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๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ เฟ you didnโt have much but you managed to move out of your troubled motherโs home and in the midst of you adjusting to a brand new chapter of your life.
someone has been watching you.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ เฟ vampire! elijah โsmokeโ moore! x reader! (stack might pop in!)
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ เฟ heyyy.. yโall missed me? I missed yโall pls forgive me yโall ok I know itโs been a while. who do I slap? myself or myself? lol, I figured on my own time that i shouldnโt tie myself to one story so I started with this. Iโll be honest, Iโm way too hard on myself and I gotta chillat and juh vibe. sunfield is still in the works so no worries. I hope yโall like this. lemme know. It could maybe be a 5 part thing or something!
the elevator broke down for the second time this week. lights in hallways flickered on and off like it was straight out of some horror movie, swallowing the walls whenever it felt like it. it sometimes made you uncomfortable. the neighbors were the strangest. the majority of them avoided eye contact when passing by each other and shady looking people frequently waltzed in and out of the apartments like a trap house, smelling like liquor and cigarettes but you didnโt do or say a thing about it.ย
for your own good, lips were sealed unless necessary.ย
truth be told, you had not much of a choice.ย
you were kindly advised, or somewhat warned by people to consider moving into an improved neighborhood. into a secured community, not exactly private. just one that would provide you โcomfortโ and a long stay but you didnโt have that type of money to your name. It didnโt fit in your budget and you were just desperate. you told them just that, rather than being passive aggressive and sarcastic. you appreciated the concern.ย
but youโd be lying if you said you didnโt feel an ounce of pity for yourself when you took a look at their faces that day.ย
rent was cheap, and you seen why. poor, disadvantaged neighborhood, infrequent maintenance and repairs within the complex. one bedroom, a comfortable living room with an open kitchen and a nicely sized bathroom for one person. unfortunately it groaned louder than you when you showered for too long. It had a cute oval shaped mirror above the sink though, the only thing you instantly liked about your new home once you saw the apartment for the first time.ย
itโs close to work too. so what was supposed to be transportation money went straight to your savings instead, tucked away for better things. you could consider it killing two birds with one stone. saving money and getting your steps in while daydreaming. a habit that needed some handling from the root. last time you almost ran full on into a street light pole. totally aware you needed to fix it.ย
young and making wiser choices.ย
see, you noted that this was a temporary situation. and looking at the positives, the place was decent.ย
it came together nicely the more you decorated the space and made it your own. did a good job with that also. It felt like you finally belonged somewhere that reflected you and was strictly yours. you told yourself that. odd neighbors and their visitors aside, nobody really bothered you if you didnโt mind the shameless staring, occasional cat calling whenever you walked past hooded men hanging in or around the complex. It alerted you at times but you tried to stay focused regardless. you did this for a bigger purpose.ย
independence, ownership and freedom, but deep down.ย
you were really trying to shit on a group of people and prove a point.ย
like this elevator you had beef with alike. slower than a sloth and nearly useless. apparently it had been โfixedโ a few days ago. โfixed, my assโ you mumbled soft, almost breaking the push button. patience wasย running thin but you didnโt dare to complain out loud just in case the machine would never work again. power of tongue they say. you opted to take the timeless staircase. took your time with it too.ย
deep down in your gut you prayed and hoped that the power of tongue would have someone miraculously call or text your phone and tell you the magical sentence โdonโt come in todayโ but your phone never buzzed or rang. It was silent likeit was forgotten. clearly, you were destined to go to work. an evening shift that would last past midnight at that.ย
you had done those countless times before, back to back when time was rough and money was tight. so, no pressure. managers you resented were absent today and the laid back representatives gave the staff some grace. the best part of being a receptionist in a small hotel was surviving with a coworker you clicked with since day one. Denise.
Denise with the French tips, signature long bob that swung gracefully without a care and glossy lips so shiny it looked like they was made out of glass. a nine hour shift with that lady easily felt like four and it made the reception struggles a lot more manageable. thatโs how the love-hate relationship with your job started.ย
the two of you were inseparable like conjoined twins.ย
yโall sat at the front desk, half filled noodle cups sat right next to the keyboards, unused nail files scattered all over the table and neatly printed papers stacked between monitors. today was a slow one but aint nobody mad at it unless they want life to be harder than it already is. the easy part today was listening to Deniseโs fourth story. it kept you entertained while you took a cautious bite from your hot noodles.ย
โand then.. then this knucklehead- he look like a fucking knuckle too. no hair, bald like shit. I can polish it and see my own reflection on that.โ the noodles flew straight out your mouth into the cup. โDenise-โย
โnah. I hate that manโ she confessed cold heartedly, leaning forward to grab her nailfiller with a sigh.ย
you chuckled and wiped the sides of your mouth. setting your noodles aside. โI canโt believe you gave him a chance in the first place.โ you tried to steer Denise away from the man that, to you, smelled like a walking red flag but unfortunately had the face of someone you would never mind waking up to every morning. nowadays, a pretty face canโt be trusted either.ย
โI should be listening to youโ Denise mumbled in complete defeat, glancing over with a thought behind her eyes. โyou never been in a relationship before, but somehow you know how to spot the bad, the โnot good enoughโsโ and the oneโs with a mask on.โย
true. you always had that in you. you werenโt sure if it was passed down to you or it simply developed because of past experiences. It taught you more than a thing or two from a very young age. never questioned it or dismissed it when the feeling came. you owned it and worked with it rather than against it. so far it never forsake you.ย
โyou've been in plenty of situationships, you should be ahead of meโ you stated and it was nothing but the truth, Denise didnโt protest. all she did was grumble and pout. you couldnโt help but grin at that and nudge her. the woman had terrible eyes for men and friends. a thing you couldn't quite understand or relate to. your program was strict but you loved her nonetheless.
an irrelevant notification from your phone lit up the screen, grabbing your attention. 11:37pm you read. a few more hours left and then your body could finally hit your bed.ย
โMm, girl-โ Denise began. โyou tryna slide to a block party this weekend? please please please donโt leave me hanging this time please-โย
how could you refuse the invitation when itโs asked with a bunch of pleads. although, you were known to say no so often it suited best as your second name. but for a change, as you thought of it, you accepted the invitation and two familiar arms instantly pulled you into an embrace. your left ear surprisingly didnโt disintegrate from all the hootinโ and hollerinโ she did in it.ย
why not? you had nothing grand to do on the weekend. itโs been a while since youโve gone out to have fun. living in your head was causing you more trouble than wisdom. so, you viewed this as a great opportunity to live outside of it, push the stress behind and have a good ass time. โIs the party themed?โ you asked and leaned back in your chair to relax.ย
โ90โsโ Denise answered and went on to tell you a collection of outfits she assembled and memorized in her head. she gave you context and reasoning. all of them had your interest. It ainโt no secret Denise adored dressing up and clothes. you suspected it was a borderline addiction and a real problem when she called you over on your day off for help and with your own eyes you saw that closet on the verge of exploding. that day was spent putting clothes in bags for donation. you counted 7 bags. the 8th bag may or may not have gone home with you.
โminimal jewelry fits betterโ โyou right but think about it with the flat cap and gold brace-โย
you never got the chance to finish your sentence.
someone cleared their throat. not you, definitely not Denise.ย
then the entire air shifted real quick the moment you slowly looked up.
a tall man dressed in all black, broadly framed, stood strong and still in front of the desk. never seen him before but he held a sharp gaze at you like he knew you. It burned through the dark shades he wore, felt the force of it rush through your veins. felt him looking inside of you, right through you.
then he tilted his head, slow and deliberate. like he knew exactly what he was doing as you watched him back, silent.ย
trapped in a trance that forbade you control. your body grew stiff, your heart raced against your ribcage so hard it tightened your chest and every beat drummed loudly in your ears as if you were about to faint but you remained seated and conscious. stuck like stone. his presence commanded it.ย
what the fuck was going on?ย
โdonโt worry โbout itโย
you heard him say. clear like a whistle in the night. low and gruff, but his lips never moved. your eyes started to sting, welling up with tears. a soft huff left you, stuttering like it couldnโt hold itself steady.ย
โgirl.. whatโs wrong?โย
and just like that your head snapped towards Denise. she was looking at you with a frown on her face. confused and concerned as her eyes lowered down to your hands. they were shaking. โwhatโs goinโ on with you, girl?โ Denise asked, reaching forward to grab your water bottle. โhere take a lil sipโย
you were too busy scoping your surroundings. the man was gone and you felt like youโve gone crazy. โyou didnโt see what he did?โ you asked her and it confused her even more. so you mustโve really gone crazy.ย
โwhat are you talkinโ about?โ she started. โall I seen is you drillinโ holes in his fine ass face with ya eyes like-โ she proceeded to mimic what you looked like and to see Denise eyes slightly widened like a child seeing a giant candy, lips all parted, staring into the distance made you slightly acknowledge how ridiculous you probably looked but that was beside the point. what just happened, happened. right?ย something happened to you.
โwhat did you see? you know him?โ you heard her ask and you shook your head no, opting to keep quiet. โwell.. he good looking but a lil scary though. I know he donโt playโ Denise continued talking but you didnโt really catch on. your mind jumbled and jumped around for an explanation.ย
you were there but you really werenโt there throughout the remaining minutes of your shift. you fiddled with the fabric of your pants, spoke less and Denise noticed it, reassuring you that it was just a regular guy picking up his keycard for the room he booked, like any other person. she adviced you to rest more properly.ย
but something told you he wasnโt a regular guy. something was abnormal no matter how many excuses you came up with while you marched your way back home, extra cautious about your environment as you took the shorter route through the alleyway. you went as far as going on the internet the second you got inside of your apartment, locked the door and triple checked.ย
like you expected, you found nothing on the matter.ย
as strange as it was, your body finally hit your bed after a hot shower you been craving for all day. your arms and legs sprawled under the blanket with the unknown silence wrapped around your head and body.ย
maybe you should let it go.
itโs been a rough couple of months and you were severely exhausted from it. not long ago you accidentally put your phone in the fridge and tore up your poor bedroom looking for it but the more you thought of his gaze and the burn of it.ย
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
โ Live Streamingโ Interactive Chatโ Private Showsโ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
Summary: When the preacherโs wife starts protesting outside The Blackline, Stack Moore mocks her from the shadowsโuntil her holy fire turns to something hotter. Plain and pious, Sister Marigold Baptiste hides a body made for sin, and Stack makes it his mission to break her righteousness down to the bone. Their hate burns into obsession, and soon sheโs sneaking out in her Sunday whites to be devoured in the dark. He fucks the holy out of her and sends her home to her husband full of his cum, knowing she canโt bear childrenโbut she can carry the weight of his sin.
I was holy once. But holiness never touched me the way he didโฆ
The hallway pulsed like a drumline made of perfume and heat. Laughter spilled from behind the thick velvet curtain, mingling with the sound of Lucille Boganโs last growl echoing through The Blackline like she left her spirit behind to fuck in her place.
Stack had his arm wrapped around Marigoldโs waist, fingers splayed low and intentional across her hip. He walked slow, lazy, like a man drunk on good music and bad behavior, tugging her along like she was his prize and his possession all at once.
His lips were on her neck again, wet and hot, dragging up to the spot just under her jaw where sheโd moaned his real name less than an hour ago.
โLucille always did like a low room,โ he whispered against her skin, โSay the air feel heavier, make her voice sit deeper in the cooch. Told me that onceโฆafter I poured her a drink in the back room, summer of โ28.โ He grinned, nosing into her skin, โKissed me soon as I brought her that drink. Slid her tongue in like sheโd been waitinโ all night to spend it.โ
Marigoldโs heart pinched.
The hallway narrowed. Her robe clung damp to her thighs. She could still feel his tongue between her legsโthe ache of it, the sweet bruised soreness heโd left inside her. But now he was talking about other mouths. Other women. Other nights.
His palm slid down. Grabbed a handful of her ass.
She gasped.
โI ainโt ever liked that woman in a dress, but damn she can sing,โ he muttered low, right in her ear, โShe sing like she fuckโloud, raw, full of teeth.โ
Marigoldโs stomach flipped. There was a tightness in her chest she didnโt recognizeโsharp, hot, bitter at the edges. It sat just beneath her ribs, coiled like a belt pulled too tight.
Jealousy.
It wasnโt holy, but it was alive.
They entered the private lounge through a beaded curtain so thick it rattled like bones in a bag. The heat hit firstโsoft and thick, touched with sweat and rose oil. The room was velvet dark, lined in oxblood and plum. Satin couches curved around low tables stacked with half-melted candles, fruit trays, ashtrays, and bottles that dripped sweat down their necks. Lucille Bogan sat in the center like a queen whoโd fucked her way to the throne. Her thighs were spread in a satin halter gown, glitter still clinging to her chest. She was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle and wearing a crooked grin that had broken a hundred men and at least two women that very week.
โLook who the dog done dragged up from between some thighs,โ she crooned when she saw Stack. Her voice was smoke and dirty promise, dipped in molasses, โYou still talkinโ sweet to โem, Mr. Magic Stick?โ
Marigold stiffened.
Stack smirked.
Behind Lucille sprawled her girlsโTrixie, Faye, and Ramona. All three were thick in the hips, tits spilling, eyes lined with kohl and lips painted dark like devils at a revival. Faye had one shoe off. Trixie was barefoot and flashing her pasties. Ramona had her leg slung over the arm of a velvet chair, her cleavage deep enough to drown in.
โOoooh weee,โ Ramona purred when she laid eyes on Stack. โLook at them lips. Got the kind of mouth make a girl see stars and the Lord.โ
โI bet they soft too,โ Trixie said, leaning forward, โSoft like silk on a sore tit.โ
Faye laughed, drunk and delighted, โHe got the kind of mouth make you forget what day it is. I wanna sit on it just to find out how deep it go.โ
Lucille howled, โYโall leave that boy alone! He just got done eatinโ. Canโt you tell by the glow on his skin?โ
Marigold froze.
Her glow.
Her cheeks burned. Her hands tightened around the wine glass that Peaches had handed her when they stepped in โunasked, unexpected, just thrust into her hand like she needed something to hold other than shame. She stood toward the back of the room, wrapped in Stackโs robe, her curls pinned up messily, damp with sweat and post-orgasm glow. Her lips were bare. Her feet were bare. She didnโt belong here, and everyone could feel it. She watched as Ramona straddled Stackโs thigh for a second, just being nasty, rolling her hips slow while Faye hooted and Trixie clapped.
Stack grinned. Didnโt stop her right away. That tightness in Marigoldโs chest twisted again. He finally tapped Ramonaโs thigh and leaned back, laughing.
โYโall wild tonight,โ he muttered, reaching for the bottle on the table.
