AIN’T • ONE • OF • THEM
part one • 2000s!au annie x smoke • smut
preview: “This what you wanted, huh,” he threw back hotly. His cadence was slow. Tone thick and heavy with the heat that had entered the room. “See you be fuckin’ wit’ them young niggas,” he roared, anger beading off of him in the form of sweat and his palm to her ass, “but I ain’t one of them, baby. This real grown nigga shit ‘round here, and it’s time you fully get a taste of who you fuckin’ wit’.”
cw: daddy!smoke, mean!smoke, older!smoke, younger!annie, bratty!annie, masturbation in the presence of another, edging, spit, degradation, he’s realll mean, spanking, choking, belt to assss (literally), use of the nword
a/n: INSPIRED BY BBB BY JUVENILE FT MEG!!! that shit been stuck in my head since it came out lmaoooo. as soon as i heard i just knew it was only a matter of time before the writing bug caught me smh
part two; part three.
masterlist
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Smoke wasn’t a nigga to be fucked with, and everybody in and around Jackson, Mississippi knew that to be a fact. He ran shit—had been running it since he and his brother left Clarksdale for something deeper South; and way before then, too. Everywhere he went, his name was known, felt in the way it penetrated a heart like a bullet to soft flesh. Most notoriously, folks knew the twins by the businesses they’d run for decades: Auto body shops as covers; Laundromats to clean the money they earned off doing illegal shit; Towing companies because multiple streams never hurt. Kept the cops from poking around in they business—but everyone knew.
As a result, the man was well respected, and his success was looked at as something to attain. But it didn’t come by with luck. It was strategy, planning, real hands-on, back-breaking, soul-cursing work—but he did it anyway because he had real shit to handle.
When people saw Smoke coming, they moved off sidewalks to clear his path or dapped him up real polite-like. Some people would watch as he strided with a head held high, shoulders back, and jaw clenched. And they’d wonder what was circling around in the head of a man like that—giant as he. He was mystique personified—quiet, hearty, confident, edged with something raw and dangerous.
The only person who didn’t give a shit about his reputation, though, was Annie Laveau.
She was a young thing he’d been fucking around with—just by a few years. She was slick at the mouth and thick in the thighs with pretty brown skin that shined brighter than any piece of jewelry a reckless nigga like Smoke had ever bought. She’d turned his head without trying too hard, and she had him keeping tabs on her before she even allowed him to hear the sound of her name fall off her lips.
But, of course, she knew Smoke Moore; She had to be living under a rock to not have heard of the SmokeStack Twins, but he didn’t need to know all that, didn’t need to know she had always dreamed of the care he gave her: older man putting money in her pocket and checking her when her mouth breathed too hot a fire. It made her insides blaze to see that flashing in his eyes. When he’d have just enough of her disrespect, she could always tell the instant when she’d go from flat on her feet to laid on her back.
~~~~~
The pale blue Cutlass blazed through the city, cutting the air in half as it rode low and controlled. A veined hand gripped the wheel taut while the other settled around a pre-roll. Smoke curled in the dusky air—of the man’s namesake—brushing past his knuckles as he urged the vehicle toward the edge of town.
The young woman had always been an anomaly to him, especially when he learned of how far out she lived. Most of her time was spent in Jackson—working, hanging with friends, running the streets—but the rest of the time, she was at home, 20 minutes away from all the noise in the middle of the woods. And Smoke didn’t care. It only peaked his interest and made him want to know more about her, what about quiet pulled her to live where sound hardly penetrated.
The woman didn’t know he was coming, but she could sense it. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, her thighs clenched tight. Smoke always had that effect on Annie. Even now with a tight nightgown on, her hair wrapped up, and her body begging for a sleep it wouldn’t be awarded for hours to come. When she finally heard the road of his engine, she sat up quick, hand fumbling for the remote to turn off the newest episode of that one Wayans Brother show ‘bout the wife and kids.
Her skin prickled in heat and desire, and no matter how hard she fought to push it away, nothing worked. He was revving that engine, testing her affinity for quiet—though he shared the same characteristic. Her eyes drifted toward the full-length mirror across the room, raking over her appearance and satisfied with what she found.
