room, took in the scene, Avery's lips on your neck, your hand gripping her shoulder, the way your body curved into hers like a plant seeking sunlight, and her expression flickered with something complicated.

"Rue," Jules said quietly, touching her arm. "Maybe we should go."

"No." Rue's voice was flat. Hollow. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"I said I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine. She was the opposite of fine. She was burning alive, consumed by a jealousy so potent it felt like poison in her bloodstream. Every rational thought was drowned out by the primal, gut-wrenching need to cross the room and pull you away from that girl. To put her body between yours and Avery's. To tell her, in no uncertain terms, to keep her fucking hands off what didn't belong to her.

Except you didn't belong to Rue anymore. That was the problem.

"Rue," Jules tried again, her grip tightening on her arm. "Don't do anything stupid."

And for a moment, it seemed like Rue would listen. She took a shaky breath. She uncurled her fists. She looked down at her shoes, scuffed Vans, and tried to remember all the things Ali had told her about letting go, about accepting the consequences of her actions, about not letting her emotions rule her.

And then Avery's hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, and something in Rue snapped.

She was moving before she could stop herself. Shaking off Jules' grip. Cutting through the crowd with single-minded determination, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her teeth. She didn't know what she was going to do. Didn't know what she was going to say. All she knew was that she couldn't stand there for one more second watching someone else touch you.

No one could stop her, her seething body carving a path through the crowd like a knife through butter. No one even noticed her.

Besides Avery, in the corner of her eye. She could see Rue's wild curls blowing in the slight air flow, stiff shoulders shifting with her walk.

Her lip quirked up into a smirk, pulling off from your skin.

"Incoming."

Before you could process the word, before the tequila-soaked fog in your brain could catch up to what was happening, a hand closed around your wrist, familiar, calloused, urgent, and yanked you backward. You yelped, turning towards whoever had wrenched you off, but the breath was immediately stolen from your lungs.

Brown eyes. Lidded, but full of so much anger that it made your skin burn where they rested. Desperate, angry, jealous eyes that clearly screamed 'enough is enough.' You couldn't decide whether to swoon or to cry.

Rue's grip on your wrist was iron, her fingers pressed against your pulse point like she was counting the beats. She wasn't looking at Avery at all. She was looking at you, only at you, and the intensity of it made the tequila in your bloodstream feel like nothing. Like you'd never been drunk a day in your life. Like you were seeing everything in horrifying, perfect clarity.

"You're done here," Rue said, and her voice wasn't loud. It wasn't a shout. It was quiet and shaking and absolutely terrifying in its restraint. "You and me. Outside. Now."

"Rue."

"Now, Y/N."

Avery stepped forward, her brow furrowing. "Hey, relax."

"I wasn't talking to you," Rue snorted bitterly, turning slightly towards the girl who had her offensive lips all over you. "So shut the fuck up."

The words landed like a slap. Avery's eyebrows shot up, her calm composure finally cracking. For a moment, she looked like she might fire back, her jaw tightened, her hands curling at her sides, but then she glanced at you. At the way you were staring at Rue. At the way your pulse was fluttering under Rue's fingertips.

She raised her hands, stepping back.

"Will do."

Then, without another word, she sent you an amused glance and walked away.

You were now alone with the only person you didn't want to see. You felt the weight of her stare still, stirring up a storm in your chest.

"Outside." She repeated again, pulling you gently but firmly.

"No, I-"

"Nah," another laugh with absolutely no humor in it. "You're coming the fuck outside."

She was already moving, cutting a path toward the back door. You had no choice but to follow, stumbling slightly, the tequila still sloshing through your system and making everything feel unsteady.

You caught a glimpse of your friends as Rue dragged you past them. Maddy was already stepping forward, her expression darkening, clearly ready to intervene, but Kat grabbed her by the elbow and held her in place. Cassie's hand was pressed to her mouth, her wide blue eyes tracking you like you were a car crash she couldn't look away from.

Traitors, you thought bitterly. All of them.

And then the back door banged open, and the cold night air hit your face like a bucket of water.

The backyard was empty. The same string lights from earlier were still swaying gently in the breeze, casting their dim golden glow over the patchy grass and rusted patio furniture. The music from inside was muffled now, reduced to a distant, rhythmic thump. You could hear your own heartbeat. You could hear Rue's ragged breathing.

She finally released your wrist. She took a few steps away from you, her back turned, both hands coming up to rake through her wild curls. You could see the tension in her shoulders - rigid, practically vibrating -before she spun around to face you.

"What the fuck was that?"

The anger in her voice was a living thing, raw and bleeding. You'd seen Rue angry before, frustrated, annoyed, pissed at the world, but this was different. This was volcanic.

"What was what?" Your own voice came out unsteady, and you hated it.

"Don't." She pointed a shaking finger back toward the house. "Don't play dumb with me right now. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

You crossed your arms over your chest, a flimsy shield. "So what?"

"So what?" Rue laughed, but the sound was jagged and hollow. "So I've been texting you for a month. A whole fucking month. And you couldn't send me a single reply. Not one. I thought you hated me. I thought-" She broke off, swallowing hard. "But you show up here, drunk off your ass, and in five minutes you're about to make out with some random girl against a wall?"

"Her name is Avery, and she's not random. She's a senior. Transferred from two towns over. She smells nice and she thinks I'm beautiful and she's not my ex."

Rue's jaw tightened. "Low blow."

"Truth hurts." You shrugged, the tequila making you bold. "Besides, you're one to talk. You've been glued to Jules all night. She's practically draped over you in that corner. What's that about?"

"Jules is my friend."

"Right. Sure. Just a friend who looks at you like you hung the moon."

"She does not-" Rue stopped, her eyes narrowing. "Wait. Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You're totally jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I'm just pointing out the hypocrisy. You can spend all night with Jules, but the second someone talks to me, you go full caveman?"

"I didn't go full caveman."

"You literally yanked me away from her and told her to shut the fuck up."

Rue glared. "I wasn't talking to her. I was talking to you for the first time in a fucking month."

The words hit you square in the chest, knocking some of the wind out of your anger. Rue was standing there, her chest heaving, her dark eyes burning with something that wasn't just jealousy anymore. It was hurt. It was a month of silence and unanswered texts and sleepless nights, all bottled up and ready to explode.

"You could've talked to me any time," you said, your voice quieter now. "You could've found me. Cornered me at school. Shown up at my house."

"I did show up at your house. Three times. Your mom said you didn't want to see me."

"Because I didn't."

"Then what was I supposed to do?" Rue threw her hands up. "Break down your door? Kidnap you? I was trying to respect your space. Ali said-" She stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Ali said what?"

"Ali said I should give you time. That pushing you would only make it worse. If you wanted to talk, you'd come to me." She let out a bitter laugh. "But you didn't come to me. You came here, got stupid drunk, and then let some random girl put her hands all over you."

"Avery-"

"I don't care about Avery!" Rue's voice cracked. "I don't care about her name or where she transferred from or what she smells like. I care about you. I care that you've been ignoring me for a month, and I just can't get you out of my head. And now someone else is-"

She broke off, her jaw clenching so tight you could see the muscle jumping.

"Someone else is what?" you pressed.

"Touching you, and kissing you, and shit. And you're mine."

The words hung in the cold night air. Possessive. Fierce. Utterly, devastatingly Rue.

"I'm not yours," you said, but your voice came out weaker than you intended. "Not anymore."

"You sure about that?" She stepped closer, and suddenly the air between you felt electric. "Because you haven't pushed me away or told me to leave. You followed me out here, and now you're standing here looking at me."

"Rue."

"Like you want me to kiss you. So, do you?"

Your breath caught. "That's the tequila."

"Is it?" She whispered, looking down at you. "Or is it that you thought you could leave me and forget everything, and you can't?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. Rue's eyes were unwavering, dark and searching, like she was trying to see straight through to the parts of you that you'd been hiding for a month.

You exhaled shakily.

"Why couldn't you let me? You know you're bad for me. You're bad for everyone, Rue." You accused, avoiding her eyes. Avoiding falling back in.

The accusation had no effect.

"I know." She didn't flinch. Didn't look away. Her voice was steady, even as her hands trembled at her sides. "I know I'm bad for you. I've known it since the day we met."

"Then why-"

"Because I'm selfish, too. Worst type of person." She stepped closer, and her hand found your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet her eyes. "I'm selfish and I'm fucked up and I'm trying to be better, but I can't-I can't let you go. I tried. I tried to stay away. For a month. And it was the worst month of my life."

You gritted your teeth. Her face, desperate and sorry and intense, peering into yours with the same vibes that you fell in love with in the first place.

"I hate you." You whispered.

"I hate me too. But I love you. And I'm not letting you go."

“It’s not your choice to make. You don’t have the right to pretend it is.”

"Neither do you. Not really. Because if you wanted to leave, you would've done it already. If you wanted me gone, you would've shoved me off the second I grabbed you. But you didn't. You're still here. And I think it's because you hate me, yeah, but you love me more."

"Shut up."

She refused to, her firm hand still on your jaw.

"I'm clean. Thirty-four days clean," She said, her voice firm. Honest, for once. "I go to all my meetings and shit. Drug test any time Leslie says so."

Your eyes, glistening with a thin layer of gathering tears, analyzed her face for any sign of dishonesty, and for all signs of the truth. You sniffled, one tear dropping without your permission.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Her voice was firm. Unwavering. The voice of a woman on a mission to get the only thing she'd ever wanted back. "Not a long time, but it's the longest I've gone since I was, like, fourteen. Think about you more than the drugs. In a way," she laughed bitterly, wiping a tear from your cheek, "you leaving my ass is what kept me clean."

"That's not-" Your voice cracked. "That's not funny."

"I'm not joking." Her thumb swept across your cheekbone, catching another tear before it could fall. "All I can think about is you and how to make you come back. Don't give a fuck about drugs."

"That's too much pressure, Rue. I can't be the thing that keeps you sober. That's not fair."

"I know." She didn't look away. Didn't blink. "Ali says the same thing. Says I can't put my recovery on another person. Says I have to want it for myself or it won't stick." She exhaled shakily. "And I do. Want it for myself, I mean. Most days. But on the bad days - on the days when everything feels like shit and the meetings aren't helping and my brain won't shut up-on those days, I think about you. And it helps."

"Rue."

"I'm not saying you have to take me back. I'm not saying you're responsible for me. I'm just saying.." She swallowed hard. "I'm just saying you're the best thing that ever happened to me. And losing you was the worst thing. And I'd rather be clean and miserable than high and dead. Because at least if I'm clean, there's a chance."

The tears were falling freely now, yours and hers, mingling in the cold night air. Rue's hand was still on your jaw, her thumb still tracing back and forth across your cheekbone. She was trembling.

You laughed through a sniffle.

"I can't stand you. You can never stay away and let me heal."

"Let you heal?" Rue's voice was barely a whisper. "Let you move on and forget me? Maybe meet someone who doesn't come with a mile-long list of problems?"

"Yes. All of that."

"I tried." She admitted.

"It was supposed to be a clean break. That's why I didn't answer your texts or come to the hospital. I knew if I saw you, if I heard your voice, I'd cave. And I couldn't cave anymore, its killing both of us."

"But you're caving now."

"Because you grabbed me!" You shoved weakly at her chest, but there was no force behind it. "You couldn't just let me flirt with a pretty girl in peace. You had to storm over and go all caveman and remind me exactly why I fell for you in the first place."

"Was it the caveman thing?" A ghost of a smirk. "Because I can do that more often."

"Don't you dare."

"Kidding. Mostly." Her smirk faded, replaced by something softer. "If you tell me to leave, I'll go. I won't bother you anymore.. probably. I'll try. Again."

You stared at her. At the sharp jaw and the messy curls and the dark eyes that were still glistening. She meant it. You could see it in her face, the way she was bracing herself, preparing for rejection. She'd walk away if you asked her to. She'd actually do it.

And you realized, with terrifying clarity, that you didn't want her to.

"That's the problem," you whispered. "I don't want you to leave. I never wanted you to leave. I just wanted you to stop."

"Using."

"Breaking my heart."

"I know." She pressed her forehead against yours. "I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I'll be sorry for the rest of my life. But I'm clean and I'm really trying. And I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to."

"Stay."

"Yeah?"

"Stay. One more time." You fisted your hands in the front of her hoodie. "But you're on thin ice, Bennett."

"I know."

"And you're not allowed to relapse."

"I know."

"And you have to stop chewing on your hoodie strings. It's disgusting."

With a snort and a mumble that sounded like disagreement, she laced her fingers through yours and tugged you toward the side gate. "Come on. I'll make tea. Leslie bought that weird herbal stuff you like."

"You hate that tea."

"I'll drink it anyway. For you."

"That's... disgustingly romantic."

"I'm a disgustingly romantic person."

"You told a girl to shut the fuck up like twenty minutes ago."

"She had her hands and crusty ass lips on my girlfriend."

"I'm not your girlfriend yet."

Rue stopped walking and turned to look at you, her eyebrow arched.

"You're coming home with me, you told me to stay, and I actually never admitted to anyone that we broke up." She ticked the points off on her fingers. "I'm pretty sure you're my girlfriend."

"I'm your tentative girlfriend."

"Tentative girlfriend." She tested the words, a slow grin spreading across her face. "I'll take it. Seal it with a kiss?" She quirked an eyebrow, her hands reaching out again to cup your face.

She was close before you even realized it, her nose brushing yours.

"You're so-"

"Charming? Romantic? The love of your life?"

"Annoying. I was going to say annoying."

"That too." Her thumb traced your cheekbone, feather-light. "So? Do I get to seal it or what?"

You should have made her wait. Should have made her work for it. But she was standing there with her messy curls and her stupid smirk and her thirty-four day chip heavy in her pocket, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

"Fine," you breathed. "One kiss."

"One kiss," she agreed.

She leaned in. Her lips brushed yours, soft, almost tentative, like she was giving you one last chance to change your mind. When you didn't pull away, she deepened the kiss, her hands sliding from your jaw into your hair, tilting your head back. A small sound escaped your throat, and you felt her smile against your mouth.

"Missed that sound," she murmured.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

So you did. You kissed her again, harder this time, your fingers twisting in the front of her hoodie, your hoodie, and pulling her closer. She made a surprised noise, then melted into it, one hand dropping to your waist, the other still tangled in your hair. The streetlight flickered overhead. The cold nipped at your cheeks. But Rue was warm, and solid, and here, and that was all that mattered.

The door flew open. You yanked yourselves apart, eyes wide.

Maddy, a manicured hand on her waist and knowing eyes dissecting the situation. Her glossy lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts triumphant and terrifying.

"I knew it," she announced, loud enough for the whole block to hear. "I fucking knew it. Cassie owes me twenty dollars."

"Maddy." You pleaded.

"Don't." She held up a single finger, the acrylic tip glittering under the porch light. "Don't even try to explain. Rue had her tongue down your throat and you look pathetically guilty. You're back together."

"Tentatively," you muttered.

"Tentatively my ass. You're standing in the backyard at midnight making out like the world's ending. I'm not stupid."

You were silenced immediately, a sheepish smile on your face.

"And you." She turned her razor-sharp gaze on Rue. "Fuck up again and I'll key your car. I love you, but I love my bitch more."

"Noted," Rue said, her voice impressively steady for someone facing down Maddy Perez in full protective-friend mode. "But.. I don't have a car."

Maddy's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Then I'll key your face."

"That's... not how keying works."

"Try me, Bennett." She stepped forward, jabbing a manicured finger toward Rue's chest. "I will find a way. I'm very creative."

"I know you are." Rue's voice was steady, but you could feel her hand trembling slightly in yours. "And I'm not gonna give you a reason to get creative. I swear."

Maddy stared at her for a long, tense moment. The backyard was silent except for the distant thump of bass from inside and the rustle of the string lights swaying in the breeze. Then, slowly, her expression shifted. The sharp edges softened, just a fraction, just enough.

"I'm happy for you guys. If you're happy," She said, smiling a little. Then, she waved a manicured hand. "Now, go fuck or something."

With that, she disappeared back through the back door, flicking her hair over her shoulder - the sign of a job well done by Maddy Perez. The night air got a little chillier, a little darker.

You stood there for a moment, stunned into silence, the ghost of Maddy's exit still hanging in the air.

"Did she just.." Rue started.

"Give us her blessing? I think so."

"In the most Maddy way possible."

"Is there any other way?"

Rue laughed, that real laugh, bright and surprised and still a little shaky around the edges. "I guess not." She turned to you, her dark eyes softening. "So. What now? We take her suggestion, or we go drink tea?" She smirked.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "She said go fuck, Rue."

"I heard her."

[solarssins]

Hyper fixating on Rue 🤦🏾‍♀️ SAM LEVISON YOU WILL BE HANDLED! YOU SLANTED HEADED DEMON🫤

[cinnamonlouu]

For the Views

Elias x Reader

You agreed to this. One video. That was the deal.

But you didn’t realize how easily Elias would break you for the camera.

⸻

His bedroom is darker than you expect. Lit mostly by the soft glow of a ring light, already on and aimed at the bed like it’s waiting. The camera’s mounted on a tripod, red standby light blinking.

Elias in black joggers, no shirt, rings on two fingers. His tattoos crawling up one side of his ribs and over his collarbone.

He’s sprawled at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, but he looks up when you walk in. That grin stretches across his face, the one that’s made a million followers click subscribe without hesitation.

“You’re late, sweetheart,” he says, tapping the screen and standing up in one smooth, slow motion. “Almost thought you was scared.”

“I’m not,” you reply, voice steady. You close the door behind you.

It feels ridiculous. You’ve never done this before. Never collabed. Never even filmed your own stuff just selfies, because body is TEA.

But Elias? He’s one of the top creators in the industry. He’s known for being rough. And real mean.

“You nervous?” he asks, coming up to you slowly, hands sliding into your waistband. “Or just wet already?”

You don’t answer. His fingers dip inside your shorts anyway. Just knuckles at first. Then he hums.

You flinch when he laughs.

“Look at that. Not even rolling yet and you’re soaked. You sure you’re not doing this for you, and not your views?”

When the camera starts rolling, he’s already got you naked from the waist down.

You’re straddling his lap on the edge of the bed, your top pushed up to bare your tits, and his hand gripping your hair hard at the root pulling your head back so your mouth opens instinctively.

“Look at that,” he mutters to the camera, using his other hand to slap your cheek hard enough to sting. You flinch again, breath catching.

“She like it,” Elias says directly to the lens. “Pretending she don’t, Want me to treat her like the filthy little nobody she is.”

Your face heats at the words, not from shame, but from how right it feels.

He shoves two fingers in your mouth.

“Suck.”

You do.

“Good girl, Now get on all fours. Ass to the camera.”

You move, and he help pushing you forward by your throat, making you arch.

You hear the low, heavy sound of a bottle uncapping. Lube. Then fingers between your legs, spreading you, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that make you groan into the mattress.

“Already dripping,” he says, mostly to himself. “Gon fuck you like you mine.”

You can feel the way he’s staring at you.

You gasp when he spanks you, hard, the sound echoing through the room.

“Say thank you.”

You hesitate.

Another slap. Harder.

“Thank you,” you gasp, biting your lip.

“What for?” he says leaning over you, voice in your ear now.

“F–for the spanking.”

“Say it right.”

“Thank you for spanking me, Elias,” you whisper.

He groans, grabbing your hair again and yanking you up so your back arches harder.

“There she is.”

The camera’s still rolling. The red light is still watching. You’re still on your knees, thighs spread, back arched, ass up just how he told you.

“Tell them how bad you want it,” Elias says, voice deeper now. He’s right behind you, cock pressed between your folds, not inside yet just letting you feel him. Thick. Heavy. Intimidating.

You don’t answer fast enough.

SLAP.