โWild?โ Ramona licked her lips, โBaby, we just gettinโ started. You tryna start church or confession?โ
Thatโs when Faye clocked Marigold.
โWhoโs that?โ she slurred, nodding toward the shadows, โYou brought a lamb to the slaughter, Stack?โ
Stack glanced backโspotted Marigold still hovering, stiff and quiet in her robe. He stood and said it calm. Straight.
โThatโs Goldie.โ
A pause.
Then Lulaโs voice slid out from one of the corners like mischief in silk, โYโall ainโt ready.โ She grinned, tipping her wine glass, โThatโs the preacherโs wife.โ
Gasps. Whoops. Cackles.
Ramonaโs mouth fell open.
Faye clutched her chest. Trixie screamed with laughter, โWell damn! Baby got saved and backslid in the same night!โ Lucille sipped her drink and said, โMmm. Praise be.โ Marigoldโs ears rang. The robe felt tighter. Her skin buzzed with humiliation. Stack moved back to her side. Slipped a hand around her waist. Spoke just to her now.
โThey donโt mean no harm, baby.โ
Marigold didnโt answer. She sipped her wine, jaw set, heat crawling up her neck like shame wrapped in silk.
Stack spoke low and hot against her jaw, โMm. You jealous, church girl?โ
She donโt answerโeyes cut away like she tryna pretend she ainโt, but that little pout say otherwise.
He chuckles, darker now, โDonโt do thatโฆDonโt act like I ainโt just had you moaninโ through that pillow like it was gospel. Had you callinโ my name like it saved you.โ He leans in, lips ghostinโ her ear, voice rich and mean-smooth, โAinโt a damn thing Ramona could do for me. That lilโ loose beaver? That thing so stretched it donโt even blink no more.โ
He grins when she stifles a gaspโembarrassed, maybe turned on. Both.
Stack whispers filthier, slow, โBut you?โ He hums, low and sinful, โYou got that fat, tight coochie with the kind of grip that make a man rethink his whole lifestyle. Sweetโฆ softโฆmessy.โ
He licks his lips like he can still taste her, โStill got your scent on my mustache. Smell like sugar.โ His hand brushed the hem of his robe on her thigh, โCouldโve stayed in that room all night, tongue deep in your pussy, suckinโ you โtil you begged me to stopโthen begginโ me not to.โ
He lets the words drip down her neck like honey, โDonโt stand here tryna act shy now. You ainโt just fucked me, baby. You fed me.โ His tongue clicks, โAinโt no bird in here ever gone do me like you did.โ
Cordelia watched from a chaiseโdidnโt smile, didnโt laugh. Peaches clocked the whole thing, slow sippinโ her drink, quiet and knowing. And in the center of it all, Lucille raised her glass and purred.
โTo the preacherโs wife.โ
The girls howled.
Marigold didnโt raise her glass. Too shaky to hold it steady.
But Stack?
He kissed her temple, right there in front of everyone.
โTo Goldie.โ
The girls didnโt stop after the toast. If anything, Lucilleโs declaration lit a new fire under their asses. Faye was already making a lap of the room with the whiskey bottle, pouring straight into mouths like communion. Ramona threw one leg over the arm of Stackโs chair again, this time leaning so close he could smell the peach liquor on her breath.
โSo you really Mr. Magic Stick, huh?โ she purred, eyes sliding down his frame, โThat mean what I think it mean?โ
Lucille barked out a laugh from her corner, โIt mean that boy carryinโ a whole slab in them pants.โ She looked Marigold dead in the eye, grinning crooked and filthy, โYou felt it yet, baby? That beef?โ
Marigold nearly choked on her wine. Her hand jerked slightly.
Lucille didnโt miss a beat.
โOr you still tight like a communion cup?โ
Cackles. More laughing. Ramona practically doubled over.
Marigoldโs face burned. Her thighs clamped together instinctively, but the ache between them betrayed her. Because she could still feel it. Stackโs thick fingers stretching her, curling up and stroking until she screamed his name like a psalm rewritten. She tried to look away. But Stackโฆhe didnโt laugh. He didnโt even smile. He reached for her again, real calm and pulled her back into his side.
โChill out on Goldie,โ he said, low and smooth, looking at Lucille, not angry, but serious enough that the air shifted.
The girls backed off just a little, not with guilt, but with the satisfaction of knowing theyโd hit a nerve. But StackโฆStack turned back to Marigold like the room didnโt even exist.
His lips brushed her ear, โYou okay?โ
She nodded, stiff.
He stroked her waist with his thumbโslow, warm, groundingโthen dipped his head to speak low, close, the rum in his breath licking her jaw.
โThey donโt matter.โ Another stroke, โAinโt none of โem tasted you tonight.โ
She shivered.
He chuckled under his breath. His hand moved lower. She felt it first at her hip. Then her thigh. Thenโฆhigher. His fingers crept beneath the hem of her robe, slow as sin. He watched her body while he did it. Watched the way she froze, the way her lips parted, the way her lashes trembled. His hand slipped between her legs. She gasped, soft and helpless. He found her still wet. Still open. Still aching.
โMmm,โ he whispered, tongue grazing her earlobe, โYou feel that? Thatโs how good you taste. Still leakinโ for me.โ
She pressed her thighs together, breath hitched, eyes flicking up to the roomโterrified someone saw. But they hadnโt. Faye was now leaning against the piano, trying to light a cigarette upside down. Ramona had moved on to flirting with Cordelia, licking her lips and tracing a finger down her arm. Cordelia smirked slow, seductive, her lashes low, clearly entertained. But not untouched. Not untouched at all.
Peaches stood across the room, watching with a stillness too heavy for the wine in her hand. Her eyes lingered on Cordelia a second too long. And when Ramona whispered something in Cordeliaโs ear and Cordelia laughed, tilting her head just enough to flirt back. Peaches looked down into her glass like it said something she didnโt want to read. And meanwhile, back in the chair, Marigold sat perched on the edge of sin and secrecy. Stackโs fingers were slow. Teasing. Just sliding along her slit, not pushing in, just petting. His voice was a dark lullaby in her ear.
โI could make you cum in this room, right now,โ he whispered, โWouldnโt even have to move my hand. Just let you ride my fingers till you soak this seat. Make you whimper all holy and hushlike, and they wouldnโt know whether to praise you or punish you.โ
She trembled.
Her hand gripped his thigh hard and she felt it then.
His bulge.
Thick. Hard. Pressed against the inside of his slacks. She could feel it throbbing beneath her hand, begging for release.
And the best part?
She wanted it.
Even with Lucille laughing. Even with Faye drunk. Even with Ramona trying to seduce Cordelia and Peaches staring like she wanted to throw a drink. Marigold wanted him to pull her onto his lap and feed it to her like communion. She closed her eyes and prayed to a God to stop the pulse between her legs. Stack pulled her down without asking. One firm tug and Marigold was planted full in his lap, thighs parted around his, her robe still barely hiding anything from the rising temperature in the room. She let out the softest gasp, wine sloshing in her glass as her ass settled directly on top of his bulge.
Lord have mercyโฆ
She could feel every inch of him. Hot. Heavy. Hard as a damn pipe beneath her. Her thighs instinctively clenched, but that only made it worse. Stack leaned back in the plush velvet chair, one arm draped low on her waist, the other nursing his drinkโsome deep brown rum with heat like woodsmoke. His breath smelled sweet and dangerous.
And he was drunk now.
Not slurring. Not stumbling. Just loose-limbed, voice thick, lips glossy, eyes heavy-lidded and full of sin. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder and hummed low, the sound vibrating against her collarbone.
โMmm. That ass feel like a prayer answered, Goldie.โ Another sip, โSo damn softโฆI swear I could die right here between your cheeks and not even ask why.โ
She squirmed.
The fabric between them soaked with heat. His dick throbbed against her, and she gripped her glass tighter, trying to stay calm, to stay present, to not melt in front of all these people. Lucilleโs girlsโTrixie, Faye, and Ramonaโhad taken to the center of the room now, hips swaying, tipsy and barefoot, performing a slow, sensual dance to a new track Lucille had put on. The record crackled with low horns and thick bassโsomething slow and sticky that made folks clap and laugh and yell encouragement as they moved. The room had filled out more. High rollers now. A tall, dark-skinned man with diamond cufflinks and a silk scarf strolled in through the back curtain. He was flanked by two womenโone of them none other than Odessa in a cream lace gown, lips painted like sin, cigarette in hand. She tossed her curls and smiled when she spotted Stack.
โYou done turned this lounge into a juke brothel,โ she teased.
The man behind her? That was Langston Duvall, one of the most infamous Black Stag film directors in the South. Folks said he could make anybody a starโฆif you were bold enough. But Marigold was too caught up in the man behind her. Stack nuzzled into her neck again, his voice dropping into a filthy hush only she could hear.
โYou feel that?โ He rocked his hips slow. Up. Just enough, โThatโs all you. Got my dick hard and heavy and begginโ. You sittinโ on a problem, baby.โ
She bit her lip, โStop,โ she whispered, heat flushing up her throat.
He chuckled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, โYou donโt want me to stop.โ
His hand slid back down to her hip, strong fingers stroking slow circles into her side.
โHow you think itโs gon feel once I slide up in you, Miss Goldie?โ
Her breath hitched. He kissed her neck again, voice thick with liquor and filth.
โYou think that sweet lilโ pussy can take all this dick?โ
A pause.
โOr you think Iโma have to stuff it in slowโฆmake you cry a lilโ bitโฆbreak you in proper?โ
Marigold whimpered.
โEliasโโ she whispered, scandalized.
He groaned softly at the sound of his real name coming from her mouth again.
โSay it again,โ he rasped, grinding up once more.
She shook her head, curls falling loose from the combs. Her thighs trembled. Her robe loosened just slightly. Across the room, Ramona had slithered up next to Cordelia, whispering in her ear while tracing the line of her arm with a painted fingernail. Cordelia didnโt moveโjust tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowed, mouth twitching in a smirk that wasnโt quite rejection. But it wasnโt acceptance either. From across the room, Peaches watched. She didnโt say a word. She just sipped slow from her wine and looked at Cordelia like maybe, just maybeโฆ
Marigold was trembling. Not from cold. Not from nerves. But from the weight of him pressed beneath her, from the slow, steady, merciless filth pouring from his mouth like it was scripture. Stack had her in his lap like she was built for it. His hand gripped her waist, guiding every subtle grind, every twitch of his hips, every bounce that made his hard length throb right against her bare center.
โYou feel so fuckinโ good sittinโ on me like this,โ he whispered, voice hoarse now, drunk and raw, lips dragging across her throat, โSoft assโฆwarm lilโ pussy. I swear I can feel the steam cominโ off you.โ
Marigold bit her lip hard.
Her leg started bouncingโslow at first, then harderโ as if her body was begging for a release her mind was too shy to name.
Stack noticed. Of course he did. He grinned against her skin.
โThat leg donโt lie, baby.โ He slid his palm down her thigh, then back up again, gripping the meat of it with one big hand, โThat mean you ready for somethinโ. Ready for me to lift this robe, spit on that lilโ clit, and eat you all over again.โ
She whimpered.
Hands gripped the arms of the velvet chair like they were the only thing tethering her to Earth. And thenโHe adjusted himself. Slow. Deliberate. Tilted his hips up, ground his bulge against her with a soft hiss through his teeth.
โFuck,โ he groaned, โIโm so hard it hurt.โ He rocked again, โYou doinโ that. All that tight lilโ heat rubbinโ against me. Canโt stop thinkinโ โbout how you tasted.โ He brought his hand to her jaw. Turned her face slightly, โSweet and messy. Like rum and Godโs mistake.โ
Marigold couldnโt speak.
Couldnโt move.
Her breath came in shaky little pulls. Her lips were slick. Her skin was dewy. Her thighs were trembling so bad it felt like her bones might rattle.
Stack leaned in again, right against her ear now, โI can still taste you,โ he growled, โOn my tongue. In the rum. In the back of my throat. Pussy that good donโt disappear.โ
She gasps. Bites her lip again. Shakes her head, mouthing stop even though she doesnโt want him to.
He laughs, low and lazy, โMmm. You pretty when you begginโ without begginโ.โ
His hands slid lower again, and she could feel itโthe way his dick twitched beneath her like it was ready to break out, demand entry, claim the rest of what he hadnโt already conquered. And thenโHe shifted again. His voice changed. Lower. More urgent.
โCโmon,โ he said into her ear, like he was asking her to run off to war, โI need you in my mouth again.โ
He stood up with her in his arms before she could answer. Cradled her like something soft and sinful. Walked straight past Lucille and her girls, past Cordelia, past Peaches, past the high rollers, past the eyes.
Didnโt explain.
Didnโt ask.
Just carried his preacherโs wife out the velvet lounge like a man whoโd already been to heaven and wanted another bite.
They moved like smoke through silk.
Stack didnโt put her downโnot once. His arms wrapped firm around Marigoldโs waist, her thighs draped over his forearm, her robe hanging loose now, one comb slipping free from her curls with each step. The hallway behind the lounge narrowed into darkness and hush. No more music. No more laughter. Just the faint creak of wood beneath his boots and the way her breath caught every time he squeezed her tighter.
The walls changed here. No longer velvet red. Now black, with gold-painted edges and soft sconces that flickered like candlelight. It smelled like tobacco and perfume and pine floors. A hidden hallway inside the beating heart of The Blacklineโone only certain girls and certain men had seen. And at the end of it, a single lacquered door.
Stack kicked it open.
Inside, it was warm, dim, private. A small room with no windows. A low couch. A velvet chaise. Hooks on the wall for hanging clothes and ropes. And at the center, a tall, wide chairโalmost like a throneโcarved from dark wood, plush and deep with an ottoman in front.
He called it the initiation room.
Because this is where he trained them. Broke them in. Showed them how to be touched right. How to be wanted. How to open without apology. He set her down slow, eyes already dark with liquor and lust, his slacks heavy at the groin, the outline of his dick thick, long, straining against the fabric. Marigold adjusted her robe on instinct, tugging it tighter across her chest. Stack watched her. Silent. Heat pouring from him in waves. Thenโlazy, slouchedโhe took the center chair, legs wide, dick heavy between his thighs. His hand reached to stroke the thick length through his pants, slow.
โYou know what this is, right?โ he asked, voice low, smoky, โThis where new girls get broken in.โ
Marigold blinked at him, โWhat?โ
โYou a new girl tonight, ainโt you?โ he said, grinning now, โAinโt that how you actinโ? All shy and sweet. All tight and unclaimed. That robe donโt fool me. That pussy still mine.โ
She shifted in place, heart racing, thighs pressed together, โIโdonโt know what you mean.โ
โI meanโฆโ he said, leaning forward, โtonight you just a little thing walkinโ in off the street. Lookinโ to be initiated. We donโt fuck on first meetinโ. We justโฆ introduce your pussy to my mouth.โ
Marigold flushed hard.