This nigga can’t never come at an appropriate time, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes as she crossed her bedroom. Spraying perfume in the places his nose gravitated toward the most—her neck, titties, wrist, ankles, the back of her knees—the woman heaved a nervous breath. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she’d been on edge recently, increasingly needy for a feeling only Smoke could give her. Her lower body thudded with each engine cry, and her fingers pulled at each other in anticipation.
Suitcases thudded around in the backseat as the rugged man traded pavement for rock and dirt roads. He could just barely make out the glow of her home beyond the trees, so he revved to announce his presence. Revved again to let her know that he expected the door to be open for him when he got there. He wasn’t in the mood for games tonight. He needed his soft place to land, but in the backseat, the suitcases reminded him that he didn’t have much time to be idle.
Business trip. Few states west. Normal for a man like him with his hand too deep in foul shit.
Rolling his shoulders back, Smoke pulled the car to a slow stop outside Annie’s home. He surveyed. Made sure everything was as he left it. When he walked toward the front door, he shifted toward her car. He slow-walked it, head tilted to the side as he eyed the rear driver’s side tire—nearly flat.
“This woman,” he huffed, annoyed but never uninvested in assisting her. He was back at the Cutlass in three short steps, throwing the trunk open and fishing for his air compressor. It took two seconds—would have been quicker if it wasn’t dark outside—but the tire was reinflated with ease. He filed the instance away, marking up a mental todo list so he could get her a new set of tires when he was back in town. It wasn’t the first time he’d had an issue with her and that old ass car. She refused to let him buy her something new, refused to listen to him about keeping it checked up on, refused to let him do the checking.
While his auto body shop was a cover, the man was still passionate about vehicles, and she knew that. But Annie always had to be right no matter the situation or argument.
Attention restored to his original task, Smoke bounded up the steps. Hands on the knob, he readied himself to open the door that should have been unlocked, and when he tried?
Nothing.
No turn. No push open.
The grunt couldn’t keep itself down, because he knew for a fact she’d heard him coming, and if she hadn’t, she for damn sure heard him opening and closing his trunk, filling her tire, and walking up them steps. It was dead quiet, the only sound being cicadas and toads, and she was on the other side of that door playing with him.
“You betta’ bust a move and open this door, woman,” he shouted through the wood, not even caring to knock. He could practically hear her snicker, could see the smirk growing on her lips. “Yeah, you laughin’ now,” he gritted his teeth, speaking under his breath. His eyes drifted to the doorknob and remained there—locked in. “You laughin’ but just wait til I get my hands on you.”
The threat was clear, too damn clear, and across the house in her bedroom, Annie’s heart pitched in fear. She always loved pushing him, but it was late and he was tired. She knew he’d have her ass hanging off the side of the bed with no mercy if she didn’t act fast, and even though she’d probably end up in that position anyway, she at least wanted a chance at seeing the sweeter side of him tonight.
But, God, did she like it rough.
And Smoke's rough wasn't like any other roughness she could have found out in the wild. He laid hands better than any preacher in the Delta; He spoke truth to life better than any church mother this side of the Mississippi. When she needed to be handled, his roughness did the talking; But his sweetness was one of a kind, too. The man cared for her, kept her safe, kept money in her pocket, took her on dates and made everyone know she was his—though she fought him on that fact—and he knew how to fix her grandaddy's beat up Chevy Caprice like he'd manufactured it himself.
Keeping that in mind, her legs swung over the edge of her bed once more, and her feet carried her to the door of her bedroom. Through the doorframe and down the hallway she went to answer the man's call, and when she swung the front door open, he appeared to be that perfect, beautiful roughness right there in front of her.
"Who the fuck you think you talkin' to like that, Smoke," she sassed immediately, not letting him hear the way he made her feel. But he could see it in her eyes, how they lit up as his jaw clenched.
"I'm talkin' to the woman that can't keep that damn Chevy in workin' order," he growled, pushing his way into her home. His shoulders brushed hers, causing her heart to race at the feeling of his body in such a close vicinity. But her head spun when he kept walking, feet on a mission to her kitchen. She loved the way he took up space like he owned it, loved his unapologetic nature that came with an ease she had worked to understand.
