000: https://www.tumblr.com/writerbee-ffs/784659392500023296/000
Ooh (baby, baby) baby, baby, baby
‘Cause if you’re gonna get me off
ShaNiece swayed her hips to the newest TLC track, wine cooler in hand, curves dipping low with every beat. She was in her element. Vibing. Glowing. Free.
Her mama had finally caved and agreed to watch Shanaye for the night. Fifteen or not, that little girl had more energy than most grown folks, and ShaNiece—thirty, fine, and flying solo—needed a break.
Sure, she’d made what Big Mama still called “the biggest mistake of her life” at eighteen. But that baby saved her. Made her sharper. Wiser. Stronger. She went to college, graduated top of her class, and broke into finance like a storm in heels. In a world full of men trying to “rescue” her from single motherhood, she was already saving herself—six figures deep, child in tow.
She was good. Or so she thought.
“Damn, Niecy! Slow down on them drinks, girl!” Belinda—BeBe to the crew—called out, passing her a murky shot of something strong.
ShaNiece laughed, tossing it back without hesitation. The burn kissed the back of her throat and lit her chest with fire. “Girl, I don’t get out like this often. Let me shake this ass in peace!”
The bass dropped, and the house party roared to life. BeBe kept the shots flowing, and ShaNiece kept dancing like the night owed her joy.
He didn’t ask. He just stepped behind her like he’d been invited by the rhythm itself. He’d been watching, she could feel it. His body slid into place behind hers, close but not too close, letting the music guide them. He wanted to catch what she was throwing—and baby, she threw it well.
When the next beat hit, she paused, teasing, until his breath brushed her ear.
His voice was smooth, deep and sure. Her hips responded before she could. Fueled by liquor and laughter, she rolled her ass back into him like it was their song playing—and it damn sure was. He matched her every move, gripping her waist, hips meeting hers with intention. A few heads turned. Let them watch.
“That’s it, lil’ mama,” he murmured, before spinning her to face him.
ShaNiece caught her breath. His golds flashed when he smiled. Coogi sweater. Baggy jeans. Mustache thick and neat. Skin the color of sweet caramel. His eyes were hidden behind shades, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was fine. Real fine.
“You tryna fuck me on the dance floor?” she teased, snapping her fingers in his face. “Helloooo?”
“You always got an attitude like that?” he asked, raising one brow as he pushed his shades higher.
She smirked. “Only when men act brand new after grinding on me for four songs straight. What’s your name?”
“You can call me Stack.” He lifted his hand to show a gold-plated ring spelling it across three fingers. “Yours?” He already knew it. He’d heard her friend call her name throughout the night.
“I’m sure that ain’t what your mama named you,” she said, popping her gum and patting her finger waves. “But I feel you.” Her gold earrings swung with flair—Niecey etched on both. “My friends call me Niecey”
“So we friends now?” he asked, grinning.
“We danced, didn’t we? That counts.” She winked, stepping back into the crowd. “Later, Stack.”
“Hol’ up,” he said, catching her wrist.
A jolt shot through both of them. He dropped her hand like it burned and shook his head like he forgot what he meant to say. “Uh… take my number.”
She smirked as he scribbled digits in her palm before they vanished in opposite directions.
It was close to 2 a.m. when they stumbled out, trying to make the one-block walk to BeBe’s apartment.
“Biiitch, I’m drunk,” BeBe groaned, hunched over a fence. It was their third stop in a five-minute walk that was now dragging into twenty.
“You ain’t lyin’,” ShaNiece muttered, pulling tissues from her fanny pack to dab the sweat from BeBe’s face and spit from her mouth. “Here. Drink.”
BeBe slumped to the grass. “Go without me!”
“You dramatic.” Still, ShaNiece knew they weren’t making it home like this.
She pulled BeBe’s cell from her jeans and called the number in her palm. A shot in the dark.
That voice. Smooth, like that dark brown liquor she’d been downing all night.
“Niecey?” His tone softened her name like he already missed her.
“Yeah, um… it’s me. I know it’s late but—”
BeBe gagged. “I hope this nigga ain’t no murderer! What you know about him?”
“I know he’s giving us a ride. Hush!” ShaNiece palmed her blade, just in case.
Stack pulled up minutes later. The ride was quiet except for the radio—and his humming. She joined in softly, their voices finding a rhythm even without the music.
When they reached the building, he tapped her thigh. “Take your girl in. Come holla at me.”
She paused. “Or… you could come in.”
She wasn’t the one-night stand type. But something about Stack made her brave.
They carried BeBe to bed. ShaNiece made sure she was okay before returning to the living room, kicking off her Reeboks and tugging her earrings off with a chuckle. “We might’ve gone too hard tonight.”