You jolt forward with the impact to your ass, heat blooming across your skin. A hand in your hair yanks you back up.

“I said, tell them.”

“I—I want it,” you pant.

“Not good enough.”

“I want you ,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Better.” He gives you a small, cruel smile.

Then he pushes in.

Not slow. Not gentle. One brutal, deliberate thrust that forces the air out of your lungs and makes your knees buckle beneath you.

You let out a choked moan as he fills you, stretching you open without warning.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Elias groans, holding your hips in place like he owns you. “pussy’s never been used right.”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in again harder.

You whimper. He grabs your hips tighter and sets a rhythm that makes your breath come in ragged gasps.

“God damn,” he hisses. “This is what you needed, huh? You didn’t want a collab. You wanted to be used.”

You can’t answer. He’s pounding into you like you owe him something, like it’s personal. And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been. You’d watched his videos, memorized the way he handled people, the way he said things. You’d pictured this exact moment for months.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the real thing.

The slap when he reaches forward and strikes your face is sudden, sharp, and hot, more shocking than painful. Your pussy clenches around him and he feels it.

“Oh? You liked that?” he laughs. “filthy slut.”

He does it again. This time your moan is unmistakable.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your face up to the camera.

“Look at her,” he says to the viewers. “She drooling. Getting fucked stupid.”

Your face is flushed, eyes glassy. You’re drooling. Your mascara’s probably halfway down your cheeks.

He lets go of your hair, grabs your throat instead.

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice ruined.

“Say it right.”

“Thank you for fucking me,” you choke out. “Please don’t stop.”

He growls and pushes you down, flattening you to the mattress. His hips slam into you harder now, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

“Fucking made for this,” he mutters, breath hot on your neck. “You hear how wet you are? This pussy’s eating me alive.”

You can hear it the slick, obscene sounds of skin on skin, your juices leaking down your thighs, pooling under you.

One of his hands snakes under you to rub your clit, fast and dirty, with no care for rhythm just enough to make you twitch.

“I wanna hear you cum,” he growls in your ear. “Loud.”

You try to hold back, but it’s no use. The pressure explodes behind your eyes, and you cum hard, legs shaking, hands clawing the sheets, screaming his name.

“That’s right,” Elias groans, rutting into you faster. “Cum all over me, let everybody see.”

You whimper through it, overstimulated and gasping.

Then you feel his pace change sloppy, harder, rougher.

“Where do you want it, baby?” he growls, dragging your head back by your hair again.

You’re too far gone to answer.

He slaps your face. “Answer me.”

“Inside!” you cry. “Please—inside, want all of it”

He snarls and thrusts deep one last time hips jerking, cock pulsing, spilling inside you.

You feel it — thick, hot, filling you. He doesn’t pull out. Just stays there, chest pressed to your back, both of you panting.

You collapse against the mattress, chest heaving, eyes blurred with sweat and tears. Your thighs are sticky, soaked in slick and cum, and your pussy’s still twitching around nothing.

Elias finally pulls out with a sharp groan, and you feel the slow, hot drip of his release trailing down between your legs.

“You hear that?” he mutters.

He spreads you open for the lens with both hands fingers digging into your ass, thumbs parting your folds to show the mess he made of you. You don’t even try to move. Your mind is fuzzy.

He gives your ass a hard smack — not to hurt, just to make it bounce for the camera.

“She let me cum in her on the first shoot,” he says casually, like he’s reading off a script. “Bet she does it for all her collabs. Huh, baby?”

You don’t respond.

Another slap. “Huh?”

“N–no,” you breathe. “Just you.”

“Damn right.”

You feel the mattress shift as he stands. His voice comes from behind the camera now — focused, calm, like he hasn’t just fucked your brains out.

“Gonna give her a little break” Elias tells his viewers. “Round two’s coming.”

You barely register the click of the camera pausing. The ring light dims just slightly.

You roll onto your back, still trembling. He’s already pouring water into a bottle and kneeling beside you, tilting it to your lips.

“Drink.”

You do. Cold water floods your throat. Your body’s grateful before your brain even catches up.

“You okay?”

You nod.

“Good.” He leans in closer, drops his voice. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

⸻

When the camera turns back on, you’re on your knees again — this time facing it.

Elias stands behind you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your chin.

He tilts your face to the lens.

“Open your mouth.”

You do. His spit lands heavy on your tongue.

“Swallow.”

You obey.

“Fuck. You are made for this,” he growls.

Then he’s in your mouth.

You gag as he pushes his cock past your lips, It’s messy, fast, brutal and he loves it.

Tears spill from your eyes as he thrusts into your throat, using your mouth like he owns it. He holds your hair tight, hips rolling.

You can barely breathe, but the way he groans and the way he praises youmakes you clench around nothing.

“Bet you dreamed about this,” Elias growls.

You moan around him. He pulls out, lets you gasp for air, and then slaps your face again open-palmed, loud, just enough to sting.

“Say it.”

“I dreamed about it,” you whimper.

He grabs your face with one hand and makes you look up at him.

“You’re gonna let me ruin you,” he says.

You nod, dizzy, aching, soaked.

“Good girl.”

He pushes you back on the bed again, spreads your legs, and spits directly on your pussy before slapping it, sharp and loud. You cry out, and he does it again.

Then he’s inside you again, one deep thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

he points the camera down. “They’re gonna see this pussy stretch for me”

You’re delirious from it now, from the way he moves inside you, how his cock hits every place that makes your legs shake and your throat go dry. Elias has your ankles hooked over his shoulders, and he’s fucking you like you’re nothing but a hole to fill.

“Look at this messy little cunt,” he growls to the camera, voice wrecked. “Slut’s creaming on me. Can’t even hold it in.”

Your body jerks as he thrusts in deep again repeatedly, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing against the walls, filthy and rhythmic. You feel ruined. Hot and open and overwhelmed.

And it’s all on film.

He lowers one of your legs, folds you in tighter, and spits directly on your tits, then slaps them until they bounce. You cry out. He grins.

“Oh, you like that? Like getting slapped around?”

You nod frantically, brain completely gone.

“Use your words, slut.”

“Yes! I love it, Elias I love it—”

That makes him groan, rough and deep. He fucks you harder, chasing it now. You can feel the slick slide of him inside you, the raw heat building again. He knows your body’s close — he’s made you this way.

“You gonna cum for me again?” he pants. “All stretched out and full of me already, and you’re still begging for more?”

You nod wildly, hands gripping the sheets, mouth open in a silent cry as he rubs your clit with that perfect, brutal rhythm.

“Cum for me”

Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits, blinding and hot. Your legs shake, your thighs twitch, and you scream his name like it’s the only word you know. You clamp down around him, and he curses loudly.

“Fuck” Elias groans.

He pulls out suddenly, and before you can catch your breath, he’s manhandling you over flipping you onto your stomach like you weigh nothing.

“You think we’re done?” he mutters against your ear. “You think I’m satisfied just because you came again?”

You barely have time to brace yourself before he’s inside you again from behind pounding into you even deeper, hand gripping your throat from behind.

“Tell them how good my dick is.”

“S–so good,” you choke out.

“You gonna cry for me?”

You’re already tearing up again, makeup smeared down your cheeks, drool on the pillow.

He yanks your head back. “I asked you a question?”

“Yes,” you sob.

His rhythm falters for half a second and then he slaps your ass again, harder than before.

“Then give me one more,” he growls. “Cry and cum on this dick one more time, baby.”

You scream into the mattress, overwhelmed and overstimulated, as your body tips over again — your third orgasm crashing into you like a goddamn wave, wrecking your thoughts, leaving you nothing but sensation and sound.

Elias lets out a filthy groan as your pussy clenches around him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you again. You want that? You want my cum leaking down your thighs for the outro?”

“Yes please, Elias—”

He buries himself deep with a snarl, hips locked against your ass, cock throbbing as he cums for the second time, thick and hot inside you, filling you again.

You’re shaking beneath him. Boneless. Completely, thoroughly used.

You barely register the soft click of the camera powering down.

Elias stays still for a moment, his cock still deep inside you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Then he slowly pulls out. You moan weakly as you feel him slide free, followed by the unmistakable warmth of his cum dripping from your swollen pussy.

He grabs the camera and brings it closer. He kneels behind you, spreading your thighs open again for the lens, using two fingers to show how deep he filled you. You twitch when he presses against your entrance.

He angles the camera down, making sure the final shot is burned into the SD card, your hole still clenching, hiscum oozing out slowly onto the sheets.

You can barely move. Your body’s spent, your voice gone, your mind hazy and floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. And you’re still wet. Still aching. Still wide open for him.

He leans forward, presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“You good?” he murmurs.

You nod, too dazed to speak. He smirks and flips the camera around to selfie mode. Holding you up by your front and licking the drool from your lips taking the nastiest thumbnail ever.

Tag list: @aretasreads @starcrossedxwriter @livynicole @appreciatefics @desire4ella @tonichildsdaughterduh @chrisevansmentee @queenofklonnie22 @christinabae @ellemelaninbeauty @plan3tch1ld @nanamiismine @nearsightedbaddie @jiminsthickthighs

[a-state-of-bliss]

Vivienne Westwood Fall/Wint 1995

[midnightmemoirsofher]

Ok so Adonis is on a guys trip but he misses his girl so he comes home earlier than expected only to find her and her girl bestfriend in bed together but obviously he can't just stand there and watch, he gotta join the fun

Came Home Hungry

Pairing: Adonis Creed x Brandi (Black OC) x Jade (F!OC, Brandi’s best friend)

Summary: Donnie wasn’t supposed to be back from his boys’ trip until Sunday. But missing Brandi got the best of him, and when he walked through the door a day early, he found her and her best friend tangled in sheets, mouths, and moans. They weren’t expecting him—but they didn’t stop either. And what started as shock turned into invitation. For the first time, Donnie learns what it means to share his girl… as long as he’s included.

Warnings: 18+ only. Explicit sexual content. M/F/F threesome. Oral (f receiving & giving), voyeurism, use of toys possessive!Donnie, dominant language light jealousy, emotional tension

Adonis was supposed to be relaxing.

Palm trees. Ocean breeze. Laughter he didn’t have to lead. A villa tucked into the hills with an infinity pool and just enough tequila to convince him that taking a few days off wouldn’t kill him. The kind of trip his boys had been begging for, talking up in the group chat for months. Just them, no press, no cameras, no responsibility. A guy’s trip. Three days. Enough time to unwind. Enough time to remember what it felt like to breathe without a fight to train for.

Long enough to miss her.

Too long.

He missed her before the wheels touched down. Before his duffel hit the guest room floor. Before he’d even peeled off his hoodie in the Miami heat. He kept checking his phone, thumbing the open message thread like she’d be waiting there, mouthy and soft, like always. The silence from her side wasn’t cold—just... quiet. And that fucked with him worse.

First night, he tried. For real. Phone on the counter. Sat through a rooftop dinner, the guys making noise over some undercard replay on the TV above the bar. Drinks flowed. Laughter bounced off glass. The kind of night that used to feed him.

But the food didn’t taste like much. The noise buzzed more than it soothed. And every time a notification lit up his screen, he looked for her name. When it didn’t come, he felt it in his chest. Like something was off balance.

By the second night, he wasn’t even pretending.

He skipped the club. Stayed at the house. Shirtless on the pool lounger with damp gray swim trunks and the soft fade along his jaw catching the moonlight just right, fresh from a swim that didn’t cool him off. He scrolled through her voice notes, playing them low and slow like they were prayers. Her laugh. Her moans. Her calling him baby in that lazy, post-orgasm tone that made his dick stir. He could feel her in the echo. Hear the edge in her voice when she said, "Don’t forget who I belong to."

He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. But something in him said she needed reminding who he belonged to, too.

It came to a head with one post.

Not even a proper post. A fucking Instagram story. Blurry. Quick. Just a pan of his bedroom. His bedroom. Their bed. The sheets he left warm two nights ago.

Brandi was on her stomach in his gray tee. No pants. No shame. The curve of her ass barely covered. Her legs parted like she forgot how to be modest. And her best friend? Right beside her, wine glass in hand, grinning like she was already in on something.

It wasn’t the image that got him. It was the feeling.

The energy was too intimate. Too loose. The kind of comfortable that came after secrets and sin. The kind of ease that came from skin on skin.

And then, through the faint bass of the music, he heard it. Clear as if she’d whispered it in his ear.

"Donnie."

Not a joke. Not casual. A moan. A real one. One he knew because he’d earned it a hundred different ways.

That was all it took.

He didn’t finish his drink. Didn’t explain himself. He booked a flight within five minutes of watching the story and was in an Uber to the airport before it expired.

No texts. No calls. No warning.

By the time Donnie stepped inside the house, everything was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty, it felt hot. Charged. Like the walls had been holding their breath in anticipation of his return.

He dropped his bag by the door and pulled his hoodie off in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor. Sweat glistened along his collarbone, rolling down the carved lines of his chest beneath the white tank clinging to him. His body moved with purpose, but the tension humming under his skin wasn’t the kind he carried into the ring. This wasn’t a fight. It was something darker. Something personal. A hunger that had been building for days.

The stairs creaked beneath his weight as he climbed them slowly and deliberately. He didn’t speak. Didn’t make noise. He was listening. Tuning in to the breath, the shift of bodies, the low, familiar rhythm of pleasure he knew in his bones.

Then he heard it.

A moan. Faint, broken. Like someone trying to be quiet and failing.

Brandi.

He reached the landing, and the flicker of warm lamplight spilled out through the barely cracked door. The music had long since stopped, but the air inside still pulsed with rhythm. With heat. With bodies in motion.

He pushed the door open.

Brandi lay back on the bed, her legs spread wide, shirt pushed up to her waist, nothing else on. Her head was thrown back into the pillows, fingers tangled in the sheets. Jade was nestled between her thighs, face buried in Brandi’s pussy, her hands gripping the curves of her hips like she never planned to let go.

Brandi was gone. Lost in it. Her mouth open. Breathing hard. Skin flushed and shimmering under the light. Her hips rocked in slow, desperate circles, chasing every flick of Jade’s tongue. Then she gasped—

“Fuck… Donnie.”

His name fell from her lips without hesitation. Like she’d forgotten he wasn’t supposed to be there. Like she was thinking about him even while someone else was devouring her.

That was all he needed.

He stepped fully into the room.

Neither of them noticed at first. Not until the floor creaked and the shape of him, tall and broad and solid, cut across the glow of the lamp. Brandi’s lashes fluttered open. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. Her mouth parted like she’d seen a ghost she wanted to fuck.

Jade froze. Her lips still glistening. Her hands still holding Brandi open.

Donnie didn’t flinch.

His gaze dragged over them both, slow and deep. From the mess between Brandi’s legs to the way Jade’s mouth shined. Every breath. Every detail. His jaw flexed once.

Then his voice cut through the silence.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

Brandi twitched. Her legs trembled. Jade blinked, mouth still hovering just inches from where her tongue had been.

“You already started. Might as well finish it.”

Donnie peeled off his tank, tossing it aside. His chest was drenched in a light sheen of sweat, highlighting the hard ridges of his abs. The soft fade along his jaw glinted beneath the warm light as he stepped closer to the bed.

His dick was hard already, thick and unforgiving, pressing bold against the front of his grey sweats. The outline was impossible to ignore, the tip visibly straining toward his waistband. He shifted his stance, letting the weight of it swing with a deliberate roll of his hips.

He didn’t care if they saw it. That was the point. He wanted them to look. To know.

He wanted them to feel the difference between craving something and being owned by it.

He came to the edge of the bed and let his fingers trail up the inside of Brandi’s thigh, slow and featherlight. He stopped just shy of her center. The heat radiating off her was damn near nuclear.

She was soaked. Glossy. Wrecked.

"Missed me that much?" he asked, voice low, gritty with control.

Brandi’s breath caught. She tried to speak.

"I—I didn’t—"

He didn’t let her finish.

His stare locked her in place.

"Nah, baby. I get it. You needed a mouth. I’m just sayin’... now you got two."

Jade sat back slightly, her face flushed, her lips slick. There was hesitation in her eyes. Not fear—just uncertainty. A line she hadn’t expected to cross.

Donnie didn’t even glance at her yet. His thumb rubbed slow circles into Brandi’s hip, grounding her.

Then he looked up.

"You good with sharing, right? Since you already made yourself at home."

Jade bit her lip. Her eyes flicked to Brandi, then back to Donnie. She nodded.

Donnie’s smile came slow. Full of heat. Full of promise.

"Cool. Then don’t be shy. I wanna see how far you were planning to take it."

He pulled a chair from the corner, spun it around, and sat down in it backwards. Arms flexed along the top rail. Legs spread wide. Eyes locked on Brandi like he was already inside her.

"Make her cum. Then I’ll show you both how it’s really done."

The air thickened.

Neither of them moved at first. Then Brandi exhaled, a tremble in her spine.

And Jade dipped her head again.

Donnie leaned back in the chair, breathing slow, jaw tight. His hand slid over his thigh, dragging toward his waistband, but he didn’t touch himself. Not yet. He just watched.

Watched the way Brandi’s hips lifted. The way Jade’s tongue worked like it had something to prove. The way his girl’s voice broke again when she said his name.

And Donnie didn’t blink.

Because this? This was his kind of homecoming.

The wet sound of Jade’s tongue moving between Brandi’s thighs filled the room with a thick, humid tension. It wasn’t just soft. It was messy, indulgent, the kind of unfiltered mouth work that echoed off the walls and sank into the sheets. Sloppy licks. Audible suction. That rich, rhythmic drag of tongue against soaked skin, punctuated by the slick noise of Brandi's arousal. Every time Jade sucked her clit, it sent a new, lewd wet pop through the air, raw and unashamed. The chorus of it made Donnie’s jaw flex, his nostrils flare, and his fingers curl tighter into the meat of his thigh, heat swirling low and mean in his gut. It wasn’t just sex. It was music. A nasty, sensual beat played in real time, and he was the only one who got front-row seats.

Brandi gasped.

Her breath hitched with every flick, every kiss, every time Jade sucked on her clit like she was trying to draw the orgasm from Brandi’s soul. Each lick was deliberate, greedy, coaxing her higher with soft moans against her pussy that vibrated through Brandi’s core. The bed creaked softly beneath them, joints straining under the rhythm of Brandi’s hips rocking upward, chasing more, chasing everything. Her thighs clenched around Jade’s shoulders, trembling violently as if her body didn’t know whether to fight the pleasure or surrender to it. Her toes curled into the sheets, fingers clutched the comforter in a death grip, and her breath came out in short, broken pants like she was trying to outrun the wave building in her belly. The heat between her legs was unbearable, a tight coil of need that Jade licked deeper into with every pass of her tongue. Brandi was unraveling one gasp at a time, and the sound of her need filled the room like steam from a boiling pot. Constant. Hissing. Desperate.

Donnie didn’t speak. He just watched.

His hand moved down to the hard line of his dick, palming it through his sweats, slow and deliberate. Every moan Brandi let out made his body twitch, made his chest tighten with that same sharp ache he got right before a knockout punch. His fingers itched to slide past the waistband, wrap around the full weight of his dick and stroke until the pressure backed off, but he held still, barely. The fabric dragged against his sensitive skin, the friction just enough to keep him balanced on the edge. Every time Brandi whimpered or gasped, his hips gave a shallow grind against his palm, jaw locked. He rolled his wrist, pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, and exhaled hard through his nose, trying to stay in control while the sounds of her falling apart made him throb with every second.

Brandi’s moan was high this time. Her toes curled. One hand gripped the edge of the headboard, the other reached down to Jade’s hair, tugging gently, thighs closing tight like she was trying to trap every inch of that tongue.

"Shit... Jade... I’m close."

Donnie finally spoke, his voice like gravel and smoke.

"Then let her take you there. I wanna hear you when you cum. No biting it back."