Annie followed behind him, watching his upper back take over her home, the slight sway of his arms, the soft swirl of his hips.
"I don't know why you won't let me get rid of that thang for you," Smoke mumbled, washing his hands clean of the slick oil that coated his fingers. "It's too much trouble, and you deserve somethin' nicer."
"That thang is my granddaddy's car," she bit back with a nasty attitude. “I don’t need anything else ‘cause if it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.”
“That’s dumb logic.”
She rolled her eyes when he turned around just so he could see her annoyance. And in retaliation, he wiped his hands on her good towel just like she’d told him not to plenty of times before.
"What you doin' here anyway," she wondered aloud, confusion between her brows. "It's late, and I was on my way to bed. Then here you come bein’ loud in that Cutlass, tryin' to wake the dead."
"Oh, so you did hear me comin'," he griped. His veins bulged, forehead taut.
"Smoke," she sighed, rolling her eyes so hard that the man thought they'd get stuck.
"Nah," he refuted, shaking his head and stepping into her personal space. When he took a step forward, she took one back. "You knew I was outside and you ain't have that door open?"
"Smoke—"
"You testin' my patience, baby," he spoke strained. His neck craned to the side, taking in the way she kept backing up away from him. "I came all the way out here to get a piece of you 'fore I go on this trip, and now you wanna cut up?"
"How you know I wanna give you a piece," Annie questioned breathily. She was at the end of the line, back hitting the wall as he only increased his speed toward her. Her chest rose quick, protest in her throat but body completely caving already. She wanted it, needed it: that sweet roughness. She could hear the jingle of his belt, and her throat jumped at the thought of it wrapped around her neck like last time. Her eyes drifted down, the memory pulling her away for a moment too long.
Following her stare, Smoke took a long look at his belt, too. The memory burned just as hot for him, and the grin that blazed on his lips showed that the woman was in for it tonight. He reached a hand up, ghosting the nightgown and comparing the fabric to her skin. Her breath hitched each time he ventured off, and when his hand found purchase on her throat, she was about ready to call an audible.
"Baby," he breathed, voice dusky and raw. It made her insides churn and her head drift just a tad bit closer. But the man had her locked in place, grip constricting her movement—and breathing—bit by bit. "You ain't gotta want to do a damn thing. That’s my pussy, and she know it, too. Now fix that attitude before I gotta do it for you."
"Whatever," Annie mumbled, lips tight. She tried to face away but it was no use. At her lower body, her thighs were pressing together. A little further up, her arms were crossed beneath her breasts.
"You lookin' real pretty," Smoke complimented. His eyes were on her chest, the way her cleavage spilled out of the dress. "Think that's 'bout the best purchase I've ever made." It was a gift from weeks ago, but she hadn't let him see it on her body yet, and he was completely done pretending like the sight didn't make him want to pounce. It fit just right: having her titties high, her belly prominent, and her thighs flushed. It ended well before her knee, and barely covered anything, and she looked good as hell.
"Thank you," the woman blushed, throat still in his grip. He moaned at the sound, sweetness finally making its way through her brattiness—for now.
"You gon' be a good girl for me," the man asked darkly. He guided her body away from the wall with the palm to her throat and another at her waist. Each step brought her closer to her bedroom, each second that passed without a response brought her closer to a danger she couldn't live without.
Annie had been with a plethora of men, but none of them had been like Smoke. Where he was confident, they were insecure. Where he was a nigga driven by determination, they had no drive—no vision. Where he was a man that could dick her down for hours on end, they could only last minutes in her softness. And where he was dominant, they simply allowed Annie to walk all over them. But not Smoke; He was solid, and they both knew she needed that.
"I asked you a question, babygirl," he near growled as they passed through her bedroom door, but her mouth was still shut, mind clouded by her need to be put in her place. When he tsked, it was only a matter of seconds before he had her turned in the opposite direction, back to his chest. The older man worked his jaw, trying to reel in some of the aggression in his system, but it was no use; Annie was laughing.
“What’s so fuckin’ funny,” he barked, pulling her into his chest. His hand wrapped around her wrists, holding them at the top of her ass.
