Your best friend calls, voice raw, and you realize he’s jerking off to you. The call spirals into a dirty, tense back-and-forth—him confessing all the nasty things he wants to do to you, you teasing between sweet and cruel, letting him see just enough to break him. He cums hard for you, then you make him listen while you play with yourself and orgasm. At the very end, you drop the sweetest bomb—and hang up, leaving him ruined, obsessed, and wanting more.
★2,827 words, old story, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), lots of dirty talk, masturbation, praise & a tiny bit of degradation, pet name/name calling (e.g, ma/mama, baby, sweetheart, honey¹, and slut¹), you're a little mean but he likes it, etc★
★18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕★
"Hello?" you call, picking up on the third ring. The room is quiet, the only light the coming from your amber lamp and the blue glow from your screen reflecting off your freshly done nails.
"H-hey," his voice scrapes out on the other end. It’s a wrecked sound—ragged, breathless, and vibrating with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.
Your brows pull tight, a slow worry already beginning to tug at your lips. "Are you okay? You sound... off."
You picture him for a second. Maybe he’s sweaty from a run, his chest heaving under a thin t-shirt. Or maybe he’s been lugging another Amazon dresser for that old lady down the block—always the good guy, always helping somebody. But as you listen to the heavy, rhythmic hitch in his breathing, you realize you’re wrong.
Right now, your best friend is laid out on his bed, the sheets a mess beneath him. His sweatpants and boxers are shoved down to his mid-thighs, his brown skin damp and glowing in the dim light of his room. His stomach is corded, muscles tightening and rippling with every long, desperate drag of his fist. His dick is a dark, heavy weight in his hand—slick, flushed, and dripping through his fingers.
He’s slowly but firmly stroking himself to the thought—and now the sweet, taunting sound—of your voice. Precum is already smeared over his knuckles, his thumb rolling lazy over his slit before pressing harder, coaxing a deep, guttural grunt from his throat.
"Mgh—nothing. Just... talk to me," he rasps, the friction of his hand audible through the speaker.
Your frown deepens, your heart is starting to race. "Why? What’s wrong, baby?"
The pet name slips out easy, unthinking. But the effect is immediate—he moans low, a broken, helpless sound, like you’d reached through the line and wrapped your hand around him yourself. He lives for when your voice turns soft like this, when you stop clowning him and get sweet. His fist moves quicker now, his hips pushing up into his palm, seeking the friction he can’t get enough of.
"I'm fine, I promise. Just keep talking. Please."
You fall quiet for a beat, leaning back against your headboard. You listen harder. You hear the wet, squelching sounds of his grip. The sharp little hitches of breath. The low, animalistic sound he makes when his fist squeezes tighter at the base.
And it clicks.
"...You’re jerking off."
Silence. Just the heavy, frantic sound of his breathing. Then a broken, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. M'sorry. Can’t stop. Not when it’s you."
Your breath stutters, a prickle of heat blooming low in your belly. "You’re getting off to me? On the damn phone?"
"Every time," he admits, his voice rough and needy, but with a sudden edge of raw honesty. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel the weight of it. "Think about you all the time. That mouth. Those tits. The way your ass looks in those shorts." His pace picks up, the slick, lewd sounds of his hand working his dick filling the line. "Fuck, I’d do anything to see you ride me, just once. Just to see what that look on your face is like when I’m deep inside you."
You bite your lip, your pulse kicking against your throat. "That’s disgusting. Using my voice to get your nut. You’re nasty."
He groans like you’ve just blessed him with a touch. "Yeah, I know. But you're all I think about... you’re the only thing that gets me this hard."
"That's nice, honey. But you really shouldn't think of me like that... you know we're just friends," you murmur, your own hand sliding down to rest heavy on your thigh, the silk of your shorts cool against your palm.
"Don’t say that." His tone cuts sharp now, all the nice playfulness you've come to love is gone. "I’m not your fucking friend. You call me every day. You tell me you love me. I told you from the start—I’m not your friend." His breath hitches, the wet sounds of his fist speeding up, becoming more frantic. "You let me talk to you like this. And you let me—You let me be in your life knowing how I feel about you."
Your acrylic nail drags slow across your bottom lip. "Maybe. But I can't give you what you want, and I do love you, but don't throw it in my face," you drawl, a cruel, satisfied smirk pulling at your mouth.
"It’s kinda sad. Stroking your dick to a girl you’ll never have. We'll never be together. I’ll never let you fuck me. All you get is your hand."
He chokes out a moan, his hips snapping up into his fist with a raw, mechanical rhythm. "Yeah? Then give me something else. Show me. Facetime me, ma. Please."
You hesitate, the heat pooling heavy and agonizing between your thighs. Then, you click over.
The screen flickers to life. His camera is shaking, his breath filling the dark room. Sweat beads at his temples, his face flushed a deep, beautiful bronze, his lips parted. You know that tremor in the camera—it’s the force of his fist moving fast.
"Thank you," he exhales, the word almost reverent as he takes in your appearance.
"Hi, baby. Let me see your face," you don't ask it like a question. You order it.
He obeys instantly. His face fills the screen, his jaw tight and corded, his sharp fade a bit messy from the heat and the friction.
"You look good," you compliment, but the little laugh that follows makes it sting.
"Keep talking." He’s close, you can hear the strain in his voice. "Don't stop."
"I want to see."
He blinks, his eyes glazed and dark. "What?"
"I'm not repeating myself."
He lets out a breathless, desperate laugh, knowing your patience is thin. "Take your shirt off then. Let me see what I'm working for."
You narrow your eyes at the audacity, but you reach down and tug the pajama top off anyway. Your lace bra catches the light, the fabric straining against the fullness of your breasts. You don’t cover yourself; he’s seen you in less, and you want him to see exactly what he’s missing.
"Fuck," he groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain. He flips the camera.
Your breath catches. Your mouth goes dry. His dick is a complete mess—his fist is working tight and fast, the dark, veined length of him glistening with pre-cum. White streaks of cum are already dried tacky over his thighs from previous rounds, and his stomach is flexing with every pull. His abs are glistening, his skin slick with sweat. His thumb smears a fresh bead of precum over the flushed, velvet head until it gleams, dripping onto his knuckles.
You bite your lip hard, heat twisting through your belly, your shorts already sticking damp between your thighs.
His moan rips through the line, a guttural, animal sound.
You whisper his name, your voice low, trembling, and possessive. "... I really want you in my mouth."
His head snaps back against the pillow, a broken curse ripped from his lungs. "If I had you here? I’d fuck that throat till you cried. Till you gagged around me and begged for air. I’d hold your head and make you take every fucking inch."
You hum, a low, taunting vibration. "You’re not tough enough for that."
That pulls a dark, dangerous laugh from him. His hand works faster, the veins straining down his forearm. "Say that shit again. I’d hold your face down and shove my dick so deep you’ll feel me in your chest. I’ll make you swallow every drop."
Your thighs squeeze together, wetness soaking through the crotch of your shorts. "All talk. You’d fold the second it touched my tongue."
He groans, deep and pained. "God, you drive me fucking insane." His breath stutters, then—"Take your bra off for me. Now."
You tilt your head, slow and teasing. "You want a show?"
"Take it off." His voice is rough, a plea threaded with a hard command.
You hook your fingers into the lace, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it fall. Your breasts sit full and heavy in the camera’s glow, your nipples tight and peaked in the cool air.
He chokes on his own breath. "God, look at you. Perfect. Fucking perfect."
Your fingers lift, tugging lightly at one nipple, rolling it between your fingers. "Like this, baby?"
His hand drags hard down his dick, the slick sound of it filling your ears. "Yeah—play with them for me. Pinch ‘em. Roll ‘em." His eyes roll back for a second, his mouth slack. "Fuck—I wanna cum all over those tits. Paint you, watch it drip down your stomach. You’d look so good messy with my cum."
You coo, your voice dirty and soft. "Yeah, baby? You wanna ruin me like that? Wanna cover me ‘cause I’m yours?" You pinch harder, moaning low. "Mmh, I’d let you do it however you want."
His hips jerk up into his fist, his cock flushed dark, thick, and veined. The head is shiny with slick, and your eyes stay locked on it, transfixed by the weight of him in his palm.