Stack kicked off his sneakers and sank into the couch beside her. “This every weekend?”
She shook her head. “Not even. Between work and my daughter, I’m booked and busy.”
“Then let’s not waste this rare time.”
He leaned in. Kissed her neck. Hands roaming. Mouth hungry.
By the time their lips met, she was pulling him into the spare room.
Clothes hit the floor in rhythm. His Coogi sweater. Her button-down jersey. Her lace bra fell away and he growled, mouth on her chest. Her shorts slid down and she took him in—his strong chest, curved girth springing free. She reached for his glasses.
He didn’t answer. Just kissed her deeper.
ShaNiece gently reached again, this time with both hands, easing the glasses off.
His eyes were unreal—shifting hues of shimmering silver, and something old. They sparkled like a curse and a promise all in one.
She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.
“Damn,” she whispered. ShaNiece kissed his lips to reassure him before leaning back.
She stroked her clit watching him take over. He kissed her down to her center, tongue working slow, fingers thick and skilled. She shook beneath him, whimpering, reaching for him.
“I need you,” she moaned, staring into those eyes. “Please.”
He slid into her slowly, possessively. With every stroke, he seemed to pull lightning from her bones.
“Yeees, Stack!” she cried out.
Just a taste, he thought hearing her blood pulsating. Calling out for him.
“You like that, baby?” he whispered in her ear. “I’mma keep fucking you until I’m the only thing you think about.” He growled into her ear licking the tip of it.
She screamed his name, eyes wet with pleasure. He flipped her, stroked her deeper. She climbed on top, riding him backwards. He couldn’t resist that pulsating force.
When he bit her neck, she gasped. The bite—sharp, precise.
Pain bloomed, bright and quick, but it unraveled into something else. Heat. Wetness. A pull so deep it made her knees buckle.
She felt the suction of his mouth, the way he fed—not ravenous, but sensual. Worshipful.
Her breath caught, then spilled out in a moan. Her body trembled against his, hips arching, thighs clenching. It was as if he were drinking more than blood—like he was pulling memories, want, soul from her skin.
She was floating. Melting.
And Stack groaned against her, one hand sliding to pinch her chocolate perky nipple.
“You look so fuckin’ delicious,” he moaned, licking the blood. “Had to taste.” His eyes sparkled more.
She turned to kiss him, tasting herself and him and whatever magic sparked between them.
“You’re mine now, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Whatever you had before—dead that.”
She stared, expecting a laugh. None came.
Their bodies slapped in time, her bangles rattling like wind chimes. She gave him everything—and he took it, pushed her further, until the world fell away.
When they were done, tangled and sweaty, he whispered, “You’re beautiful,” against her frizzy finger waves.
She laid there, one hand on his chest, circling gently.
She told herself it was just the drinks talking. Tomorrow, he’d be a faded memory.
Tonight, he was everything.
He should’ve never touched her.
The moment her ass backed up into him on that dance floor, something in his chest cracked open. He hadn’t felt that kind of pull in decades—not since Mary. But this? This was different. This woman wasn’t casting a spell. She was the spell.
ShaNiece. Niecey. That name settled on his tongue like honey and heat.
When she called him later, voice soft and a little slurred, asking for a favor—he didn’t hesitate. He was halfway to her before she dropped the cross street. It wasn’t just lust pulling him. It was instinct. Fate. Hunger.
He helped carry her friend inside, eyes flicking to every corner. He didn’t sense any other presence. No one watching. No threats.
Except the one inside himself.
When she invited him in, he knew he should’ve said no. He had rules. Boundaries. Protocol. Fallon would curse his whole bloodline if she knew he was entertaining a mortal woman this drunk, this vulnerable.
But she wasn’t vulnerable. She was vivid. Fully alive. That rare kind of woman who knew who she was and didn’t apologize for it. And that laugh? It had weight.
He couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to.
So he followed her into the back room, watching as she stripped with casual grace, like she’d done this dance a thousand times for no one but herself.
Then she reached for his shades.
“No,” he said too fast, too sharp.
She blinked but didn’t flinch. Just eased her hands back. “What’s wrong?”
But he saw it in her eyes—curiosity. Maybe a little hurt.
He couldn’t let her see. Not yet. Not until he knew what the hell was happening between them.
Because something was happening.
And it scared the hell out of him.
When she touched herself, moaning his name, his resolve cracked. She smelled like warm rain and vanilla and the faintest trace of something familiar. Not perfume. Not lotion.
The first time he tasted her, tongue pressed to that aching pulse between her legs, it was electric. Tense. She trembled like her body already knew him—like her soul was calling out something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
He gave in. Sank into her slow, controlled, trying to keep the beast leashed. But the moment her nails dug into his back and her cries filled the room, he felt it rise The thirst.