She shook her head, took a step back, โStackโโ
He groaned loud, frustrated, hand still stroking his dick through the fabric.
โLord, you still shy?โ His hand gripped the arm of the chair. His jaw clenched, โYou sittinโ on my face less than an hour ago, squirtinโ on my tongue and cryinโ my name like and now you actinโ brand new?โ
Her eyes dropped to his lapโand froze.
The bulge in his pants was obscene. Long. Wide. So hard it curved slightly to the left beneath the fabric, pushing against the zipper like it wanted out. His thighs were spread just wide enough to make it worse,
Stack saw where she was lookinโ. Smirked.
โYeah. You lookinโ at it now.โ
She flinched.
He stood up.
The room felt smaller suddenly. His height, his weight, the pressure of him. He curled two fingers, beckoning.
โCโmere.โ
Marigold didnโt move.
He stepped forward.
โCโmere, Goldie.โ
Still nothing. Then, in a flash, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her over his lap. She gasped, caught off guard, and suddenly she was bent over his knee, robe hiked, thighs bare, her ass warm in the low light.
โYou wanna act like you ainโt hear me? Like you some brat?โ he muttered, hand grazing her ass, โThen Iโma treat you like one.โ
POP.
The first slap landed firm.
She yelped.
POP.
The secondโharder.
โYou donโt talk back.โ
POP.
โYou donโt tell me to stop talkinโ nasty when you like it.โ
POP.
โYou know how I know?โ He slid his hand between her thighs, pressed two fingers to the mess between her legs, โโCause this pussy still wet, still leakinโ, still begginโ.โ
She sobbed into her arm. Not from pain. But from overwhelm.
โStackโpleaseโโ
He rubbed her clit once, slow, right over the hood. Then smacked her ass again.
โYou wanna act like a hireling? Then obey.โ
Her body arched. Her thighs trembled. She moaned, soft, high, like something sacred had come loose in her throat. He leaned down close, lips to her ear.
โYou gonโ be a good girl for me now?โ
She nodded, breathless.
He rubbed her again, slower this time. Warm circles. Fingers slick.
โSay it.โ
โIโll be good,โ she whispered.
โSay youโll obey.โ
She swallowed. Gasped. Let out a shaky breath.
โIโll obey.โ
He kissed her spine. Smirked against her skin.
โThatโs more like it.โ
Marigold stood motionless, spine straight, heart slamming in her chest like it was trying to break free. Her robe clung to her skin, warm and damp from nerves and arousal, her lips parted in a soft pant. Behind her, Stack lit a match with one hand, cigar between his lips, watching her in silence through the flare of flame. The smoke curled slow.
โYou nervous?โ he asked low, voice rough like crushed velvet dragged over gravel.
Marigold nodded, throat tight.
Stack exhaled, slow and hot, โGood.โ
He stepped closer, and the smell of him wrapped around herโrum, sweat, and whatever spell she was under that made her knees feel like sugar. His voice dropped again, almost tender, almost cruel, โStrip for me, baby.โ
Her fingers trembled. But she obeyed.
The robe slid down her shoulders like a sigh. Stack watched her every move like he was starving. When she stood trembling and bare beneath the low light, he stepped forward again.
โTurn around,โ he said, โLet me see what I came for.โ
She turned, slow. Back to him. Bent over, shy. The curves of her ass framed the shadows like a painting. Thick. Plush. The kind of softness that promised comfort and ruin. The little thatch of hair between her thighs peeked out from behind, soft and natural, untouched. Even her ass had a dusting of hairโStackโs eyes glazed, lips parted, dimples deepening with a twitch of awe.
โGoddamnโฆโ he whispered, โThatโs beautiful.โ
She whimpered.
โSpread it.โ
Her breath caught. He didnโt raise his voice. Didnโt bark. Justโฆasked. Smooth. Confident. Heavy. Her hand reached back, slow. Nervous. She spread one cheek. And Stack groaned. Low and filthy, one hand gripping the edge of the nearby vanity like he needed to brace himself.
โLook at that sweet little fuckinโ hole,โ he said, voice thick, eyes glued to the split, โSo softโฆso warmโฆlike it pulsinโ for me already.โ He chuckled, โLook at you shakinโ. You like that?โ
She nodded.
โYou need to hear how nasty I get when Iโm in love with a pussy like yours?โ His laugh was gravel, โDown,โ he commanded gently. โOn all fours. Spread wide.โ
She movedโlike a puppet string pulled her hips down. Elbows on the rug. Hips cocked. She arched. Obeyed. Her thighs shook as she parted them, wide and low, dripping and glistening. Stack dropped to his knees behind her with awe, cigar tossed aside, hands gripping her thighs just to feel how warm and soft her skin was. His head tilted, admiring the creamy slick gathering at the center of her pussy like dew. Her lips were puffy. Dark with blood flow. And wetโsoaked.
โLook at this sweet fuckinโ thing. Leakinโ already, baby,โ he whispered, almost like prayer, โShe twitchinโ. Canโt even wait her turn.โ
He dragged one thumb through the slick, watching it glisten in the low light. Marigold whimpered. Her head dropped forward, face hot. She couldnโt meet his gaze if she triedโtoo undone already.
Stack leaned close, lips brushing her inner thigh, โYou wet for me, pretty girl?โ
She nodded. Weak.
โYou creamy?โ he asked, licking the crease slowly, โMmm. You are.โ He sucked on her inner thigh, hands spreading her wide, eyes locked on her dripping pussy like it held scripture. His voice rasped like sandpaper coated in syrup, โShe openinโ up for me, sayinโ Stack come taste. Stack come break me off. Stack come ruin me slow.โ
Marigold moaned. He didnโt touch her with his mouth yet. Just hovered. Breathed on her. Talked to it.
โLook at them lips. Soft little folds. All that pink under all that brownโฆfuck. Thatโs art. Thatโs heaven. I could tongue kiss you โtil the sun burn out.โ
He finally looked at her, eyes half-lidded, pupils dark, jaw flexing. His mouth glistened from the slick heโd smeared with his thumb across her skin. His hair was a little messy, that left side part falling forward now. His gold tooth flashed when he smirked.
โDonโt be scared,โ he whispered, โYou gonโ do just fine. I got you, girl.โ
She trembled. He lowered again, hands gripping her ass like they belonged there, like he paid for them. He leaned in, lips parting, breath hot.
And when he finally lickedโshe nearly screamed.
He kissed her once. Just above the slit. Lips soft. Reverent. ThenโOne long lick. Thick tongue dragging slow and heavy up her folds like he was trying to taste her whole life. From her weeping entrance to the shy rise of her clit, Stack lapped like he was licking honey off his knuckles. Marigold gasped, full-body shiver rippling from her spine to her toes.
โMmm.โ Stack hummed.
Low. Deep. The sound vibrated right against her pussy like a second tongue.
He licked again, โMmm.โ
The hum came slower this time. A breath through his nose, an exhale through his throat, like he was worshipping. Like her pussy was something divine and he was singing to it.
Lick.
โMmm.โ
Every single stroke of his tongue left her wetter. Creamier. Shakier.
โKeep still,โ he murmured against her folds, voice sticky and ruined, โYou donโt run from whatโs holy.โ
Another lick. This one messier. Longer. His nose dragged through her curls, and his tongue stayed flat, savoring the way she leaked for him. Her thighs trembled.
โMmm.โ
Marigold moaned into the crook of her elbow, eyes glassy, face flushed. Her whole body was vibratingโhunger and fear and fire wrapped up in one trembling package of please donโt stop. She was slick down her thighs now. Her nipples stiffened so hard they ached. Her pussy pulsed and throbbed, twitching with each lick, each breath, each hum.
And thenโhe pulled back.
Stack sat up slow, like he was high off it. Eyes heavy-lidded. Lips glossy. Breath uneven. His big hand slid over his mouth but didnโt wipe anything awayโhe pressed that wet tongue to the corner of his mouth like he was tasting what lingered. He licked his lips, slow and wide, the kind of lick that started from the corner and dragged acrossโglossy, syrup-thick, leaving his lower lip shining. His tongue was big. Wide and full, pink and strong like it had been built to taste only pussy. It hung in the corner of his mouth for a moment, heavy with saliva, damn near dripping.
He looked wrecked.
โFffuck, babyโฆโ he breathed, sitting back on his heels, โLook at this. Just look.โ
His hands slid to her ass, spreading her again. Tilting his head. His lip curled when he saw the fresh drip stringing from her slit to her inner thigh.
โShe twitchinโ. Look at that pretty lil hole flexinโ like she begginโ me to come back.โ He popped her ass once with a soft thud, โYou missinโ me already?โ
Another thump. Then a grip. Hard.
โDonโt run. You hear me?โ His voice dropped to a ragged whisper. โYou fuckinโ beautiful. Look at you. Back dimples, sweet fat lips, lil brown ring peekinโ out like a kiss. You made for this.โ
She couldnโt answer. She was panting. Shaking. Her pussy so wet it squelched when she shifted slightly. Her elbows were trembling from holding herself up. Her chest was flushed, nipples taut, her mouth slack. She felt like she was outside herselfโsomewhere hovering, waiting to fall apart under his voice alone.
Stack stared like he was painting her in his mind.
His lip curled. He bit it. Grinned. Spanked her again just to watch the jiggle. His handprint bloomed hot and red across her ass. ThenโHe thumped her once more and sighed, eyes rolling back like a man on the edge.
โGo on,โ he said, voice deep as thunder but velvet smooth, โBend over the chaise.โ
His tone changed.
Roleplay resumed.
Like he was the man in charge of breaking her in.
โPut them hands flat. Arch that back. Spread them legs. Donโt make me say it twice.โ
She moved like a whisper. Silken, shy. The chaise groaned as she leaned over it, hands braced. Her thighs parted. Her pussy still slick. Still open. And Stack just stood behind her for a moment, rubbing his hand down his beard, that thick tongue peeking out again.
He wasnโt ready to stop admiring her. He smirked. Reached down. Spanked her again.
โUh uhโฆโ Stack rumbled, โTurn. I need them eyes.โ
She started to move slow, hesitant, and that just made it sweeter. Hair wild againโthose combs had long hit the floorโand her face, lawdโฆher face. Flushed and needy, trembling lip tucked between her teeth, lashes flutterinโ like she was scared to look too long or sheโd come undone just off the eye contact.
Good.
He wanted her wrecked.
Marigold turned her head, just like he said. Cheek pressed to the chaise cushion, mouth parted, eyes locked on him like she ainโt even realize how desperate she looked. That moan-stuck expression. Pupils wide. Breath catching. Like heโd done laid her soul bare and she couldnโt gather it back fast enough.
Stack licked his lips again and sank down.
โI said legs wide,โ he muttered, voice already thick, eyes dragging down her backside slow.
She parted them a little more.
He smirked.
โThere she go.โ
That fat little pussy was still leaking for him. All puffy and glistening, twitchinโ like it was waiting on him to come back and make it feel right. He leaned in. Didnโt rush it. Didnโt even breathe. Just let his nose brush her inner thigh first, lips ghosting the heat of her. She gasped. Tilted her head more. Neck long, soft and trembling.
And thenโhe dove in.
Thick tongue, open mouth, slurp first. Not no gentle lick. No soft taste. Stack feasted. Sucked the whole center of her into his mouth like he was tryna pull the moans straight from the source. His lips sealed around her like a man starvinโโchin buried in the crease, nose pressed firm against that brown ring while his tongue slid in deep, messy, wet.
โMmmf,โ he groaned, grinding his mouth into her, โGoddamn, babyโฆlook at what you feedinโ me.โ
He didnโt stop to let her speak. He wasnโt interested in words right now. Not hers. Just her moans. He dragged his tongue up again, wide and slow, then sucked her clit with a filthy, open-mouthed pop. She jerked. Thighs twitched.
โAhnโStackโฆโ she whimpered, breath breaking.
โThere she go,โ he whispered, tongue flicking that button again, slow and heavy, lips swollen from how heโd been devouring, You hear yourself? Thatโs what this pussy need. Ainโt no prayer gonโ hush that.โ
He kissed it. Like it was holy. Then licked it again. Long. Loud. Sloppy. Each lick came with soundโhis moans, her gasps, the wet suction of his tongue against that creamy little hole. She was fuckinโ drippinโ. Fat drops slid from her down to his beard and he let it coat him. Didnโt wipe a single drop.
He was talkinโ to it now. Real low. Filthy.
โYou talk all that shit about sin,โ he spoke against her folds, โand here you goโฆfeedinโ a pimpinโ pussy so sweet. You should be ashamed, baby. Thatโs the Devilโs nectar, ainโt it?โ
He kissed it again. Tongue swirling. He licked her open and watched the mess stick to his mouth like syrup.
โYou moaninโ now instead of preachinโ. Pussy preachinโ louder than you ever could.โ
Marigold gasped. Her voice crackedโhigh, soft.
โOh my goodnessโฆohhhhโฆ Stackโpleaseโโ
He slurped.
Loud. Dirty. Intentional.
โSay it again,โ he mumbled, licking right over her again and again, โSay my name like that. Donโt hold it in now. You already made the offering.โ
Her face was a visionโeyes all glossy, lips glistening, jaw slack like her words got tangled up in sensation. She could barely keep her head up. Her body was trembling, her nipples stiff against the chaise, legs shaking from how wide he had her. She peeked at him through lashes, mouth still open, lower lip trembling like it didnโt know how to act.
He chuckled low.
โLook at you,โ he whispered, โLook at me.โ
She tried.
And what she saw?
His face drenched in her. Tongue peeking out again. Beard glistening. Eyes low and wild like a man mid-revival.
โI got you quiet now,โ he said, licking her slow one more time, โThatโs what you needed, huh? All that hollerinโ you was doinโ? All that carryinโ on โbout righteousness?โ
Spank.
โLet it go.โ
Grip.
โGonโ let Daddy rectify that shit.โ
She whimpered. Her moans turned into pleas, head tilted like she ainโt had the strength no more to resist. Stack leaned in again. Mouth open, lips wrapped tight. He sucked. Sucked that clit until she squealed, until her hips tried to run, until her toes curled and she slapped the damn cushion.
โStay still,โ he growled.
Slap.
โKeep them legs open.โ
Grip.
โLet me finish breakinโ you in.โ
And thenโhe licked her again. Deeper. Sloppier. He groaned into it like her taste was a drug and heโd just hit the high.
And this time?
He didnโt stop.
She ainโt know what to do with herself. Still bent like a sinner in the pew when he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over. Slow. Easy. The move made her tits bounce, her breath hitch, and that sweet lilโ gasp spill off her lips like a song she wasnโt ready to sing.
Now she was laid out.