You whisper, almost reverent. "I can’t stop watching your hands. They're so big and veiny. So strong. You're twitching in your grip—look at you, baby. All that for me."
He groans raggedly, his fist slapping wetly down the length of his shaft. "All for you. Always for you." His voice cracks, desperate. "Squeeze 'em, touch your tits harder. Let me see you play with those pretty nipples."
You squeeze your breast, pinch your nipple harder, tugging it until you gasp, your eyes locked on his fist pumping. The sound of it—wet, obscene, skin slapping skin—is the only thing in the world.
"Fuck," he grits out, his voice frayed. "I’d drag you down and smear every drop over you. I wanna fill you up."
You laugh softly, mean but sweet. "Yeah? You’d mark me up? Cover me so everybody knows this pussy’s yours? Even though you’ll never get to fuck it?"
He groans, almost breaking under the weight of the tease. "Stop—don’t say that. I’d fuck you stupid, ma. I’d split you open. Make you cry for me."
You hum, stroking your breast with slow, deliberate circles. "I bet you would. But right now? All you’ve got is your hand. And me watching."
His grip tightens, his strokes becoming rough and fast. His stomach flexes, his breath tearing ragged from his chest. You lean close to the screen, your voice low and syrup-thick.
"Cum for me, baby."
He moans, a high, guttural sound.
"Yeah," you coax, squeeze your breast, shifting them again, "make a mess for me. Let me see you shoot it all over yourself. Come on. Show me how much you want me."
"Fuck—" His hips stutter up into his fist. Precum spills slick down his shaft, his knuckles shiny and wet.
"Begging you, sweetheart," you whisper, cruel and filthy. "Paint yourself for me. Cover that stomach, those big hands—show me what I do to you."
He chokes, his eyes squeezing shut, his jaw locked tight as his body begins to coil for the release. "M’close—oh fuck, I’m gonna—"
"Do it," you purr, sharp and commanding. "Cum for me, baby. Now."
His whole body jerks. A shout rips from his throat, raw and primal, as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his hand, his chest, dripping down his stomach in heavy white streaks. He pumps through the release, groaning brokenly, the cum splattering messy and hot across his skin.
You sigh, watching the way it looks against his skin, your voice turning sweet again. "That’s it. Good boy. Look at that dick, dripping for me. You made such a mess."
He’s panting, ruined, his hand still twitching around his softening length. "Fuck... fuck, I love you."
You tilt the camera, watching him still sprawled—sweat dripping, stomach streaked with cum, hand twitching.
"Mmh," you hum, soft and wicked, "look what you did, baby. Got me all wet."
His head snaps up, eyes heavy but blazing. "Show me."
You smirk, slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, dragging the damp fabric aside. Glossy, honey-thick strings pull as you spread yourself open, the phone angled just enough to flash him a glimpse of your soaking wet center. "See that? All for you."
He groans, his chest heaving. "Touch it for me. Play with yourself—please, ma."
Your laugh is low and cruel. "Not a chance. You already got your show."
His jaw tightens, his voice rough. "Don't play with me. You don't let me watch, I'll make you beg next time. I'll make you sorry."
You lean close to the screen, your smirk sharp and triumphant. "Try me. You don't scare me, baby. I said no."
His fist curls against his stomach, frustration pouring through the camera. "Then... at least—fuck—at least let me listen. Please. Let me hear it."
You bite your lip, dragging your fingers slow through your slickness, making yourself whimper. "You’re nasty."
"Yeah," he rasps, desperate. "For you. Only for you."
You sigh, soft and sweet, pressing two fingers against your clit until your hips twitch. "Fine. You can listen. But that’s it. Just your ears."
Your moans slip out, low and syrupy, filling the line. His breath shudders at the sound, ruined but hungry again. Your fingers circle your clit, the wet, squelching sounds of your own pleasure bleeding into the line. You bite your lip, letting a whimper slip, knowing he’s eating every sound alive.
"That’s it," he rasps, his voice still raw from cumming. "Rub that pretty pussy for me. God, I wanna be there so bad—wanna hold your thighs open and eat you till you’re crying."
Your head tips back, your breath shaky. "Mghn—You talk so nasty, baby."
"You don’t even know," he grits out. "I’d spread you out and pound that pussy till you scream. I’d fuck you till you smell like me. I'd never let you leave the bed."
A moan rips out of you, high and breathless. Your fingers circle faster, your hips rolling up off the bed as the tension coils.
"You like that?" he groans. "Knowing how bad I want you? Tell me you’ll give it up one day. Tell me I’ll get to fuck you for real."
Your laugh cuts sharp and shaky. "N-No, baby. You’ll never have me like that."
He curses, a guttural sound of frustration. "Fuck. You’re killing me, ma."
Your moans rise, sharper now, your body coiling tight. "Keep talking. Don't stop."
He obeys, his voice a low, gravelly anchor. "I’d hold your hips down. Spit in your mouth while I fuck you raw. Fill you up and make you go for hours."
That does it—your back arches, your thighs clenching tight as your orgasm rips through you. A sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers working frantically over your clit as waves of pleasure slam through your body. You gasp his name, shuddering and trembling, your juices dripping messy against your hand.
He groans raggedly, listening to the sound of your break like it’s gospel. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it. Cum for me. Good girl. Good fucking girl."
You collapse back, chest heaving, sweat dampening your skin. You let out a low, satisfied hum. "Oh, shit... see what you did? You made me cum, handsome."
His breath hitches on the other end, broken and reverent. "...I’d do anything to see that."
Your breathing slows, your chest still rising and falling heavy. Your fingers slip from your soaked folds, leaving a wet sheen on your thighs. The line is quiet except for the sound of you both catching your breath.
He’s the first to break it, his voice ragged. "Man... I swear, one day—"
You cut him off with a sweet, dismissive little laugh, curling back into your pillow and pulling the covers up. "Shh. Don’t start again."
The silence stretches, thick and heavy with the things he wants to say. You can feel the ache in his voice, how close he is to spilling confessions you aren't ready to hear. So you give him something else. Something cruel, but honest.
"Thank you," you murmur, soft and sweet. Almost tender. "I love you so much, baby."
The phone goes quiet. You can picture him—eyes wide, lips parted, his heart clenching around those words. You know exactly what you’ve done to him.
You smile to yourself, curling the blanket over your bare chest. "Good night."
And you hang up before he can even find his voice to answer.
Synopsis: Stack absolutely hates when you post on social media.
Warnings: Heavy Smut, degrading, overstimulation, Stack is insatiable, pregnant sex, cursing, use of N word, overstimulation, squirting, Stack talks you through it.
Part 1
Part 2
MINORS DNI
-
You were the perfect picture of innocence. A rare beauty that stopped anyone dead in their tracks, with a smile so warm they could practically melt. A southern belle with an accent thick enough to make anyone swoon. You had always been the center of attention and yet remained humble enough to ignore it.
You also ignored all the boys that tried to tie you down, not interested in the cookie cutter, goodie two shoes that were convinced they’d be perfect for you.
Your mother begged you to settle down with a good man like Johnny, who goes to church every Sunday, or Thomas, who was the pastors son. But you didn’t care for them, they bored you out of your mind. Too soft to handle you like how you truly wanted.
You were convinced that Mississippi didn’t have the version of the man you craved and that at some point you’d have to settle for one those men your mom kept trying to put you on to.
That was until the twins moved back. You hadn’t heard of them, too busy wrapped inside your own little world to worry about what others had going on but once they came back, the word spread like wildfire. The flames were big enough to knock the walls down of your domaine and the whispers echoed loudly in your ears.
“Heard they just came back from Chicago.”
“I heard they was over there stealing and killing people.”
“I’m surprised they ain’t locked up. Somebody should do something.”
You minded your business though, tended to your horses, dogs and your bakery business.
Cookies, pies, cakes, brownies and just about anything sweet that you could name, was your specialty. You started getting called Peaches for your obsession with making peach cobbler and handing it out to your neighbors. You had learned to cook and bake from a very early age, your mother making sure you knew how to throw down in the kitchen so that you could impress your potential husband.
But you didn’t care for that, you learned because you liked it, loved it actually, and eventually you took your talents elsewhere.
To Tik Tok.