He pressed his mouth to her neck and just breathed, trying to ground himself. She smelled divine. Real. Unfiltered. Not the sterile, synthetic blood bags he forced on himself. This woman carried something pure—unspoiled by darkness.
Just a taste, he told himself. Just enough to remember who he used to be.
When he bit down, she gasped. He moaned against her skin.
The blood hit him like a lightning strike. A rush of her hit him—heat and copper, sun-drenched laughter, a child’s cry, an old gospel hum from a porch swing on a Sunday afternoon. Her blood poured over his tongue like silk, thick with grief and joy, survival and sweetness. It wasn’t just sustenance. It was a story.
He gripped her tighter as her body bucked beneath him, her moans hitching on the edge of pain and pleasure. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears, steady and brave. She didn’t scream. She gasped. Then melted.
“Damn, you look so fuckin’ delicious,” he groaned, licking the wound gently, sealing it with his tongue.
The moment he did, her body arched again. Her orgasm hit with tremors—shaking both of them. The taste of her climax still clung to his lips when she turned to kiss him, like she needed to taste what he’d taken.
She kissed him like she knew something.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t push him away. She turned and kissed him like she knew. Like she wanted him still.
So he fucked her like he’d been waiting lifetimes.
She came apart in his arms, all curses and moans and fingernails, and he held her through it, burying his face in her hair like a man at prayer.
Afterward, she curled against him, fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed.
He stared at the ceiling, wide awake.
Not from the sex. Not even from the bite.
ShaNiece wasn’t just some fling. She wasn’t random.
He’d felt this before—decades ago, in shadows and dreams. Every couple of years or so, someone would spark that flicker, but it always faded.
He looked down at her, sleeping like she trusted him.
He’d tasted her blood—and buried in it, something simmered beneath the surface. Not just sweetness. Not just warmth.
And for the first time in a long time, Elias “Stack” Moore felt something close to fear.
Because he didn’t know if he’d been sent to protect this woman… or destroy her.
Atlanta, 1992- The Next Day
The sky was still painted indigo when he walked into the back office of the club. The city wasn’t fully awake yet—but Fallon was.
She leaned against the desk, arms crossed, in a black turtleneck and gold hoops. Her eyes—that sharp hazel gold—tracked him like prey.
“Where the fuck were you last night?”
Elias didn’t answer right away. He took off his sweater, dumping it to the side. Peeled off the rest of his clothes one item at a time down to his boxers. He needed to shower.
Fallon didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“You didn’t check in,” she said, voice low and flat. “And you didn’t feed yesterday.”
He looked up then, jaw tight. “I fed.”
“You fed,” she echoed, nostrils flaring. “Not from a bag.”
He didn’t answer. Just walked past her to the small bar and poured two shots of bourbon. It burned going down, but not enough. He still tasted her.
“I told you,” she said, stepping closer, “the girl from the party. She’s not clean.”
His hand stilled on the glass.
“I didn’t say she was dirty. I meant she’s… special. Like she’s different or something.”
“You think I didn’t feel that?” he muttered, turning toward her.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t have to.
Fallon’s jaw locked. “You bit her.”
“You fucking bit her?” Her voice dropped, but it hit like a punch. “Jesus, Elias. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“She was already in it,” he said quietly. “Before I touched her. Before I knew her name.”
“Don’t give me that ‘destiny’ bullshit,” she snapped. “You felt a pull? Great. You know what that means.”
He looked at her then, really looked. Her face was tight with fear—not anger. That scared him more than anything.
“She didn’t scream,” he said. “Didn’t push me away. When I bit her, she leaned in.”
Fallon shook her head. “You don’t get it. That’s worse. That means she already in trouble.”
Fallon lowered her voice. “Mary.”
A long silence stretched between them.
Then she whispered, “The Juke, Elias.”
“They died, Stack. And it tore a hole in you big enough to crawl through. Don’t pretend like this ain’t déjà vu.”
He turned away, gripping the edge of the desk until the wood creaked.
Fallon stepped closer, softer now. “You said she was the only one who ever made you feel like this until she didn’t”
“She broke me on purpose.” He thought of her and the curse she forged in him.
“But this one,” Fallon pressed, “ShaNiece. She’s making you feel again.”
He nodded once. Slow. Painful.
Fallon’s voice trembled. “Then we got a problem. Because if you felt that bond, Stack, if you took ShaNiece’s blood because it called you—you know what comes next.”
He closed his eyes. “Mary.”
Fallon nodded. “She always knows when you give yourself away.”
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