Back on the chaise. Hair wild. Thighs open. That trembling, messy, perfect pussy glistening under the lamplight like a fresh anointing.
And Stack? He got low. Didnโt ask. Didnโt wait. Just hooked his hands behind her knees and pushed them up, spread her thighs wide until her heels balanced on the edge of the cushion. Pussy parted. Pouting. Still soaked from the last go.
He stared.
Smirked.
Thenโ
He feasted.
Tongue first. Flat. Firm. The first lick made her whole body jerk.
โAhnโ!โ
Yeah. Thatโs what he wanted. He kissed it again, tongue deeper this time. Then again. Then again. Then he got mean with itโslurping, open-mouthed, noisy like he had no shame. Chin coated, lips soaked. He didnโt stop.
Not even when she tried to squirm.
Because now?
He could see her face.
And fuck, that face. Eyes wide and glassy, lips wet, parted in disbelief. Like she ainโt know whether to cry or cum. Every sound she made hit different now. No hiding in the crook of her elbow. No more pressed cheeks or shy gasps.
She had to feel it.
Had to watch it.
And that made her all the more wrecked. Her chest rose fast, her nipples hard, round tits bouncing slightly every time he sucked on that soft lilโ clit. His beard was slick with it now. Chin shining like heโd been baptized in her. Stack groaned low, tongue dipping again, mouth locking around her entrance with filthy precision.
And thenโ
He felt it.
That sweet little hand reaching out. Her fingers clawed into his scalp, tangled in the slick waves of his hair like she needed something to hold while she lost her mind.
That grip?
Whew.
That grip made his cock throb.
She was moaning now. Whimpering, whispering nonsense like she couldnโt even figure out what was happening to her body. Stack just kept working, tongue relentless, beard rubbing up against her like he was tryna rub the good girl off her skin.
And then he pulled back just a bit. Just enough to talk to it. He licked his lips slow and wide, left that bottom one shining again. Then leaned in so close her clit twitched from the heat of his breath.
โSay it,โ he whispered, tongue flicking once, twice, licking the words into her. โRepeat after me, baby.โ
She blinked. Lips trembled. Stack lifted his head just enough to look her dead in the eyes, still holding her thighs open wide.
โSayโDaddy eat this pussy up.โ
She hesitated. Gasped.
Bit her lip.
โIโIโฆโ Her voice was soft. Barely breath. โDaddy eat thisโฆpussy upโฆโ
That shy little whisper?
That did him in. He growled and went right back in. Lips locking tight. Tongue moving like he had something to prove now. Every flick, every slurp, every suck was rougher. Deeper. Slower. Purposeful.
She screamed.
โStack! Oh myโStack!โ
Her hand fisted tighter in his hair and he let her pull. Let her grind. Let her moan till she sobbed, pussy squelching and shining with each new suck.
He came up for air onceโjust onceโto whisper.
โYeah you do. You need this. This what that sweet pussy been waitinโ on.โ
And then he dove back in like he was tryna take her whole soul with his mouth.
She was done. Wrecked. Ruined. Beautiful.
And he wasnโt fuckinโ stopping.
She said it.
Whispered it like a secret.
Like a confession.
โDaddy eat this pussy upโฆโ
He damn near came just hearing that come out her mouth.
Sweet. Shy. Sin-drunk.
โYeahโฆโ he growled against her folds, tongue sliding low, slow, deep, โYou got damn right.โ
Stack buried his face in her pussy like he planned to never come up again. Hands firm under her thighs, holding her wide, beard soaked, tongue moving like scripture on a Sunday morninโ.
But this?
This was filthy.
โTalkinโ to me now, huh?โ he muttered right against her entrance, licking in slow, pulsing circles, โMouth was runninโ all that righteous shit and now look at youโslobberinโ all on my fuckinโ tongue.โ
Marigold whimpered. Full-body shiver. Hips arched up like her pussy was trying to meet his mouth halfway.
โNah, baby,โ Stack chuckled, licking long and firm up her crease, โLay back. I got you.โ
Then he leaned in real close and did itโ
He started talkinโ to the pussy. Low. Wet. Groaned like he was talkinโ to a woman he was tryna tame.
โThere she goโฆlil twitchinโ thing. You like Daddy talkinโ to you, huh?โ He slurped her clit like he was sucking mango juice from a split fruit, โThat lilโ thump I feel? That heartbeat in this pussy? Mmm. She close.โ
Stack flattened his tongue and dragged it up again. Her thighs shook. He licked her hard and slow, then sucked her clit deep between his lips with a pop that made her whole body spasm.
โOhโoh my GodโStackโyesssโuhnnnnnnโโHer voice broke. One leg kicked. She was there.
He didnโt stop.
He locked on and kept goinโ. Slurping. Sucking.
Worshipping.
He growled into her folds.
โCโmon then. Let it out. Donโt fight it. Let Daddy taste it.โ
He licked in tighter circles now. Deep, rhythmic, slow-fast-slow again. Tongue drawing patterns like he was writing his fuckinโ name.
Her breath caught. Hips bucked. Hand still fisted in his hair, dragging, holding on like she was falling through the damn earth.
And thenโ
He spoke again.
โYou gonโ cum for me, ainโt you? That lilโ pussy need it bad, huh? Cโmon, mama. Let Daddy make her cry. Let me hear her talk back.โ
Body curling, legs trembling, her pussy gushing against his mouth. That creamy release rushed out warm, thick, sweet, and he caught every fuckinโ drop. Didnโt flinch. Didnโt let go.
He groaned like it fed him.
โNnnhhโฆthere she is,โ he moaned into it, โThatโs my good girl.โ
He kissed her through it. Licked her clean. Sucked her clit until her thighs twitched again. Until she sobbed his name, broken and beautiful, body limp with relief and ruin.
And when he finally pulled back? His face was drenched. Beard glistening. Lips shining. Eyes dark. He licked his bottom lip slow, savoring it like honey.
โTaste like redemption,โ he muttered, grinning crooked, โTold you Iโd get that pussy.โ
And she was still spread. Still trembling. Still breathless.
Half-lidded. Fucked-out. Blessed.
Stack wasnโt finished. Not even close. He stood. And the moment he did, her breath hitched.
Stack loomed above her, thick muscle and confidence wrapped in dark wool and sinful intent. And there it wasโpressing against the front of his slacks like it had a pulse of its own. A thick, twitching outline that made her mouth go dry. She couldnโt stop staring. Her knees pressed together on reflex, thighs clenching tight like they could hush the throb blooming between them.
Then came his voiceโlow, teasing, so deep it seemed to vibrate inside her.
โYou wanna free it, baby?โ
Her eyes snapped up, wide and nervous. She didnโt answer at first. Just blinked. Like she didnโt know if he was serious. Like she didnโt trust herself to touch what was clearly dangerous.
โHesitatinโ?โ he goaded, cocking a brow, โThat donโt sound like a woman ready to get her guts rearranged.โ
She bit her bottom lip. Hard.
And thenโฆshe nodded. Barely. But he caught it. He reached down, unfastening the top of his slacks, unzipping slow, and then stepped closer. He didnโt pull himself outโnot yet.
โDo it,โ he said, โYou brought all this shy heat in hereโฆ now act like you want me.โ
Her hand trembled as she lifted it, fingers brushing against the warm fabric of his briefs beneath. The heat coming off him was obscene. She could already feel the throb through the cotton. Her hand paused thereโjust restingโuntil he spoke again.
โMmhโฆ go โhead. Bring me out.โ
Swallowing hard, she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband and eased it down. It sprung out.
God.
Her whole face flushed hot. It was so much. Long and heavy and thick, the color deep and rich and angry-looking. Veins snaked the shaft like roots, pulsing just beneath the skin. It twitched in the air like it had a heartbeatโlike it knew it was being looked at. Already slick at the tip, glistening.
She gasped. Actually gasped.
Stack just stood there biting his lip, watching her watch him like it was a damn show. His chest rose slow. Eyes hooded. Lips parted.
โWell?โ he drawled, โYou gonโ hold it or just stare like itโs the second coming?โ
She reached for it.
Her fingers wrapped around him, and even that felt shocking. Heavy in her hand. Warm. Smooth but ridged. He hissed through his teeth the moment she gripped it, and her thighs squeezed tighter at the sound.
โMmm,โ he moaned, โThaaaatโs itโฆHow that feel, baby?โ
She didnโt answer. She couldnโt. Her mouth was parted, her breath uneven. She was too busy staring at how her hand barely wrapped around it. He reached for her other hand and slid it beneath. Brought it to his balls.
โBoth hands,โ he whispered, โYeahโฆwarm lilโ hands. You feel how heavy them nuts is? Thatโs full, baby. Thatโs a whole baptism waitinโ to happen.โ
She whimpered. Actually whimpered.
Because the weight of it in her palmsโthe twitch of his length, the scent of skin and musk and heatโwas too much. She started stroking, slow and unsure. He made a sound deep in his throat, head tipping back, hips shifting just enough to push into her grasp.
โYou see how big it is?โ he grunted, โYou really think you ready for this in them holy holes of yours?โ
She couldnโt speak. She just nodded again, helplessly. He took over thenโguiding her stroke. Fisting himself with her hands still wrapped there. Making it glide slick and smooth between her palms. She watched as he played with his own tip, thumbing the slick bead leaking out. He brought it to her lips without a word. She opened her mouth without thinking. He smeared it across her tongue. Let her taste it. She blinked up at himโashamed, stunned, starving. Stack smirked. His dimple carved deep like it knew what kind of devil he was.
Then he swung his length in her face.
Not playfully.
Like a warning.
Like a threat.
It slapped her cheek with a soft, wet smack, the weight of it making her shiver. She gasped again, frozen, lips parted.
โStroke it,โ he ordered, โNice and slow.โ
She did. She obeyed. And he just watched her, biting his lip again, his chest rising, his hand guiding hers, until his hips started to roll with itโgently at first, then a little deeper.
โYou see what you do to me?โ he asked, voice rasped, โLook how hard I get for you. You gonโ keep playinโ with it or you gonโ put it where it belong?โ
Her breath hitched, โItโsโฆwarm.โ
He laughed. Quiet and rough, โCourse it is. Itโs waitinโ on you.โ
She swallowed again. Her eyes trailed down. She already knew where it belonged. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she continued stroking him, his tip gliding in her hand, slick and messy. Her thighs wouldnโt stop clenching. She could feel her own slick now, sticky, heat pooling in her belly like something unholy.
And stillโhe kept watching.
Waiting.
Ready to ruin her.
โNah,โ he muttered, shaking his head slowly, eyes trailing down to her lips, โYou ainโt ready for this in your mouth.โ
The words hit her like a palm to the chest. She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Ashamed. Aching. Her lips were parted, trembling a little. She didnโt even realize sheโd started leaning forward, mouth open like she was gonna beg. But Stack saw it. Saw all of it.
โLook at you,โ he spoke, voice low, amused, wrecked. โSo hungry, and still ainโt earned your supper.โ
She swallowed thickly, face burning. His dick bobbed in her handโheavy, twitching, leaking like it was aware of every sinful thing passing between them. Her palm was slick from stroking him, fingers wet with that glossy mess from his tip.
โYou still got work to do, baby. But Iโma show you.โ
He slid a hand along his own length while she held it, guiding the pressure. He gripped the base and slapped the tip across her cheek againโwet, slow, a soft pap that made her flinch and whimper. It swayed afterward like it was alive, twitching with every beat of his heart. He stepped back, breathing heavy, and dropped into the nearby chaise like a man needing to sit. His thighs parted, one arm thrown over the back lazily while the other gestured for her to follow.
โCโmere. On your knees, right there.โ
She crawled forward, still holding him. She felt deliriousโlike sheโd been drugged by desire. Her whole body flushed, nipples tight, core pulsing, her pussy sticky from how worked up she was just from looking at it and the way he ate her up. He leaned back, eyes dark, and his lips gleamed with pussy juice and spit. Half-lidded now. Ravished.
โPump it slow, baby. Like I showed you.โ
She wrapped her hand back around him, and he hissed loud through his teeth.
โThaaaatโs it. Mmm. Just like thatโฆโ
Her hand moved, gentle but firm, up and down. She watched how his length looked in her handโtoo big, too thick, veiny and proud and angry-looking. The tip had a deep flush, and it kept drooling like it couldnโt hold back. His skin was satin-warm, but there was a steel weight underneath. Her hand trembled as she strokedโher thumb catching the sensitive underside every time she came up.
โGood girl. Thatโs how you stroke me.โ
Then he started talking filthy.
โMmm, you feel that weight? Thatโs a whole Sundayโs worth of sin sittinโ in your hand right now. You strokeinโ it like a good little convertโฆYou tryna be saved by the stick, huh?โ
Her throat tightened. Her breath came faster.
โMmphโahhhโฆfuuuuckโฆโ His moan broke loose like it slipped past his teeth on accident. Long. Raw. Guttural,โHhhahhhhโshhhhitโฆโ He bit his bottom lip hard, nostrils flaring. His hips flexed once. His abs tightened. He growled something deep and Southern under his breath, voice low and rough, โJust like that, babyโฆ fuuuuck, yeahโฆโ
She could hear how wet the sounds were nowโher hand moving through all that slickness. The mess was obscene. His tip kept swelling, his balls drawn tight now in her other hand. He pulsed so violently in her grip it made her tremble.
โFaster now. Thatโs itโtighten that grip. Lemme fuck your fist for a secondโmmmghhโfuck.โ He threw his head back, โNnnnghโshit. Thatโs it. Thatโs it. Keep goinโ. Donโt stop now, girlโfuckโโ
The sound of her name half-escaped his mouth but died on a moan so raw it made her thighs clench again. His voice cracked with it. Her name had turned into just a sound:
โMmmโMarigoโfuckโgoldโuhhhhhhโฆโ
Sheโd never heard a man sound like this. Like he was unraveling at the seams. He started breathing through his teeth, fast and sharp. His thighs tensed, the muscles twitching. His chest lifted and fell with every stroke of her hand. Sweat gathered at his collarbone. His lips parted, and he looked down at her like he was ruined.
โYou gonโ make me cum, babyโฆYou gonโ make me spill all this in them pretty handsโฆYou gonโ keep pumpinโ like a good girl, or you gonโ stop now and disobey?โ
Her hands didnโt stop. Her mouth opened in a shaky gasp. She wanted it. Wanted to see what he looked like when he let go for her.
And she was about to find out.
It happened fast.
One moment, she was stroking him like he taught herโwatching the way his body tensed, listening to the filthy praises falling from his lips like gospelโand the next, his whole frame snapped.
He gripped the back of the chaise like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth, his arms stretching wide, every muscle flexing like a cord drawn taut. His back arched. Hips jolted. His thighs trembled as he spilled with a broken, desperate groan.