Pink kitchen and utensils caught the attention of millions of people who liked to watch you do what you do best. You hadn’t expected the surge of attention, the videos only being posted in hopes to your reach your friends and family, but the algorithm had other plans. And so that’s how you spent your days, tending to your animals and baking sweets for your millions of fans and to share with your neighbors. Eventually you became the talk of the town, everybody wanted to try a piece of your desserts and before you knew it, you had people showing up at your doorstep asking for anything, a crumb even.
One night, while you were preparing sugar cookies, you heard a knock at your door that wasn’t frantic like it usually was. It was slow and loud. Just two knocks.
You wiped your hands on your pink apron, long curly light brown hair cascading down your back as you walk towards the entrance, the shorts you wore barely covered your ass and the cropped tank top hugged your upper body tight. You weren’t expecting anyone this late, no one usually showed up at this time.
The clock ticked to 11PM just as your hand reached the handle. A man, who you hadn’t seen before, stood there in a all black suit. His face was expressionless but his eyes stayed on the way your cheeks reddened before they traveled down your body, zeroing in on the deep brown moisturized skin that glowed against the moonlight.
Something about his demeanor made your stomach turn, nerves clawing at your body, but there was something else, a heat hidden behind the fear.
“Oh. Hi! H-How may I help you?” Your voice was soft and something about it caused Stack’s jaw to tick slightly, that and the way you smelled of fresh vanilla and peaches.
“Evenin ma’am. Names’ Stack. My apologizes for disturbing you so late. I’m here on behalf of Mrs. Delphine, says her husband sick and in the hospital again, been craving sum of them lemon cookies you be making.”
His voice was deep and rough in a way that would send anybody else running. Accent slow like molasses and thick just like yours. Your thighs clenched before you could stop yourself.
“Oh um. Y-yeah. I have some. I just gotta pack them up for him. Um—” You hesitated, teeth sinking into your plush lip before mentally telling yourself ‘Fuck it’.
“Um— Do you want to come in and wait while I get everything together?”
Stack nodded, a small smirk appeared on his lips before he stepped inside your little world that you had carefully crafted for yourself.
And the rest was history.
Your viewers started to notice the change, the way you recorded videos with a smile so wide you’d think the measuring cups had told you a joke. They noticed how softer you were, the dreamy look on your face and the way you just glowed.
Assumptions about a man being in the picture were in almost every single video you posted. You didn’t bother confirming nor denying anything. Just let them keep guessing.
Until you popped out with a ring on your finger. You weren’t even bothering on being discreet, your perfectly manicured hand was all in the camera as you recorded how you baked a cheesecake. The boulder on your finger catching the light and making its presence known.
You tried to remove the ring, your audience too distracted by it to pay attention to what you were making but Stack wasn’t having that. Not one bit.
“Stop fucking playin with me. Put that shit back on.”
He groaned as he watched the video you had posted without it. Stack didn’t even have a tik tok account before you, didn’t even care about anything pertaining to social media. But once the two of you got together, he made sure to watch anything you posted.
‘User3829928’ liked your video.
He didn’t even bother making a name for himself, didn’t care to post or even watch anything else. His only purpose was to watch you. Sometimes you’d post things to get under his skin. A picture with a miniskirt that was wayyyy too short. A dress that hugged your curves too tight for a video on how to make homemade ice cream. Or starting a ‘get ready with me’ video in a silk robe that showed a little too much for him. Each time ended with you on your knees, attempting to apologize to him as he fucked your throat. You promised you wouldn’t do it again through tears that seeped through the pillow case while he fucked you silly.
But you never kept your promises.
-
You shouldn’t have done it, but you were frustrated beyond belief. Stack had left early that morning with the lie stuck on his lips that he’d return in time to make cupcakes with you. It was a cute little tradition the two of you had started since you first got together.
Every Friday, the two of you would spend the day baking or cooking something. Anything.
Last Friday, Stack wanted tomato soup and grilled cheese. So the two of you spent the day making that, even had more than enough to send over to Smoke and Annie.
This Friday though, you and the small little bean growing inside of your belly were craving cupcakes and Stack had given you his word. Said he just had a few errands to run with Smoke and that he’d be back early enough to bake the cupcakes so that they’d be ready by dinner time.
By 5PM you were still waiting for him, the pout on your face deepened as you texted him for the 8th time in the past 10 minutes.
By 5:30 you have had enough. You changed into a red halter top, mini dress that Stack had specifically bought just for you to wear for him, fluffed out your curls and touched up your makeup. You grabbed your phone, set it up on the tripod in the kitchen and started the live.
Comments flooded in seconds, compliments being thrown left and right. Some from the ladies but most from men.
“Hi guys!” You waved to the camera, the stack of bracelets dancing loudly on your wrist. “It’s a bit late but I was planning on making cupcakes so I figured you guys would like to join me.” Your smile was sweet, as it always was. No one suspected your ulterior motives.
No more than 5 minutes of you starting, your iPad started ringing. Your phone, which was placed on DND, recorded as you watched your iPad ring before shutting it off.
It only took Stack 20 minutes to drive home. You were distracted, too deep into explaining your recipe to notice him walk into the kitchen. His heavily tatted arms were crossed across his chest, his body stiff behind your phone. White T shirt clung to his muscles, black jeans handing low on his hips, some Jordan’s and chains sitting heavy on his pretty neck.
“Okay so make sure that you’re adding enough vanilla extract or it’s going to taste like—” You jumped once you noticed him, heart racing loudly in your chest. The viewers noticed, half concerned, half excited to maybe get a glimpse of your man.
“Is that him?”
“Omg don’t tell me we’re about to meet Mr.Peaches himself.”
“Guys have you noticed that she looks a bit pregnant here?”
Stack eyed you. Fully. From the top of your head, down to the French tip pedicure on your toes. He clenched his jaw as he looked at the dress you wore.
“End the live fa me, baby.” You bit the side of your bottom lip, eyes wide and staring up at him. Somewhat embarrassed that this was happening on live, somewhat turned on from the intensity of his stare.
“I—I’m not done, papa.”
“I know you ain’t done but we gotta talk, so end the live.”
“Ooop not my good sis done fucked up”
“Shiiiitttt girl he sound like he not playing, ga head and end the live.”
“Why do I feel like I’m the one getting in trouble?”
You nodded. “Okay guys, I’ll see yall in a bit.” The screen went dark as soon as the live ended. You locked your phone and placed it on the counter. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you but pretended not to.
“You like playing with me?” Stack slowly walked up to you.
“Stack—”
“Nah, answer me. You like pissing me off?” He stood right in front of you, arms on either side, holding on to the counter behind you. He leaned down and it took everything in you not to throw yourself into his warmth. He smelled of cologne and weed, scent strong enough to make you dizzy with desire.
“No…” your lips formed a pout, eyes wide in the way you knew could get you anything you wanted. His lips twitched, trying hard not to smirk at how cute you looked. “Get ya ass upstairs. Now.”
“But-”
“Now, baby.”
You nodded, and headed up the stairs with him trailing behind you. He didn’t like being mean to you, you were too sweet for that, but he was never afraid to put you in your place.
You sat at the edge of the bed and waited for him to walk in, your nerves were through the roof but you also lived for the thrill and he knew that. Stack’s steps were heavy, you expected him to walk right to you, to grab you up and choke you like how he always does but instead he walks to the vanity that sat across from the bed. You watched the muscles on his back move, his big frame blocking what he was doing.
After a few seconds of messing around, he turned and walked to you. His hand gently gripped your jaw, thumb smoothing circles onto your skin. “You wanted my attention, mama? Huh? That’s why you did that?”
You nod, face formed into a pout. This wasn’t usual for him, the gentleness after you piss him off.
“Nah speak up. Tell me what the problem is.” Your breath stutters and eyebrows furrow in confusion. His voice was soft, the complete opposite of what you were expecting. “Speak, mama. I’m here now. Tell me what’s up.”
Your mouth opens, getting ready to spill your truth, to admit that your hormones and emotions were completely out of wack and all you wanted was your man.
Stack lowers down to his knees, his hands pull your dress up in one quick motion. A small gasp escapes your mouth when he presses a kiss to your knee, trailing his lips further up your thigh. “I don’t hear you.” He looks up at you, waiting for you to say something, anything.