Brandi’s back arched, a helpless sound leaving her throat. Something between a sob and a moan. She was right there, hips grinding, hands shaking.

Jade sucked harder, flicking her tongue faster now, moaning into her pussy like she needed it too. The vibration sent Brandi over the edge.

She came with a scream, body locking up, thighs squeezing Jade’s head as her mouth dropped open and the sound poured out of her like it had been held in too long.

Donnie’s dick throbbed.

He stood up slowly, dragging his sweats down just enough to let it free. Thick. Veined. Hard as stone and already leaking. He gripped it tight and stepped toward the bed.

"Switch."

Jade pulled back slowly, her lips swollen, slick with Brandi’s release, and her entire face glistening with the kind of shine that came from full-body devotion. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, each inhale catching in her throat like she wasn’t quite ready to stop. She looked up at Donnie through heavy lashes, eyes glazed but focused, like she was waiting on the next command. Her tongue flicked out to taste her bottom lip again, lingering, savoring, then dragged across it with a smirk just shy of cocky. There was no shame in her posture, no second-guessing. Her chin was tilted up slightly, throat exposed, like she knew she’d done something worth watching and wanted him to admit it out loud.

Donnie nodded toward the pillows.

"Your turn up top. Let Brandi return the favor."

Jade moved without a word, her movements fluid as she shifted onto her back, stretching across the bed with legs parted just enough to tease. Her skin glowed in the low light, chest rising with anticipation, one arm folded under her head, the other sliding down her own stomach in a lazy trail. Brandi, still trembling from her own release, wiped her mouth and caught her breath. Her chest rose and fell in shallow waves, but her eyes were locked on Jade’s body like a new hunger had taken root.

She crawled over slowly, sensual, deliberate, her hands gripping Jade’s thighs as she lowered herself between them. Brandi's back arched as she bent down, face hovering just above Jade’s slick heat, her breath warm and ragged. The position was primal, offering herself without hesitation, tongue ready, mouth open, the weight of her submission bending her spine into an offering.

Donnie climbed up from the foot of the bed, knelt behind Brandi, and pressed his chest to her back. His dick rubbed against her spine, thick and twitching.

He growled low in her ear.

"Open your mouth for her. Use that tongue like you use it on me. Make her lose her mind."

Brandi didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, her breath warm against Jade’s folds before her lips even made contact. The scent alone had her dizzy again, her tongue slipping out to taste that first glide of slick heat. Her mouth closed around Jade’s pussy, soft and open, already pulsing with need. She flattened her tongue and dragged it slow, then circled her clit with teasing flicks that made Jade’s hips jump.

The sound that came out of Jade’s mouth was loud. Sharp. Breathless. Punched out like she’d been hit in the chest with pleasure. It echoed off the walls, raw and unfiltered. She threw her head back into the pillows, one hand flying to Brandi’s curls, the other gripping the edge of the sheets like her body couldn’t handle how good it felt to be devoured so deeply, so eagerly.

Donnie groaned.

His hands grabbed Brandi’s hips and pulled her back against him, grinding his dick along her ass as she ate Jade out, her own moans muffled between Jade’s legs.

It was heat and breath and noise. Wet slurps. Staggered gasps. The squeak of the mattress. Skin on skin.

And Donnie was losing his patience.

"Fuck. Y’all sound too good. I’ma give you ten more seconds before I slide in."

Brandi whimpered.

Jade moaned, thighs closing in.

Donnie counted slow.

"Ten. Nine."

His dick throbbed.

"Eight. Seven."

He reached down. Gripped himself. Lined up.

"Six. Five."

Brandi’s moan vibrated into Jade. Jade’s nails dug into Brandi’s shoulders.

Donnie grinned.

"Four. Three."

He pressed his tip right to Brandi’s entrance.

"Two."

Brandi braced herself. Her arms locked into the mattress, legs spread wide and steady as her hips rocked back into Donnie’s body. Her breath hitched, then spilled out ragged as his dickhead pressed right up to her slick entrance. Jade moaned from under her, thighs quivering from the vibrations Brandi was still giving her. The room pulsed.

"One."

Donnie pushed in slow.

Brandi’s body gave way around him, inch by thick inch, her pussy stretching to take him, slick and needy from everything Jade had worked into her. The pressure built slowly and deep, making her cry out through clenched teeth, a moan that spilled into Jade’s thighs. Her walls pulsed around Donnie, fluttering as her body tried to adjust to the sheer size of him. Her moan was low, long, a broken melody of pleasure and tension, cracked into pieces as he sank deeper, every inch stealing the air from her lungs. Her arms trembled where they braced her against the mattress, muscles straining under the effort to stay grounded while he filled her. But she didn’t stop eating. Her mouth stayed buried in Jade’s pussy, tongue flicking fast, lips messy and unbothered. She groaned into her, her hips pushing back in greedy rolls to take all of Donnie, chasing the stretch like a fix she couldn’t get enough of. The rhythm of her body said it all—she wanted more. Needed more. And she was going to get it from both ends.

Donnie gripped her hips tighter, groaning as her heat wrapped him like a fist. He rocked in slow, then pulled out almost completely before thrusting back in with a wet, heavy slap. Brandi whimpered into Jade, her moan vibrating through the other woman’s thighs.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his voice thick with possession. “Don’t stop now. I wanna see her cum while I’m inside you.”

Jade was already there. She was writhing under Brandi’s mouth, her back arched, her hand in Brandi’s curls as she ground her pussy into every lick. The sounds spilling from her lips were frantic, desperate.

“Oh fuck, Brandi. Right there. Don’t stop.”

Donnie fucked her deeper.

His pace picked up, hips rolling in tight, brutal thrusts that made Brandi’s ass bounce against his thighs. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, raw and rhythmic, mingling with Jade’s moans and Brandi’s muffled cries. Donnie’s eyes never left Jade’s face. He watched her come undone, her mouth open, eyebrows drawn tight, lips parted in shaky gasps as Brandi’s tongue wrecked her from below. Her hands trembled where they gripped the sheets, her stomach flexing with every surge of pleasure. Brandi tried to keep focus, tried to keep her mouth locked to Jade’s clit, but every time Donnie bottomed out, her jaw went slack, and a shaky moan spilled into Jade’s folds. He saw the exact second it hit Jade, her back arched, her hips lifted, her voice broke, and he fucked harder, chasing that sound, addicted to it.

“Keep your mouth open, baby,” Donnie growled, grabbing a handful of her hair and yanking her head back slightly. “You cum when she does. You hear me?”

Brandi nodded, her lips slick, her eyes glassy. She dove back in, tongue working like she was starved.

Donnie pounded into her harder.

Jade let out a scream, thighs clamping tight around Brandi’s face. Her whole body shook as the orgasm hit her, her hips jerking, pussy grinding against Brandi’s mouth. In the heat of it, she threw one leg over Brandi’s shoulder, body tensing with every pulse of pleasure. Donnie caught that leg without missing a stroke, his hand wrapping around her ankle as he brought her foot to his mouth. He sucked her toes, slow and filthy, tongue dragging over the soft arch while his dick slammed deeper into Brandi, never letting up. Jade’s cries pitched higher as the dual sensation wrecked her, and Donnie groaned into her foot, savoring the taste of her skin while he stayed buried to the hilt inside his girl.

And Brandi came with her.

Her body seized violently around Donnie’s dick, muscles clenching in sharp, rhythmic pulses that gripped him tight and refused to let go. A sob of pleasure punched out of her throat, muffled by the wet heat of Jade’s thighs. Her hands scrabbled at the mattress, trying to anchor herself as waves of orgasm tore through her, one after the other, relentless and raw. Her legs trembled, hips jerking back to meet each of Donnie’s brutal thrusts, the pressure inside her snapping with every grind of his hips. Her pussy gripped him in deep spasms, the slick noise of it obscene in the quiet breaks between their breathless moans.

Donnie groaned low and rough, the sound pulled from the pit of his stomach. He didn’t let up. His rhythm grew rougher, harder, like he was chasing the echo of her climax, pounding her through the aftershocks until the bedframe knocked against the wall with every stroke. Sweat ran down his spine, hips slamming with sharp control as her walls fluttered around him, warm and soaked and desperate. His eyes darted up to Jade again, locking on her face. She was watching him now, eyes heavy, lips parted as her chest rose and fell. There was something dazed and hungry in her stare, something that made his dick throb harder inside Brandi. The way Jade looked at him, like she was still feeling every flick of Brandi’s tongue but just as wrecked by the way he was fucking her best friend, lit a darker fire in his gut. Her orgasm hadn’t taken her out of it. It had only opened her up wider, made her more raw. More tuned in. Her fingers skimmed Brandi’s curls while her gaze held Donnie’s, and when he slammed forward again, she moaned like it hit her too. Her orgasm wasn’t quiet, and neither was he; each thrust came with a grunt, a hiss, a curse dragged from his clenched jaw as her body kept gripping him like it never wanted to let him go.

“Say my name,” he demanded, voice rough and breathless, as his hand tangled in the back of Brandi’s hair. He yanked her head back just enough to see the tension in her throat, the way her lips were still slick and parted against Jade. Her moan caught there, trembling at the base of her neck, and he groaned low, watching her come undone beneath his grip.

Brandi gasped 

“Adonis.”

“Again.”

“Adonis.”

Her voice cracked on the second one, trembling.

He stilled inside her, hips grinding slow.

“Louder.”

voice wrecked.

“Adonis.”

His eyes closed, a grin spreading across his face. He pulled out slowly, savoring the tight drag of her walls until his tip slipped free, slick and pulsing. Brandi collapsed forward with a shaky moan, catching herself on her elbows, panting between Jade’s thighs. Donnie sat back on his heels, hand wrapped around his thick length, stroking it slow as he watched the two women adjust.

Jade reached for Brandi, eyes still hazy and mouth kiss-swollen, pulling her in with a breathless whisper. Brandi didn’t hesitate. She slid up, turning her body, their skin brushing, sweat-slick and warm. The two of them met in a hungry kiss, mouths open, tongues already searching, tasting. Their moans tangled as they kissed deeper, not soft, but messy and starving, hands roaming like they couldn’t get enough of each other.

Jade lay back, hair splayed across the pillow, and Brandi followed her down, easing one leg over her, straddling her thigh until their slick centers aligned. Brandi adjusted her hips with a breathy sigh, and their pussies met in a hot, wet kiss of their own, folds pressing together with aching precision. The grind was slow, drawn out, teasing. Skin slid over skin, warm and slippery, their bodies finding rhythm with ease. Brandi rolled her hips again, deeper this time, and Jade answered with a soft gasp, gripping Brandi’s waist and pulling her in tighter, grinding up to meet every thrust.

Their bodies locked, thighs flexing, breath ragged. Every movement dragged slick, filthy sound from the space between them, a wet chorus that made Donnie’s jaw clench as he watched. His eyes went wide, stunned and dark with heat, like he was seeing Brandi for the first time. The way she moved, how fluid and nasty she was, there was no hesitation in her. Just hunger. Just instinct. And Jade met her with equal fire, grinding up with her mouth open, eyes half-lidded, matching her stroke for stroke. The image of them scissoring, soaked and desperate, lit Donnie up from the inside out. He let out a breathless chuckle, low and rough.

“This ain’t the first time y’all fucked each other, huh?” he muttered, shaking his head as he stroked his dick harder, grip slick and steady. His jaw was tight, trying to keep control even as his dick twitched violently in his fist. The tension coiled in his gut, high and hot, but he didn’t look away for a second.

Donnie groaned as Brandi rocked her hips forward, their soaked skin sliding together with a wet, lewd sound that hit him right in the spine. They moved in rhythm, hands gripping each other’s thighs, moans mingling. He could see everything. The tension in their bellies, the flushed heat between them, the way Brandi’s ass flexed each time she ground forward. His fist moved faster, grip tighter, trying not to lose it too soon, but the sight was brutal. Filthy. Perfect.

“Fuck,” he hissed, thumb swiping his slit as he watched them scissor slow, bodies soaked, heads thrown back, pleasure raw and shameless between them.

Brandi’s breath caught, her voice a little hoarse. "Donnie, open the nightstand."

He blinked, dragged his eyes away just long enough to pull the drawer open, and there it was. A thick, glossy double-ended dildo, jet black, curved at both ends, and already glistening like it had been waiting its turn.

He let out a short, dark laugh, shaking his head as he pulled it free. "Y’all really had a whole game plan, huh?"

Brandi didn’t answer. She just held out her hand.

Donnie handed it over, fingers brushing hers, and sat back as the girls shifted into position. Jade grinned, already spreading her thighs wider, licking her lips with anticipation. Brandi shifted onto her knees, legs parted, her hand guiding the thick, glossy toy between her folds. She lined up one end, the tip pressing against her entrance before she eased it in with a breathy moan, her body arching with the stretch.

Jade watched, mesmerized, her chest rising and falling as she bit down on her lip. Brandi didn’t rush. She rocked slowly on the dildo until it disappeared inside her, glistening and snug, then turned toward Jade with a look that was nothing short of wicked. Crawling over her, Brandi brought the second end between Jade’s thighs, rubbing the slick length against her folds before gently working the toy inside. Jade moaned loud, hips bucking as the intrusion filled her in a matching stretch.

Their bodies connected, the toy bridging them, thick and buried. As they began to grind together, the tension between them reignited like flame to oil. Brandi’s hands found Jade’s hips while Jade locked her ankles behind Brandi’s back, pulling her in closer. Their pussies met over the toy in slow, grinding thrusts that grew deeper with each roll of their hips.

The double-ended dildo slipped in and out, coated in their slick, the movement so lewd and synchronized it made Donnie’s throat go dry. He pumped his dick harder now, watching every filthy stroke, jaw flexing, eyes fixed as the toy disappeared and reappeared between them. Their moans built, breathy and broken, bodies flushed and trembling, lost in each other. The tension was building again, but this time Donnie wasn’t just a spectator; he was unraveling with every second.

Donnie's jaw clenched, stroking himself with one hand while the other pressed to his knee to keep him grounded. Watching them fuck themselves onto that shared length, their moans rising with each thrust, had his breath coming in broken pants. The view was obscene. Addictive. They moved in sync, panting, locked eye to eye like no one else existed, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. But it was too much. The way they fucked that toy, how wet and loud and filthy it was, pushed him right to the brink. His strokes grew frantic, jaw tight, thighs tense, sweat beading at his temples.

Brandi noticed. She looked up through her lashes, lips parted, still rocking her hips in slow circles. Her eyes flicked down to his fist, then back to his face. She gave Jade one last grind, a lingering press of their soaked centers, before she leaned up and slipped off the toy with a wet sound that made Donnie groan.

She grabbed Jade’s hand and pulled her up too, both of them moving toward him with matching smirks and hungry eyes. Donnie barely had time to catch his breath before Brandi was on her knees in front of him, licking her lips as she took the head of his cock into her mouth.

Jade dropped beside her, kissing his thigh with slow reverence before cupping his balls, letting them weigh in her palm as she dragged her tongue slowly across the sensitive skin. Her tongue was warm and slick, teasing in deliberate circles that made Donnie groan low from deep in his chest. Brandi moaned around his dick, the sound vibrating along his shaft, her cheeks hollowing as she sank deeper, spit pooling at the corners of her mouth before dripping down her chin in thick, sticky threads. She pulled off with a pop just long enough to let her tongue lap at the underside, then took him in again with even more hunger.

They moved in tandem, fluid and filthy, sharing him like a secret. Brandi sucked him deep, slow and messy, letting her lips stretch wide around his girth, tongue working under the shaft as she swallowed him down. Then Jade would slide in, licking around the base, tracing every vein with the flat of her tongue before kissing up the shaft. She paused to suck gently at the tip, teasing his slit, then swallowed him with a growl so low and raw it made his toes curl, and his thighs tighten.

Their rhythm was relentless. Brandi’s hand stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach, twisting with every pull, while Jade cupped his balls again, mouthing at the tender skin before slipping lower, tongue dragging along the seam beneath. Donnie’s fingers tangled in both their hair, his breath coming out ragged, chest heaving with every wet, noisy pass of their mouths. He was leaking, twitching, already so close he could barely think, and they were just getting started.

Their hands stroked, fingers gliding over slick skin, cupping his balls, tugging gently. Brandi licked over his tip while Jade sucked one of his balls into her mouth, moaning around it like it tasted better than sin. Then they switched, Brandi’s tongue working under while Jade took him in, eyes locked on his as she swallowed him whole.

Donnie’s head dropped back, a curse ripped from his chest, low and rough like it had been torn out of him. His hands found their hair, tangling deep in the roots, gripping tight. He wasn’t guiding them; he couldn’t. He was barely holding on, barely breathing, every nerve ending lit up and twitching under their tongues. The wet slide of mouths, the soft drag of fingers, the suction and spit and heat, it overwhelmed him. His thighs flexed, cords of muscle tightening as his hips bucked in shallow, desperate thrusts he couldn’t control. Every time Brandi moaned around him, he swore his vision blurred. Every time Jade kissed the underside of his shaft, his breath faltered. They had him wide open, wrung out, and he didn’t want it to stop.

“Fuck… I'm gonna cum,” he groaned, voice wrecked.

They didn’t stop. They moaned louder. Brandi looked up, eyes wild and proud, lips stretched around his tip.

He exploded with a raw groan, thick ropes spilling across their tongues, their lips, their cheeks, streaking their skin in heat and salt. His body convulsed with each release, thighs jerking as he watched the cum paint them in wet, glistening lines. Brandi pulled back just enough to let it hit her face, tilting her chin up, tongue out, eyes locked on his. Jade followed suit, mouth wide open, catching the next thick spurt straight to her tongue with a breathy moan.

It dripped from their lips, smeared across flushed cheeks, dripping slowly down their chins. Brandi let out a soft laugh, wiping her fingers through it and dragging them across Jade’s mouth, painting her with it. Jade giggled, her eyes dark with mischief as she licked Brandi’s fingers clean, one by one, sucking them into her mouth with slow, deliberate swirls of her tongue. Brandi leaned forward, licking the corner of Jade’s mouth, the shared taste of him thick on their tongues. They kissed again, deep and wet, moaning into each other like the mess on their faces only made them hungrier.

Donnie watched, breathless and spent, completely undone. His chest heaved, muscles twitching, his dick still throbbing in the air between them. He’d never seen anything filthier. Never wanted anything more.

—

The steam curled thick in the bathroom, fogging the mirror and rolling down the glass as the rain-style shower poured over Brandi’s body. She stood under the water like it could rinse the mischief off her skin, but nothing could erase the smirk tugging at her lips. Her lashes were still damp, her thighs a little sore, but the glow on her skin said everything—this wasn’t the first time she’d been wrapped up in heat with Jade. Not even close.

Jade stepped in behind her, quiet, casual, like it was routine. Her hands slid up Brandi’s waist like they’d done it a hundred times before, and they had. Her lips brushed the back of Brandi’s shoulder, and she grinned against the skin, speaking low and smug. "He’s still in shock, huh?"

Brandi laughed under her breath. "Mm-hmm. You saw his face?"

"Like we broke him."

"We did."

The glass door eased open again. Donnie stepped in slow, water catching the sharp lines of his body, steam clinging to every inch of him. His jaw was set, his shoulders tight, but his eyes gave him away. They were wide, still processing, still replaying every wet, nasty thing he just watched the two of them do.

"Y’all good?" he asked, voice rough, low, like gravel dragged through heat.

Brandi turned, wet curls slicked to her cheeks. "We’re always good. The question is—you good?"

Donnie didn’t answer right away. He looked at her, then at Jade, then back again, tongue swiping his bottom lip. "Y’all… been doin’ that."

Jade raised an eyebrow. "Since college."

Brandi shrugged, unapologetic. "Midterms got stressful."