Her hand flew to her mouth in pure, wide-eyed shock. It was spurting. Thick and hot. Rope after rope spilling over her fist and wrist. Her skin was painted in it. The first shot startled herโit hit her thumb, thick and sticky. The next slid down between her fingers, warm like molten honey. The way it pulsed out of him, kept pulsingโฆit was unreal. Her hand never stopped moving, instinctively now, as if guided by his need.
He was twitching. Moaning through it. Loud.
Not quiet grunts, not polite sounds.
โAhhhโahhhnnโfuckfuckfuckโmmmghhhโlook what you do to meโฆyou see this mess you made?โ
His head tipped back. Then it dropped forward again as if the weight of release was too much. His eyes squeezed shut. His brow wrinkled in the middle, lips falling open in a moan so raw it sounded like prayer. He was panting. Rattled. Ripped apart.
She had never seen a man come before.
Not like this.
Sheโd heard whispered things from the church wives, veiled confessions in kitchens and back pews. But nothing prepared her for this. The way his body movedโฆthe tremble of his thighs, the way his abs clenched, the way his dick jerked in her slick palm, spurting more than she thought possible. The veins down his shaft bulged. His tip flushed nearly purple. It justโฆkept coming.
She was soaked in him.
His moansโฆ
They werenโt just noises.
They were unholy.
โUhhhhhhโmmmhh, shitโso warmโthatโs it, thatโs itโyou made me bust like thatโฆlike a nasty fuckinโ addict. You feel that mess? Thatโs from you, girl. Thinkinโ โbout that sweet lilโ mouth. That tight lilโ hole. You did that to meโฆโ
She was shaking.
Knees pressing together, breath ragged. Her heart thumped like a drum in a revival tent. Her thighs were soaked nowโnot with him, but with herself. She was leaking, pulsing around nothing. Vibrating from the inside out.
She kept staring at her hand.
It was coated.
Sticky, messy, oozing down her palm and wrist in strands. Creamy and warm. Her lips parted slightly, but she didnโt dare move.
Stack opened his eyes.
They were wrecked. Heavy-lidded. Glazed over like he was still coming down. His voice was hoarse but deep when he spoke again.
โYou wanna taste?โ
Her eyes jerked up to his. She froze.
She didnโt answer.
โGo on. Just a lilโ taste. You earned it.โ
She looked back down. Swallowed hard. The heat between her legs pulsed again. Her face was burning. But her hand lifted.
Slow.
Uncertain.
She brought two fingers to her mouth, lips trembling. Her tongue darted outโฆ just a flick. Just enough to sample what was still slick and warm on her skin.
The taste wasโฆstartling.
Raw. Salty. Heavy. Not sweet, not bitterโjust masculine. Musky. Like the scent of his skin, but deeper. Something earthy and thick. Her eyes fluttered closed for a split second as she took it in.
Stack was watching her.
His mouth twitched into a slow, sinful smirk.
โMmmโฆtaste good? Thatโs that stuff that fill your lilโ hole up like a cream fillinโ. Thatโs what you make me do when I think โbout you. When I picture you sittinโ on that church bench all high and mighty. That tight dress. That mouth runninโ. You know what I wanna do?โ He leaned forward now, breathing still uneven, โI wanna stuff that mouth full so you hum when you pray. Wanna bust again in that sweet lilโ pussy. Feel it spill deep inside. Warm you up from the inside out. Donโt worryโฆ you gonโ feel it soon. In your mouth. In that holy lilโ puss.โ
She whimpered. Her thighs squeezed together again. Her stomach turned in knots. She was damn near vibratingโwith shock, with shame, with overwhelming desire.
She wanted it.
Wanted him.
All of it.
Even the parts that made her feel like sheโd never be clean again. She licked her fingers againโslower this time.
And Stack groaned.
Low. Long. Possessive.
The robe slid soft over her shoulders.
Stackโs fingers tucked it closed with care. One hand lingered at her waist while the other rose to cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking just beneath her eye. Marigold was still trembling a littleโbody flushed and spent, lips kiss-worn, thighs sticky with arousal and ache.
โYou did good fโme tonight,โ Stack spoke softly, voice low and warm against the curve of her jaw, โBetter than good. You was beautiful.โ
She swallowed hard. Couldnโt quite look him in the eye yet.
Stackโs lips brushed her temple, โI know that was a lot. Intense. But you made it through. And you gonโ keep makinโ it through.โ
A beat.
โLong as you listen.โ
Marigold nodded, shy. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Stack kissed her thereโsoft and slowโbefore pulling back and adjusting the robe again like she was something precious. Then he ran a hand down her back, giving her a little pat on the behind.
โCome on. Letโs get you cleaned up.โ
He opened the door.
And there she was.
Mirabel.
Perched near the end of the hallway, leaning casual against the wall like sheโd been waiting to catch him. The lighting cast her face in partial shadow, but not enough to hide the spark of jealousy in her eyes. Her gaze dropped to Marigoldโrobe-wrapped, cheeks flushed, collarbone still damp with sweatโand then it snapped back to Stack.
She smiled. Tight. Slow.
โEveninโ, Stack,โ she said cool, but her eyes were daggers.
โEveninโ,โ Stack tossed back just as calm, guiding Marigold past with his hand firm at her waist. He didnโt stop walking. Marigoldโs heart pounded harder as they passed, but Stack just leaned down toward her ear once they were beyond reach.
โShe mad,โ he whispered with a smirk, โLet her be.โ
The bathroom was one the girls usedโa big space with soft yellow light, lace curtains, and a clawfoot tub full of steaming water already drawn and waiting. Someone mustโve prepared it during the performance. Maybe Cordelia. Maybe Peaches. Stack guided her to the edge of the tub and helped untie her robe, laying it across the bench before helping her in like she was something breakable. The warm water hit her skin, and she gasped softly. Stack knelt beside the tub, sleeves rolled, one hand lazily skimming the water near her knee.
โIโm gonโ keep takinโ care of you,โ he said softly, โLong as you let me.โ
Marigold blinked at him, still trying to find footing in her own body. He picked up the soap and a washcloth, worked up a gentle lather, and began to clean herโslow and thorough. Between her breasts. Under her arms. Between her thighs. He never rushed. His hands were skilled, but his touch was almost devotional. And then, just as he was wringing out the cloth, he spoke again.
โYou goinโ to church tomorrow?โ
She nodded.
Stack leaned in closer. His voice dropped like honey over fire, โThen go with your collar loose.โ
Her brows knit.
โNo gloves, neither.โ
โButโโ
โUh-uh,โ he cut in softly, โYou wanna wear them stockings, fine. But leave that stiff little jacket off. Let โem see you. Let โem see that skin glowinโ.โ
She looked down into the water, heat creeping up her throat. Stack grinned, brushing a kiss to her shoulder.
โLet it be known you ainโt hidinโ no more. Not from me. Not from them. Not from yourself.โ
A pause.
โWear somethinโ with some movement,โ he added, โSomethinโ that feel good on your skin. Not just somethinโ to be good in.โ
Marigold stared into the rippling water, the heat curling between her ribs and down between her legs all over again.
Stack stood and wiped his hands, โIโll see you in a couple days. Finish soakinโโ
He left her with thatโwet, warm, soaking in his scent and his commandments, her fingers brushing the steam off her thighs and her heart pounding like a hymn.
The bathwater had gone lukewarm.
Marigold sat still in it, her knees tucked close now, the steam gone but the heat still lingeringโbeneath her skin, between her legs, in the deep places where Stackโs voice still echoed like a pulse. She didnโt even realize heโd returned to the doorway until she heard the gentle click of the door shutting again. He carried a fresh towel, big, soft, still warm from the line, and he knelt beside the tub without a word.
โCome on, sugar,โ he said gently, โLet me get you out this water.โ
She stood, legs wobbly, heart even worse. The air felt too cool against her flushed skin. Stack didnโt leer. Didnโt smirk. He just wrapped her up and held her there for a moment, hands rubbing slow over her back, the towel soaking in the water beading off her thighs.
โStill tremblinโ,โ he murmured, โYou somethinโ else.โ
He dried her in silenceโslow, sure strokes. No rush. No shame. He was still half-drunk, but his hands were steady now. Every time she flinched or tried to cover herself, he just shook his head and pulled her hands away.
โYou got no reason to hide from me, Miss Goldie.โ
Once she was dry, he crossed the room and returned with the same church clothes sheโd arrived inโfolded neat, the little pearl buttons glinting in the bathroom light.
โPut your arms up,โ he said.
She did. Stack dressed her like she was a dollโpatient, careful, brushing her curls back from her face once he was done, fastening the buttons she was too dazed to handle herself. He stepped back to look at her once it was all done, nodding slow with his arms crossed like he was admiring something he built with his own two hands.
โYou came in lookinโ like the preacherโs wife.โ His smile deepened, โNow you look like mine.โ
She didnโt know what to say. So she didnโt say anything.
He held out his hand. She took it.
The walk to the kitchen was quiet. The Blackline had quieted some, the pulse of the music fading into background laughter and the clink of glasses being washed. Late-night was creeping in now. But there was still that magic in the air, that slow drag of honeyed sin and soft perfume. Aunt Pearl stood at the big wooden counter, wiping down mugs. Stack kissed her on the cheek.
โNeed a favor, Auntie.โ
Pearl glanced between themโbetween Marigoldโs glassy eyes and Stackโs possessive hand at the small of her backโand smiled slow.
โLet me guess. She need a ride?โ
โIf you donโt mind takinโ her home the long way, quiet-like. Donโt want no preacher poppinโ up with holy water at the back door.โ
Pearl smirked, โAinโt no problem, baby.โ
Stack turned to Marigold and took her face in both hands. His thumb stroked just under her lip.
โI got some things cominโ up later in the week,โ he spoke, close enough that she felt the rum still warm on his breath, โMy lil cousin Sammie cominโ in town from Clarksdale. Throwinโ a lil event here for him. Lot to plan.โ
She nodded, trying not to show the disappointment that fluttered through her chest.
โBut I canโt wait to see you again.โ
He kissed her. Tongue slow, soft, just enough to make her knees buckle again. Just enough to make her whimper and press closer.
He broke it with a soft growl and a smile.
โIโll have Auntie come get you next time. Make it easy. Safe. That alright?โ
She nodded again, more grateful than she could say, โYes, thank you.โ
โGood girl.โ He kissed her one more time. Slower this time. Possessive. Sweet, โGet home safe.โ
She was still floating when Pearl led her out the back. Still tasting him on her lips. Still flushed beneath her clothes. The robe, the bathwater, the whisper of his mouth between her thighsโevery part of it clung to her like perfume. She stepped out into the cool night air with a full moon overhead and a feeling she couldnโt name blooming wild behind her ribs.
She had just been claimed. And she didnโt know what would come nextโฆbut she knew she wanted more.
The road was quiet at that hour. Streetlamps cast long amber streaks across the windshield of Aunt Pearlโs old Ford, the soft rattle of the engine humming beneath them like a low lullaby. Marigold sat in the passenger seat wrapped in her robe and freshly buttoned-up clothes, thighs still tingling beneath the hem of her skirt, fingers nervously fidgeting in her lap. The scent of cinnamon oil and sweet tobacco clung to the airโAunt Pearlโs scent. It felt like a balm. For a while, neither of them spoke. The tires hummed beneath them. Houses passed like slow-moving ghosts.
Then Pearl said softly, without even looking, โYou alright, baby?โ
Marigold blinked. โIโฆI think so.โ
A pause.
Pearlโs hands stayed steady on the wheel, knuckles catching the orange glow of the dashboard, โFirst time a man look at you like you ainโt never been seen beforeโฆ whew. Thatโll rock your world.โ
Marigoldโs face flushed, but she smiled. She turned to the window, a quiet laugh caught behind her hand. Pearl gave her a look from the corner of her eye.
โDonโt be shy with me. I know that look. Your lips all bitten, eyes got that glossy glaze to โem, cheeks hot as the back of a cast iron stove.โ
Marigold let out a bashful giggle.
Pearl softened.
โLet me tell you somethinโ, baby girl. I was married once. Long time ago. Thought I had it all. A husband who wore a suit to church and shined his shoes every Sunday. But you know what else he did?โ
Marigold glanced over, brows lifting.
โHe made me feel small. Like I was too much and not enough all at the same time. Said my laugh was too loud. My hips too wide. My needsโฆโunholy.โโ
Pearl gave a scoff that turned into a hum.
โLet that man convince me I was a sin for wantinโ to be touched soft. For wantinโ more. Took me years to shake that lie off.โ She looked over now, her eyes steady on Marigoldโs, โSo let me be clear with you, sugar. You a woman. You got blood in your veins and fire in your belly. Donโt you ever let anybodyโpreacher or notโmake you feel bad for wantinโ to be seen, touched, loved. That donโt make you sinful. That makes you alive.โ
Marigoldโs eyes stung, her throat catching with something deeper than gratitude. She reached across the seat and took Pearlโs hand, squeezing it tight.
Pearl gave her a wink.
โAnd while you at itโฆget that head, let him spoil you, and have yourself a time, baby!โ
Marigold burst into laughter, covering her face, shoulders shaking, her heart suddenly light. The car slowed at the curb outside her home. The laughter faded. The quiet crept back in. Marigold stepped out of the car slowly. The night air was still warm, but it carried a different weight now. A solemn hush. The kind that curled around old houses and old habits.
She leaned in the window before Pearl could drive off and whispered, โThank you.โ
Pearl nodded, โGo on, Sister Goldie. Be soft with yourself.โ
With one final squeeze of her hand, Pearl drove off into the dark, her red taillights disappearing like slow-dragging fireflies into the quiet night.
Marigold turned to face her house.
The porch was dark. The windows stared back like judgmental eyes. She stepped onto the walkway, every footfall heavy. Each one peeling a layer off. The robe felt tighter now. Her dress stiff. As the front door opened and she stepped inside, the warmth of The Blackline seemed to slip right off her skin. Her church clothes became a yoke again. The buttons became a seal.
Goldie slipped awayโฆand Sister Marigold Baptiste took her place once more. The silence inside her home wasnโt gentle. It was cold and holy and hollow. She walked past the mirror in the hall without looking. Somewhere in the quiet, in the hush between then and now, a line was typed on paperโfaint, soft, but resolute.
He didnโt save me. He saw me. And that was enoughโฆ
Thursday MorningโLoosened
Marigold stood barefoot on the worn floorboards of her bedroom, toes curling against the rug, a slip clinging to her skin like a hush. The morning sun spilled through the lace curtains in fractured gold, catching dust and memory in its beams. The house was still. Too still. She stood in front of her wardrobe, staring. Her usual church uniforms hung in a neat rowโhigh collars, long sleeves, skirts that swept to the ankle, gloves folded into little nests in their matching hats. Obadiah liked her polished. Liked her dressed like the wife of a man of God should be.