“I—It’s just that I-” Stack spreads your legs further, prompting you to lean back on to your elbows. He digs his nose onto the damp spot of your panties, groaning at your scent. Your breathing picks up, hands already gripping onto the sheets and body slightly trembling.
“Mm, so fucking sensitive.” He places a kiss to your covered mound before gripping the sides of your underwear and pulling them down your legs. “I don’t hear you talking.”
You whimpered at the heat of his face so close to where you needed him the most. “Elias” You softly begged.
“Nah, none of that. I ain’t moving till you speak.”
You groan, laying your body down fully as your eyes stare up at the ceiling. “I just… I really wanted cupcakes and you promised me you’d make them with me—” Stack dug his face in your drenched pussy, tongue flattening on your clit before pulling back. A moan stops you mid sentence, eyes drifting down to him as you watch him spit. His fingers mix it with your essence before slowly pushing into your tight hole.
“Eliiiasssss” Your back arches, small belly bump covering the way he leans in and wraps his lips around your aching clit.
“I ain’t tell you to stop, did I?” His fingers curl inside of you, moving faster as his tongue continuously laps up your juices. “Talk to me. I’m listening.”
“F-Fuck!” Your moans mixed into whimpers, already feeling the coil forming in your stomach. “Don’t stop.” You gasped, eyes rolled to back of your head while Stack feasted on you.
He smacked the inside of your thigh with his free hand. “Keep talking or ima stop.” You felt him slow down, face slowly pulling back just as you were about to cum.
“Fuuuuckk, okay okayyy. I just, I needed you here—” Stack hummed in satisfaction, fingers continuing to slowly pump in and out of you while he watched you try not to fall apart. “A—And you were gone for a long time—” You couldn’t stop whimpering, pregnancy making you extra sensitive to his touch.
“Mhm and what else, mama?”
You squirmed, full body trembling from the feel of his fingers reaching deep inside of you as he slightly picked up his pace. “Eliasss fuucckkkk.”
“Keep going, you doing good, baby.” He placed kisses to your clit, holding you right at the edge of that breaking point.
“Fuccckkkk, I just needed you here. I needed your attention— I just wanted you, daddy.” You sounded so sultry, voice high and full of moans.
“Yeah? That’s all it was?” Stack puckered his lips around your clit again and let his tongue play with it. You cried out, hands reaching out to grab his head while your hips frantically moved up and down his face.
“Yes! Yes! That was all, daddy. I swear!” It didn’t take much for the restraint to snap, your juices decorated Stacks face and your body twisted and turned as if trying to find a place to store the pleasure you were feeling.
“You so fucking wet, my god.” Stack moaned as he sucked and licked every drop from you. He stood to his full height, hands immediately reaching for his shirt and removing it. Next was his pants, thrown to the side along with his boxers. You moaned at the sight of him, tattoos tracing his front and back, including your name right along the side of his neck.
Stack grabbed your body and turned you to the side, then laid right behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his chest while the other one gripped your leg, lifting it high enough for your knee to reach his shoulder. “This what you wanted, right?” You felt the head of his dick nudge your folds, drenching it in your essence. The sound was obscene. There was no denying how badly you needed him.
“Yessssss.” You arched back onto him.
“Ga head, take it. Take what you want.”
Your trembling hand reached down and grabbed his dick, slowly pushing it inside of you. Stack groaned, burying his face in your neck as he slowly moved his hips.
Moans escaped your open mouth as you felt the stretch from the pure girth he carried. “Oh my god.” You cried out as he bottomed out, his full length deep inside of you while you clawed at his arm and the sheets. “Fuck!”
“Mhmm, take it, take that shit baby.” He sped up his pace. Thrusting in and out of you while you cried out every time he kissed your cervix.
“S—so big, papa!” You whined, already feeling the way your stomach was tightening again.
“I know baby, I know. But you can take it right? Look how good you’re doing. Taking all this big dick.” He grabbed your face and turned it to his. Your lips met in a slow dance that contrasted with the way he was fucking you. You couldn’t stop moaning into his mouth, your face forming a small pout.
“Don’t look at me like that. You wanted this right? Take it. Just like that.” His voice was like silk against your ears. Your hand weakly grabbed onto his arm as you squirted with every thrust.
“Eliaaaassssss!”
“Mhmmm, give it to me. Give me all that shit. Nut all on your dick, baby.”
Your body shook and bent against him but he wouldn’t dare stop. You were nothing but gasps and whimpers, trying your best to come down from the intense high you just experienced.
Stack pressed your lips together again, tongue sneaking its way into your mouth. “Open.” He spit into your mouth the second you followed his order. Hips still digging into you.
He slowed down and shifted so that he’d be able to deepen his strokes. You sobbed into his neck, your French tips pressing crescent moons on his thigh. His other hand rubbed your small but plump belly. “Cum for me again. Do it. Let me see you break.”
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your juices sprayed out of you, another orgasm ripping through your body without permission.
“Drown me just like that. Keep going, don’t fucking stop.” His lips were right by your ear, you heard every small groan, every breath and whisper that he tried to hide.
“Okaaayyyy.” You whined, feeling completely out of your own body.
You couldn’t stop squirting, all you could was sob and try your hardest to gain some type of control of the situation but your body was overstimulated and done for. Stack didn’t care though, he kept going. Dick sliding in and out of you with a wet splat each time he went all the way in.
“Good girl, mama. You gon let me ruin you like this, huh?” His strokes slowed down, you felt each inch of his thick cock trying to tear you apart.
“I— I can’t.” Your tears fell in waterfalls, short breaths turned into gasps as he continued to abuse your already swollen folds.
“Yes you can. Come on, give me one more. You can do that for me, right?”
“I caaaannnt. Elias, I can’t, fuck. I can’t.” Your toes curled and your body hadn’t stopped trembling since he started. You cried out over and over again as you reached a state of what felt like hysteria. He felt so good but you could barely breathe and were practically drooling. Your eyes kept rolling to the back of your head and your juices drenched the mattress beneath you.
Stack reached his hand down and pressed a two fingers to your clit. Your jaw dropped, hand reaching back to lightly slap his chest over and over again, as he rubbed your nub in circles. Screams echoed throughout the room as your body practically convulsed.
“There she go. That’s exactly where I want you. Just like that, baby. Stay just like that while I ruin you.” Your walls fluttered around his length, another orgasm threatening to destroy you. “Breathe. Let me hear you.”
You took a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut while you sobbed. “I love your dick, daddy. I love it so much!” You cried out loud.
“Yea? This why yo ass pregnant now. Nasty ass girl.”
“Keep fucking me, please! You feel so good inside my pussy. Don’t stop. Don’t stop!”
He moaned against your ear, hips stuttering from trying to hold himself back. “Look at you. Dumb off of dick. They don’t even know how you get. Tryna act all innocent for them people—If only they fucking knew.” He sped up, hand lifting your leg higher to reach parts of you, you didn’t even know could be touched. “You love me, hm? Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m the only nigga that could ruin you like this.”
“I love you! I love you! I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum, Elias. Oh my god!” The hand on your clit sped up to match his thrusts.
“Say it. Tell me this mine. Tell me I own you.” His strokes were brutal, all that was heard was the slapping of his skin against yours and the mess you were currently making. “This my pussy, my body, my nut. All of it. Mine. You hear me? I own you, baby. All of you.”
“Yes! It’s yours. All yours! Fuck!” Your body snapped, shaking profusely as your cum flowed out of you. Stack whimpered, his thighs trembling as he filled you with his seed.
“Oh fucckkkk” he moaned against your shoulder, pressing kisses to your damp skin, trying his best to calm down. He slowed his movements, letting the both of you ride out the orgasm.
You twitched against him, slumped over in a state of absolute bliss. Stack kissed you all over, hands rubbing your sides to calm you down.
Your eyes opened slowly, looking around as if you couldn’t believe that just happened. It felt like you had an out of body experience.
The vanity that sat right in front you, had your phone propped up and facing the both of you. Your eyes widen as you gasp.
Stack followed your eyesight, he chuckled slightly before getting up. Grabbing your phone, he pointed it right at your exhausted figure.
“Thought I’d keep this for memory as a reminder of what happens when you try to play with me.” You bit your lip, stomach turning in a way that it shouldn’t have been after all that. But the thought of having a video of the two of you having sex, saved into your phone where you could watch whenever, caused a fire to burn deep within you.