Donnie’s brow twitched, like he didn’t know whether to groan or laugh. He stepped closer, water rolling over his chest, thick and hot. His hand found Brandi’s hip, gripped it, then slid lower. "You could’ve told me."

Brandi tilted her head. "Would you have believed me?"

Jade leaned in from behind, chin resting on Brandi’s shoulder as she smirked at him. "You didn’t seem mad about it."

He let out a soft chuckle, voice dark. "I ain’t mad. Just lettin’ y’all know, if I’m sharin’ my girl with her girl, I better be invited every fuckin’ time."

Brandi’s lips curled, pleased. "Noted."

Donnie wrapped his arms around her from the front while Jade pressed in behind. He was surrounded now, boxed in by soft skin and slick curves, the heat rising again with every pass of their fingers.

The water poured on. The laughter faded. Hands moved again, slow and familiar. And Donnie realized this wasn’t afterglow.

It was a second-round waiting to happen.

 @blyffe @transparentphantomface @mwahkae  @championshipshade @christinabae @og-goddesstrill @writingsbytee @jeandoll@bananajoeclone @psychicafrorainbow @blowmymbackout @storiesbyasl @floralistic @bananajoeclone @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @nayys-world @monstaxmomma0 @kimmiedream @hotebonynearby @underated345-blog @xeniaonvenus @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kindofaintrovert @mmbee675

[solarssins]

WHEN WILL IT BE ME LORD

[solarssins]

I still think of this for time to time

[nubianqueensworld]

Just Like Honey

SYNOPSIS: What was supposed to be a chill night of Truth or Dare with the crew changes the moment Erik gets dared to take a Honeypack. The game continues, but something shifts between him and Y/N — quiet glances and unspoken tension pulling them toward a night neither of them planned.

WARNINGS: 18+ only, SMUT, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex, Use of Aphrodisiac, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, etc.

PAIRINGS: Black OC x Erik Killmonger

This was requested by one of my readers. I hope you all enjoy!

——————————————

Y/N pushed the side door open and stepped inside, the cool night air slipping in behind her for a second before the door clicked shut. She set the bottle of Don Julio on the counter with a quiet clink before letting the plastic bag drop next to it. A couple limes rolled out slow, the extra shot glasses clinking together once.

Trey was leaning against the fridge scrolling on his phone. He looked up and smiled the way he always did. “Hey you made it” he said putting the phone down. He came over and gave her a quick one-armed hug. “I was starting to think you bailed on us.”

“Traffic was acting stupid” she said letting out a small laugh. “But I’m here now so you can relax.”

He glanced at the bottle and raised his eyebrows. “Don Julio? Okay fancy. You didn’t have to bring the good stuff we got the house tequila.”

“Yeah but then y’all would be complaining about the hangover tomorrow” she said shrugging as she leaned against the counter. “This way I get to feel responsible for once.”

Trey chuckled. “Fair. You always think ahead.”

Jada came in from the living room. She saw Y/N and her face lit up slow. “Girl” she said crossing the kitchen in a couple steps. She pulled Y/N into a tight hug, rocking her side to side for a second before letting go. “I was literally about to text you. Missed your face.”

“Missed you too” Y/N said hugging back. “You good?”

“Always when you show up with liquor” Jada said stepping back but keeping a hand on Y/N’s arm for a second. She reached for one of the limes rolling it under her palm on the counter. “Trey keeps talking about tacos but he ain’t cut nothing yet. Typical.”

Aaliyah slipped in right behind her. She walked straight over, leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder for a quick second, then straightened up with a small smile. “Hey boo glad you made it. We were about to start without you.”

Y/N snorted. “Y’all would’ve survived five minutes.”

“Barely” Aaliyah said reaching for the bottle. “This is nice though.”

Trey started slicing a lime the knife making thumps against the wood. “Speaking of nice… Jada brought something else earlier.”

Jada rolled her eyes but she was smiling a little. She reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out two small gold packets holding them up. “Honey packs. My cousin dropped them off last week swearing they’re the truth. I figured why not bring them. Worst case they taste like candy and we clown each other.”

Aaliyah leaned in eyebrows raised. “Those honey things? You actually brought those here?”

“I brought two” Jada said shrugging. “We’re only four right now. If somebody gets brave later we can split one.”

Trey shook his head still slicing. “I’m good. Last time somebody brought some energy stuff, I ended up fucking my ex.”

Y/N leaned against the counter arms crossed watching them. The kitchen felt small, the low music from the living room drifting in.

Aaliyah looked at Y/N. “Come on let’s get you in there before we start pouring. We got the living room set up. Just waiting on you.”

Y/N grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off pouring a small splash into each glass.

“Alright” she said handing them out. “Let’s take these first then y’all can tell me how serious this honey-pack plan really is.”

They clinked the glasses quietly threw them back. The alcohol burned smooth going down. Y/N set her glass on the counter and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Jada was already reaching for the bottle to pour another round when Y/N glanced at the two gold packets still sitting on the counter.

Y/N nodded toward them. “Don’t this shit make you horny though?”

Jada paused mid-pour then looked up with a slow grin. “That’s the good part girl.”

Aaliyah laughed low shaking her head as she leaned back against the counter. “See that’s why I’m staying far away from those. I don’t need any extra help in that department tonight.”

Trey snorted still focused on the last lime. “Y’all wild.”

Y/N picked up one of the packets turning it over in her fingers. “I’m just saying. If we do this we gotta be ready for whatever happens.”

Jada topped off the glasses again and slid one toward Y/N. “We’re four grown people in a house with no kids around. Whatever happens happens.

Aaliyah took her glass and raised it. “To bad decisions and good company.”

They clinked again and drank.

Jada set her glass down first. “Alright enough stalling. Let’s take this to the living room.”

Y/N grabbed her glass and the bottle following the others out of the kitchen.

Y/N sank deeper into the couch next to Jada. Blankets were tossed over the armrests and pillows were scattered on the floor like someone had kicked them there earlier. The Bluetooth speaker played R&B that vibrated just enough to settle in her chest.

Jada finished shuffling the cards with a quick flick and dealt one to each of them face down. “Lowest card starts. No weak shit tonight. We’re grown, and we’re tipsy. Let’s get into it.”

Aaliyah flipped hers first, a three of hearts, and groaned but smiled. “Me. Truth.”

Jada leaned forward. “When was the last time you came so hard you cried? Details, no skipping.”

Aaliyah bit her lip. “Three weeks ago, maybe. This dude I been seeing had me bent over the bathroom sink, fingers and tongue at the same time. Kept going even after I started shaking. I legit had tears running down my face when I finally came. Couldn’t even stand up straight after.”

Jada let out a loud “Oop,” and fanned herself with her hand. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Trey shook his head, laughing softly. “Y’all wild already. My turn next, I can feel it.”

He flipped an ace of spades. Jada pointed right at him. “Dare.”

Trey sighed. “Hit me.”

Jada grinned. “Call your ex right now. Leave a voicemail on speaker. Tell him exactly what you miss about his body.”

Trey pulled out his phone, scrolled to the name, hit call, put it on speaker, and waited for voicemail. When the beep came he leaned back.

“Ay, it’s me. Just wanted to say I still think about you sometimes. Miss the way your back looked when you arched for me, the way your thighs squeezed around my head when I had you shaking, how your skin felt under my hands. Shit was fire. Anyway, yeah. Delete this if you want.”

He hung up fast. The room exploded. Trey buried his face in his hands but was grinning wide. Two minutes later his phone buzzed. He read it out loud:

<Boy, delete my number… but call me later.

Everyone lost it again.

Next round Jada got the lowest card. “Truth,” she said before anyone could ask.

Aaliyah jumped in. “Wildest place you ever fucked. Go.”

Jada didn’t blink. “Back seat of my ex-boyfriend’s Charger at the family cookout last summer. Windows fogged up so bad you couldn’t see in, music blasting to cover the sounds. He had me riding reverse with one hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. Almost got caught when my aunt came looking for the ice chest.”

Trey covered his ears dramatically. “I did not need to visualize that, but go off sis.”

Y/N laughed, but the heat crept up her neck. The game was getting hotter and the alcohol made everything feel looser.

Her turn. She flipped a four. “Dare.”

Trey’s grin turned evil. “Send a nude to the group chat right now, crop your face out.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Y’all messy.” She lifted her shirt just enough, angled her phone so the lamp light hit her cleavage perfect, snapped it, cropped her face, and sent before she could chicken out.

The group chat blew up.

Jada: “Whew, okay, body tea.”

Aaliyah: “Chef’s kiss, period.”

Trey: “I’m looking respectfully… damn, Y/N.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands for a second. “Shut up, Trey.”

Aaliyah’s dare was next: a blindfolded lap dance to whoever’s phone she grabbed. She tied a blanket around her eyes and got Trey’s phone. She climbed onto his lap slow and rolled her hips into his. Trey sat frozen, hands gripping the couch, “This is why we don’t do blindfolds no more, girl. Get off me,” while everyone else howled.

Y/N got truth again. Jada leaned in. “Be real. Nastiest thing you let a guy do that you secretly loved?”

Y/N took a long sip. “He held my throat while he ate me out. Not choking, just firm, like he was keeping me right there. I came so hard I saw stars.”

Silence hung for half a second, then Aaliyah whispered, “Damn, that’s hot.”

They passed the bottle for another round when Trey’s phone lit up on the coffee table. He read it and chuckled.

“Erik says he’s five minutes out.”

Jada rolled her eyes but smiled. “Finally. I told his ass to hurry up after work. He been acting brand-new since he got back from the military.”

Aaliyah poured fresh shots and slid one toward Y/N. “He’s been texting me all week, miss the crew, miss the vibes.”

The second Erik’s name dropped, Y/N’s stomach plummeted like someone squeezed her insides and let go. She kept her face neutral, took a slow sip, but her fingers tightened around the glass so hard her knuckles paled.

That night flashed back in sharp pieces. She remembered him sitting in her braiding chair, shirtless, his locs half-done and still a little damp from the wash. They were laughing at some stupid story from back in the day while passing the bottle back and forth. She had been focused on twisting the last few locs, trying to keep her hands steady when she felt the shift. The way his eyes changed, getting darker the moment she leaned back to check her work. Then the kiss happened like something that had been building for years. One minute they were talking, the next her shorts were down around her ankles and his mouth was on her. His hands held her thighs open and the low groan he let out against her skin sounded like he had been waiting for this longer than he would ever admit.

Then the texts the next morning. She left them all on read. Couldn’t face what it meant, that she’d been in love with him quietly for years and one night cracked that wide open. So she ignored him until he stopped trying.

Now he was minutes away.

She could already picture him stepping in. Would he look at her normal? Pretend it never happened? Or would one glance pull everything back?

——————————————————————————————

They squeezed in one more round to kill time. Jada got dared to moan the name of the last person she hooked up with for fifteen seconds straight. She did it low and dramatic, drawing it out until Trey was cracking up and Aaliyah was covering her face. Then Trey picked truth and had to admit the last time he got head in a car. He told the story with zero shame making everyone laugh until their sides hurt. Y/N picked dare again and had to send a voice note describing how she liked to be touched. She kept it short and the group lost it when they played it back.

The laughs were still echoing when a firm knock sounded at the front door.

Trey hopped up from the floor. “That’s him. I got it.”

He walked over and opened the door. Erik stepped inside carrying two large pizza boxes stacked on top of each other, the smell of hot cheese and pepperoni filling the room right away. Trey took one of the boxes from him with a grin. “My guy, you came through.”

Erik looked too good. His locs were freshly twisted into neat barrels that framed his face perfectly. He had on a crisp black shirt that hugged his muscular arms and chest, the short sleeves showing off the scars on his biceps. A thick gold chain rested against his collarbone and a matching gold watch gleamed on his wrist. Black joggers sat low on his hips and he rocked a fresh pair of Jordans that still looked box-fresh. The whole fit was simple but it hit different on him, like everything he wore was made to remind you exactly who he was.

He greeted everyone with a small smile showing off his gold fronts. “What’s good, y’all?” He gave Jada a quick hug, then Aaliyah, dapping Trey up properly once the pizza was set on the coffee table.

When he got to Y/N he paused for a second. “Long time no see.”

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a hug. It was tighter than the others. His cologne hit her immediately, that woody scent mixed with something fresh that made her head spin. He smelled so good it was almost unfair. As he held her he leaned in close to her ear.

“Missed you, baby. You been ignoring a nigga.”

He gave her one last gentle squeeze before pulling away. Y/N’s heart was pounding so hard she was sure everyone could hear it, but she just smiled back trying to play it cool while her stomach did flips all over again.

The group settled back in. Erik dropped down on the floor near the coffee table right across from Y/N. He grabbed a slice of pizza, took a big bite, and leaned back on one elbow.

Jada was already reaching for another slice. “About time you showed up. We were starting to think you got lost.”

Erik chuckled, gold flashing again. “Nah, I had to make sure y’all had something to eat. Can’t have my people starving while y’all out here playing nasty games.”

Aaliyah smirked. “Speaking of nasty games, you just missed some wild shit. But we can catch you up real quick if you want in.”

Erik’s eyes flicked over to Y/N for a brief second before he looked back at the group. “I’m down. What we playing?”

The tension in Y/N’s chest tightened even more as the circle reformed with Erik now sitting right across from her. The night suddenly felt a lot heavier and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend everything was normal.

Y/N tried to focus on the slice of pizza in her hand but her appetite was gone. The cheese tasted like nothing while her mind kept replaying that whisper in her ear and the way his arms had felt around her. Erik settled in across from her on the floor with his legs stretched out casually.

Jada wiped her hands on a napkin and grinned at him. “Truth or dare, Erik?”

Erik took another bite of pizza chewing slowly before he answered. “Truth.”

Trey leaned forward. “Bet. Here’s a good one. What’s the nastiest thing you’ve done to a girl that made her shake so bad she couldn’t walk right after?”

The room got quiet for a second. Erik didn’t even hesitate. He looked straight at Y/N while he answered.

“Last time I was with somebody I really wanted… I had her laid back on the couch after she did my locs. I ate her pussy for so long she came three times back to back. Had her thighs squeezing my head so tight I could barely breathe, but I wasn’t stopping. By the time I was done she was shaking so bad she couldn’t even sit up straight. Had to carry her to the bed.”

He kept his eyes locked on Y/N the entire time he spoke. Y/N could feel the heat rushing to her face. She avoided his gaze completely, staring down at the pizza box like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Her hand tightened around her glass as she brought it to her lips and took a long sip of the Don Julio hoping the burn would distract her from the way her body was reacting. Her thighs pressed together without thinking, memories flooding back so strong she almost choked on the liquor. She could still feel his locs brushing her skin, the way his tongue had moved, the low groans he made like he couldn’t get enough.

Jada let out a low whistle. “Damn, Erik. That’s cold.”

Aaliyah laughed. “Three times? Boy, you wasn’t playing.”

Erik just smirked still watching Y/N even though she refused to look up. “What can I say? When I want something, I take my time with it.”

The air in the room felt thicker now, the game suddenly a lot more dangerous with him sitting right there. Y/N took another sip from her glass trying to steady her breathing while her heart raced. She could feel his eyes on her like he was daring her to look back at him.

Jada clapped her hands once. “Alright, let’s make the next part interesting. We got two honey packs in the kitchen. How about we play a quick round of ‘Never Have I Ever’ with a twist? Whoever has done the thing has to drink. Last person with alcohol left in their cup loses and has to take one of the honey packs.”

Aaliyah’s face lit up. “Yes! I’m down for that.”

Trey laughed and reached for the bottle to top off everyone’s glasses. “Bet. But y’all better not gang up on me. I’m innocent over here.”

Erik smirked. “Innocent? Yeah, okay. Let’s run it. I’m not scared of a little honey.”

Jada hopped up and came back from the kitchen with the two small gold packets placing them right in the middle of the coffee table. “These right here. Loser takes the whole packet. No backing out once the game starts.”

They all raised their glasses and started the round. The questions stayed playful at first.

“Never have I ever had sex in a car,” Aaliyah said.

Trey, Jada, and Erik drank right away. Y/N kept her glass still for that one.

“Never have I ever hooked up with someone I met at the gym,” Trey threw out next.

Jada and Aaliyah drank. Erik took a sip, chuckling.

“Never have I ever gone down on someone in the shower,” Jada said with a grin.

Trey and Erik drank. Y/N sipped once.

“Never have I ever had a one-night stand that turned into something more,” Aaliyah said.

Erik drank again, along with Jada.

“Never have I ever recorded myself having sex,” Trey added.

Erik and Aaliyah drank. Y/N took a small sip feeling the liquor warming her up.

“Never have I ever had sex somewhere I could’ve gotten caught easily,” Jada said.

Everyone except Trey drank that time. The laughs were flowing and the cups were getting lower fast.

After a few more rounds, Trey checked the glasses. “Damn… Erik, you’re the last one with a decent amount left, but after that last one you’re basically empty too. Looks like you lose, bro.”

Jada picked up one of the gold honey packets from the table and waved it in the air. “Rules are rules. Loser takes the whole thing right now.”

Erik leaned forward. “Aight, bet. Hand it over.”

Jada passed him the packet. Erik took it, turning the small gold wrapper over in his fingers while the group watched. He glanced around the circle, then ripped it open with his teeth squeezing the golden liquid onto his tongue like it was nothing. He swallowed it down maintaining eye contact with the group the whole time, but Y/N could feel his gaze linger a little longer when it passed over her.

The room erupted in cheers and laughs. Jada clapped. “That’s my dawg!”

Trey grabbed another slice of pizza. “Now we wait and see what that does to you. This should be entertaining.”

Erik just chuckled low, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he set the empty wrapper on the table. He looked completely unbothered, but Y/N noticed the way his jaw tightened just slightly right after he swallowed. She quickly looked away focusing on her own drink again.

———————————————————————————

A couple hours had passed. The pizza boxes were empty and they had moved through Spades, Uno, and were now deep into random drinking games.

Erik had gotten quieter as the night went on. He was still joking with everyone, but he kept shifting his position on the floor.

Trey was dealing the next round when he suddenly paused mid-shuffle. He looked down at Erik’s lap and let out a low chuckle.

“E, you good?” Trey asked nodding toward Erik’s obvious erection straining against his black joggers. “Nigga got a whole tent going on over there.”

The room went quiet for a second.

“Oh shit,” Jada muttered covering her mouth with wide eyes.

Aaliyah burst out laughing and quickly looked away. “Jesus, Erik…”

Erik glanced down at himself then shrugged casually with zero embarrassment. He didn’t try to hide it or close his legs. “Imma handle that later,” he said voice a little deeper than it had been earlier.

As he spoke, his eyes drifted over to Y/N. The look lingered just a second longer than normal before he looked away again. Her thighs pressed together without her meaning to.

Trey smirked. “You sure you don’t need a minute, bro?”

Erik leaned back on one hand. “Nah, I’m straight. We can keep playing.” He adjusted himself once, “This honey just got me real… aware right now.”

Jada shook her head with a grin. “That pack is no joke. You look like you’re ready to pounce on something.”

The group laughed.Erik stayed relaxed on the outside, but his eyes kept finding their way back to Y/N every few minutes.

Y/N stayed quiet focusing on her drink and pretending to laugh along with everyone else. But she could still feel the weight of his attention on her skin like a hand she couldn’t quite brush off.

The game eventually fizzled out as everyone started feeling the effects of the long night and all the shots. Jada stretched and looked around at the mess. “Alright y’all, let’s clean up a little before we get too lazy.”

They all got up slowly, groaning and laughing as they started picking up. Trey gathered the empty pizza boxes and shot glasses while Aaliyah folded blankets and picked up cards from the floor. Jada wiped down the coffee table. Erik helped out too, grabbing a few napkins and empty cups.