Stiff. Lacquered in piety. Unreachable.
Her fingers drifted toward her usual dressโthe navy one with the pearl buttons. But they stopped.
Go to church tomorrow with your collar loose.
Donโt wear gloves.
Stackโs voice, still hoarse with liquor and lust, wrapped around her spine like a binding spell.
She exhaled. Slowly. Deeply.
Her thighs still trembled with aftershocks. Her hips ached faintly from how wide heโd spread her. Her pussy twitched at the memory of his mouthโhot, open, devouring. The sound he made when he came. That growl. That filthy, guttural praise as he spilled thick and heavy into her hand. She stared at her palm like it had been marked. It wasnโt just the touch. It was the way he made her feelโworshipped and ruined at the same time. Her lips parted, breath catching. She squeezed her legs together. She still couldnโt believe she had let that manโthat gangsterโdo all that to her. That she had gasped, moaned, begged for more. She, Sister Marigold Baptiste, had opened her legs for Elias Moore and nearly drowned in her own pleasure.
What am I becoming?
The robe slipped off her shoulders. She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Skin flushed. Nipples still taut.
She never thought about sex. Never allowed herself to. Not like this. Obadiah had never undressed her slowly. Never kissed her thighs. Never praised her wetness. Never even called her pretty during the act. Sex was a duty. A quiet, rushed thing. A groan in the dark. He barely removed his shirt. She had seen his penisโbriefly. Small, and already soft when he rolled off of her. She had never felt a man hard in her hands. Had never stroked one.
And then Stackโฆ
Lord.
The weight of it. The way it twitched, leaked, pulsed. Veiny. Warm. So long she couldnโt close her fingers around it fully. So thick she had no idea how it would fit inside her. She could still feel it against her stomach, taste the salt of it on her lip from when she brought her fingers to her tongue to taste.
She trembled.
Her heart beat between her legs.
She reached for a blouse. One without the stiff high collar. She left the top few buttons undone. Her neckline open just enough for a breeze. Just enough to feel free.
No gloves.
Her hands were bare. Feminine. Exposed. She pinned her hair up soft instead of slicked back tight. Let a few curls hang. Her lips looked fuller today. Her cheeks glowed. When she looked in the mirror this timeโฆ
She saw her.
Goldie.
Not fully, but there. Blooming beneath the layers of shame and satin. Marigold touched the edge of her blouse, breathing deep.
Was it wrong? To feel this good?
Was it unholy to want?
She didnโt have the answer. But her body had already made the choice. She closed her eyes for a moment and whispered a quiet prayerโhalf apology, half thanks.Then she stepped into her shoes and walked toward the door.
One button looser than she used to.
No gloves.
The church was near-empty. Sunlight filtered through the high windows in dusty shafts, slanting across wooden pews and catching on the glint of polished brass. It was the middle of the weekโtoo quiet for comfort, too sacred for secrets. Marigold stepped inside, her gloves absent, collar loose at the throat. She hadnโt dared to add rouge, but her skin still held that post-bath glow, a hush of warmth left behind by hands that had no business touching her. The heels of her shoes clicked against the worn tile floor as she made her way past the vestibule.
โSister Baptiste,โ came a voiceโcrisp, sweet, and dipped in Southern varnish. She turned to see Sister Bernadine rising from a side pew, wiping her palms down the front of her skirt, โYou just missed Reverend Obadiah. He arrived early this morning, before sun-up. Said he wanted to have a word with you after his meeting.โ Bernadine gave her a curious glance, โSaid to tell you personally.โ
Marigoldโs heart stuttered. A small, polite smile curled on her lips, โOf course. Thank you, Sister.โ
She turned toward his office, trying to still her breath.
He knows.
He had to.
The door was slightly ajar, just enough for sound to bleed through.
โโฆitโs already begun,โ a deep male voice was saying.
Another voice: โThe signs are here, same as the others.โ
Marigoldโs hand paused on the door. Her stomach turned, bile rising to her tongue. She knocked once, just hard enough to interrupt.
Obadiah called, โCome.โ
She entered. The room smelled of sandalwood, ink, and something like musty linen. Four men were presentโ Deacon Braith, Deacon Ellison, Deacon Ross, and Deacon Wells. Their eyes flicked toward her without warmth. On Obadiahโs desk lay an aged black book with a cracked leather spine. Its pages were stained in sepia and shadow, the title embossed faintly in gold. The Book of Pruning. The deacons excused themselves with short nods, brushing past her like a chilling fog. Obadiah did not move. He watched her with his chin propped on one hand, fingers tapping at his mouth.
When the door clicked shut behind the last man, he rose.
โMarigold.โ His voice was smooth, but cool, โCome sit.โ
She obeyed.
โYouโve had a busy week, I assume?โ
She nodded gently, folding her hands in her lap, โYes, Reverend. Iโve made sure the Wednesday scripture pamphlets were printed and the childrenโs corner in the chapel was dustedโโ
He cut her off, โI wasnโt asking about pamphlets.โ
She stiffened.
โIโve been made aware of a few matters during my absence,โ he continued, walking slowly around the desk, eyes never leaving her, โNamely, Evangeline. Her mother and father came to me concerned. Said sheโs been slipping in her study, missing youth devotion. Said sheโsโฆdistracted.โ
Marigoldโs throat dried.
โYou were entrusted to oversee the young womenโs ministry,โ he said, now standing just beside her, โIt is your duty, as First Lady, to guard their gates. Their minds. Their bodies.โ
โYes, Reverend,โ she murmured.
โTell me, why wasnโt your focus where it shouldโve been?โ
She opened her mouthโto lie, maybe. To give some excuse. But nothing came out. Just the sound of her own guilt, ticking like a metronome inside her skull. Obadiah turned his back briefly, adjusted the placement of a hymn book on the shelf. Then, as if it were an afterthought, said:
โYou wonโt be attending the leadership banquet tomorrow.โ
Marigold blinked. โBut ObadiโReverendโฆthe event was reserved for First Ladiesโโ
โIt is,โ he said, without turning.
Her voice dropped. โThen whyโ?โ
โIโve extended the invitation to Sister Lillian instead.โ
The name cut like glass.
Obadiah turned slowly now, walking back toward her, gaze sharp, โBecause your attention is better spent here, at this church. On the youth. On prayer. On watching.โ He leaned closer, voice almost tender, โYou do believe in purityโฆdonโt you?โ
Marigold nodded, but her throat burned. Her blouse collar felt suddenly too loose, like a noose hanging slack. Obadiahโs fingers reached forward, too soft, and buttoned the top of her blouse himself. His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat. She flinched.
โYou rushed from your bed, I imagine?โ he asked quietly, โYouโre exposed. Immodest.โ
She dropped her gaze.
He let out a slow breath, โIโll let it pass. Youโre tired. But we must be careful with tiredness, Marigold. The devil moves fastest through women who are weary.โ
His words hung heavy.
And yet, underneath his cold poise, she could see something twitching beneath the surface. A restlessness in the way he adjusted his cuffs. A fire behind his eyes. He was looking at her too long. His nostrils flared slightly, as though searching for scent. She felt like an open book. One he was preparing to underline in red.
โIโll pray for your clarity,โ he said.
Marigold stood heart racing, โYes, Reverend.โ
She left the office with her head down, but her fists clenched. Something inside her was beginning to burn. And far behind her, unseen, Obadiah reached back and laid a hand on The Book of Pruning. His fingers tightened.
The porch creaked beneath Marigoldโs heels.
Afternoon light lay heavy across the crooked planks, and the rusted screen door swayed just slightly with the breeze. Paint peeled from the siding in long, flaking strips, and a row of flower pots sat cracked and bone-dry along the railing. The yard hadnโt been trimmed in weeks. She adjusted her gloves, hesitated, then knocked. It was Ruth Monroe who answeredโthin-lipped and graying, her face drawn tight like the line of her apron. A streak of flour dusted her cheek, and her hands were stiff with age and labor. She blinked once, slowly, before recognition set in.
โFirst Lady Baptiste,โ she said, voice clipped, โDidnโt expect no company.โ
โI was hopinโ to speak with Evangeline, if sheโs home.โ
Ruthโs eyes flicked down the road before settling back on Marigold. A pause. Then a stiff nod, โShe in her room. Supposed to be readinโ scripture. I wonโt stop you.โ
The house was dim and quiet. The smell of old starch and yesterdayโs cooking clung to the air. Crosses lined the hallwayโsome metal, some wood, one with a cracked porcelain Jesus. Marigoldโs shoes made soft taps on the floor as she passed.
Ruth didnโt follow.
Evangelineโs door was cracked just enough to let the breeze curl in from the open window. Lace curtains danced slow, and somewhere beyond, a mockingbird sang. The scent of faint smoke lingered, tucked behind the sweetness of youth and dust. Marigold knocked gently before pushing the door open. Evangeline sat on the floor, cross-legged, in a faded cotton slip. Her Bible was open in her lapโbut a carved-out hollow in the center held a pouch of weed. Her eyes were sharp as glass when she looked up, wide-set and dark like stormwater.
She didnโt rise.
โDidnโt know we had surprise inspections now,โ she said dryly.
Marigold stepped inside, softening her voice, โAinโt here to scold. Just checkinโ on you.โ
Evangeline leaned back against the wall, โSure you are.โ
Marigoldโs gaze drifted to the bruise on the girlโs arm. Faint, blooming purple beneath warm brown skin. It looked like a grip. Marigold said nothing, but the chill moved through her.
โYouโve been missed,โ she offered, โThe studies ainโt the same.โ
โThey never were,โ Evangeline said, โNaomi knew that. Thatโs why she left.โ
Marigold stiffened, โYouโve spoken to her?โ
Evangeline tilted her head, โMaybe I have. Maybe I ainโt. What difference it make?โ
There was something older than eighteen in her tone. A tiredness that hadnโt been earned fairly.
โYou should come back,โ Marigold said, โEven if itโs just to talk.โ
Evangeline smiled bitter, โTalk to who? The sisters who whisper about my skirt length? Or the elders who think weedโs worse than beinโ touched up by your own blood?โ
Evangeline held her gaze a second longer, then looked out the window.
โI donโt need pity,โ she said, โYou ainโt gotta pretend.โ
โIโm not pretending. I justโฆI want to help.โ
The silence between them crackled.
Finally, Marigold said, quieter, โIf you ever need to talkโmy doorโs open. You know where I stay.โ
She turned to go.
โHey,โ Evangeline called out.
Marigold paused.
โTell the church ladies Iโm doinโ just fine,โ she said with a crooked smile, โTell Obadiah too.โ
Marigold nodded, but her heart felt like glass cracking. She stepped back into the hallway, past the stiff furniture and the quiet disapproval in Ruthโs eyes.
Door on the knob, Ruthโs voice cut through.
โTea?โ
The teacups trembled slightly in their saucers as Ruth returned with the tray. She set it down on the table with care, though her hands betrayed herโfingers stiff, nerves frayed at the edges.
โChamomile,โ she said quietly, โCalms the heart.โ
Marigold nodded, her hands folded politely in her lap. โThank you, Sister Ruth.โ
They sat across from each other, the tea untouched at first. Ruth stared into her cup as if it held answers she didnโt want to name.
โI worry โbout my baby,โ she said finally, voice catching in her throat.
Marigold glanced toward the hall, โSheโs still young. Young womenโฆthey test boundaries.โ
Ruthโs hand came to her mouth, โLast week, I caught her with a boy. In her room. Pants down. The devil in both their eyes. IโI ainโt never seen her like that.โ Her voice broke, โI raised her better.โ
Marigoldโs expression softened. She reached into her purse and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, embroidered with a tiny cross in the corner. She placed it gently in Ruthโs hand.
Ruth took it with a whispered thank-you, dabbing her eyes, โI told her daddy. He ainโt say nothinโ. Just got quiet. That quiet he get when he ready to act.โ
Marigoldโs brows lifted, concern blooming, โHe put his hands on her?โ
Ruth didnโt answer directly. She looked away, swallowing hard, โHe say he takinโ it to Obadiah. Thatโs what he said. Said the church gonโ fix her.โ
The words sank into the room like wet cement. Marigold kept her posture composed, but her knuckles were white around the teacup.
โIโve tried, Sister Marigold. God knows I have. Iโve prayed. Fasted. Tried to bring her back to the Word. She used to be so close with Naomi. I donโt know what changed.โ
The shift in Ruthโs voice was subtle, but sharp. A buried grudge resurfacing.
Marigold straightened, โNaomi was a good girl. Spirited, yes. But kind. And smart.โ
Ruthโs mouth tightened, โSpirited is one word for it. Wildโs another.โ
Marigold blinked, the sting immediate.
Ruth sipped her tea, then sighed, โIโm sorry, butโฆNaomi was already walkinโ a dangerous path when she left. And your sisterโEstherโLord knows she had her own darkness to wrestle with. That blood runs hot, Sister Marigold. Always has. And now my childโs caught up in it.โ
Marigold rose from her chair slowly, โThat blood is my blood, Sister Ruth.โ
Ruth flinched, but didnโt apologize.
Marigoldโs voice was quiet but firm, โEsther may be in a home now, but she is still my sister. And Naomi is still my niece. She stayed with me after everything. When no one else would take her in.โ
โShe ran off again, didnโt she?โ Ruth asked, โLeft you, too.โ
โThatโs between me and God,โ Marigold said.
A beat passed. Ruthโs expression faltered.
โIโIโm sorry,โ she stuttered. โIโIโm just scared, is all.โ
Marigold nodded, brushing invisible dust from her gloves, โWe all are.โ She reached for her purse and paused before leaving, โIf Evangeline ever wants to talkโฆshe can come to my home. No judgments. No rules.โ
Ruth looked up, eyes shining, โThank you.โ
With a polite nod, Marigold turned to go, her shoes tapping lightly against the wood floor. But something about her posture had changedโshoulders set a little firmer, gaze a little deeper. She was beginning to see it now. The cracks. The blame. The way righteousness could be twisted into something cruel.
The hallway is dim, lit only by the last stretch of sunlight clawing its way through the lace curtains. Shadows stretch across the walls like reaching fingers. A faint tick-tick of the old clock chimes from the mantel in the front parlor, counting down a moment sheโs already decided on. Evangeline moves quietly, barefoot on the worn wood floors. Her room door closes behind her with a soundless pull. Sheโs changed out of her at-home dress into something a little looser, a little freerโsoft cotton skirt, button-up shirt tied at the waist, and a pair of borrowed saddle shoes. Lips glossed. Hair fluffed. Her eyes flicker like theyโve been holding back a storm.
She steps carefully past the kitchen doorway.