“Come on, baby. Show the camera the mess we made.” A smirk played on your lips as you turn over. Back arched and chest pressed onto the bed, you reach back and open your folds with two fingers. Stack groans, moving the camera closer to catch the way his nut slides out of you.
“Perfect.” He moaned before turning it off and lightly spanked your ass.
“Let’s get you cleaned up before you get me started again.” You giggle as he picks you up bridal style and heads to the bathroom.
Since I’ll be in the hospital for a while, I figured I’d post some my drafts for entertainment :)!
Summary: You and a troublesome man you like more than you let on…in the end it’s easy.
Contains: smut, a dash of degradation, established enough relationship, fat d!ck Stack because LOOK at him, country accents, rough s€x, manhandling, multiple ørgasms, overstimulation, he puts it zowwwwnnnn, gives you some of that “move yo hand”, mating press dirty talk, petnames, fucking filthy kissing, cuddles, and as per usual- this is for the ✋🏽 strictly for the ✊🏽
Stack purrs out against the bare leg that’s currently hiked over his broad shoulder, voice dripping with condescension that’s a lot sweeter than the way he’s fucking into you.
The question is mean but it has its intended effect.
Goosebumps break over the surface of your flushed skin, choking on a whiny moan, cunt pulsating so tightly around him that he can feel you in his bones. A flurry of hiccuping sobs pour from your mouth cause you’re close. Again. Ordinarily, you’d try to defend your good name since you really were in fact not easy…or at least not until you’d met Stack. You’d heard of him before but never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance until he came strolling through your moms shop one day and found you instead.
At first you were stunned just making eye contact with him. Lidded brown eyes, dimples, plump lips- the gold on his teeth glinting at you and damn he was tall. Strutting up to introduce himself to you, accent thick with charm. However, you’d already heard of him and his way of giving women the roundabout and you’d decided right then and there that you’d be damned 11 ways to Sunday before you ever caught yourself on your back or knees for him.
Unfortunately, he was as relentless as he was gorgeous. Steadily pursuing you with the devil in his eyes and a grin on those full lips. Always hanging around- then, he’d disappear. As indifferent as you tried to be, dancing around his advances with light giggles and playful hands, when he’d vanish, you’d find yourself missing his face- or rather- his way of being, more like. See, Stack had this carefree almost cavalier demeanor but he was firm too. To you, that was his most attractive quality.
And he’d picked up on it. That you liked when he was a little firm with you.
From there all it took was a kiss.
Just barely brushing your lips when he leaned down, whispering teasingly against your lips, finger underneath your chin and you couldn’t keep the want from dripping out your eyes if you tried.
“Stop playing with me.”
To your surprise but not his- you listened.
Funny how you were so determined not to fall into his gravity and now look at you; sweat out hairstyle, sheer stockings ripped to hell along with your bra and underwear, being manhandled every which way, stretched out and creaming around the fattest cock you’ve ever had in your life as you moan in bliss- loving it.
Stack’s thrusts are deliciously brutal, hips snapping into yours while your legs hang over his shoulders like some harlot and sounding just like one, mouth dropped open while you cry and whine real pretty for him. Hissing through his teeth at the sight you make, Stack wedges his hands underneath the arch at the base of your back and grips tight- using your body as leverage to fuck into you even deeper. If the heat of the room wasn’t making you delirious then the way the fat head of his was smushing rough kisses into that soft patch of nerves would definitely do the trick. If this is what playing hard to get gets you then you’re seriously considering becoming a professional.
It gets to the point where your pussy is almost as loud as you are, prompting Stack to look down. A loud whistle barely makes it through the fog in your head and you try to bring your vision to focus. Your heart is going at least 100 miles per minute and you squeak as your legs are pushed so far back that your knees are touching your ears, Stack moving directly on top of you. Where the sudden flexibility came from you had no clue- but your awe is almost immediately overtaken by how full the new position has you feeling.
“O-oooh!”
Stack bites his lip as he watches your pretty face melt in pleasure, your normally sleepy eyes pop wide open, brows drawn together like you’re about to cry, lips forming that sexy ‘o’ as he slows down his strokes- letting you feel every inch of him. You were so gorgeous. Naked curves and soft skin crashing and rolling back into him then wrapping around even though you initially wanted damn near nothing to do with him. The thought makes him smirk in satisfaction until he’s brought out of his thoughts by the feel of your trembling hand just above where your bodies are connected. He pulls out halfway nice n slow, looking down to see what the fuss is and his heart almost pounds out of his chest.
Slathered all over his dick, is milky white. It streams out generously from your hole around where he’s stuffed in and Stack feels himself start to lose his mind a little bit as he moans out,
“Yeahhh mamas, she’s real easy f’me…”
He doesn’t take his eyes off your cunt as he slams back in with a wet ‘plap’- throwing his head back with a deep groan. The sound is so primal it sends nasty shivers up your spine but you don’t move your hand and he’s folding you even deeper, lowering his upper body almost completely against yours, pelvis grinding against your clit and you gasp wetly. Stack is wild, sucking bruising kisses into your neck, tongue trailing hotly up to your mouth to claim it in a deep kiss. It’s consuming. His big tongue flattening against yours in maddening swipes, sucking the muscle sloppily into his own mouth making you lightheaded- blood rushing through your ears as he starts his hips up again, grinding away at that spot inside you but not quite as deep and he pulls away.
He watches you gasp desperately, moving not even an inch away from your face as he nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue before whispering inside your mouth- eyes glazed,
“Move that hand, baby.”
Your name might as well be Sunday morning cause that’s exactly how easy you are, body obeying him before you even tell it to. As soon as you do, he doesn’t waste a second, big hands hook underneath your knees- railing you stupid. He’s not even trying to think straight, caught up in in not just the heat but how tight- how creamy- you are. Letting out a string of swears, he captures your mouth in another overwhelming kiss, cock aching while he swallows your wails as you twitch and shake around him.
You can’t take anymore. Stack gives another harsh, slick roll of his pelvis into your swollen nub while battering that tender spot inside you and you’re coming. And Jesus Christ on a bike- you’re coming hard. Clawing at Stack’s beefy muscles, a swarm of stars completely eclipse your vision while you’re shocked with wave after wave of vicious pleasure. You’re so loud you struggle recognize your own voice but Stack’s is clear as the ecstasy pumping through your body. Filthy words of praise and encouragement directly in your ear, prolonging your orgasm.
“Thaaat’s it, dollface.. aalll over me…”
Tears spill from your eyes and you’re close to tapping out when Stack buries his head into your chest, taking one of your puffy nipples into his mouth, thrusts slowing as he shoots deep inside your heat with a muffled groan, stuffing your hole to the brim until he pops off your tit with a satisfied sigh.
You’re tired, your back is killing you, and your shaking like a baby deer but a grin makes its way onto your lips regardless as Stack kisses all over you, pulling out slowly, warm eyes checking over your form for any sign of discomfort while you bask in the coziness after, closing your eyes to enjoy a much needed break until he interrupts it. Kissing your cheek in that tender way he does when he’s fixing to look after you.
“You okay? Ain’t hurtin’ none?”
You shake you head, eyes closed even as he pats you dry gently with his shirt, tossing on the floor when he’s done. Less sweaty, it’s easier for you to nap but something was missing. Reaching up, your hand swipes though the air as you blindly reach for him, eventually catching his chain as you yank him down next to you with a soft pleased little hum. Yes, you’d sleep just fine now.
And when you wake up?
You’re face to face with a big rock on your finger.
warnings: adult content, semi-public, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding kink, ownership kink, reader is a brat, dirty talk, daddy kink, rough sex, one instance of thigh slapping, reader is afab, age gap (not explicitly mentioned but it was in mind as i wrote) stack’s lowkey an ass, use of n word, pet names like little girl, slut, whore and honey used
summary: you and stack have been seeing each other for a while, but you want more, you want something real. you want stack to claim you. and, this valentine’s day, you’re gonna make that happen.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| you’re the first, my last, my everything 🍧 barry white
Club Juke was drowning in Valentine's Day excess on February 14, 1986. Red satin draped every VIP booth like spilled blood, heart-shaped balloons floated against the mirrored ceilings, and the DJ had switched the entire set to a sultry holiday rotation: Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” bleeding into “I Want Your Sex” by George Michael, then slowing down to Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know” for the couples grinding chest-to-chest under the pink strobes.