After about ten minutes, Erik checked his phone and stood up straight. “I’m gonna head out. Got an early morning tomorrow.”

He started saying his goodbyes, giving everyone a hug. He dapped Trey up first, then pulled Jada into a tight hug rocking her side to side. “Good seeing y’all, for real.” He hugged Aaliyah next.

Then he turned to Y/N.

She stood up trying to keep it casual. Erik stepped in and wrapped his arms around her. The hug lingered. His body felt warm against hers and that same woody cologne wrapped around her again. He held her for a few extra seconds.

Right before he pulled away, he leaned in close to her ear.

“Come through to my crib when you leave here.”

He gave her one last gentle squeeze before stepping back like nothing had happened. He grabbed his keys and headed toward the door. “Catch y’all later. Don’t get too crazy without me.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Y/N stood there frozen for a second with Erik’s words echoing in her head. Her stomach felt like it dropped and her thoughts were all over the place. She felt discombobulated.

They continued tidying up the living room completely oblivious to what Erik had just dropped on Y/N before walking out the door.

She bent down to pick up a pillow trying to act normal, but her mind was already spinning with the decision she now had to make.

Y/N helped with the last bit of cleanup tossing a few more cups in the trash and folding one of the blankets. Once everything looked decent, she grabbed her bag and keys.

“Alright y’all, I’m about to head out,” she said. “Thank you for tonight. I had fun.”

She went around giving everyone hugs. Jada squeezed her tight telling her to text when she got home. Aaliyah hugged her next. Trey gave her a big bear hug and kissed the top of her head like the big brother he always acted like.

“Drive safe, Y/N. Love you girl,” he said.

“Love y’all too,” she replied with a small smile before heading out the door.

She wasn’t too drunk. Just nicely buzzed, enough to feel loose but still in control. The night air felt cool on her skin as she walked to her car. Once she got inside she didn’t start the engine right away. She just sat there in the driver’s seat staring out the windshield while replaying everything that happened tonight.

Come through to my crib when you leave here.

She let out a deep breath and rubbed her hands over her face. Was she really about to do this? Go to his house? After she spent months ignoring his texts and trying to bury everything that happened between them? What if it brought all those old feelings rushing back? The ones she swore she had under control?

Just then, her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

She picked it up and saw a message from Erik. The preview showed a blurred picture. Her thumb hovered for a second before she clicked it open.

It was a photo of Erik. He was still in those black joggers standing in what looked like his bedroom. One of his hands was gripping his thick print through the fabric. The picture was clear enough to see just how big and heavy he was.

Right underneath it the message read:

<I need you.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She felt a rush of heat flood between her legs, her pussy instantly getting wet. Her thighs pressed together on their own as she stared at the picture.

“Fuck…” she whispered to herself.

That sealed it.

She sat there for a few more seconds. Besides… it’s just going to be one night, she told herself. What’s the worst that could happen?

She started the car, typed Erik’s address into her GPS, and pulled off.

About twenty minutes later Y/N pulled up outside Erik’s house. The drive felt both too long and too short. Her stomach was in knots the entire way.

She parked on the street and sat in the car for a moment staring at his front door. Her hands were slightly shaky as she picked up her phone and typed:

>I’m outside

His reply came back almost instantly.

>It’s opened.

Y/N stared at the message. She took a slow breath trying to steady herself.

It’s just one night, she reminded herself. Just one night.

She grabbed her bag, stepped out of the car, and walked up to his front door. After another deep breath she twisted the knob and stepped inside.

The house was dimly lit with just a couple of lamps on casting a warm glow through the living room. Soft music played from somewhere deeper inside. She closed the door behind her and locked it.

Then Erik appeared from the hallway.

He was shirtless now. His muscular chest and abs were on full display. The scars on his biceps and torso were visible and his joggers sat low on his hips showing the deep V-line leading down.

Erik didn’t say anything else at first. He just walked toward her slowly. When he stopped in front of her, he was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

He reached out and gently took her bag from her hand setting it down on the nearby chair without breaking eye contact. Then he stepped even closer, one hand sliding around her waist pulling her body flush against his.

“You drove all the way over here,” he murmured, “after ignoring me for months.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she felt how hard he still was, the thick outline of his erection pressing against her stomach through his joggers. The honey pack was clearly still working overtime.

“I wasn’t…” she started, but the words got caught in her throat when his other hand came up to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

“You wasn’t what?” he asked tilting his head slightly. “You wasn’t thinking about me? Or you wasn’t ready to admit you missed this too?”

Before she could answer, Erik leaned down and kissed her. His tongue slipped into her mouth and Y/N melted into him. Her hands instinctively slid up his bare chest feeling the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart.

When he finally pulled back they were both breathing heavier.

“I been thinking about you since that night,” he admitted, forehead resting against hers. “Every time I tried to let it go… I couldn’t. And tonight?” He let out a low chuckle, almost strained. “I need you, Y/N. For real.”

His hands slid down to grip her ass. Y/N let out a shaky breath, her pussy throbbing with need.

Erik kissed her again before trailing his lips to her ear.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered. “Tell me you’re not about to run out that door.”

She looked up at him. Her voice came out soft but steady.

“I want this,” she whispered. “I’m not running.”

That was all Erik needed.

He kissed her again. One hand stayed on her ass while the other slid up her back and into her hair tilting her head exactly how he wanted. The kiss turned hungry fast.

He walked her backward until her back gently hit the wall. Erik pulled away just enough to look at her.

His hands moved to the hem of her shirt. He peeled it off slowly tossing it somewhere behind him. His gaze dropped to her breasts and he let out a low curse under his breath before leaning down to kiss and suck on her neck trailing wet kisses across her collarbone.

Y/N’s head fell back against the wall, a soft moan slipping out as his mouth found her nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, tongue swirling, while his hand squeezed her other breast. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

Y/N’s back pressed against the cool wall as Erik dropped to his knees in front of her like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked up at her with those hooded eyes while he slowly dragged her pants and panties down her legs. He took his time kissing her inner thighs the whole way and sucked lightly on the sensitive skin until she was squirming.

“Fuck, I missed this pretty pussy,” he groaned. He spread her legs wider throwing one over his shoulder so she was completely open for him. “Look at you… already dripping for me.”

He leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up her slit licking up all her wetness in one long stroke. Y/N moaned loudly, her hand flying to the top of his head gripping his fresh barrel twists. Erik let out a deep groan against her pussy, the vibration making her thighs tremble.

He didn’t tease for long.

Erik buried his face between her legs like a man starved. His tongue was everywhere licking broad stripes up her pussy, swirling around her swollen clit, then dipping inside her hole to fuck her with it. Wet sounds filled the hallway as he ate her greedily, sucking on her folds, slurping loudly on her juices like he couldn’t get enough.

“Shit, Erik…” Y/N whimpered.

He pulled back just enough to spit on her pussy watching it drip down before diving back in, sucking her clit into his mouth hard. Two thick fingers pushed inside her without warning.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against her clit, fingers pumping faster. “Fuck my face. Use my tongue like you been wanting to.”

Y/N’s legs shook as she rode his mouth, grinding against his tongue while he finger-fucked her harder. He added a third finger to stretch her open, the wet squelching sounds getting louder. Erik moaned into her pussy the whole time clearly enjoying every second of it.

He pulled his fingers out for a moment, spread her pussy lips wide with both thumbs, and spat directly on her clit before sucking it back into his mouth with slurping sounds. His tongue flicked rapidly against her swollen nub while he looked up at her.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned, voice muffled. “This pussy still mine, ain’t it?”

Y/N could barely answer, just moaned his name like a prayer as her orgasm built fast. Erik could feel it. He locked his arms around her thighs holding her in place so she couldn’t run from the pleasure and attacked her clit with relentless suction and fast flicks of his tongue.

“Cum on my face, baby,” he demanded. “Let me taste how much you missed this dick.”

That pushed her over the edge.

Y/N came hard, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the wall as she cried out. Erik didn’t stop. He kept sucking and licking her through it, moaning loudly like her orgasm was the best thing he’d tasted all night.

Erik finally pulled back, lips and chin shiny with her juices. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand while looking up at her with a satisfied smirk.

—————————————————————————

Erik stood up slowly.

“Come here,” he said.

He took her hand and led her over to the couch. The second they reached it, he sat down, legs spread wide, and pulled her down between them so she was on her knees on the floor in front of him. One arm stretched along the back of the couch as he looked at her with that intense stare.

Y/N’s hands shook slightly with anticipation as she reached for the waistband of his joggers. She tugged them down his hips and his thick dick sprang out. The head was already leaking precum, veins prominent along the shaft. He was rock hard from the honey pack and he looked even bigger than she remembered.

“Fuck…” she whispered wrapping her hand around the base. He was so thick her fingers barely met.

Erik let out a low groan, head tilting back for a second before he looked down at her again.

“Go ‘head, baby,” he murmured.

Y/N leaned in and dragged her tongue slowly from the base of his dick all the way up to the tip licking up the bead of precum that had formed. She swirled her tongue around the head before wrapping her lips around it and sucking gently.

“Shit… just like that,” Erik groaned, one hand sliding into her hair.

She took more of him into her mouth, sucking him deeper, her tongue working the underside of his shaft. He was so thick it made her jaw ache in the best way. She bobbed her head taking him as far as she could using her hand to stroke what didn’t fit.

Erik’s grip tightened in her hair. “Fuck, your mouth feels good. You been thinking about this dick, huh?”

Y/N moaned around him in response sucking harder, saliva dripping down his shaft as she worked him sloppily. The wet sounds filled the room.

“That’s it… choke on it,” he growled with hips lifting slightly to push deeper into her mouth. “Get it real wet for me. I want you drooling all over this dick.”

She did exactly that. Spit ran down her chin as she sucked him messily, hollowing her cheeks, twisting her hand around the base while she focused on the sensitive head. Erik’s breathing got heavier.

He looked down at her, eyes half-lidded. “Look at you… on your knees sucking me like you missed this shit. You do miss it, don’t you?”

Y/N pulled off just long enough to catch her breath, strings of spit connecting her lips to his dick. “Yes…” she breathed before diving back down taking him even deeper and gagging softly as the head hit the back of her throat.

“Fuuuck,” Erik hissed, his hand guiding her head as he slowly fucked her mouth. “Just like that. Keep gagging on it. I love that shit.”

She worked him eagerly. Spit dripped down onto his balls and she reached down to massage them earning a deep moan from him.

Erik’s abs flexed every time she took him deep. His breathing got heavier as he got closer.

Erik groaned deeply. “Fuck… get up here.”

He pulled her off his dick with a wet pop and yanked her up onto the couch. In one motion he sat back against the cushions and pulled her on top of him. His spit-slick dick rested hard against her stomach as he gripped her hips.

“Ride me,” he demanded. “I want this pussy right now.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She reached between them, wrapped her hand around his heavy dick, and lined him up with her dripping entrance. She rubbed the fat head up and down her wet folds a few times before slowly sinking down.

“Fuuuuck…” she moaned as he stretched her open.

Erik’s head fell back against the couch.“Goddamn, this pussy tight as hell. Keep going, baby. Take all this dick.”

She worked herself down until her ass was flush against his thighs. The feeling was overwhelming. Y/N let out a shaky whimper adjusting to his size while her walls clenched around him.

Erik gripped her ass with both hands to spread her open. “That’s it. Look at you swallowing my whole dick. Now ride it.”

Y/N started moving. The wet squelching sounds were loud as she lifted up and slammed back down as her juices coated his dick and dripped down his balls.

“Shit, just like that,” Erik groaned watching where they were connected. “Look how wet you got my dick. You been needing this, haven’t you?”

“Yes…” she moaned picking up the pace. She braced her hands on his chest and started bouncing harder, ass clapping against his thighs with every drop.

“Fuck me back,” she gasped.

Erik smirked as he gripped her hips tighter and started fucking up into her hard. The couch creaked under them as he pounded into her pussy.

“This what you been ignoring?” he growled eyes locked on her bouncing tits. “This dick been waiting on you and you was playing games.”

He sat up suddenly as he wrapped one arm around her waist and sucked hard on her nipple while he fucked her senseless. Y/N cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode him faster grinding her clit against him with every thrust.

Erik pulled back just enough to look at her face. “Ride this dick like you sorry. Show me how much you missed it.”

Y/N started bouncing harder. Her pussy was creaming all over his dick. Erik groaned loudly, one hand slapping her ass hard before gripping it again.

“Goddamn, you soaking me, baby. This pussy talking to me and everything.”

He leaned back again letting her take control. Y/N rode him like she was possessed.

Erik’s abs flexed with every thrust. “Keep fucking me just like that. I want this pussy to remember who it belongs to.”

But right as his breathing started getting ragged and his grip tightened, he suddenly sat up, wrapped both arms around her, and stood up with her still on his dick.

Y/N gasped, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her down the hallway like she weighed nothing.

He kicked open the bedroom door, tossed her onto the bed, and flipped her over roughly.

“Face down, ass up,” he ordered. “Now.”

Y/N arched her back quickly pressing her chest into the mattress and lifting her ass high for him. Erik smacked her ass hard.

“This what you made me wait for?” he growled. He smacked her ass harder this time watching it jiggle. “Months of ignoring my fucking texts… acting like this pussy wasn’t mine.”

He lined his dick up with her dripping hole and slammed in deep in one thrust.

“Fuuuuck!” Y/N cried out gripping the sheets.

Erik didn’t give her time to adjust. He started fucking her, his balls slapping against her clit with every punishing stroke.

“This my pussy,” he grunted smacking her ass again. “Say it.”

“It’s yours,” she moaned loudly pushing back against him.

He gripped her hips tighter and pounded into her even harder.

“I can’t hear you,” he growled. “Who the fuck does this pussy belong to?”

“It’s yours, Erik!” she cried out. “It’s your pussy!”

“That’s right,” he snarled smacking her ass repeatedly. “You been keeping my shit away from me. Now take this dick like you owe me.”

He fucked her mercilessly. The bed creaked loudly under them. Y/N’s moans turned into broken whimpers as he hit that spot over and over.

Erik reached down and rubbed her clit while still pounding into her. “You better cum on this dick. Right now. Don’t hold that shit.”

The combination of his aggressive strokes, the sting from his smacks, and his fingers on her clit pushed her over the edge fast.

“I’m cumming!” she screamed as her pussy clamped down hard around him gushing wetly as her orgasm ripped through her.

“Fuck yes,” Erik groaned fucking her through it. “That’s my good girl. Cream all on this dick.”

He kept thrusting through her orgasm for a few more strokes before he suddenly pulled out with a wet sound. He stroked his dick fast aiming at her back.

“Shit— I’m about to nut,” he growled.

Thick ropes of cum shot across her back in heavy spurts. Erik moaned loudly as he emptied himself, painting her skin from her shoulder blades all the way down to the curve of her ass. He kept stroking until every drop was out.

“Fuck…” he panted looking down at the mess he made on her.

He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck softly.

“Don’t move,” he murmured.

He got up and walked to the bathroom. Y/N heard the sink running for a few seconds before he returned with a warm cloth. He sat on the edge of the bed and carefully wiped her back cleaning his cum off her skin with gentle strokes. The warm cloth felt soothing against her skin.

Once he was done he tossed the cloth toward the hamper and gently flipped her over onto her back. He laid down beside her pulling her into his chest. Y/N curled up against him, one leg draped over his, her head resting on his shoulder as they both tried to catch their breath.

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing slowly settling. Erik’s hand rubbed slow circles on her back while her fingers traced patterns over his scars.

After a couple minutes, Y/N let out a soft laugh.

“So… that honey pack really had you acting different tonight,” she teased. “I thought you were gonna tear my ass up.”

Erik chuckled lowly. “That shit had me gone. I was trying to behave in front of everybody, but my dick had other plans.”

Y/N smiled against his skin relaxing further into him.

The silence returned for a little while before Erik spoke again.

“…Why you been ignoring me, Y/N?”

Y/N froze for a second her fingers stopping their movement. She stayed quiet as she stared at the ceiling.

He waited patiently still rubbing her back.

She finally let out a shaky breath.

“I got scared,” she admitted softly. “That night… it felt like too much. I’ve liked you for years, Erik. Like, really liked you. And when we crossed that line, it hit me how deep it was. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I just… shut down. Ignoring you felt safer than admitting how I felt.”

She paused.

“I thought if I ignored it long enough, the feelings would go away. But they didn’t.”

Erik was quiet for a moment, processing her words. Then he tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“I wish you would’ve told me that instead of disappearing on me,” he said gently. “I’m not mad at you for being scared. But I need you to talk to me next time. I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’ve been feeling you for a long time too.”

He tilted her chin up so she could look at him.

“I’m not perfect, and I know I got a lot going on with adjusting back to civilian life… but I want this. I want you. We don’t gotta rush or put a label on it right now if you not ready. But I’m done with the ignoring part. If you scared, tell me. If you need space, tell me. Just don’t shut me out again. Aight?”

Y/N searched his eyes for a second, then nodded slowly, feeling some of the weight lift off her chest.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I won’t shut you out again.”

Erik gave her a small smile and pulled her closer before kissing her forehead.

“Good. Now bring your ass closer and let me hold you properly.”

She smiled softly and snuggled deeper into his chest, finally relaxing as his arms wrapped around her tightly. The silence that followed felt peaceful this time.

——————————————-

Whewww, I know I was supposed to post this earlier but college had me super busy 😭 I’m finally on summer break now, so I should be able to upload consistently!

Hope y’all enjoyed it! 🤎

[solarssins]

Erik after the honeypack:

Y/n asf:

[loungin]

[solarssins]

Yes indeed, the must know the REAL me.

[theegoldenchild]

Breakup To Makeup

Warnings: +18 | Modern AU | Stack x Reader | Dom!Stack | Bratty Sub!Reader | Cheating | Degradation kink | Light BDSM | Vibrator | Spanking/Punishment (if you squint) | Creampie | Overstimulation | Voyeurism (kind of) | Toxic Relationship | Stack is a complete asshole with a big ole schlong 🤷🏾‍♀️

It had only been two months. An entire eight weeks. Sixty goddamn days since Stack tore through your world and left you in pieces so jagged not even time could sand down the edges. You weren’t counting, not out loud anyway, but your body knew. It kept track of time in the most humiliating ways: in the ache between your thighs that never really went away, in the way your skin felt too tight for your bones at night, and in how nothing you touched yourself with ever came close to what he used to do with a single look and a few cruel words.

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft, wet whir of the rose toy buzzing uselessly against your clit. Your sheets were twisted beneath you and drenched in the kind of frustration that didn’t ease with heat or friction. You had been at it for almost half an hour now, rolling onto your back, then your side, then your stomach, switching up the pressure, the angles and even the pace hoping something would click… but it didn’t. Your body refused to cooperate, even as your toes curled and your thighs trembled while your fingers pressed harder against the rose’s buttons like maybe it was your fault the thing wasn’t working right… Like maybe you weren’t trying hard enough to replace him.

But the truth was, you had tried and failed. You tried so damn hard to pretend like other men could take his place. One of them was a trainer with big arms and perfect teeth. He was the kind of man who liked to call you “ma” and rub on your leg during brunch. Another was a quiet, artistic type who smoked clove cigarettes and read you poetry right before bed. The last one you entertained was rough with his hands but soft with his mouth, always asking if you were okay and checking in. You thought he would be a safe choice, but just like the others he didn’t fix the itch you needed to scratch.

Your free hand reached for your phone without thinking, the motion muscle memory by now. You rolled over onto your side and dragged the screen to life as the artificial glow casted shadows against your face. Your thumb moved in idle circles, tapping through names, numbers, grainy selfies, and old flings you couldn’t even remember fucking. You paused on a few and thought about what it might feel like to call one of them, just to get a little taste, but every memory came back warped and lacking. Their touches had all faded from your skin like chalk in the rain, unlike the ones from the asshole that branded himself on your heart.