But she didn’t stop.
She just kept laughing. Louder and more insistent.
Smoke had had enough. Enough of her disrespect. Enough of her bratty behavior.
Bending Annie over the edge of her bed, he dared her to move, and she didn’t. But she did laugh—cackle even. It baffled the man and pissed him off past the point of being able to cope. The sound of metal flashing against leather filled the air, instantly replacing the hilarity in her throat. The young woman’s laugh died down into a fit of giggles, rumbling in her chest as she waited for her punishment to arrive. She wanted it, needed it, and when his belt rained down on the skin at the back of her thighs, she began to hiccup.
The pain was sharp, cutting at her deep brown skin and settling heavily. It lingered between the time he raised the belt above his head and brought it back down again. Livid was just one word to described the man. Aroused was a word that described them both. The grip of his palm around the leather brought heated friction to his skin, sparking up the emotion in his belly just as much as the bounce of the belt off her backside did. He became transfixed by the sound and sight. Annie was moaning, hiccuping around the giggles she wouldn't give up, and her thighs kept drifting closer to his hand, in need for more. Between her legs, her pussy throbbed.
"You like this shit," he accused with strain in his voice. His body was rumbling, belt raining down violently in the most perfect way. The accusation caused Annie to moan deeper. Her fingers tangled in her silk sheets, clawing for something to settle the rapid beating of her heart. He was taking her through the motions, completely unrelenting the entire time. “You fuckin’ slut,” he groaned, sweat prickling his forehead.
“Yes,” she moaned, rubbing her thighs together for more friction, and it only made him go harder.
The belt traveled higher—going from her thighs to the fat of her ass. Her gown had rode up high, exposing her skin and the black thong barely covering her pussy. Welps the color of red wine rose on she body, and down her face, tears as salty as the sea mingled with sweat just the same.
“Da-Daddy,” she choked. Her giggles were fully gone now, no more laughs filling the room. Just cries. Just pleads. Just calls of the man’s title she’d learned through experience only. The sound of her cry only made him scoff, so she reached back in search of the hand that had remained planted at her lower back. “Please, Daddy,” she begged once more, pulling at his wrist, not even knowing what she needed from him.
“You wanted this, remember?” The question was mocking, cutting through her and leaving her whimpering. “You wanted this when you heard me down that road. When I pulled up and you sat in this room like you wasn’t expectin’ me. When I had to fix that fuckin’ tire again. When you was mouthin’ off. I’m just givin’ you what you beggin’ for.”
The anger in his tone did nothing to quell her arousal and pain. She needed him—just like this—and she’d gotten that. But now she needed more.
Each time the belt landed, her body shook. She broke more every second. Annie could feel her heart stopping and her frame giving out from all the heavy pressure. Her stomach curled, and it felt like she was going to die—heaven flashing behind her eyes. But then, one last swipe of his belt hit her ass, and she came right there: on the edge of her bed with her gown up past her hips and her face buried in the sheets.
It was a full body breaking. From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, everything tightened before the pull snapped in half. She convulsed all over, crying in a pleasure she couldn’t possibly describe.
Smoke was appalled. His arm was reared back high in the air, paused as he watched her climax rip through her. She’d never come this prematurely, never came without direct permission.
“The fuck,” he mumbled in disgust and disbelief and delight all at once. She looked damn good, pussy leaking through her panties, all over her thighs, and down on the silk sheets. She seemingly had a talent that they’d both just discovered together; But this was already a punishment, and now she was blatantly disobeying his rules.
Smoke’s belt clambered to the floor, landing in a heap as he pulled his pants and briefs down his legs. His shirt was next to be torn from his body, ripped over his head quickly so his attention could stay locked on Annie who was clawing her way up the bed. The young woman knew what was coming, but she was still trying to save herself. In the midst of her climax—pussy still constricting, clit still throbbing—she could sense his anger, could feel it towering over her trembling frame.
“Turn that ass over,” he demanded while following after her. He grabbed her feet, flipping her body with a quickness so that her back met the cool temperature of the sheets. She was yanked down just enough, panties ripped off, gown tossed over her head, legs cranked open, and knees pushed into her chest.