Red confetti rained from the rafters every thirty minutes, sticking to sweat-damp skin and glittering in hair. The bar had swapped out regular flutes for rose-tinted champagne glasses, and every table held a single long-stemmed red rose in a black vase. Even the sharks gliding beneath the glass dance floor looked romantic in the crimson lighting.
Stack’s usual booth in the upper mezzanine was the best in the house. Curved black leather, low table cluttered with ice buckets sweating around bottles of Dom Pérignon Rosé and Rémy XO, a crystal ashtray already holding two crushed blunts.
He sat sprawled, legs wide in tailored black slacks, silk shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest so his heavy gold chains caught every flash of light. His eyes never left the main floor.
You were posted at the bar rail directly below the mezzanine overhang, a perfect sight line for him, coincidentally. He could see your gold lamé mini dress, a pretty number he bought last week, shimmering under the pink and red lights, so short every time you shifted your weight the hem rode up another dangerous inch, your fresh box braids swinging loose, gold hoops glinting, lips painted a glossy Valentine’s red that matched the roses everywhere.
You’d been working the bar for the better part of an hour, turning the Juke into your own personal stage. It's Valentine's day, love is in the air, and you still don't officially have a man to celebrate with. You've been with Stack for a little over a year now, and you're tired of being unclaimed. You want people to see you and think Ain't that Stack's girl? So, you have a plan. You're going to make Stack claim you, no matter what it takes. The nice men here in this lovely establishment should be the perfect pawns to help you.
Unfortunately, most of the guys who've come up to you so far haven't been good enough. They're small fish, minor street runners that'll be the first to go should the spot get blown up. Nothing Stack would take too serious.
That is, until a tall, light skin nigga with dreads came up to you, his gold teeth flashing as he grinned. You recognised him as one of Smoke's, actually, from before he retired to be with Annie, handing everything on over to stack. The light skin—V, he tells you—leaned in to order you a flute of the pink champagne the bartender was pouring for every woman who looked single. His hand brushed your lower back to "keep you steady, girl. You look real uneven on them heels” while the bottle was being opened. You laughed, head tilted back, hand resting on his forearm for a beat longer than necessary, then let him pour for you, clinking glasses while you leaned closer so he could smell your Opium perfume.
Then the shorter one joined. He was new around here. Not a baller at all, in any way. He had just bought a gym a couple of blocks over, in fact. He had Cuban link hanging heavy on his neck, Rolex catching every strobe flash. He bought the bottle outright, poured you another, whispered something in your ear that made you smirk and playfully tug his chain. You swayed between them to the beat of “Let’s Get It On,” hips rolling slow, back arched just enough to make the lamé dress ride higher. Let the tall one’s fingers graze your waist again when he “helped” you turn, and laughed louder than the music required.
Every move was for the mezzanine booth above. You knew Stack was watching. You felt the weight of his stare like a hand on your throat.
The shorter one moves closer to you, suddenly, his hands settling low on your waist. You felt it before you fully processed it: his breath brushing your cheek, his head tilting, his eyes dropping to your lips. Oh, boy, he really thought he had you. He leaned in, slow but certain, like you were a sure thing. Like the man who owns you, the most dangerous man in town, wasn't watching his every move.
You jerk your head back just enough to dodge him, a sharp turn of your chin, a quick laugh to play it off, your braids swaying with the movement. You want to be claimed, not taking care of in a back alley somewhere. But the attempt was unmistakable, and Stack has already seen.
Security moves instantly at Stack's behest, bee-lining straight toward you. Suddenly, two guards flank your sides, polite but firm, only a little threatening. “Mr. Stack would like you upstairs,” the darker one says, in a tone that implies you can't argue.
The pawns blink, confused. The short one reaches out, fully intending to follow you, while V disappears into the background, well aware of who Stack was and what he could do.
Security leads you away from them with ease, completely disregarding the short guy's displeasure with you leaving. They walk you up the stairs to Stack's booth like you were a prisoner headed to the chair, a pretty little lamb headed to the slaughterhouse. You swallow, suddenly unsure about your plan, as the eyes and whispers of club goers follow you.
When you reach the booth, Stack doesn't greet you. Instead, he clears it. “Out,” he says, voice commanding as he casts a glance around the booth. The people scatter.
The men lounging on the sides didn’t hesitate. One stood so fast he knocked over his champagne. Another muttered an apology and practically jogged toward the stairs. Even the bottle girl in sequins scooped up her bottles and disappeared without making eye contact, closing the heavy curtains behind her.
In less than fifteen seconds, the booth was empty. It was just you and Stack left. You wondered what he had in store for you. Stack didn’t touch you, didn't speak to you, he didn't even look directly at you. Instead, he stared at your reflection in the mirrored wall behind you. His arms were folded, chest rising slow as his nostrils flared. He was mad as hell at you. You hated how the sight made you feel—like a misbehaving pet.
“You done?” he says, finally, voice low and mean. “You get it out your system?”
You lift your chin, defying. You're not stepping back until you get what you want. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
He scoffs. “Lie again."
He stands slowly, deliberate and unhurried. His presence fills every inch of the mirrored space, overwhelming you. “You been makin’ a fool outta me all night,” he says as he approaches. “Smilin’ in niggas’ faces. Letting ‘em touch you. Playin’ cute for whoever lookin’.”
You swallow but don't back away. “That's not what I was—”
“Shut up.” It's an order. He's never spoken to you this way. Perhaps you've pushed him too far.
You blinked, breath catching. “Don’t talk to me like—”
“Look.” He cuts you off again, not giving much of a fuck about whatever it is you have to say, gripping your waist and turning you toward the mirror. Your reflection stared back at you: flushed cheeks, parted lips, dress glittering, body thrumming with adrenaline. Stack stands behind you, close enough that his breath warmed your shoulder, his gold chains catching flashes of neon.
“That’s what the whole club saw,” he murmurs. “You actin’ up, actin’ available.”
You try to steady your breathing. “I wasn’t—”
His hand slides from your waist to your chin, lifting it sharply. “Tell me you ain’t do that shit on purpose.”
Your lips part, ready to answer. You meet his eyes in the mirror. “Maybe I did.”
Stack breathes out one harsh laugh, disbelief, irritation and desire all tangled up in it. “You just love workin’ a nigga’s nerves, huh?” he hisses against your ear. “Flirtin’ with them broke-ass niggas right where I can see. Lettin’ ‘em touch you. Actin’ like I ain’t been watchin’ every second.”
Your body betrays you, chest rising fast and incessant as your cunt drips at the tone of his voice. “Maybe if you claimed what’s yours,” you shoot back, tone haughty, “I wouldn’t have to put on a show.”
He drags his thumb across your bottom lip. “That what this was?” he asks darkly. “You tryna force my hand?”
You smirk at him in the mirror. “Worked, didn’t it?”
He grips your jaw harder, the hold bordering on painful. “Careful,” he says , voice dropping to a threat. “You gon’ make me do somethin’ you ain’t ready for.”
“Try me.”
He tilts your chin up more, thumb pressing harder against your lip, parting it just enough to slip inside. You don’t fight it. Your tongue meets the pad of his finger instinctively, slow curl, tasting salt and smoke and the faint sweetness of the Rémy still on his skin.
Stack’s eyes darken in the mirror. “You really think you runnin’ this shit?” he growls, voice low and vicious, laced with that edge that makes your stomach twist. “You think you can tease me all night, let other niggas put they filthy hands on what’s mine, then strut up here and talk back like you got some kinda say?”
He yanks his thumb free with a rough tug, dragging the slick digit down the center of your throat, pressing hard enough to make you swallow against it. Like he was testing how far he could go. Your pulse hammers under his grip, fear and want mixing together into something filthy.
“Answer me, little girl.”
You lick your lips, tasting him still. “I think… you like being tested, putting me in my place.”
His responding laugh is short, cruel with no warmth in it. He spins you around fast, your back slamming against the mirrored wall with enough force to knock the breath out of you, the cold glass biting into your shoulder blades. It’s a miracle it doesn’t break. Your palms flatten against the wall, acrylic nails scraping for purchase.