Inside, Ruth Monroe, hunched at the table, her back to her daughter, a teacup forgotten in her hand. Sheโs holding something in her other handโa photograph. The edges are curled from years of drawer dust and sunlight. The image: a toddler in frilly white socks with a wide, gummy smile. Baby Evangeline. Ruth stares at it, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Evangeline stops in the hallwayโjust for a breath. Her eyes soften, guilt threatening to root her feet in place. But she doesnโt speak. Doesnโt step in.
She moves on.
Out the back and into night fall.
The screen door creaks, the sound swallowed by the rising hum of crickets and distant dogs barking in the dark. The porch light flickers once, then steadies. Down the gravel driveway, headlights flash twice.
A car waits at the corner.
Behind the wheel is a broad-shouldered boy with slicked-back hair and a look that says he knows how to lie for fun. In the passenger seat is a girl, maybe twenty, sharp-lined eyeliner and bubblegum lips, smacking gum with the window half-down. She waves Evangeline over like she owns the night. Evangeline grinsโcrooked, excited, a little scaredโand runs. She climbs into the back seat, sliding in with practiced ease, the leather hot against her thighs.
The girl up front twists in her seat, โTook you long enough.โ
โHad a visitor,โ Evangeline says, breathless.
โYou good?โ
โAlways.โ
The car rolls forward slow at first, wheels crunching gravel as it pulls away from the Monroe house. In the rearview mirror, Evangeline sees the porch light still on. Her mother still inside. Her past still burning quietly behind her. Then the car turns the corner. The house disappears. The road stretches on. The music comes up low and dirtyโsomething bluesy and grown. And Evangeline leans back, wind slipping through the open window, eyes wide and wild with the freedom of a girl who knows the night belongs to her.
The back office of The Blackline was dim-lit, heavy with cigar smoke and the faint sound of Ella Fitzgerald humming low from the gramophone in the corner. Stack stood by the mirror, brushing the dust from his shoulders, a half-buttoned shirt hanging open over his chest. His gold toothpick glinted as he adjusted the tilt of his fedora. Behind him, Smoke sat in the old leather chair, one leg draped over the other, wrist resting on his knee. He looked tired. The kind of tired that clung behind the eyes even when the body sat still. His undershirt was damp with the heat of the day and he was nursing the stub of a cigar that had long gone out.
Stack caught his twinโs reflection.
โYou look like you been rode hard and put up crooked,โ he muttered with a grin.
Smoke smirked, slow, โAinโt slept much.โ
Stack glanced over, โEverything straight?โ
Smoke nodded once, eyes sharp even in fatigue, โGoods came in this morning. Delia counted it out. Runners are loading the dry cellar now. Iโll handle the rest โfore sundown.โ
A beat passed.
Then Smoke added, like an afterthought, โThank God for Aunt Pearl and Minnie. They been holdinโ it down.โ
Stack caught thatโthe weight in his voice. But he didnโt press. Not yet. Instead, he moved to the small liquor cart and poured himself a splash of bourbon.
โYou gonโ be alright while I pick up Sammie?โ
Stack chuckled, โFeels like yesterday he was cryinโ โcause we wouldnโt let him hold the shotgun.โ
Smokeโs mouth twitched. Then, like a shift in the wind, he asked, โYou been seeinโ her lately, huh?โ
Stackโs hand stilled on the glass, โWho?โ
โDonโt play dumb witโ me.โ Smoke tilted his head, โThat preacherโs wife.โ
Stack leaned back on the desk, licking the bourbon from his bottom lip. His face didnโt give much awayโbut his voice softened, โNames Marigold.โ
Smoke raised a brow, โYou helpinโ her or huntinโ her?โ
Stack gave a long pause. Then said, โShe donโt even know what she is, man.โ
Smoke narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting.
โAll her life she been told she was a lamb. Quiet. Meek. Somethinโ to protect. Somethinโ to keep holy. But she ainโt just that.โ Stack swirled the liquor in his glass, โShe a woman. And ainโt nothinโ shameful about that.โ
Smoke let the words hang, chewing on them like tobacco, โYou like her.โ
Stack didnโt flinch. Didnโt smile either.
โAinโt got a name for it yet.โ He looked toward the half-cracked window where the sunlight broke in like gold ribbon, โBut when she talk, I listen. When she cry, I feel it. When sheโs quietโฆI still hear her.โ
Smoke whistled low. โDamn. Thatโs deep for you.โ
โShe different.โ
A silence settled between them.
Smoke leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. The tension in his shoulders never left, โYou sure you know what you doinโ? Messinโ witโ a church woman. You donโt think sheโll break the moment she sees all this?โ He gestured around to the room, to the whole world theyโd built.
Stack shook his head slowly, โShe already cracked, Smoke. Iโm just showinโ her whatโs on the other side of it.โ
Smoke blew out a breath, finally standing. He grabbed his coat from the hook and tossed it over one shoulder.
โJust donโt fall too hard, Stack. Been through enough trouble.โ
โToo late.โ
Smoke stopped in the doorway and looked back, lips parting like he might say something moreโsomething truer. But instead, he clapped his brother on the back once and said, โGo get the boy. Iโll have the drinks cold and the girls ready.โ
Stack grinned.
โYou better. He ainโt never had his dick wet or his soul stirred.โ
Smoke chuckled, shaking his head as he walked off, โLord help him.โ
And just like that, the office went quiet again except for the soft scratch of Ella on the record player, and the faint echo of two lives breaking in ways neither of them could name yet.
Stack stepped out of his office like a sermon in silk.
Midnight-blue three-piece suit hugging him just right, pocket square crisp, gold rings glinting with every flick of his fingers. His toothpick shifted as he adjusted the collar of his shirtโan ivory number with subtle embroidery so fine youโd have to squint to catch it. His shoes? Black leather gators. He walked like they knew how much they cost. On his way out, he caught sight of Violet at the end of the hallโpressed sweet against Smoke, who was acting downright boyish for a man with a .38 tucked beneath his waistband. Smoke had her giggling in a soft dress, hands roaming her hips, his voice low and teasing in her ear. He cupped her ass like it was his second home.
Stack paused with a smirk.
โLord, yโall actinโ like I ainโt got places to be.โ
Violet laughed, bashful, swatting Smokeโs hand away.
Smoke just grinned, eyes never leaving her.
โAnd you actinโ like you ainโt jealous.โ
Stack strolled closer, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to Violetโs forehead.
โNah, Iโm proud. She finally got him to smile like he ainโt made of brick and bourbon.โ
Smoke snorted. Violet blushed deeper.
Stack adjusted his cuffs and headed into the main lounge.
The BlacklineโMain Floor
The air was velvet-thick with cigarette haze and the scent of clove oil and red lipstick.
Cordelia, draped in deep plum and dark pearls, stood near the bar snapping orders with a voice that cracked like a whip.
โMove them tables. No, not thereโby the stage. Odessa! If that hem ainโt fixed by showtime I swearโโ
Stack passed her with a grin and a low whistle.
โDonโt work too hard, Boss Lady.โ
โDonโt flirt too loud, Player.โ
He blew her a kiss. She caught it midair and slapped it into her bra with a wink. Near the front, Liza June sat cross-legged on the velvet fainting couch, her eyes deep in a tarot spread laid across the lap of Clarissa. The air around them shimmered with mystery and slow jazz.
Stack gave Liza a nod.
She nodded back without looking up.
โYou walkinโ into somethinโ new today.โ
โAinโt I always?โ Stack replied, slipping on his overcoat.
West Ninth StreetโโLittle Harlemโ
Early evening. Golden hour. A Cadillac LaSalle, black with whitewall tires, glides through the bustle like a crown through a crowd. Stackโs hand rests out the window, rings catching light. Street corners hum with lifeโboys shining shoes, girls laughing in curls and cotton, a brass band warming up down the block.
West Ninth is pulsing.
Men in brimmed hats gather outside the barbershop, talking baseball and bootleg money. Church mothers step out of bakeries clutching warm pies and giving Stack a knowing side-eye. Teenage boys pause their dice game to admire his car. Stack pulls up outside a Black-owned shoe shopโThompson & Sons Fine Footwearโwhere the windows glisten with patent leathers and hand-stitched brogues. A wooden sign out front reads:
EST. 1917 โ STYLE THAT SPEAKS
He steps out slow, coat sliding off one shoulder, giving the full view of his suit. The wind catches the edge of his jacket. A girl walking by mutters:
โMmm, that man look like trouble in cologne.โ
Inside, the shop smells like cedar, leather polish, and confidence. Mr. Thompson, an elder with sharp eyes and a sharper press, greets him:
โMoore.โ
โThompson.โ
Stack tries on a pair of custom blood-red two-tone lace-ups, alligator trim. He lifts his leg, admires the gleam.
โYou makinโ devils dance in these, old man. Only the bold can wear red without bleedinโ in it.โ
Stack pays in full. No haggling. He tips extra for the young boy who buffs the heel until it gleams like a moonlit spill. Outside again, he slides into the driverโs seat, lets the door thud shut, and lights a cigar. His reflection smirks at him in the rearview.
The manโs ready. He ainโt just Stack. Heโs legacy. Swagger. Lust in linen. Blues in human form.
And tonight?
Heโs got Preacher Boy Sammie to pick up.
Union StationโLittle Rock, Arkansasโ4:16 PM
The train hissed into the station with a long, dusty breath, its steel spine gleaming beneath the fall sun. Smoke curled up from the engine stack like an omen softened by rhythm and routine. A gust of wind kicked through the terminal, lifting loose flyers from the bulletin board and tousling the feather in Stackโs wide-brimmed hat.
Elias โStackโ Moore leaned against his Cadillac LaSalle, black with whitewall tires, immaculate as always. The paint caught the light like obsidian, fresh from a hand-rubbed polish. His shoesโcustom-made from stingray leather, jet-black with a silver tipโgleamed as he crossed one ankle over the other. He flicked open his pocket watch, adjusted his cufflinks, and waited with a crooked grin, knowing he looked like sin with credit.
And then he saw him.
Sammie Moore.
Twenty years old and walking like the world had finally called him by name. Fresh off the train in a three-piece tan suitโclean, but not flashyโwith a golden pocket square folded just right and a worn leather guitar case slung over his shoulder like a badge of freedom. His hair was brushed back in smooth waves, sides taper-clean. His eyes, wide and alert, took in the city like a hymn heโd only ever heard about.
Sammie Moore was Delta-born, raised in the tight drawl of wooden churches and crooked porch swings, but he carried the sharp edge of something bigger now. A college man. A first-generation miracle.
He stepped down onto the platform, his gold fraternity pin shining on his lapel: Alpha Phi Alphaโthe first of its kind, newly founded by Black scholars hungry for more. And Sammie? He was studying Education and Black History, determined to uplift what his people had been taught to forget. His scholarship came from a local Black benevolent societyโone his mother petitioned after his father refused to sign the papers.
He spotted Stack instantly.
โCousin Stack!โ Sammie grinned, wide and sunlit.
โPreacher Boy!โ Stack stepped forward, his voice slick and gravel-laced. โLook at you, all grown and full of scholar. What they feedinโ yโall in them lecture halls? Confidence?โ
They embraced hard and quick, two firm slaps on the back, the kind that say I see you, Iโm proud, I got you always.
โYou look like Harlem itself,โ Sammie said, eyeing Stackโs tailored fit and toothpick grin.
Stack cocked a brow. โAnd you look like you just graduated from Sunday school for grown men. Cโmon, lemme show you what Little Harlem got cookinโ.โ
They walked toward the Cadillac, Sammie whistling low. โThis yours?โ
โShe purrs when I talk sweet and bite back when I donโt. Just how I like โem.โ
Sammie chuckled as they slid into the car. The doors shut with a deep, luxurious clunk. Windows down, wind in their collars, blues on the radioโsomewhere between Bessie Smith and the devil humming in a bottle.
As they eased into traffic, Sammie caught the glint of sunlight off glass across the street. He turned to look.
There she was.
Evangeline Monroe.
Standing just outside a beauty supply shop, laughing with two other girls. Her dress was butter-yellow with white gloves and shiny black oxfords. Hair done in a neat bob, curls perfect. Her profile hit like a note not written downโdelicate, sharp, unforgettable.
โDamn,โ Sammie whispered, eyes tracking her every movement, โWho that sweet thing?โ
Stack didnโt look. Just kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift like a preacher who knew exactly when to pause before the punchline.
โThereโs plenty of sweet at the House,โ Stack said, โYouโll see.โ
Sammie glanced once more, then leaned back into the seat, guitar case pressed against his knee. But the look on his face stayed soft. Curious. Marked.
Stack didnโt say more.
And somewhere behind them, Evangeline turnedโas if sheโd felt eyes on herโbut the car was already gone.
The front doors of The Blackline eased open with a slow, sensual creakโlike even the hinges knew how to teaseโand the air inside wrapped around Sammie like velvet dipped in molasses and smoke.
He stepped inside behind Stack, and the world bloomed.
The camera didnโt cut. It glided. Swooped. Curved around their shoulders and swept left, past the smoky lamps and satin-draped booths, past the heavy perfume of sin and sugar, and the sound of laughter layered like jazz chordsโsharp, low, then rising.
Stack paused in the doorway, Sammie just a step behind him, holding tight to that leather-strapped guitar.
The scene was alive.
๐บ Cue jazz horns and shuffling feet ๐บ
Liza June was halfway through a Tarot reading near the fireplaceโher golden curls bouncing as she laid a card down with a hiss of silk and whispered, โOoh baby, Death reversed. That mean change is cominโ.โ The woman across from her gasped like sheโd caught the Holy Ghost. Someone refilled their glasses with blackberry wine.
The camera panned right.
Cordelia, decked in a sheer black robe with nothing underneath but thigh straps and a mouth full of threat, barked orders to a new girl about fixing her eyeliner, then turned, heels clicking, and caught sight of the boys.
โWell well well,โ she drawled, one brow cocked, โThe Moore boys walkinโ in like Sunday salvation. And whoโs the cutie?โ
Sammie blushed under the lights. His tie already felt too tight.
Cordelia sauntered up and cupped his face gently with one manicured hand. โAinโt you handsome. You legal, baby?โ
โJust turned,โ Sammie mumbled.
โMm. Thatโs the best flavor.โ She winked and moved on, hips rolling like music.
The camera kept moving. Girls passed byโsome half-dressed in beaded bustiers and garter belts, others wrapped in lace robes or chemises that barely skimmed their thighs. A group of them waved from a nearby booth, one licking whipped cream off her finger.
โHappy birthday, sugar!โ one called.
