An excerpt from Ch. 9 of Weight of Him, with an introduction by @feedxmexdaddyyy
(For a bit of context, I recommend watching Haylee’s introduction so you aren’t lost on the plot!) Something about the way her face crumpled yesterday, hurt, humiliated, had stuck in my brain like a splinter. Festered. I didn’t apologize to anyone. That wasn’t my thing. But that was… something else.
Now I was slouched on a bench in the campus lobby, hoodie pulled low, container of cookies tucked under my arm. My knee bounced. I kept checking the entrance. And then she walked in. Fuck.
What the fuck was she wearing? Low-rise jeans, tight, straining at the seams, cut low on her hips, revealing her whole little belly that jiggled with each step. The baby pink crop top hugged her chest indecently, a star-shaped cutout flashing just enough cleavage to drive a man to madness. Her thighs pressed against the denim with every sway of her hips. Her hair was loose today, brushed shiny and tucked behind one ear like she was trying not to try. And it was working.
My jaw clenched. My blood ran south. I shot my gaze to the far wall. Nope. I wasn’t doing this.
She spotted me and smiled, soft, smug, and that was even worse. I stood, expression flat, and thrust the container forward like a threat.
She blinked. “What’s this?” I didn’t answer. Just started walking toward the library, expecting her to follow.
She did, but not quietly. “You made me cookies?”
“Don’t read into it.” My eyes stayed straight ahead. I couldn’t afford to look, not when she had my sugary, buttery, fattening cookies in her hand wearing clothes that make her spill out all over herself.
“I’m pretty sure there’s a lot to read into it,” she said, lifting the lid to peek inside. “These look homemade.”
I grunted. My fists were stuffed into my hoodie pocket, nails biting into my palms.
“It’s almost sweet,” she added.
I nearly stopped walking. “Don’t push it.”
She hummed, full of smiles. “Fine. Thank you. I accept your peace offering. I’ll keep tutoring you,” she said. “But if you talk to me like that again, about my weight, or anything else like that, it’s over. Got it?”
My lips twitched. “You setting boundaries, Herrera?”
“Someone has to.” She was standing close now, arms crossed under her tits, pressing them higher. The fabric strained.
We walked through the library foyer in silence. Every step she took made the low-rise jeans dip lower, made the soft curve of her waist more visible. Her hips swayed, ass full and tight, denim clinging like it wanted to burst. She didn’t even notice what she was doing to me.
I followed her down the hall, toward the private study rooms again. My blood roared. She had no idea. None.
With every step, I slipped deeper into that place, the one I swore I wouldn’t go again. The one where I watched her too closely. Thought things I shouldn’t. Wanted her in ways I couldn’t admit. And now we were alone again. Private room. Cookies in her hand. God help me.
Juno was already unpacking when I stepped inside.
Her laptop was propped open, notes spread across the table in neatly stacked piles, and that damn cookie container sat just beside her keyboard like it belonged there. Her outfit still clung to my brain like sap, low-rise jeans hugging her hips, that pink baby tee barely covering anything. The star-shaped cutout showed cleavage every time she leaned forward. She wasn’t even trying, and it was killing me.
She looked up at me with a tight smile. “I figured we’d review the lecture from yesterday,” she said, tapping the screen. “Just want to make sure you’re not totally lost.”
She turned to the slides, began walking me through some nonsense about mineral lattices. In between slides, her hand would drift over to the container and steal a cookie. Her voice was calm, smooth, but my eyes weren’t on the presentation. They were on her fingers. Cookie. Bite. Chew. Repeat.
She didn’t even glance at the container, just kept talking as her hand crept toward the cookies like it was second nature. First one. Then another. A third. She was devouring them, absently, like she didn’t even realize what she was doing. Her cheeks puffed with every bite, crumbs sticking to the corners of her lips.
She leaned closer to her laptop, one arm braced against the table, shirt sliding up higher, exposing the full swell of her belly over those jeans. Soft, round, pliant. Her cleavage pressed against the edge of the table. I shifted in my seat, jaw tight.
She reached out again, fingers blindly searching for the next cookie. That’s when I lost it. I slid the container toward me. Her hand kept groping. Fumbling across the wood. Searching.
“Looking for this?” I murmured.
I was leaned back now, one arm resting casually over the chair, the other holding the cookie just out of her reach. Her eyes darted up to meet mine. I saw it, realization. That she had my full attention. This was something new. Something dangerous.
She stayed frozen for a beat too long, then started to reach for it. Quick, desperate.
I caught her wrist. Hard. “Nuh uh,” I said, voice low. “Open.”
Her mouth parted slightly. She looked at the cookie, then back at me.
I didn’t move. Just leaned forward, slow and steady. We were close now. Too close. I could see every flicker of hesitation in her eyes, the way her breath caught in her throat. My brow furrowed as I studied her face, her soft lips, the smear of chocolate still at the corner of her mouth from the last bite, the flush climbing her cheeks. She was nervous. Embarrassed. Good.
My gaze dropped to her mouth again. I held the cookie there, hovering between us, unwavering. My expression didn’t change, stern, focused, unreadable.
I wanted her to feel it. The weight of being watched. Examined. Owned.
I was serious now. “I’ll can always make you.”
And just like that, she obeyed. Her lips opened. I pushed the cookie between them slowly, watching her eyes flutter, her breath hitch as her mouth closed around it. She bit down, cheeks full. Her shirt had ridden even higher now, belly on full display, pressed tight into the edge of the table, jeans biting into her waist.