A flashback ran through your mind and that’s when your fingers stopped scrolling.

Stack.

His name stared up at you, still saved under that stupid contact name you gave him: ‘Mr. Big Dick Headache.’ You swiped up without meaning to, pulled open the message thread and stared at the last thing he ever sent you—‘Lose my fucking number.’ It still made your stomach twist in knots, because deep down you knew he didn’t mean it. You were well aware that this was how Stack operated. He got off on cutting deep before you could slice him first. But this time around you were tired of pretending like you were the only one bleeding out.

Your thumb hovered over the call button, heart drumming a steady rhythm that went nowhere. You didn’t bother pressing it and instead let out an annoyed sigh when you remembered Stack blocked you two months ago, right after that last argument when you finally told him the truth. Told him you did fuck someone else but it was a one time situation to prove a point. The only reason you did it was because you wanted him to feel, even for a second, the kind of sick betrayal you felt every time he came home late smelling like another woman’s perfume. You didn’t cry when he cussed you out and called you everything but a child of God. Instead you just stood there, naked under his T-shirt, arms crossed, and waiting for him to finish expressing his anger so you guys could have makeup sex like you always did.

But this time, it didn’t happen. When he was done, he stormed out of your apartment and slammed the door shut.  And you hated how that still bothered you.

You hated how Stack got to be angry. How he got to act like you were the problem. Like you had broken the sacred code when he never even gave you a title. No “girlfriend,” no “baby,” not even a damn 24 hour instagram story. But oh, his raggedy ass knew how to claim you when it was convenient. Knew how to hold your face still when he slid inside you and said, “This mine. You hear me? Mine.” Knew how to threaten every man that so much as looked your way and leave marks deep enough to last until the next weekend he decided to come back around.

Even though your relationship with Stack was extremely toxic, you weren’t stupid. You knew what it was. You were the one woman who could take what he dished out. The only one who gave him the fight he craved and the submission he needed. And he was the only man who could tear you down, fuck you back together, and make you feel safe while calling you every disrespectful name in the book.

Still holding your phone, you let the rose toy fall limp between your thighs. You weren’t going to cum from silicone and batteries. Not tonight and probably not tomorrow either. Not until you got what you really needed.

Another sigh slipped past your lips. It was drawn out and bitten at the end like it tasted bitter coming out. You glanced at the time and groaned at it being 12:46 AM. If you left now, traffic would be nonexistent and you could be at his door in less than twenty-five minutes. Your heart was still dragging its feet like a disobedient child being told to go inside after playing too long in the rain. Logic was banging its fists against the locked door of your mind, shouting things about pride, dignity, knowing your worth, blah blah blah. But your body was already making decisions your brain didn’t agree to.

You padded barefoot across the cold floor, stepping over the discarded tank top you tried to wear for comfort. Your legs felt heavy, weighed down by equal parts sexual frustration and adrenaline. You flipped the bathroom light on and caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Your face wore a needy expression that made you whine internally and your chest rose and fell in shallow swells that made your nipples pebble from the draft. You looked used but not in the way you wanted. Not in the way he used to leave you.

You opened the cabinet, brushing past your night cream and sleeping mask as you reached for the little container of body shimmer you hadn’t touched since your last night with him. Stack always liked when your skin glittered, he said it looked like sin pretending to be sugar. You twisted the cap off, dipped two fingers in, and rubbed a little along your collarbones and down the center of your chest. Then more between your thighs.

You took your time dressing up. Half of you did it because you wanted to remind him of what he lost and the other half of you did it because you wanted him to notice you again. To see what he had been missing and hate himself for letting it go so easily. You drenched yourself in his favorite lotion, the one he used to lick off your shoulders with that grin that made you forget every lie he ever told. And when it was time to pick what to wear, you went for the nuclear option. Red lace. 

This particular lace bra left nothing to the imagination and put your hardened nipples on display. It came with a matching thong and a garter belt, that hugged your waist and did absolutely nothing to hide the curve of your ass. You pulled it on and smoothed the material over your hips before stepping into a pair of cherry red stilettos you hated but knew he loved. They were tall and dangerous, the kind of shoes that made you walk with your back arched and your thighs pressed tight together just to keep balance. Every step in them reminded you of how sore he used to leave you. How shaky your knees would get when he forced you to hold yourself open while he watched, arms folded and voice like poison wrapped in domination as he told you how you better not finish without his say-so.

You threw on a black trench coat over everything, buttoned only once at the waist, just enough to protect your false sense of control. The hem flared like a threat every time you moved, brushing the tops of your thighs. You grabbed your keys and didn’t think twice about your reckless decision. You didn’t bother calling a friend to talk through your emotions, you just walked out the door like a woman with no shame left to lose.

The drive to Stack’s home was quiet. Streetlights blurred past in long golden lines, smearing your reflection in the windshield. Your phone sat facedown in the passenger seat, untouched. Right now you didn’t need music or any outside distractions. You just needed to see him. Feel him. Erase the last two months in one filthy, hate-laced night.

You parked across the street like you used to, tires crunching over the gravel. His porch light was off, just like always. Stack was a man of routine. Lights off, cameras on and doors locked. You crept up the path in your heels, trench coat catching in the wind as you breathed hard enough to fog the air while your nerves screamed beneath your skin. Your fingers reached for the potted plant beside the steps, the one that always hid the spare key he swore he would never take back. Except… It wasn’t there anymore.

A frown creased on your forehead as your fingers scraped dirt, then mulch, and finally the hollow space where the key used to be. He actually got rid of it. That trifling son of a—

“The fuck you doin’ out here dressed like that?”

The sound of his voice made you freeze and caused every nerve in your body to flicker. You turned slowly, heartbeat hammering. There he was, the bane of your existence looking annoyingly handsome and sweating through a gray tank top so damp it clung to every carved inch of his torso like a second skin. A black gym bag was slung over one shoulder, the strap dragging across the round curve of his delts. His shorts were loose but not loose enough, there was a very distinct eight inch bulge pressing forward, barely restrained, and you knew he was already more than halfway hard.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it as his eyes roamed and his tongue pressed against his cheek like he was already chewing on the storm you dragged with you. “I said…” He walked up the steps, each footfall heavy. “What in the entire fuck is this?”

You straightened your back, fists curled in the pockets of your coat. “I came to talk.”

“To talk?” he repeated, voice dropping to an octave that wasn’t soft or friendly, just low like fire burning underneath your skin. “You tryin’ my patience, woman. Look at you. Out here in the middle of the night dressed like a five dolla’ whore. You really this desperate?”

You squinted your eyes and clenched your fist tighter inside of your pockets. “You got rid of my key.”

“Damn right I did.”

“So that’s it, huh? All that time we spent together and you treat me like I was just… disposable?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You fucked on another nigga, then you wanna stand on my porch talkin’ ‘bout what I did?”

“You cheated on me first, Elias! You didn’t even claim me and I still let that shit slide! The one time I gave you a taste of your own medicine, you ghosted me like I was a side chick and took away my key like I ain’t never meant shit to you!”

His stare didn’t falter. It was as if what you were saying to him went in one ear and out the other. He didn’t bother engaging in an argument with you or meeting your tantrum with one of his own. Instead he looked at you and the wheels in his head began to turn. A breath slid through his teeth, low and crooked, like he couldn’t believe he was wasting time hearing you speak when your coat was flaring just wide enough to expose a hint of candy red lace underneath.

His eyes sharpened like broken glass and then the smirk came. One side of his mouth pulled back lazily like a lion watching a rabbit try to make demands. “So that’s why you here.” He dragged his eyes back up, voice curling around every syllable. “Lil’ nasty.”

You didn’t even blink when he stepped right up in your space, towering over you, his body hot and damp and stinking of exertion. He still smelled like whatever cologne he wore to the gym. It was expensive, dark, and spicy, but beneath that was him. Pure Stack. Sweat, testosterone, disrespect, and everything your body was already begging to wrap itself around.

He adjusted the strap of the gym bag and pushed past you like you were nothing more than an object in the way. You caught the heat of his bicep as it brushed your shoulder. He stopped at his front door and pulled out his key before turning the knob and opening it. To your surprise he didn’t step inside first. Instead he held the door open with one hand and looked over his shoulder at you. His eyes were darker now… full of mischief and hunger.

His voice dropped lower, forcing his Mississippi accent to hang heavy in the air. “Go ‘head, baby. Crawl.”

You blinked, heart punching your ribs. “What?”

Stack leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, cocked his head, and licked his bottom lip like he was savoring the sight of your confusion. “Since you wanna act like a bitch in heat, tryna hump whoever’ll take you…” He nodded toward the entrance. “Get on ya hands ‘n knees. Crawl inside. Show Daddy you know what you came here for.”

For a split second you didn’t move as your thighs squeezed together and the wetness you thought dried during the drive came back in full force. You swallowed down whatever pride you had left and let it rot where it stood.

The porch light stayed off. The street stayed quiet. The night wrapped around the two of you like it was complicit. For a long moment you just stood there, trench coat fluttering slightly around your legs, heels biting into the concrete, your mind screaming while your body leaned forward a fraction of an inch without permission.

Stack didn’t rush you as he stayed rooted in his spot like this wasn’t the most unholy sight he had seen all week. His eyes stayed locked on you, patient in the most infuriating way, like he already knew exactly how this was going to end and was enjoying watching you fight it.

“Clock tickin’, baby,” he drawled quietly, accent thick and lazy around the edges without softness. “Ain’t got all night. Legs already tired from the gym. Don’t make me wait.”

A lump bobbed in your throat and you hated that your knees trembled. Hated that your stomach flipped in that familiar way that always happened right before he stripped you of control. You peeled your hands out of your coat pockets slowly, fingers curling once at your sides as if bracing for impact. Then you bent.

The concrete was cold when your palms touched it. Rough and unforgiving material scraped faintly against your skin as you lowered yourself all the way down. Your trench coat fell open immediately, exposing lace and bare thigh to the night air. The stilettos made the position awkward and forced your back to arch instinctively just to keep balance while your ass lifted without you meaning to present it.

A sound left Stack’s throat, like a king satisfied with his subject. “Look at you,” he muttered, voice thick with that Delta drag that always made your insides melt and twist at the same time. “Ain’t shit changed. Still real pretty when you remember where you belong.”

Heat flooded your face and humiliation burned sharp and bright, chased immediately by lust so strong it made your fingers curl against the concrete. You crawled forward like he told you to, each movement obedient but shaky, heels wobbling, thighs brushing together, lace stretching tight across your body with every shift.

You crossed the threshold on your hands and knees, palms pressing into cool hardwood now instead of cement. The smell inside his house hit you instantly. Clean laundry, leather, his soap, and the faint metallic tang of bullets and blood that followed him everywhere. It wrapped around you like a memory you couldn’t escape.

Stack shut the door behind you and locked it. You barely had time to process it before his foot nudged your thigh, firm but not violent, just enough pressure to remind you who was setting the pace tonight. The toe of his sneaker tapped just beneath the curve of your plump ass like he was testing how obedient you were really going to be and if you were going to follow through with the filth you came here begging for. Like he wanted to see if the woman who stepped on his heart two months ago with venom in her eyes was really about to crawl back into it with no shame left to burn.

“Don’t stop,” he said behind you, voice thick and quiet, laced with something sticky and mean. “I ain’t tell you to pause.”

Your knees scooted forward across the hardwood, muscles shaking as you forced your hands to move again. You had made it halfway down the hallway, the heels on your feet doing more damage than good as they forced your hips higher and your back deeper into that humiliating arch he liked so much. Your palms were starting to sting and the material between your legs had turned from cute to torturous, soaked and clinging, as it stuck to your folds with every little motion.

Stack didn’t follow right away, you could hear him behind you, the quiet shifting of his weight as he leaned a shoulder against the frame and watched. You didn’t have to look back to know the expression on his face. It was the same one he always wore when he was winning. That infuriating calm, like none of this mattered to him.

Your fingers curled into the floor beneath you and you dragged yourself forward another foot. Then another. The silence pressed in on you and it was ironic how it was so loud it made your ears ring. The only sound was the faint creak of your heels and your own shaky breathing, each exhale catching as the air from the vents skimmed over your exposed skin.

By the time you made it past the hallway and into the wide mouth of the living room, your arms were aching and your pride was somewhere back on the porch. The soft lamp glow from the kitchen spilled across the floor in broken amber lines, casting your body in fractured shadows. You dropped your forehead against the hardwood, not from exhaustion, but to breathe through the heat blooming low in your stomach. It was unbearable now. This was the kind of ache that turned your thoughts into soup, made your jaw tighten and your mouth press shut to keep from saying something you couldn’t take back.

He let you stay there for a long minute. Just kneeling and waiting, trying not to fall apart before he even touched you again. Then the sound of footsteps filled your ears.Each one dragged with intent across the floor, cutting through the silence like the blade he kept hidden under his mattress.

He stepped into the living room behind you and stood there, long enough for the heat of his body to lick across your skin in a wave. You stayed exactly where you were, heart hammering against the floorboards, fingers trembling slightly against the wood.

“Look at you,” he said. “Actin’ like you ain’t just spend two months tryna replace me.”

You didn’t respond but you felt his presence shift behind you as he got closer and lowered himself down. His voice cut through the space between your shoulder blades like a brand being pressed to your spine.

“Raise it up.”

You knew what he meant. Your elbows bent immediately and you lifted your head from the floor before arching even deeper and spreading your knees. You pushed your ass back until your cheeks tilted up toward him, the lace cutting into your hips and barely covering anything now. The coat spilled open completely, bunching beneath your stomach like discarded evidence.

Stack exhaled hard through his nose. “That’s better,” he said, voice darker now, simmering under his accent like a storm behind his teeth. “Don’t come to my house beggin’ unless you prepared to earn it.”

His hand skimmed up the inside of your thigh, fingers tracing the stickiness smeared there, dragging unbothered circles into your skin like he had all night to figure out exactly how wet you were. He paused at the edge of your panties, thumb dipping beneath the elastic, pulling it to the side with a snap that made you gasp.

He stared silently for a moment and you could feel his eyes on your skin. That heavy intense stare he did whenever he was pretending not to be impressed. Pretending you didn’t still mean something to him.

“Damn,” he hummed. “You came here drippin’, huh?”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “I tried… I tried everything else...”

That made him laugh, like full on belly laugh.  “You think I give a fuck ‘bout what you tried?” His fingers slid down the crease of your folds without warning, dragging through your sticky honey like it was something that belonged to him. “You think I care you been ridin’ other dicks that ain’t make you cum?”

You gasped as his fingers brushed your clit, just once, before pulling back.

“I ain’t no substitute,” he said. “I’m the fuckin’ standard.”

You whimpered and your toes curled so hard inside your heels you thought they might snap off. His words landed heavy, settling deep in your chest and lower, right where your desires lived. You swallowed but your throat was dry and your skin buzzed like it was stretched too tight over your bones. He stayed pressed behind you for a heartbeat longer, letting the truth of it sink in and letting you feel how solid he was.

Just when you thought he was going to give you what you wanted, he pulled away. The loss of his heat was brutal. It left you empty and aching, forcing your hips to rock back instinctively like your body hadn’t gotten the memo yet. You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, fingers curling against the floor as you tried to steady yourself once more.

Stack stepped around you and dropped onto the couch with a careless sprawl, like none of this cost him anything. The cushions dipped under his weight. He leaned back, elbows spread wide, gym clothes still clinging dark and damp to his chest and thighs. Sweat traced slow paths down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his tank. His shorts sat low on his hips, the outline was still there and unmistakable. His third leg was so thick and heavy even without him touching himself.

He looked at you like you were an unfinished task. “You got two minutes,” he said, checking an invisible watch on his wrist, voice flat and merciless. “Convince me I should fuck you ‘fore I kick you out my house, take me a shower, an take my black ass to bed.”

Your heart slammed hard against your ribs.

“Two minutes,” he repeated. “That’s it.”

You didn’t argue or stall, the second the words left his mouth your body moved like it had been waiting for permission. You pushed up off the floor, heels wobbling and knees screaming as you staggered toward the bathroom. The light flicked on and you grabbed a washcloth from the rack before running it under warm water, and wringing it out fast while your hands shook with urgency and panic and need all tangled together.

You came back into the living room just as fast, cloth in hand, eyes already tracking him like a magnet. You dropped down in front of him, knees hitting the rug, trench coat falling open completely now as you reached for his thigh.

His hand shot out and caught your wrist mid-motion. “Nuh-uh,” he said quietly. “I ain’t tell you to touch me like that.”

Your breath came shallow. “I just wanna—”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, face close enough now that you could see the glint in his eyes. He was testing how far he could push you tonight since he was still pissed. “Don’t come at me with no damn rag. You know better than that.”

Your stomach flipped. “Stack—”

“Uh-uh.” His thumb pressed into the inside of your wrist. “Use ya mouth. Same way I taught you... If you still remember.”

Heat flooded your face and your thighs squeezed together. Shame and want twisted up so tight it made your head spin. You dropped the washcloth to the floor without another word and settled back onto your knees, posture straightening automatically, shoulders back, and chin lifting just enough to show him you were listening.

He leaned back again, spreading his legs wider this time, gaze never leaving your face. “Clock still tickin’, baby,” he said. “You wastin’ time.”

You scooted forward on your knees, hands resting on his thighs, thumbs brushing over damp fabric. You bowed your head and pressed your lips to his knee first, then higher, kissing the sweat-slick skin through the thin cotton of his shorts. Your mouth worked slow with devotion, tongue tracing the outline of his quad, teeth grazing lightly where you knew he liked it.

A quiet sound slipped out of him before he could stop it. You smiled to yourself and leaned in further, mouth open now, dragging kisses up his thigh and your hands tightening as your confidence crept back in. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his shorts and paused, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Please,” you said softly. “Let me.”

He stared down at you for a long moment. Then he nodded once. “Go on,” he said. “But don’t rush it. You rush, you done.”

You tugged his shorts down just enough to free him, the weight of him heavy in your hand, hot and already throbbing. You leaned in and dragged your tongue along the underside, slow and thorough, tasting sweat and salt and him. Your mouth closed around the head, lips stretching and tongue pressing flat as you took him in inch by inch, just like he liked.

His hand came up and tangled in your hair immediately, not pulling, just reminding you who’s in charge.  “There you go,” he groaned, voice low and thick. “That’s it... Show me you ain’t forgot.”

You worked him with your mouth, steady and eager, hollowing your cheeks, tongue tracing familiar paths. Your jaw ached but you welcomed it. You wanted to hurt. Wanted to prove something. Your hands slid up his thighs, nails digging in, grounding yourself as you took him deeper.

“Time still runnin’,” he reminded you. “Why shouldn’t I throw you back outside when I finish?”

You pulled back just enough for air, saliva shining on your mouth, your chin damp and eyes sharp when you looked up at him. “Because you like me right here,” you said confidently. “Because this is the only thing that gets you to shut you up.”

His mouth twisted with annoyance and he pushed your head back with two fingers under your chin, not rough, forcing you to look at him. “Nah,” he said. “You know what I think, sweetheart? I think you should go call that nigga you fucked. Bet he’d love to see you on ya knees like this. Go on. Call him.”

The words hit like a splash of cold water and gasoline all at once.

Your eyes flashed with anger. “Fuck you.”

He smiled wider, taunting you. “There it is.”

“You really sittin’ there actin’ brand new,” you shot back, voice rising and heat pouring out of you now that the dam was cracked. “Like you ain’t been runnin’ through bitches since the day I met you. Like I ain’t swallowed your lies and your dick with the same damn mouth.”

His brows lifted slightly amused at your audacity.