Stack cages you in, one thick forearm braced above your head like a bar, the other sliding down to grip the meat of your thigh. He yanks your leg up roughly, hooking it around his hip so your dress gets rucked up all the way to your waist, exposing your bare, dripping core. Stack feels it immediately, his fingers brushing against warm, slick skin. He freezes, eyes narrowing.
“No fuckin’ panties?” he snarls, voice drowning with disgust and hunger. “You walked in here like that? Bare-ass pussy out for anybody to see? You that much of a desperate little slut tonight? Tryna get filled by some random nigga downstairs?”
You whimper, shaking your head. “No—Daddy, it was for you—”
“Shut the fuck up.” He slaps your inner thigh, a sharp string that makes you gasp. “Don’t lie to me. You been drippin’ all night, ain’t you? Wet and ready like a whore beggin’ for it.”
His hand cups you possessively, palm grinding against your clit while two fingers go in deep, no warning. You arch, a choked moan tumbling out of your throat. “Look at that,” he mocks, pumping hard, fingers curling viciously. “Soakin’ my hand already. This pussy knows who it belongs to, even if you actin’ like you don’t.”
He adds a third finger, stretching you wide, ignoring your whine of too much, Daddy, please. “You mine. Every fuckin’ inch. From yo' toes to them braids I paid for to yo' fucking womb. And you gon’ learn that tonight. I'ma put my name on that shit proper.”
He drops to one knee without ceremony, yanking your leg over his shoulder. He looks up at you, eyes black and merciless, before he buries his face between your thighs. He licks a long, punishing stripe up your center, tongue flat and brutal. Then he sucks your clit into his mouth hard, teeth grazing just enough to make you yelp. He growls against you, the vibration a warning. His fingers move faster, reaching deeper into you, hitting that spot that makes your breath stutter. His free hand grips your ass, spreading you even wider for him.
“You gon’ come on my tongue,” he rasps between licks, pulling back just enough to spit on your clit before diving back in. “Right here, where the whole club can see you fall apart for your Daddy. Show ‘em who owns this wet little cunt.”
You were loud, moans ringing out through the booth, but Stack didn’t care. If anything, he wanted you to be louder, for every nigga in the club to hear how pretty you were sounding for him, how good he made you feel. He keeps devouring you, tongue relentless and incessant, until your thighs shake, hips backing up against his face.
Your orgasm rips through you, your cunt clenching around nothing so hard it’s almost painful. You grip at Stack’s hair, pulling at the ends, grinding down on his face as each wave crashes over you. He doesn’t stop. He licks you through it until you’re sobbing and overly sensitive, begging him to let up. Only then does he stand, letting your leg fall gently back on to the floor as he rises up, wiping his mouth with back of his hand. His lips were glossy, the lower half of his face completely covered in your cum.
“Pathetic,” he spits out, gripping your jaw hard, forcing you to make eye contact with him “Cummin’ that fast? You that starved for your Daddy’s attention?”
Embarrassed by how easy you were for him, by how quickly your plan had turned on you, you elect not to answer. Instead, you stand there, panting, legs feeling like jello, as Stack watches you. When he gets fed up of waiting for an answer, he spins you back toward the mirror. “Hands on the glass,” he orders, voice like gravel. “Ass out.”
You obey, palms flat, arching your back instinctively. He shoves your dress up, kicks you feed wider apart. You hear the clink of his belt, the rush of his zipper, before suddenly feeling the blunt head of his tip resting at your entrance. He teases you first, rubbing himself through your slick folds, making sure to hit your clit with every drag. “Beg for it,” he tells you.
Your pride, your confidence in your plan, has long since evaporated. You should’ve known better to fuck with Stack like that. Shaking, you do as you were told. “Please fuck me, Daddy. I need it, need you.”
He pushes in slow, the pace so torturous it almost feels like he’s mocking you, stopping when he has a little over and inch inside of you. “Again. Louder. Tell me who this dick belongs to. Let the whole Juke hear you.”
“Please, Daddy, please fuck your pussy,” you nearly scream, clenching around his unmoving length, “it’s yours—only yours, please!” He slams home in one vicious thrust, the sudden weight of him making you cry out, palms smacking. the mirror.
He establishes a rhythm quickly, fucking you hard with deep, punishing strokes that shove you forward until your tits press against the cold glass. “Look atch yourself,” he snarls in your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make your vision spot. “Look how fuckin’ wrecked you are. Dress hiked up like a whore, takin’ Daddy’s cock in front of the whole damn club.”
You do, eyes going wide at the sight. Your lips are swollen, your mascara’s running, and your braids are a wild tumble on your head. Your gold hoops swing with every brutal snap of Stack’s hips, his chains glinting in the neon club lights, hair mussed from you grabbing at it, his jaw clenched like he was pissed off. “Who pussy is this?” he demands, angling deeper, hitting your g-spot with every thrust.
“Yours, Daddy, all yours!” You choke out, throat raw from screaming.
He reaches around your body, deft fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast and rough. “That’s right,” he groans. “Mine to fuck. Mine to fill. Gon’ breed this tight little cunt tonight. Pump you full of my cum so you remember who you belong to. Walk outta here drippin’ me, marked inside an’ out.”
The words light you up, body shuddering with pure pleasure at the thought. “You want that?” Stack growls, his thrusts turning erratic, sloppy. “Want Daddy to knock you up? Claim you for good?”
He groans, low and guttural, as his talented fingers dance around your clit. “Cum on this dick,” he commands. “Milk me dry. Show Daddy how bad you need his seed.”
You do as you’re told, cumming hard around Stack’s length, legs shaking as a wail tears its way through your throat, your walls clenching around him like a vice. He follows suit, slamming deep inside of you, his tip kissing your cervix, as he floods you, your name leaving his lips like a curse. “Take every fuckin’ drop, baby. And say thank you like a good girl, now.”
You barely manage a trembling, “Th-thank you, Daddy,” voice wrecked.
He chuckles, dark and content, still twitching inside you. “Good job. Always so good for me after I fuck you stupid, honey.” He says, staying buried inside you a moment longe, letting you feel every lazy pulse, every last drop he just pumped into you. He pulls out eventually, easing his back slow and deliberate, the wet drag of him making you whimper. You could already feel the thick warmth of his cum starting to spill.
He watches it happen with a mean, awed sense of satisfaction, eyes flicking to your face in the mirror, then back to down where his cum oozes out of your swollen in pussy in slow, heavy gushes. White trails slide down the inside of your thighs, glistening under the pink and red strobe lights, some of it already dripping on the floor of the booth.
“Next time you go off flirting with other niggas,” Stack begins, his voice a warning as he catches your eyes in the mirror, “I’ll fuck you up.”
You give him a shaky, cum-drunk smirk. “Promise, Daddy?”
Stack tuts, ignoring you. He calls for the guards posted outside of the booth to come in. “Get her cleaned up,” he tells them, “But bring her right back. We still celebratin’.”
a/n: for some (belated) context, this is in line with a universe thats been in my head for a while where stack is like big meech lowk and the reader is his pretty lil college aged (she’s mainly 19 but she’s rlly whatever age i need her to be for the idea lmfao) gf. its set in atlanta because i have personal beef w mississippi :)
Being Smoke’s sugar baby doesn't feel like a hustle, it feels like breathing easy for the first time in your life.
Smoke ain’t the type to brag on what he does. He doesn’t move out loud, doesn’t make big scenes about “taking care of his girl.” He just handles it. Quiet. Precise. Like clockwork. You don’t even notice half the things he fixes until you stop one day and realizedamn, I don’t worry about nothing any more.
Your phone bill? Paid automatically. Your fridge? Stocked with exactly what you like, the brand of snacks you mentioned one time, the wine you said you liked after a long day. Your hair stylist? Already got the deposit sitting in her account, courtesy of Smoke. The only thing you gotta do is show up pretty.
And the money it ain’t small. Smoke doesn’t slide you a couple twenties for gas. He moves in stacks. Thick envelopes left on the nightstand, rubber bands holding ‘em tight. Cash folded into your jacket pocket when you’re not looking, so you find it later when you’re out and need it. He’ll drop a designer bag on the couch like it’s nothing, the kind you’d never buy for yourself, and shrug when you ask why. “Felt like you should have it.” That’s Smoke.