Then he devoured her.
Locking his mouth around her dripping arousal, Smoke swallowed every drop of her cum. He sucked hard, lapped like a madman on his way to the electric chair. And Annie still hadn’t recovered from her orgasm. She was running from his tongue and praying to the Lord above for a calvary that wouldn’t come. She was at the older man’s mercy, and she had rightfully earned her punishment.
His hands stayed at the back of her thighs, pressing against the deep purple and red bruises to ensure that her legs stayed right where he wanted them. Her next orgasm was approaching fast. He could feel it in the flutter she was trying to conceal, and her moans and cries had evolved into gasps and chirps—one of the prettiest sounds.
Tongue working overtime, he swirled her clit, drawing more of her arousal from her entrance before dipping his tongue there. He drank from the source and moaned at its sweet and savory tang.
“Best pussy and nigga like me don’ ever had,” he groaned into her parted legs. Annie squealed from the vibration of his words, hands falling to his shoulders for stability. Then he smacked the side of her ass, growling deeply as he pushed her further into the bed.
“Smoke,” she gasped, throat raw. “I can’t ta-take it, Daddy!”
“Yes, you can,” he persisted roughly, palming her ass where his belt had landed the hardest. It stung just right. “You my good girl, ain’t you?”
While he uttered the words, he never once pulled off of her. He kept going, speaking between laps at her clit, eyes boring into hers and beckoning her to speak. He was still pissed about everything, but she had a way with him. Annie was the only person who could cause him to forget every lick of sense he had, but the night was still young.
“Ye-yes,” she replied, shaking on his tongue. Satisfied, the man fully dove back in, eyes now locked on the way her belly folded, the way her titties bounced, how her thighs were warm to the touch from her punishment.
Outside, suitcases sat at the ready for the trip he needed to take—somewhere far off and dangerous. But inside, he had his favorite and only girl ready to break open for a second time, and he hadn’t even begun to fuck her properly yet.
Pulling away from her with a pop, the man stood back, stroking his dick from base to tip while he watched her gain her bearings. Annie was locked up in shock, confused why her pleasure had been so suddenly stopped, misunderstanding that she wasn’t supposed to be enjoying herself in the first place. When her eyes fluttered open, her breath caught in her throat. The veins in Smoke’s hand bulged as he pumped his length, biting his bottom lip while getting off to the sight of her. It was too much, and it was too late at night, and she felt too open—but her legs didn’t close. She let him watch and indulge in her deliciousness: thighs coated in his anger and her cum, the two mingling perfectly.
Her hands drifted over her body, fingers ghosting skin softly. She pulled at her nipples, pressed her titties together—all while he watched and jerked off.
“You like that, Daddy,” she whispered into the air, dying to hear his answer to her question, though she already knew it. Of course he liked it—the man fucking loved it. She was putting on the prettiest show, flaunting her wet, tired, fucked out body just for him.
Smoke’s hand sped up as an answer to her question, but his mouth stayed closed. Then Annie got up on her knees; And winked; And turned around; And moved to all fours before arching her back, and the man had to stop himself from cumming then and there. His fist paused mid stroke, tightening around his dick and locking like a vice. She knew how much he adored her ass: when she switched her hips; when her too-little dresses rode up her thighs; and, especially, when she was bent over like this with nothing obstructing his view.
“Fuck, baby,” he sighed dreamily, taking one step in her direction. He pushed through the rough heat in his throat as she commanded his attention with ease. His fist worked his tip, keeping the head swollen as he noted the way she clenched around nothing. Her pussy was gaping, begging for attention. He shook his head like he’d been daydreaming. “You make it so hard to stay mad at you.”
“I know it,” she chuckled earnestly. Her head was thrown to the side of her body, watching how he stood behind her with his eyes held up in admiration. Biting the tip of her nail, she reached back with the other hand, ghosting her pussy lips. “Just put the tip in,” she whined, circling her clit lazily as she watched. She knew he was trying not to cum so early, but they both needed just a little bit more sensation.
Smoke felt his lower body spark from the persuasive tone. Annie was always good at ushering him in whatever direction she wanted him to go. It always started slow—in this instance with her arching in front of him—then it ramped up to her calling his name sweetly or full on pouting over what they both wanted.