“I mirrored you,” you continued, getting to your feet, anger stiffening your spine, heels planting hard against the rug beneath you. “That’s all I did. I mirrored you. And suddenly it’s a problem when it’s not just you doing the dirt.”

He leaned back against the couch, arms stretched out against the cushions. “Difference is,” he said calmly, “I ain’t never pretended I was loyal. You knew the type of man I was ‘fore you got with me.”

“And I ain’t never pretended I was yours,” you fired back. “You don’t get to cheat on me and then act like I committed some unforgivable sin.”

His gaze dragged over you like a blade, not even bothering to hide the contempt crawling up the corners of his mouth. “You never was mine,” he said, voice dipped in venom now. “Just some decent pussy to fuck when I ain’t have nothin’ else to do.”

A breath left your chest like he had punched it out of you. You blinked twice and then your throat worked around the lump swelling up like fury and heartbreak at once. You knew Stack fought dirty. You knew it. And still, every single time somehow, he found new ways to dig beneath the skin and pull the ugliest parts of you right out in the open.

“Wow,” you whispered, voice raw. “That’s how you really feel?”

He tilted his head and smiled like someone who knew they were hurting you and liked how quiet it made you. “If I wanted somethin’ real, I would’ve picked a bitch that didn’t need to fuck somebody else to feel seen.”

You lost your mind for a second as you moved and your palm cracked across his face. Your fingers stung instantly from the hit and his head jerked a little from the impact, but his expression didn’t change. That same crooked grin stayed there, blooming wider now, like you had just handed him a gift.

“Damn,” he breathed, blinking slow. “There she go.”

“Fuck you, Elias,” you hissed.

He didn’t bother answering you with words.  One second you were standing in front of him, chest heaving, eyes burning, and the next his hand shot out and yanked you down onto his lap. You let out a sharp gasp, palms flying to his shoulders, and before you could push off, he twisted his body and pinned you underneath him on the couch. Your back collided with the cushion, coat open wide and legs spread by the force of his hips between yours. The position was too familiar. Too natural. Your body molded to it like it had been waiting.

His hands were on either side of your head, arms caging you in, tank top still sticking to his chest as sweat clung to both of you now. His eyes locked on yours, and his voice dropped to that lethal hush that always came before you lost all control. “I’mma tell you this one time an one time only,” he said, inches from your mouth. “Don’t put ya fuckin’ hands on me.”

You glared up at him, refusing to shrink beneath the weight of him. “You act like I’m supposed to forget all the shit you did and let you talk to me crazy just ‘cause your dick big,” you spat.

He leaned in closer, nose nearly brushing yours. “It ain’t just my dick that got you showin’ up in the middle of the night dressed like a whore.”

Your hand flew up to slap him again, but he caught it mid-air, fingers tightening around your wrist before pushing it back into the cushion above your head. 

“You think I ain’t peep that lil’ lingerie set?” he sneered. “That coat. Them heels. Walkin’ up to my door like a treat I ain’t earned. Baby, I own this pussy. Don’t matter what I say or do, you’ll always come back to me.”

“You don’t own shit!” you shouted, twisting beneath him. “I let you fuck me, that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like this—”

“You begged me,” he growled. “Ain’t no lettin’ me. You need me!”

“You need me!” you screamed back. “You're just too scared to say it!”

That cracked something open as Stack dropped his weight against you in one hard push, hips pressing into yours, and kissed you so fiercely it felt like a car crash. This kiss was lip bruising and tongue invading. The kind of kiss that destroyed logic and rebuilt it in his name. Your free hand clawed at his back. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so he could bite your bottom lip, breath mixing with yours, teeth scraping, mouths cussing between kisses.

“Stupid-ass bitch,” he gasped against your throat.

“Piece of shit motherfucker,” you panted, grinding up against him through your soaked panties.

His hips jerked at the friction, letting out a ragged breath that vibrated against the side of your neck. His teeth grazed the skin just below your jaw, not biting yet, just dragging slow like he was thinking about it. Like he wanted to leave a trail of bruises so deep even your next lifetime would know who you belonged to.

Your back arched off the couch, legs spreading wider without permission and heels digging into the cushions for leverage. The trench coat had bunched beneath you, and the lingerie clung to your body like second skin, sheer and stretched and soaked straight through.

Stack pressed his forehead to yours, eyes burning, breaths coming through his nose like he was holding back something ugly and hungry. “You think anybody else could handle this mouth?” he hissed. “You think that nigga you cheated with could deal wit’ you screamin’ an scratchin’ like this?”

“I wasn’t screamin’ for him,” you shot back, voice wrecked. “Wasn’t scratchin’ neither.”

He grinned with cocky triumph. “‘Course you wasn’t,” he said, tongue flicking the corner of his mouth. “Cause ain’t nobody ever fucked you like me.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at his arrogance. “Unfortunately.”

His hand shot down between your legs and pressed against the damp fabric of your panties, cupping you so hard your words turned into a stuttering breath.

“Still talkin’ crazy when this pussy cryin’ for me,” he growled. “You lucky I ain’t make you beg out loud in front of my neighbors.”

“Fuck you,” you gasped, hips grinding against his palm now, unable to stop.

He pulled the fabric to the side roughly, letting the elastic snap once before sliding two fingers along your drenched lips. He didn’t push his fingers in, just dragged the tips over your clit in tight, taunting circles.

Your head dropped back, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s what I thought. Same mouth that said I wasn’t shit… now you beggin’ me to fuck it full.”

You frowned and bit down on his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, to leave evidence and remind him that you weren’t just going to take this lying down… except that’s exactly what you were doing. Laid out under him, back pressing deep into the cushions, thighs spread, coat falling off your shoulders, heels still on. He smelled like gym sweat and pride and the type of anger that didn’t go away with time, only with friction.

He laughed quietly in your ear, voice sticky and dangerous. “A temper tantrum ain’t gon’ save you,” he said. “You came here to get used. So I’ma use you.”

“You keep acting like I didn’t let you,” you bit back, legs twitching around his waist. “Like you ever had control without me giving it to you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at you and stare down at you like he was re-reading a sentence that pissed him off. His lips twitched and he spoke. “You really sittin’ under me talkin’ like you special,” he said, voice drenched in disbelief. “You not. You convenient pussy. Easy an familiar.”

You blinked once, and the sting in your chest made your hands curl into fists. “Right,” you scoffed. “That must be why you nutted inside me four times last time and said you felt like crying when you had to pull out of me.”

His jaw ticked, the muscles underneath his skin showing his visible frustration. 

You smirked. “Oops. Forgot I wasn’t supposed to remember shit like that, huh?”

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“You know what?” he said, shaking his head, the smile on his face as ugly as it was honest. “I don’t even like you.”

“I don’t like you either,” you shot back, dragging your nails up his sides just to feel him twitch. “You think that dick of yours makes up for that trash personality.”

“Maybe it do,” he said, and shoved his hips forward once, hard enough to make the breath leave your lungs in a gasp as your eyes rolled back for a moment. “Cause it got you showin’ up like a damn junkie beggin’ for another hit.”

You sucked in air through your teeth, hands gripping the cushions beneath you, anger and want tangling together until they both combined into needy desire. Your chest rose and fell hard, sweat slicking your skin, hair sticking to your temples.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Elias,” you shot back, voice strained but biting. “You ain’t special either. You are nothing but a placeholder until I find someone better.”

Way to go, that was the straw that finally broke the camels back.

Something in Stack’s expression shifted. It was quieter and dangerous as the amusement drained from his eyes, and replaced itself with something focused and tired of the back-and-forth. He straightened over you, hands braced on either side of your head, studying your face like he was deciding how best to break you without touching you at all.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m done arguin’.”

Before you could respond, his hands went to your shoulders and dragged the trench coat down your arms, fabric sliding rough against your heated skin. You barely had time to register the cool air hitting your chest before he yanked the coat free completely and tossed it aside like trash. His attention dropped to the lace beneath, cherry red and vibrant against your skin.

His mouth curled. “Real cute,” he muttered. “Shame you think you get to keep this.” He hooked his fingers into the straps at your shoulders and pulled hard. The lace protested before it stretched and tore with a sharp rip that echoed too loud in the room.

Your breath caught. “Stack—”

“Oops,” he said flatly, not sorry in the slightest. He tore the rest away in quick, ruthless motions, fabric shredding under his hands until there was nothing left but scraps clinging uselessly to your hips. “Ain’t nobody else need to see you in this.”

Heat flared through you, equal parts fury and arousal. “You don’t get to decide that!”

He leaned down, face close enough that his nose brushed yours, eyes dark and unblinking. “Just did. Don’t like it, then leave.”

Then he pushed your knees apart wider and slid down the couch, grip firm on your thighs as he repositioned you exactly how he wanted. Your back arched instinctively, skin buzzing and legs trembling as he settled between them. The sight of him there, his broad shoulders filling the space, hands steady, and jaw set made your stomach twist tight.

He looked up at you once more. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound,” he said quietly, accent thickening, voice sharp with warning. “Tired of hearin’ that mouth.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You know that I can’t—”

His mouth met you without mercy. You didn’t even get to finish the sentence before his tongue pressed flat against you, licking up the mess you had made just by thinking about him. The laughter on your tongue died instantly, strangled into silence as your back twisted off the couch, hands scrambling to grip anything that would hold you down.

He didn’t ease into eating you out. There was no building or softness, just Stack’s reckless mouth moving like he had been waiting two months to remind you who the fuck you belonged to. Every lick felt personal and every swirl of his tongue was laced with malice and memory.

And then a sound that was small, high and involuntary broke loose from your throat. His head lifted and one eyebrow arched. You barely had time to blink before his palm came down hard on the inside of your thigh. The slap echoed like a gunshot in the room, heat blossoming where his hand struck.

You cried out in surprise, but quickly slapped your own hand over your mouth.

“Thought I said quiet,” he said without lifting his voice. “You act like you don’t remember how to fuckin’ listen.”

Then he dove back in, tongue flicking fast against your clit, lips sealing around it, sucking once more and just when you felt another moan building, another slap landed on the other thigh. This one was harder and stinged with correction. 

You jerked under him and whined. “Stack—”

Smack.

“You don’t follow my rules, you get punished,” he said against your flesh. “Ain’t nothin’ changed.”

You tried again and bit down on your knuckle. You squeezed your eyes shut and dug your heels into the couch cushion before lifting your hips as if that might help, as if meeting his mouth halfway would take the edge off. But Stack wasn’t letting up. His tongue flicked with devastating accuracy, and just when you thought he might give you a break—smack. Another hit. This time lower, right under the curve of your ass.

You whimpered, unable to hold it in.

“Every time you make a sound, sweetheart,” he said without pausing, “I’mma hit you harder.”

Another moan, this one sharper.

Smack.

Your thighs were shaking now, red and stinging, your body caught somewhere between unbearable pleasure and brutal discipline. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you open wider, mouth locked in place like he had nowhere else to be but right there, destroying you slowly, thoroughly, deliberately.

This went on for three minutes and then he just abruptly stopped. The sudden absence hit harder than any slap. Your hips jerked, chasing what disappeared, a broken sound spilling out before you could trap it.

Stack lifted his head and stared at you, mouth slick, eyes flat. “Still loud,” he said. Not angry. Just done. “Guess I gotta give you somethin’ worth all that noise.”

He rose to his feet without another word and left the living room.

You laid on his couch exposed, legs trembling, chest heaving, and skin still burning from where he had hit you. The quiet was unbearable and every second that passed amplified how you could feel your body screaming for contact while your mind spun in frantic circles, wondering what he was about to do.

You barely had time to gather yourself before he came back. Stack re-entered the room already stripping his soaked shirt over his head, fabric peeling off his skin and tossed aside carelessly. Sweat glistened across his chest and shoulders, muscles flexing as he rolled his neck once, twice, like he was resetting himself. Like he was preparing for work.

In his hand was a small black bullet vibrator. Your breath stuttered and he didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he bent down and picked up your phone from where it had slid onto the floor earlier. His thumb flicked the screen awake. One glance at the contact list. One name.

He smirked.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You really do keep trophies.”

“Stack,” you warned weakly.

He ignored you as he tapped the screen. The FaceTime ring tone filled the room, sharp and intrusive, bouncing off the walls. Your stomach dropped and the screen lit up with Calling…

He set the phone on the coffee table, angled just right so you could see it, so you could hear it. Then he crouched between your legs again, calm as an undisturbed river.

“Relax,” he said quietly. “The nigga ain’t answer yet.”

The ringing continued and your heart pounded so hard it made you feel light headed.

“Hang it up before he answers,” you snapped. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He leaned in close, voice low and even. “Teachin’ you how to shut up.”

Your skin crawled in anticipation, heat crawled up your neck, and your chest rose unevenly as you tried to keep still beneath the weight of that voice… That intent. One more ring came through the speaker of your phone before that dreaded FaceTime Connected sound blasted loudly. You gulped as the screen went to a live, front-facing video of the man you cheated on Stack with. 

His room was half-lit and he was sitting shirtless on a couch, blinking in confusion as he stared into the camera. “Hello…?” he said, rubbing his face. “Yo—who the fuck—?”

Stack didn’t even look up from between your thighs. “Bitch-ass nigga,” he said dryly, thumb still resting on the power button of the vibrator but not moving it yet. “What’s good?”

The man’s face twisted instantly. “Huh? Who the fuck is this? Where my girl at?”

You tried to sit up, panic flooding your body in waves, but Stack’s hand landed on your stomach, pushing you back into the couch like your body belonged to the furniture.

“She busy,” Stack said casually. “But I figured since you was so damn memorable, I’d let you watch how it’s really done.”

“Stack,” you hissed through gritted teeth, trying to grab the phone. “Turn that shit off—”

Stack pressed the vibrator directly onto your clit and your whole body bucked. The sound that flew from your mouth wasn’t human.

“That’s my woman!” your ex shouted, his jaw tightening on the screen. “You really went back to that fuck nigga? After everything he did? Have you lost your mind?”

Stack’s laugh rang through his living room like an angelic melody.  “Nah,” he said, keeping pressure on the toy with his palm as he looked directly into your pleading eyes. “You must’ve lost yours thinkin’ she actually belonged to you.”

You weakly slapped him on the chest. “E-Elias! H-Hang up!”

He shoved your thigh wider, eyes narrowing, tone turning darker.  “Nah,” he growled. “You wanted to be mouthy tonight. This the price.”

“Aye, fuck you, bruh,” the ex barked, voice rising now. “You outta pocket. Who the fuck even are you?”

“I’m the nigga that you’ll never be,” Stack fired back. “I’m the reason she won’t be answering ya texts anymore. I’m the reason she drippin’ all over my couch right now.”

“You sound real comfortable behind a screen, bitch,” the man snapped.

Stack finally looked up, sweat glistening across his chest, muscles flexing as he tightened his hold on the toy that was now pulsing rhythmically against your most sensitive spot. “I am comfortable,” he said into the screen, his voice calm and cruel, Southern syllables slithering out like a threat made of silk and blood. “I’m sittin’ on my own couch, shirt off, dick hard, while my bitch squirmin’ under me.”

You let out a strangled moan, hips bucking against the toy, one hand grasping at the armrest above your head while the other curled uselessly at your side. The vibrator buzzed in relentless, brutal circles against your clit, sending fresh waves of heat crashing down your spine like tidal water laced with shame.

Stack didn’t spare you another glance. His eyes were locked on the screen. The tight smirk on his lips made it clear, he wasn’t just speaking to your ex. He was performing. Declaring. Marking his territory with his chest out and his toy buried between your trembling thighs.

“You ever see her like this?” Stack asked, brows raised, tone sharp and casual like he was talking over a card game. “Nah. You ain’t never earned this.”

“Stack—fuck—I can’t—” your voice cracked, high and shuddering.

He looked down at you then and he saw everything. The tremble in your lip, the glassiness in your eyes, the way your thighs jerked with every pass of the toy, and how your back lifted off the couch like your body was seconds from coming completely undone. You were close, too close. Closer than he wanted anyone else to see you. 

Stack’s jaw ticked once, then he reached forward and ended the call.

Click.

The screen went black and he tossed the phone behind him like it wasn’t worth another second of his attention before looking back down at you. His woman. Spread out beneath him completely ruined and needy without him fucking you yet. On the edge of something too raw for pride to interrupt.

“Ion’ share,” he said simply, voice low, dragging and thick with possession. “Not even that part.”

Your hips jerked again, thighs trembling as you choked on another moan, but he didn’t let up. He pressed the toy harder on your clit, the rhythm brutal, your orgasm so close it felt like static in your veins.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You tried but you couldn’t stop your eyelids from fluttering. The pleasure was pulling you under too fast, forcing your mouth to hang open on a sound you couldn’t hold back.

“Look. At. Me.”

Finally your eyes met his and your body shattered as your climax hit like a car crash. Your legs clamped around his wrist, hips bucking, every muscle locking and twitching as the orgasm tore through you. You screamed without sound, hands digging into the cushions like you were trying not to disappear through the floor. Your whole body convulsed under his hand, thighs shaking violently, tears slipping down your cheeks as you rode it out in full view of the only man who could ever drag something like this out of you.

Stack just watched silently. His lips twitched into a smirk as you finally collapsed with your chest heaving like you had just run a mile. “That’s what the fuck I thought,” he said, pulling the toy back and tossing it to the floor like he was done with his appetizer and finally ready for the main meal.

You blinked up at him, dazed with your mascara streaked and body wrecked. But still there was that look in your eye. A bratty little spark that never died.

Stack saw it and his smirk deepened. He hovered over you, his breath heavy and hot as it poured down across your flushed face. His bare chest gleamed in the dim light, the scent of sweat and satisfaction clinging to his skin like warpaint. His forearms caged your head back in place, and he was far from finished.

You could feel his desire for you pressing right against your inner thigh. His dick jumped with excitement as his swollen tip left streaks of precum across your skin. Every inch of him hovered above you, commanding and still, like a beast watching his prey blink back into focus after the first strike.

“You look like you seen a ghost,” he said quietly, one brow raising. “That lil’ nut took it outta you?”

You swallowed. “You act like you didn’t just try to kill me.”

He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear, and dragged his words across your skin like teeth. “That nigga still breathin’. I was bein’ nice.”

Your eyes shut closed, breath catching as his hips pressed lower, the weight of him grinding against your bare center.

“But since you still wanna act like a mouthy lil’ bitch,” he continued, voice calm and sharp, “we can do this the other way.” Your thighs squeezed reflexively. He chuckled, deep and full of filth. “Ahh… there she go. Actin’ like she don’t love when I talk to her like this.”

You wanted to tell him to shut up. You wanted to say something mean and nasty, just to keep up the tension, just to keep the game going. But your mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Your brain was still recovering from the overload he gave you. All you could do was lie there, stripped bare of pride, heart hammering, and thighs still shaking in that aftershock rhythm.

He bit down on his bottom lip as his hands tugged your ruined panties down the rest of the way and off your ankles. His fingers trailed down the curves of your thighs with a sick kind of admiration, like he was preparing a meal he had waited too long to devour. His gaze dipped down between your legs, and he let out a low breath.

“Still twitchin’,” he groaned. “You that fucked up already? Two months without Daddy got you this sensitive?”

You managed a weak, bratty laugh. “Please. I’m just getting warmed up.”

He looked at you then and that trademark Stack expression spread across his lips like a storm: proud, annoyed, aroused, and possessive.

“Cute,” he said. “You still talkin’ like you in control.”

He spit into his hand before palming his dick and giving it a few tugs. Veins wrapping down his brown shaft like he was built to destroy and nothing else. He had the kind of dick that made your mouth water and your eyes widen. The kind of dick that made your thighs instinctively shift apart to make room even when your body was already shaking from everything he had just done.

“Turn over,” he ordered. “Face in the cushion. Ass up.”