I let go of her wrist. She kept chewing. Breathing harder now. Her eyes never leaving me. Trying to figure out what the hell I was doing by hand feeding her the cookie.
“You know, huh?” I said, watching every movement of her mouth. “You know just how good you look with your mouth full.”
She swallowed thickly, lips glistening.
“You come in here dressed like that,” I added, voice dropping lower. “Tight shirt, tighter jeans. Eating like that. Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me.” She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off, leaning in closer.
“I’m tired of you flaunting yourself at me. You get to do whatever you want, don’t you?” She blinked, frozen.
“Walk around like that,” I continued, voice thick. “Stuffing your face, tight clothes, not a single fucking clue what it does to people like me.”
My free hand reached up, slow, deliberate then quick and hard as I cupped her face, shaking it back and forth. My thumb skimmed just beneath her cheekbone, where it softened into the start of her second chin.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” I said, quieter now, more dangerous. “The snacks. The way you breathe heavier every time you sit. How your shirt keeps getting smaller.” My gaze goes down. I don’t hide it. “You just… exist. Overweight. Gluttonous. Oblivious.”
Her pupils widened. She pulls away but I pull her closer. “Well,” I said, leaning closer, breath hitting her lips, “now I get to do what I want.” I swayed another cookie once more between us.
“What I’ve been wanting to do for a long, long time.” My head turns examining her expression as I push it past her lips.
Her scent—sweet and sweaty and so distinctly her—filled the space between us. My brow was furrowed, jaw locked, eyes drinking in every tremble of her lip. I studied her. Memorized her. Like she was the answer to every fucked-up question I’d never dare ask out loud.
She didn’t move. I was close. Too close. She swallowed. Her breath hitched. I let go of her face.
My arm dropped back to my side, but the tension didn’t ease. Not between us. Not inside me.
The whole time she’s sitting there, silent scared. Good. I didn’t want her comfortable. I wanted her soft and stunned and exactly like this.
Her breath trembled. My gaze dropped to the curve of her stomach, rising and falling with shallow breaths, practically straining against her too-tight jeans. My hands hovered just above her belly, fingers twitching, barely keeping control.“God,” I muttered, voice rough and low, “I’ve been aching to feel you since the day I met you.”I laughed, quiet and giddy. A private joke with myself as my fingers finally made contact. I exhaled hard, my eyes shut hard. “Fuck, Juno. So fucking soft…” I winced. It was better than I ever expected. My hands belonged here.
My touch was reverent. Gentle. A complete betrayal of the filth running through my head. My fingertips skimmed her lower belly, over the hem of her shirt, dragging softly across the plushness that haunted me. My thumb circled. Pressed.
She stayed frozen. I leaned in closer, mouth grazing her ear. “These are so tight, baby,” I whispered. “Can I help?”
My hand moved quick, skilled even though this was the first time. The button of her jeans popped open with a sharp snap. Her belly surged forward, freed. She gasped, a startled little sound, and I leaned back, grinning like the sick fuck I was. Hand clamped over my mouth, fighting a laugh. Taking her in, in all her glory.
My eyes burned into hers. “You’re liking this as much as me, huh?” Her cheeks were flushed. She didn’t answer. A heavy inhale filled the silence.
I leaned in again. Hands on her waist now, sliding lower. My fingers slipped past denim, grazing the tops of her thighs. I tugged the jeans down just enough to see the soft crease where her stomach met her lap.
A pale triangle of pink fabric peeked out.
“Let’s see just how much you like it.” With one hand cradling the soft curve of her lower belly, and the other coming to rest on the apex of her thigh, I spread her like butter. My head dipped as I took a closer look at those pink panties, drenched with her arousal.
I brought my face back up to face hers and with eyebrows cinched I tutted, “Why so wet Juno? Was it the cookies, or me?”
She took another sharp inhale. I let her wait a beat before taking a finger and gently rubbing it along her dripping slit, picking up her juices and bringing it up between our faces. It was no secret that she’d struggle to see past her round middle if she tried.
She trembled in response, I could feel her thighs clutch tighter. I leaned back once again, this time it was my turn to inhale. One of relief. “Now how does it feel, poor Juno, to be sitting here. Frustrated and exposed.” I shook my wet finger at her. “Doesn’t feel great does it? You see, you’ve been doing this to me all week long. It’s about time revenge found its way to you”. A smirk leaves my lips and I suck my teeth.
I bring my Juno juice finger up to my face and run it under my nose, inhaling her sweet, warm scent. “You’re just too fucking yummy aren’t you.”
The longer she sits in wait, recoiling from my touch, the more anger fills her cheeks. She’s getting the picture now, finally figuring out I used her.
“I’m gonna let you sit there and burn like you let me. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about flaunting yourself in front of me.” I say. It’s visible that this is hurting me just as much as it hurts her. But I don’t care. I want her to see it.
I stood up slowly, dragging my chair back with a screech that made her flinch. She was still sitting there, jeans half-undone, cheeks red, lips parted around a shallow breath. Exposed. Embarrassed. Desperate for something I wasn’t about to give her. Not yet.
I shoved my notebook into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “You can keep the cookies,” I said, already halfway to the door. “I know you’ll end up finishing them later.” Then I left.
Don’t forget, we’re live-streaming the launch of my new feedist, fic novel on my YouTube channel Friday Jan 23th!