He took another step forward, and his dick was just inches from her drooling center.
“Just the tip?”
His question was full of sarcasm, exasperated laugh tumbling into the room. He shook his head again, once, then he persisted.
When he penetrated her velvet walls, they both had to refrain from pressing any closer together. Smoke’s hands found Annie’s hips, and the woman’s eyes moved to stare at the wall directly in front of her. She needed the distraction because all that man’s thickness being behind her had her wanting to do something reckless. And she had just stepped back into his good graces. Annie fluttered around his head, still pulsing from her earlier orgasm and the denial of her second one. The feeling of him—raw and hefty—had her mind reeling.
Palms now cupping her ass, the man couldn’t stop imaging her riding his shit, taking control in the way he allowed before pulling her back in. Her arch deepened at the same time that she tightened her grip around him, and his fingers twitched in recognition. She always got him this way seemingly without much effort, but he didn’t mind it. Annie didn’t have to do anything special to make Smoke cave. Captivated by the feeling, the man couldn’t help but to give in and start fucking her fully and completely.
“Fuck that shallow shit,” he grunted, reaching over her arched back. His fingers wrapped around her headscarf that was tilted in one odd direction. Then he pulled until it came fluttering off. Her hair now revealed to him, Smoke wrapped the long braids around his fist, using the tension to provide stability while he continued to pummel her with dick.
“Oh—fuck—Smoke,” Annie moaned, each sound in time with his steady thrusts. He pounded with a purpose, set a pace that had her hiccuping again. Everything came flashing back into his mind again. Every annoyance. Every indiscretion. Everything she’d done to piss him off. Smoke still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she had cum without his permission, and on top of that, she had expected him to forget about it. She was almost successful in throwing him off, but with her attention only on how her body felt in this moment, she missed the trouble the man was plotting.
His pace quickened, hips snapping violently. It forced a greedy scream from Annie’s throat because that was exactly how rough she liked it. He pulled her hair tight, arching her back deeper. He smacked her ass, leaving handprints alongside the belt marks. But then it just kept getting quicker, harder, deeper to the point that her insides felt deliciously bruised.
“Daddy,” she slurred, hips falling back into him in an effort to lighten the blow. Her stomach was on fire. Her legs burned in exhaustion, but he wouldn’t stop. Smoke fucked her through the pain and filled her with more pleasure than she honestly needed it. When she began to scream bloody murder, his words got reckless.
“This what you wanted, huh,” he threw back hotly. His cadence was slow. Tone thick and heavy with the heat that had entered the room. “See you be fuckin’ wit’ them young niggas,” he roared, anger beading off of him in the form of sweat and his palm to her ass, “but I ain’t one of them, baby. This real grown nigga shit ‘round here, and it’s time you fully get a taste of who you fuckin’ wit’.”
Annie was overcome by sensation. Overstimulation had become one with her body making her ears ring and her toes curl and her pussy flutter and her mouth water and her thighs clench. She knew who Smoke Moore was—always had—but this was different, and she feared he was going to put her into her place for good. His punishments compounded all at once: the pounding and ass smacking and hair pulling—and those filthy ass words that stung in their own beautiful way. He called her his slut and his bitch, made her understand that she was the only woman he’d have folded up and fucked through the mattress.
Drooling on the silk sheets, she felt her body beginning to surrender once more as she slackened everywhere. Smoke being the attentive man he was saw it happening, so he pulled her up by her hair. Her back met his chest again while he continued to pull her by her braids. He brought her eyes to him, and with her mouth wide open in a moan, he spat in it—rough, honest, possessive.
“Yeah,” he growled, teeth bared in an ugly scowl. “You finna take all this dick. You mine, baby. Mine to fuck. Mine to bend over. Mine to command. My Woman. My Bitch. My Fuck Toy.” Annie’s eyes watered as she swallowed him, nodding her head profusely as his spit slid down the back of her throat—because, yes, she indeed was all those things.
For him and him alone.