You unintentionally hesitated and Stack was on you in an instant, flipping your body like you weighed nothing. He grabbed your hips and dragged them up until your knees sank into the couch and your ass arched high, back bowed, face buried in the cushion like a punishment.

“Yeah,” he praised, voice thick now, tone changing. “This how I like it. This how I missed it.”

His hands roamed down your back like they were retracing territory that had been stolen from him. His palms dragged along the curve of your spine, heat radiating through his fingers like fire looking for somewhere to catch. He gripped your waist again tighter this time before his thumbs pressed into the dips just above your ass as if molding you into the position he wanted, not what you thought you could give.

You were open and vulnerable in a way that should’ve made you ashamed, but all it did was make your walls flutter around nothing, already begging for him. Stack’s length slid between your swollen lips, heavy and dragging through the mess he just made, tip nudging your entrance without going in. And he just held it there as he let his possessiveness fester.

You could feel it before he said anything. How it boiled in his skin, pulsing behind his grip. That jealousy he never liked to admit. That quiet rage tucked beneath the bravado. It was all there, swelling under the surface, waiting for an excuse to come out and you were the perfect excuse.

His voice dropped lower and rougher. “You gave him this?” he asked, hips pressing forward just enough for the head to breach, then pull back again.

You opened your mouth to speak and swallowed the words back down.

“You let him touch what I broke in?”

You swallowed hard, face still buried in the cushion. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His hand came down hard on your tender ass, palm stinging against your skin, the sound loud and final. You jolted beneath him, a gasp falling out of your mouth before you could catch it.

Stack’s hand stayed there, firm and heavy like a silent warning. “You got me fucked up thinkin’ I’m just another nigga in rotation,” he said, grinding the tip against your entrance. “This mine. You don’t get to hand this shit out like clearance candy.”

Your hips jerked back on instinct, chasing the contact, the friction lighting you up in a way that made your thoughts scatter. The denial sat sharp in your chest, equal parts anger and need, and it made your voice come out reckless. “You don’t get to say that,” you shot back, breath uneven and fingers bunching the cushion beneath your cheek. “You don’t get to claim shit when you disappear whenever it suits you.”

His grip tightened, it was hard enough to make your body register it as a command. He leaned in, chest pressing along your spine and heat seeping through you like a warning flare. “I get to say and do whatever I want,” he replied, accent thickening, words cruel and dangerous. “You still spreadin’ yourself open for me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as he rolled his hips again, the head of him dragging through you with maddening patience. It felt like he was tracing your outline, memorizing every reaction and cataloging every twitch like proof.

“See that?” he continued, voice low near your ear. “That little shake. That’s you rememberin’.”

“I remember you lying,” you snapped, still bratting, still biting even as your knees trembled. “I remember you saying you’d be back and not showing up.”

His hand slid from your ass to your hip, fingers digging in, holding you steady. “An I remember you answerin’ texts you shouldn’t have,” he countered. “I remember you lettin’ another nigga think he had access.”

The tip pressed in a fraction, then retreated. Again. Again. Each time closer, each time crueler.

“You still wanna argue?” he asked softly. “We can argue like this all night, baby.”

Stack nudged forward just enough to make you gasp, not enough to satisfy, then pulled back again, leaving you empty and aching. Your thighs shook. A sound threatened to escape, and you bit it back, teeth sinking into the cushion. A quiet sound slid out of his chest as his hand left your hip and slipped beneath your thighs, fingers spreading you wider, lifting just enough to change the angle and steal what little balance you had left. The shift sent a sharp jolt through you, heat pooling fast and heavy. His thumb brushed your bundle of nerves once, feather‑light, like an accident he planned from the start.

“There it is,” he said, voice calm, almost patient. “That little twitch. You still wanna talk?”

You didn’t want to give Stack the satisfaction of giving up so easily as your mouth opened with something sharp lined up, something mean and clever, something that would keep the fight alive. Instead, another broken sound slipped out, thin and helpless, and you hated yourself for it.

He smiled without looking at your face. His thumb circled your clit again, firmer now, tracing slow, taunting paths that made your toes curl and your back bow deeper. You could feel him pressing into you at the same time, the head of him thick and insistent, slicker now. The heat of it pulsed against your inner walls, and you felt the telltale warmth spread where he leaked into you, sticky and undeniable.

“I know you feel that,” he taunted, almost conversational. “That’s from me bein’ backed up an irritated.”

Your breath came uneven, chest dragging air like it wasn’t enough. “You always gotta make everything a fight.”

He laughed quietly. “You the one who won’t shut up.”

His thumb pressed harder, just enough pressure to make you see stars. You tried to pull away, more reflex than plan, and his grip tightened instantly, fingers locking you in place.

“Uh‑uh,” he warned. “Stay.”

Your hips betrayed you, rocking back into his hand, chasing the contact even as your pride burned hot. He felt that too as he leaned in closer, chest brushing your back, voice dropping lower and heavier.

“Finish sayin’ whatever bullshit you had ready so I can finally fuck you proper,” he said. “Go on. Get it out.”

“I hate how you do this,” you managed, words breaking apart. “You act like you don’t care and then—then you—”

His thumb swept just right, and the sentence died in your throat. “An then I what? Huh? What does Daddy do to you?” he prompted, pressing into you again, letting more of that heat spill inside. You felt it this time, unmistakable, his need leaking into you as much as yours was pulling him in.

“And then you make me forget why I’m mad,” you admitted, breathless and angry at yourself for it.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

His hand moved with more purpose now, thumb working steady, fingers lifting your thighs higher to keep you open, exposed. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t let you drift. He kept you right there, suspended, arguing with him in half‑sentences and broken sounds while your body told the truth for you. The truth was, despite everything, you were his. You hated him. You wanted him. You were brattier than he could stand, and he was meaner than you could handle, and yet, here you were, strung out on his touch.

Stack kept his hand between your thighs until your legs trembled, until your head dropped forward, until the only sound leaving your lips was a strangled whimper. Then when you were back on the edge of no return, he pulled his hand away, and slammed himself into you with no warning.

You sobbed with delight from the sudden fullness, your hands clawing for anything to steady you as he bottomed out inside you, all that leaked frustration now buried deep in your walls, throbbing with each brutal inch.

His breath left him in a grunt. “Fuck.” All the anger, all the months of silence, the imagined visions of you with someone else, the ache of missing you but being too damn prideful to admit it… it all hit at once.

Stack gripped your hips like they were handles and dragged you back onto his dick with vicious, hungry strokes. His rhythm was punishing, each thrust landing like he was carving his name into you from the inside.

“You don’t get to leave me like that,” he growled, sweat rolling down his spine, skin slapping yours in loud, wet echoes that filled the room. “You don’t get to walk out, give this shit to somebody else, then come back actin’ like I owe you a soft welcome.”

You cried out beneath him, head dropping, arms collapsing beneath you.

“Couldn’t even breathe without thinkin’ about this pussy,” he spat, pace never slowing, dick punching into you with a rhythm that forced your body to comply. “Had me losin’ sleep. Dreamin’ ‘bout you. Wakin’ up hard, mad as hell I ain’t hate you enough to let it go.”

Your only answer was a cry that was raw and desperate and torn from your chest as his grip tightened and his body crowded yours. The couch groaned beneath you both, cushions dipping with every drive of his hips, the room filling with the sound of skin meeting skin and the rough drag of breath you couldn’t steady. Your thoughts scattered. Every time you tried to form a word, he stole it back with another thrust, deeper, firmer, and claiming space inside you like he was filling the silence he had carried for months.

He leaned in, chest pressed to your back, sweat slicking you together. His forearm slid beneath your thighs again, lifting, changing the angle, making everything feel sharper and closer all at once. The pressure bloomed, hot and demanding, and you felt how wet you were around him, how you took him without hesitation despite every argument you had thrown like knives.

“Say somethin’,” he urged, voice rough at your ear. “Say you hear me.”

“I hear you,” you managed, words breaking apart as your hips betrayed you, pushing back to meet him. “I hear all of it.”

He answered by setting a pace that made your legs tremble. His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, fingers spreading, holding you still when your body tried to run ahead of him. Then everything shifted as he hauled you up and over in one fluid motion, strength effortless, like he had been waiting for this angle the whole damn time. Your back hit the couch cushions again, breath spilling out of you as he folded you in on yourself, thighs pressed tight to your chest, knees hooked over his shoulders. Your body bent and open, nowhere to hide, nowhere to look but straight at him.

“Eyes on me,” he said, already there, already lined up.

His legs planted wide on either side of the couch, muscles locked, stance solid as he drove back into you. The change left you breathless and getting fucked like this felt different. Every thrust felt deeper and louder in your body. Every stroke pushed something loose inside you. Every pullback made your toes curl as he came right back in again, hammering with intent and with all that pent‑up frustration he had been carrying since you guys broke up.

You grabbed at his forearms, fingers digging in, nails leaving marks you would see tomorrow and pretend not to remember.

“Look at you,” he said, breath heavy now, eyes dark and fixed on your face. “Tryna argue with me when this how you fold.”

“I hate you,” you said, but it came out thin, breathless, wrecked by the way he filled you.

He smiled and let out a chuckle. “Say it with your eyes,” he told you, thrusting harder, hips snapping forward until the couch thudded against the wall. “Say you ain’t been thinkin’ ‘bout this every night.”

Your gaze locked with his, pupils blown, jaw tight as another wave rolled through you. You nodded once, sharp and helpless.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t lie to me now.”

His grip shifted, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you higher, folding you tighter until the stretch made your muscles burn. His legs braced, powerful, keeping him steady as he drove into you again and again, each stroke landing right where you were weakest.

The couch creaked under both of you, the rhythm harsh and unforgiving. You couldn’t catch your breath and your body was coiled so tight it felt like you were unraveling one nerve at a time. Stack didn’t let up. He didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. His eyes tracked every tremor, every twitch, like he was reading a code only your body could write. But then a wave of tightness squeezed his dick and he paused for just a second as his brows lifted.

“You tryna cum again?” he asked, words like smoke curling off a live wire. “Hmm? This dick got you feelin’ good?”

You whined and nodded as your thighs shook and clit throbbed in time with your heartbeat. He smirked and then spit. Thick and hot, the trail of it landing right between where you were joined. It dripped down, sticky and warm, and made your whole body jolt.

“Ight,” he said, the edge in his voice cutting deep. “I been doin’ all the work. Rub it out. Right now. Make a mess of that pussy.”

Your hand trembled as you reached down, fingers slipping between your folds, circling that swollen bundle like it owed you something. It was too much to handle with his dick buried inside of you, the way he held you there, stuffed full and stretched wide, and the filthy slick sound of everything between you amplified by spit and slick and need.

Your other hand reached out on instinct, bracing against the only thing that felt real, Stack’s lower stomach, firm and warm, rippling under your palm.

“Uh uh,” he warned, eyes narrowing with something darker. “Move that hand.”

You froze.

“Get that hand off my stomach an keep rubbin’ that clit.”

“I—I just needed—”

“You need to follow directions,” he cut in, voice sharp enough to leave marks. “Wanna cum so bad, but can’t even keep ya hands to yourself.”

You whimpered again, dragging your hand back to your side, focus breaking from the ache to the heat in his tone. But you didn’t stop touching yourself. You couldn’t. The pressure was too much.

“Daddy,” you whispered, desperate now, hoping the nickname might soften something, anything. “Please, Daddy—”

His face didn’t move. He didn’t show not even a flicker of sympathy. His jaw stayed tight, eyes fixed on your face like he saw through the plea and down into the part of you that was trying to manipulate him. “Oh now I’m Daddy again?” he asked, not amused. “You only call me that when you want somethin’.”

Stack held you there, folded and full, letting the words hang heavy while your body kept betraying you. You could feel it happening anyway, the way you clenched around him, the way your clit twitched beneath your fingers like it had a mind of its own. Heat spread and pooled, slick gathering faster than you could control. It leaked down, warm and shameless, making a soft sound every time he pressed deeper.

“There it is,” he said, voice cutting, eyes tracking the way your body responded. “Be a perfect lil’ slut an make a mess on me.” 

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, breath coming apart. “I—I—I—”

“Don’t tell me you can’t,” he cut in, rolling his hips just enough to make you gasp. “I can feel you. You grippin’ me like you scared I’m gon’ leave.”

He leaned in closer, one hand braced by your shoulder, the other steadying your thigh so you couldn’t close. His gaze never left your face as he spoke, like he wanted you to hear every word right as it landed. “Go on,” he taunted softly. “Rub it just like that. Small circles. Squeeze that pussy an cum for me.”

Your fingers obeyed, trembling, slick sounds filling the space between your bodies. The sensation climbed sharp and bright, making your toes curl and your back bow tighter. You could feel yourself leaking more now, heat spilling as the pressure built.

“That’s it,” he said. “See how wet you get when you stop arguin’?”

Your mouth opened on a sound you couldn’t stop, eyes squeezing shut as your hips jerked.

“Eyes open,” he ordered, tightening his grip. “I wanna see it.”

You forced them open, meeting his stare just as your body tipped closer to the edge. The look in his eyes was dark and intent, not cruel now, just focused, like he was guiding you through something inevitable.

“You right there,” he continued, voice steady, almost instructional. “That shake in your legs? That’s it comin’ on. Don’t fight it.”

Your breathing turned uneven, chest rising fast. “Stack, E-Elias— D-Daddy I—”

“Let it happen,” he said. “You leakin’ like that ‘cause you want it. ‘Cause ya body know where it belong.”

Stack watched you the whole time. He watched the way your brows knit, the way your mouth tried to hold back sound and failed, the way your thighs quivered against his forearms as he kept you folded and open.

“Mmmhmm,” he murmured, eyes narrowing as another shudder rolled through you. “There it is...”

You tried to speak again and couldn’t. Your fingers slick and shining kept moving just like he told you, small circles that tightened the pressure until it felt like your body was winding itself into a knot. The couch creaked as he drove in again, not harder, just deeper, making the fullness bloom and hold.

“Good,” he said, catching the hitch in your breath before it broke. “Stay with it. Don’t pull away now.”

Your head fell back against the cushion, eyes glassy as the heat climbed and hovered, bright and unbearable. The leaking turned into a steady spill, warmth spreading as your muscles constricted and grabbed without permission.

“That’s it,” he coached, tone unwavering. “You right on top of it. You ain’t gotta say nothin’. Just cum for me.”

The last sentence tipped you over. Your body seized and shook, legs drawing tight as the release tore through you in long, rolling waves. A sound finally escaped, broken and honest, as you rode it out, breath stuttering while he held you exactly where you were, steady and present through every tremor.

Stack stayed buried deep, letting you finish on him, letting your body milk every last aftershock without interruption. He watched your face as it happened, watched the way your jaw slackened and your eyes glazed, watched the way your fingers curled uselessly at his forearms like you needed something solid to keep from floating away.

When the shaking eased and your breath finally found a rhythm again, he shifted and the change pulled a startled sound from you, oversensitive and spent, and that’s when he finally let himself react. A low groan rolled out of his chest, rough and dragged straight from his gut as hips started to move again with intent that had nothing left to prove to you and everything to prove to himself.

“Ight,” he said, voice strained now, edges fraying. “My turn.”

He adjusted his stance, legs planting wider, muscles tightening as he set a pace meant for him. Each thrust was full and claiming, the kind that dragged sensation from your spine down to your toes even though you were already wrung out. You felt how hard he was, how slick he had made you both, how his control shifted from instruction to hunger.

His hand slid to your hip, fingers digging in possessively. “Look at you,” he taunted. “Two times an you still takin’ me like you ain’t tired.”

You tried to answer and couldn’t. Your body answered for you, soft and open and still welcoming every drive.

“That’s what get me,” he went on, breath uneven, jaw tight. “You talk all that shit but ain’t nobody else gettin’ this. Ain’t nobody else see you like this an live to tell it.”

His rhythm grew heavier, more insistent, the couch rocking beneath you both. He leaned in, forehead brushing yours, eyes locked on your face like he needed to see exactly who he was finishing with.

“You mine tonight,” he said, ego flaring as the pressure built. “Say it.”

You could barely form a thought, let alone a word, but that didn’t stop your lips from parting, voice raw and sweet from overuse. “I’m yours.”

That was all Stack needed to hear before a growl tore from his throat like it had been caged too long. His grip shifted, possessive hands dragging your hips down to meet every bruising thrust. The sound of your skin meeting and the sloshing of your wetness filled the room but he didn’t let up. He fucked you like it was the last time. Like someone might steal you if he didn’t leave his mark in every damn place they could reach. Like he had been starving for months and your body was the only meal worth waiting for.

“That’s right,” he gritted out, voice rough and strangled now. “Say it again. Say who this pussy belong to.”

You tried to speak again but all you managed was a broken moan and his name on a breath that sounded more like worship than surrender. Stack leaned over you, sweat dripping down the angle of his neck. His chest heaved, body strung tight with all that possessive rage simmering just beneath his skin.

He spat on his fingers before sliding them on your overworked clit again while he kept pounding into you, each stroke hitting deeper than the last, chasing his own high now with no regard for mercy.

“Say it.”

“Y-you—E-Elias, it’s yours—it’s always been—”

“Damn right,” he snapped, body trembling now. “Ain’t no other motherfucker ever gonna touch what’s mine. Not ever again!”

And then you felt it, that slight hitch in his movement, that drop in control, and that telltale sign that he was seconds away from losing every ounce of composure he had left.

Your legs gave out as you had finally reached your own limit for the third time tonight and were done fighting it. “D-DADDY—”

“I know,” he breathed, voice breaking. “I know, baby.”

He slammed into you one last time and stayed there, everything in him going rigid as he spilled inside you, warmth flooding your insides in waves. His jaw tensed, teeth bared, and his breathing became heavy as he heaved through flared nostrils while his orgasm tore through him. And he stayed buried in your pussy like it was his second home. Arms braced around your trembling thighs, eyes locked to yours even as they narrowed from the intensity.

Stack stayed buried deep, twitching inside you, body refusing to move even after the worst of it had passed. His breath came ragged now, chest rising like bellows, nostrils wide, jaw still locked like he didn’t trust what might come out if he opened his mouth too soon. Sweat beaded at his temples, rolled down the line of his neck, dripping onto your collarbone like proof that he had left every drop of himself inside you.

He moved, barely, but just enough to lean forward and press a kiss to your forehead, and even that felt like a threat wrapped in tenderness. His weight dipped, elbows framing your head as his palms flattened beside your shoulders. His hips jerked once, deep and involuntary, and it pulled a gasp from both of you. Yours was softer, stunned; his like he was mad sex with you still felt this good even after the fight, even after the mess.

Your fingers moved instinctively, trying to remold his damp waves back into place, trying to soften him, but he didn’t want soft from you. Not yet.

“Uh-uh,” he warned, grabbing your wrist and pinning it down to the cushion beside your head. “You don’t get to touch me all sweet and pretend like you ain’t start this shit.”

You squinted your eyes ready to rebuttal his claims, but he tilted his head, eyes sharp, daring you to test him again. “I said you mine,” he breathed. “You’ve been claimed. Ain’t no goin’ back. Not after this.”

He pulled back just enough to look between your bodies and see the creamy mess already starting to spill from where you were stretched around him, at the obscene mix of arousal and release that soaked both your thighs and glistened in the low light. He groaned under his breath, rough and pained.

Then without warning, he rolled his hips again, slow but deep, grinding his softening dick inside you like he wanted to push everything back in.

“Still fuckin’ twitchin’,” he said, eyes narrowing again. “Greedy ass pussy… We got two more rounds left before I forgive you. Turn over again, baby.”

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Author's Note: Let's just pretend I haven't been withholding these updates again *cough* I'll be back 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️

[solarssins]

Honestly truly, this gave me some crazy inspiration. Let me lock tf in. And fuck big dick Stack, he always mean with his big dick and shit😒