But more than money, he gives you peace. That heavy kind of protection money can’t buy. You walk in a room with him and nobody even thinks about stepping wrong. They see who you with and suddenly the world treats you differently like you’re untouchable, like you float above the petty problems everybody else got. Even when Smoke’s not in the room, his name is. Folks keep their mouths shut and their eyes down when it comes to you.
At home, though, it’s different. Smoke drops the armor for you. He’s not a man of a million words, but his actions are loud. You’ll be curled up on the couch and he’ll pull you into his lap, one hand on your thigh, the other scrolling through his phone while he handles business. He doesn’t need to say “you’re mine.” The weight of his hand says it for him.
He notices everything, too. The way you twist your ankle in those heels? Don’t even try to hide it. A week later there’s a new pair of sneakers at your door, limited release, your size. You say you’re tired from work, and suddenly he’s telling you to quit. “I got you,” he’ll mutter, like it’s not even up for debate.
Being Smoke’s sugar baby means you never feel neglected. He’s quiet, but his attention is constant. A quick text in the middle of the day: You good? A call when you’re out late: Where you at? Not controlling, just making sure his girl’s straight. It’s care, disguised in that rough voice and blunt way of speaking.
But don’t play yourself thinking his softness means he’s soft. Smoke can check you in an instant. All it takes is one look, that sharp cut of his eyes, and you remember who you’re dealing with. He lets you pout, lets you be bratty sometimes he even smirks at it but step too far out of line and he’ll shut it down quick. That balance spoiled rotten but kept in check makes the whole thing addictive.
Life with Smoke means waking up knowing you don’t have to fight for survival anymore. You don’t have to chase, don’t have to beg, don’t have to scrape together coins. You just get to live dressed nice, smelling sweet, nails fresh, bills paid, head clear.
All because Smoke decided you were his.
𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞
Being Stack’s sugar baby is… loud.
He’s not the type to quietly slide you money like Smoke. Nah, Stack gon’ make a whole production out of it. He’ll shove a roll of hundreds in your hand like, “Count it out loud so I know you ain’t tryna short me.” He’ll clown you for taking too long, then laugh when you side-eye him. He likes seeing you flustered. That’s his version of spoiling keeping you laughing, annoyed, and dripping in cash at the same time.
Stack’s sugar baby don’t get treated small. He puts you front and center, shows you off. If you’re with him, everybody gon’ know who you belong to. He’ll throw his arm around your shoulder, big grin on his face, telling folks, “Yup, she mine. Don’t look too hard unless you want problems.” He’s playful with it, but the threat underneath? Real. Ain’t nobody dumb enough to test him.
He buys wild gifts just to see your reaction. He’ll bring you three pairs of the same sneakers in different colors and laugh when you ask why. “Cause you indecisive, baby. Now you ain’t gotta think.” Or he’ll drop a shopping bag in your lap, wait for you to open it, and then talk over your excitement like, “Don’t start cryin’ now. I don’t do tears, just run me a lil’ kiss or somethin’.”
He’s goofy, but he watches you sharp. You try to act slick, he’s on it. He’ll let you think you’re getting away with something just to call you out later, smirking, “You really thought I ain’t see that? Cute.” That playful edge flips dangerous quick. He can go from joking to dead serious in a blink, voice dropping, smile gone, reminding you why nobody plays with Stack Moore.
But when he spoils you, he makes it fun. He’ll drag you through a mall, carrying all the bags, cracking jokes about how expensive your taste is. “You lucky you fine, girl. Got me out here lookin’ like a damn bellhop.” Then he’ll wink and throw another card swipe just because he can.
Being his sugar baby means you don’t just get taken care of you get entertained. Every day is wild with him. One minute he’s teasing you, the next he’s pressing cash into your hand, the next he’s telling somebody off for looking at you too long. Stack keeps life loud, messy, sweet, and secure.
And the protection? Same as Smoke, but his way. He’s not quiet about it. If somebody even breathes wrong near you, he’s calling them out, laughing in their face while making it real clear they just risked their life. That goofy, playful energy don’t soften how dangerous he is it makes it scarier, because you never know how quick he’ll switch.
With Stack, being his sugar baby means being spoiled rotten, but never bored. He keeps you laughing, keeps you guessing, and keeps you covered in every way.
CAMGIRL!READER who after many failed job opportunities, ultimately turned to doing onlyfans. due to her bills being too high, and having multiple failed job interviews. at first the woman didn’t like it; she felt nasty for doing it. but after a while of the money rolling in, and confidence starting to bloom over her she became unashamed of her career.
CAMGIRL!READER who started doing one on one sessions with her fans; as a way to bring in some more money. ( although she didn’t really need it . ) it wasn’t until one day a new subscriber requested a one on one session with her under the name “stackthatmoney” .
CAMGIRL!READER who when she started the session, she was a bit shocked when she saw how well stack looked. his gorgeous brown and rich skin, his deep dimples that showed themselves everytime he smirked. his sexy gold grilz that flashed everytime he smiled. his intoxicating low, brown, almond eyes that made [ ♡ ] shiver. not too mention on how he talked to her, “you look so pretty mama” “that pussy crying, huh?” “pretty ass pussy” hearing those words fall out his mouth in that southern twang rooted deep in his voice made her moan each time.
it was also a whole ‘nother story when she saw stack whip out his dick. the long and girthy member was so pretty, it’s mushroom tip was red and oozing with precum. it’s dark brown shaft was veiny and hard. it looked oh so pretty, and [ ♡ ] couldn’t help but to drool at the sight of it. the more she looked the more she thought about getting on her knees and sucking the hell out of it.
CAMGIRL!READER who after her one on one session with stack, she thought about the man every night. during her live streams she would reminisce on their interactions and use it as momentum and her own personal porn. [ ♡ ] had great orgasms off of reminiscing on that night. after a while, she had grown afraid that she wouldn’t interact with the man anymore. although he was still in every live, and liking every post he hadn’t booked any one on one sessions.
it wasn’t until one night, she got a random call from an unknown caller. although; she normally wouldn’t answer a call from a unknown caller, something told her to answer the phone. once she did, the man she’d been thinking about for the past two weeks spoke on the other end of the phone. her heart skipped a bit as she chewed on her bottom lip and spoke back. for the next two hours they would flirt before ending their late night phone call with mutual masturbation.
CAMGIRL!READER who started talking to stack more frequently, their relationship blossoming. and after letting her guard down, her and stack get into a long-term relationship. her attitude softening as she becomes the biggest lover girl known to man.
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.”
“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 🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🏃🏾♀️🏃🏾♀️
He pull you back by the waist, chuckling at how you whined from the fill he gave you. Stack had you bent over in a deep arch, screaming his name into the sheets of your bed.
"Oh c'mon now, ain't you the one that said–shit– you can take it?"
He groaned, slowing down his thrusts to get a better view of him dissapearing inside you, the thick ring of your juices rimmed around his base, some of it running down your shaking thighs.
"Mmm-fuck! Stack–waitt.!"
You tried grabbing at his hand to slow him down, only for him to grip at your wrist and use it as an anchor, pulling you slightly back to get a deeper arch and deeper range inside you.
"Allat' talk, look where that big mouth got you!"
He hissed out, grinding his hips oh so painfully against yours, managing to wrap his other hand right under you and rub at your clit, drunk on the way you clenched around him.
"Mnghf–fuuck! I'm gon' cum, Stack pleaseee!"
You cried out, body pushing right back against his in pursuit of your orgasm, the man above you only pressing his fingers down as he drew faster circles while drilling himself into you.
"I ain't stack 'round here baby, you know my name pretty."
It's cruel the way he had you right on edge, holding back from letting you burst–oh but you loved it, drooling into the pillow beneath your head from this.
"Mm..Elias—please, Elias!"
He groaned out, satisfied with the way his name was sung from your swollen lips, eyes rolling back as he gave a few weak thrusts. Your breathe caught in your throat before you broke out in curses and moans.
He had pulled out and layed next to your numb body, thumb rubbing at your shoulder after he presses delicate kisses.
Savoring the moment of his skin on yours and the intimacy of his embrace.