The glide of him warmed her body on its way down. Something in the disrespect that was spitting in another person's mouth drove her crazy. She was practically sat in his lap now as he fucked up into her, and regaining a bit of her mind, the young woman started fucking him back. She did it as diligently as she could, throwing her hips back every couple of thrusts.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she pouted, bouncing closer to his rhythm now—not running but surrendering. “I’ll be good I promise.”
“You mean that shit?” He whispered in her ear.
“Yes! Yes, I swear!” She shouted back at him.
“Well, prove it then.”
The invitation was sent, the door open for her to do her very best. She fought back, head reeling but body staying right where she was. She met him thrust for thrust, and never once did she back down. The ache was glorious, and the stretch was taking her over the edge. When she felt her orgasm rising again, Annie couldn't help the way her body screamed for a release only Smoke could allow. Greedy, desperate, and hungry, she begged him for it. Pleaded. Negotiated her rights.
And he let her have it.
For the first time all night, she could come without guilt, and the moment he said yes, she took it and ran with it.
“Fuck, yes,” she cried, crumbling forward into the sheets. She fell flat as the orgasm wrecked her body, but Smoke chased behind her, continuing to overfill her with dick. “I’m sorry, Daddy! I swear—I'll be good!” Her words were hardly coherent, things about how she was thankful for his kindness and would listen from now on, but they both knew she'd be back on her bullshit soon enough. Annie thrived in pissing the man off. It was like foreplay for them, forcing their bodies toward each other.
“Ride this fuckin’ dick,” the older man barked, back propped against the bed frame as he put Annie to work. Smacking her ass. Pulling her hair. Forcing her hips into a steady bounce.
The time between positions had faded into a haze of pleasure followed by orgasm after orgasm. Annie had lost count of how many times the man had pushed her to the brink. Smoke had cum twice himself before quickly recovering. His trip was long forgotten, obligations left outside the woman's home as he succumbed to her body time and time again. He had kept calling her names—roughness being one of the only things he knew—but he was also soft with her. When she'd get tired, he'd do the thrusting for her. When she whined too deeply, he'd lean over and plant a kiss to the edge of her hairline to quiet the ache. He stayed right there through it all, and right now, Annie was trying to show him that she could hold herself together and talk him through the motions too.
She started riding deeper, slowing her grind as she fluttered around his length. Inner thighs pressing into his outer ones, she looked into his eyes—stare longing and persistent. She could almost see his point of breaking: when his rough exterior got fully broken down by his adoration. There was no mistaking that Annie had him hooked, and as much as he hated to admit it for the sake of an argument, there was nothing she couldn't do to ruin him.
"You feel so good," the young woman cooed against his lips, teasing him with the prospect of a kiss. Smoke hissed when she dragged her pussy up to his tip and just clenched around him. Then her hips snapped back down with haste. The sound reverberated as she continued the action, and her words just continued to get sweeter. "That dick make me so greedy, Big Daddy," she whimpered. "Make me lose my mind sometimes."
Her lips were breathes away from his, and how slow she was riding made his own eyelashes flutter shut on occasion.
"Baby," Smoke swooned, ecstasy taking over his body. The feeling of her wrapped around him combined with the scent of their oversexed bodies had his eyes rolling back. And Annie was beyond proud of the effect she had over him. She worked the lower half of her body into his, pressing her titties against his chest, and when his mouth opened in a delightfully gruff moan, she took him in for a kiss.
Her mouth engulfed the man's, swallowing both of their moans. Her tongue raked his. Her hands fussed with the hair at the nape of his neck. And when he came, she held him close while he painted her walls white and hot with his euphoria. And directly behind him, she fell apart for the last time, milking him dry as she collapsed into his spent body.
They were both fucked in numerous ways.
Their bodies were beyond tired, in desperate need of rest and sleep and energy. But there was no mistaking the way their hearts beat rapidly when they met each other’s gazes in the now quiet bedroom. They hid it behind arguments, money, and rough sex, and they weren’t going to stop that any time soon. But in that flash of time when all was said and done and they were both fucked thoroughly, each of them felt something oddly close to love thrumming beneath the surface.
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word count: ~6,150
a/n: do we like the idea of a preview more than a summary?? i couldn't make my brain work enough to to come up with one this time around lmaoo
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