โDamn,โ Sammie whispered, eyes darting, lips parted, โThis place real?โ
Stack just grinned, proud and unbothered, an arm slung heavy across his cousinโs shoulders, โYou in The Blackline now,โ he said, โI built it from sin and good taste. You see liquor, you drink it. You see sugar, you taste it. You see pussy, you praise it.โ
They passed a hallway where flickering wall lamps threw long shadows. The camera dipped low as someone dashed past in stockings and laughter. Somewhere deep in the back, the slow clatter of dice and the moan of a piano spilled through a cracked door.
From the kitchen, the smell hit like a memory Sammie hadnโt earnedโfried catfish, hot water cornbread, sweet peach glaze, and something that smelled like his mamaโs poundcake but naughtier.
He inhaled sharply, โGoddamn.โ
Stack chuckled, โThat be Aunt Pearl. Donโt let her fool youโshe got more spice in that pot than Jesus had disciples.โ
And thenโ
Violet.
A burst of soft curls. A squeal of joy.
โSammie!โ she called out, hurrying over in a warm, wine-colored dress that hugged her soft curves. She wrapped him up in a hug that was all hips and sunshine.
Sammie grinned wide, surprised but clearly overjoyed.
โI ainโt seen you inโโ
โToo long,โ Violet finished. โLook at you! Little cousin all grown up and dressed better than a Pullman porter.โ
โLook at you! You jumped witโ Ghost and got fine doing it.โ
She laughed, and Stack tilted his head, โDonโt give him all your sugar, Vi. Leave some for Smoke.โ
She smacked his arm.
Stack turned to Sammie again, clapping a hand on his back, โI brought you here for a reason,โ he said, his voice lowering just a touch, like a promise being carved. โWe gonโ celebrate your transition. Blues, bourbon, and if you play your cards rightโฆโ He smirked, โYou gonโ get your tip wet for the first time.โ
Sammie blinked. โIโwait, what?โ
โDonโt act brand new.โ Stack leaned in, voice thick with mischief. โYou grown now. Iโm givinโ you the keys to the kingdom.โ
The camera followed as they crossed through the den, past sultry shadows and swaying silhouettes. Upstairs, Stack showed him a room set asideโmodest, but nice. Clean sheets. A basin. A mirror edged in gold. Sammie dropped his duffel on the bed but kept the guitar slung over his shoulder like it was part of his ribs.
โYou still playinโ?โ Stack asked.
Sammie nodded, stroking the neck gently. โEvery damn day.โ
Stack gave a small nod, respect in his eyes, โYou should. That axe got blood on it.โ
Sammie looked down at the guitarโthe one he and Smoke had passed to him when he was just thirteen. Their fatherโs.
He swallowed hard.
Stack tapped the doorframe.
โCome on, Preacher Boy. Nightโs young. Letโs get you blessed proper.โ
And as they stepped out, the camera stayed behind for just a moment, lingering on the guitarโs worn fretboard.
The hallway behind the bar was narrow, lined with old liquor crates and dusty red curtains that swayed for no reason at all. Just past a locked doorโkey slid from Stackโs bootโwas The Secret Room. The one with no windows. The air changed when they stepped inside. It smelled like old velvet, aged whiskey, tobacco, and secrets. Thick crimson drapes hung heavy over the walls. A pull-down screen waited, curled like a tongue. In the corner, the projector sat humming quietly like it had a memory of its own. Stack lit a cigar and let the door click shut behind them. Sammie followed, carrying his guitar case, eyes darting across the room like heโd stumbled into a place grown folks didnโt talk about out loud. He tried to play it coolโbut he was twenty. Curious. Alert.
And perched in the far armchair, legs spread and boots dusty, sat Rattlesnake Joeโgrinning like a man who knew too much.
โEveninโ, Pretty-Slick,โ Joe said with a gold-toothed grin, lifting a brown burlap sack from beside him, โBrought you some heat. And a lilโ moon blessinโ for them tender girls oโ yours.โ
Stack took the sack. Set it on the sideboard beside a bottle of Bama bourbon and a stack of steel canisters.
โLetโs see what you got,โ he said, voice smooth but watchful.
Joe leaned back, tipping his hat toward Sammie, โYou the one he was talkinโ about? Birthday boy?โ
Sammie gave a polite nod, โYessir.โ
โWell, well,โ Joe chuckled, โYou in for one hell of a sanctified education, son.โ
Sammie squinted, โWhatโs a stag film anyway?โ
Stack turned slowly, lips twitching around his cigar. He walked over, draped one arm around Sammieโs shoulder, and pulled him in, โItโs like church,โ he said low. โOnly instead oโ shoutinโ, they screaminโ your name.โ
Joe hooted.
โShit, thatโs good! Write that down, Pretty-Slick!โ
Stack ignored him, lifting a canister off the stack. He showed it to SammieโReel #14: Pussy on the Phonographโsmudged label, faint red kiss mark near the edge.
โThis here?โ he said, handing it to Sammie like it was scripture, โA woman touchinโ herself while her own blues record spins. You ever seen a woman make herself cry with her own voice?โ
Sammie flushed. Swallowed, โNo sir.โ
Stack smiled faintly, then clicked the projector into place.
The machine began to whir.
Joe tossed over a leather pouch of herbsโโthatโs for Cordeliaโs tea, and the girlsโ knees,โ he mutteredโand poured himself a glass of whiskey. Stack watched the reel come to life, light flickering on the screen as grainy, black-and-white heat filled the room.
The figure on screen moaned. Slowly. With rhythm.
Sammieโs mouth parted. He leaned forward, guitar case still between his legs.
Joe lit up, โSee that right there? That ainโt no actress. Thatโs a real woman. She ainโt performinโ. She rememberinโ. Thatโs what make the reel worth a damn.โ
Stack nodded, still watching.
โYou listen to the breath. That lilโ hitch when her fingers dip lower? That ainโt no script. Thatโs memory. Thatโs ache.โ
He looked at Sammie.
โYou ever had a girl touch herself to you before?โ
Sammie blinked. Eyes flicked back to the screen.
Stack laughed soft, low, โDidnโt think so. But you will. Maybe sooner than you think.โ
The moaning on screen grew louder. The womanโs thighs trembled. The record player needle skipped.
Joe wiped his eyes with a kerchief, โGoddamn thatโs art,โ he whispered.
Sammie shifted in his seat, โSoโฆthese get shown here?โ
โOnly for folk who know the password,โ Stack said, reaching for another reel, โWe call it Midnight Sermon. You sit in one of these velvet chairs, light a cigar, and let truth flicker โtil it stick to your ribs.โ
Joe pulled a flask from his boot. โI ever tell yโall about the cursed reel I found down in Plaquemine? Swear to God, the folk on it kept lookinโ at the camera like they was watchinโ meโโ
โTell it later, Joe,โ Stack muttered, โLet the boy finish his first viewing.โ
The screen glowed.
The moans got real.
And Sammie, breath caught in his chest, clutched the neck of the old Moore guitarโthe one Smoke and Stack had given him years ago, their fatherโsโlike it was the only holy thing left in the room.
West Ninth Street, Little Rock
The sun glared low, syrup-thick and lazy, as Stackโs flashy green and cream roadster rolled smooth down West Ninth. The chrome caught the day just rightโgleaming like fresh silver, purring like a panther. Folks on the sidewalk turned to look. They always did when Elias โStackโ Moore pulled up. He parked clean in front of Delโs Shine Parlor, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. His suit was pressed to perfection, tie knotted sharp at the throat. A gold toothpick rode lazy in the corner of his mouth. He turned his head just enough to speak.
โStay here, lil cousin. Iโm just makinโ a drop. Wonโt be long.โ
Sammie, sitting passenger, nodded, his fingers absently tracing the neck of the old guitar that lay in the backseat, strapped in like a relic. Stack stepped out and closed the door with the kind of swagger that didnโt need announcing. He moved like he owned the whole block. The gold handle of the Shine Parlor door caught the sun just before it swung closed behind him. Inside, Delโs was dim and cool, smelling of leather polish, cigar smoke, and the faintest trace of musk perfume. Delphinaโthe ownerโsat behind the long, high counter, legs crossed, counting bills in a ruby-red slip and silk robe. Brass spit buckets glinted near old barber chairs. A phonograph spun a scratchy jazz tune in the corner. And in the back, behind a velvet curtain, murmurs from the men laying bets rolled low like thunder.
Stack tipped his hat, โGot somethinโ warm for your drop box.โ
Del didnโt look up, โYou always do.โ
Outside, Sammie cracked the window and leaned back, watching the bustle on West Ninth through dark lashes.
Then he saw her.
Again.
Evangeline Monroe.
Same girl from earlier. Same dressโbutter-yellow, soft and spring-sweet, like pound cake cooling on the sill. White gloves tugged tight to the wrist. Shiny black oxfords catching light with every step. Her hair was a flawless bob, curled under like sheโd just come from the beauty parlor. She walked with two other girls, laughing about something only they knewโbut when she paused to lick at the edge of a vanilla cone, Sammie forgot to breathe.
She hadnโt seen him yet.
He climbed out of the car, smoothing his slacks with one hand and checking his breath with the other. The collar of his dress shirt was popped open, no tie, sleeves rolled. His fraternity pin gleamed at his lapelโKappa Alpha Psi, recently founded, and he wore it proud. Sammie adjusted his stance, made sure his posture said: charming, not desperate.
โMiss?โ
Evangeline turned. Lips still close to that ice cream. Eyes sliding over him, then back down the cone. No smile yet. Just that curious arch in her brow.
โTwice in one day?โ she said coolly, โYou followinโ me now?โ
Sammie chuckled, a low, warm sound, โI think itโs the other way around. You keep appearing like sunshine.โ
That got the ghost of a grin. She licked slow, once, eyes on his face, โYou a poet or just full of it?โ
He stepped closer, โLittle bit of both.โ
Evangeline didnโt move. Her two friends stood off to the side, whispering, giggling behind cupped hands. One elbowed the other and whispered heโs cute, but Evangeline ignored them.
Sammie glanced down, bashful but still bold, โYou from around here?โ
โBorn and half-raised.โ
โYou ever heard of The Blackline?โ
That name made her eyes flicker. Not wide-eyed, not shockedโjustโฆknowing. Like sheโd heard stories behind closed doors. She leaned on one hip.
โMaybe. Depends whoโs askinโ.โ
โIโm Sammie Moore.โ He held out a hand, โStackโs blood. Smokeโs too. I just got in.โ
Evangeline didnโt take his hand. She licked the ice cream again, then said, โYou a Moore? That explains the mouth.โ
He laughed, โYou say that like itโs a bad thing.โ
โItโs a dangerous thing,โ she said, one brow lifted.
โWellโฆmaybe you like a little danger.โ
โYou maybe ainโt as smooth as you think.โ
He leaned close enough for her to catch a breath of his cologneโcitrus, vanilla, something boyish and clean. A college manโs scent.
Then he whispered, low like temptation, like something you werenโt supposed to repeat unless you meant it, โThree slow. Two fast. Then say: Velvet Devotion.โ
That made her pause. The corner of her lip twitched, โVelvet Devotion, huh?โ
Sammie nodded once, โGets you through the front. Tomorrow. What happens afterโฆdepends on how bold you feel.โ
Evangelineโs lips curved slow, โYou got the tongue for a preacher.โ
Sammie grinned, โMaybe I just been sinninโ better.โ
Her friends hooted behind her. One of them asked, โYou gonโ invite us too, Vangie?โ
Evangeline glanced back at them, then looked Sammie up and down.
โIf I comeโฆI bringinโ company.โ
Sammie nodded, โLong as yโall come lookinโ this good, I ainโt got no complaints.โ
She tilted her head, โWhat if we donโt come lookinโ good? What if we come lookinโ dangerous?โ
He smirked, โThen youโll fit right in.โ
From the parlor door, Stack stepped out just in time to see the last of that smile exchanged. He raised a brow but said nothingโjust tapped the side of his pocket where his cigar case sat and headed back to the car.
โCโmon, Romeo. Time to get you ready for your rites.โ
Sammie nodded at Evangeline, tipped an imaginary hat, โIโll see you soon.โ
She turned without answering, hips swaying like she knew she had him.
Because she did.
THE BLACKLINE โ NIGHT โ WEST NINTH STREET
The night air hung low, sweet with magnolia and sin.
Stack Moore leaned against his coupe, slow-smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He looked sharp as a straight razorโslacks pressed, suspenders hugging his shoulders, white tank gleaming under the streetlight. His hat sat tilted just enough to show off the glint in his eye. A quiet smirk curled the corner of his mouth like he was always halfway to trouble. Behind him, The Blackline was alive, low brass and blues seeping through the walls, laughter floating past velvet curtains. A shadow moved across the stained-glass window just as Sammie disappeared inside, guitar case in hand, wide-eyed and grinning.
Stack took a drag.
Then he heard it.
Polished footsteps.
Church leather.
Turning his head just slightly, Stack watched as a black Studebaker slid to a clean stop across the street, engine purring like judgment withheld.
The driverโs door creaked open.
Out stepped Reverend Obadiah Baptiste, tall and rigid in his navy wool suit. Crisp. Sanctified. A silver pocket watch chain glinted against his vest. He adjusted his cufflinks, smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle, then shut the door like it had sinned. Sister Lillian exited next, already halfway up the church steps, her Bible pressed tight to her chest. She didnโt look back. Obadiah paused to speak with an older Deacon Josiah at the gateโjust murmured blessings and leadership pleasantriesโbut his eyesโฆhis eyes were locked on Stack.
Stack didnโt move.
Just blew a stream of smoke toward the stars.
Then, with a cocky flick of his chin and a smile that could skin a preacher alive, he spoke, โEveninโ, Rev.โ
Obadiahโs jaw twitched.
He offered a tight-lipped smile that didnโt reach his eyes, nodding once like a man humoring a snake.
โMr. Moore. How you be?โ
They stood there in silence for half a breath too long. The street hummed. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. The lights from The Blackline pulsed behind Stack like a neon halo of temptation. Stack tilted his head, studying Obadiah like a man sizing up an old rival at a poker table.
โCanโt complain. Got a full house tonight. Blues, bourbon, and bad intentions.โ
He grinned, โGearing up for a weekend of sinninโ, you could say.โ
Obadiahโs smile flattened. His hands folded at his waist, the way one might withhold a curse behind a hymn.
โThe women in my congregationโฆthey donโt protest no more.โ He paused,โFigured there ainโt no use preaching to a hell den.โ
A quiet laugh rumbled from Stackโs chestโgenuine, easy, but edged like a switchblade.
โThatโs real kind of you, Reverend. Makinโ room for the damned.โ
Obadiahโs smirk returned, but now it was bitter. He turned as if to leave, but Stackโs voice cut the silence like a crack of gunfire in an old Western.
โHowโs your preacher wife doing? Whatโs her nameโฆuhhโฆโ He tapped a finger to his temple, mocking thought, โSlippinโ my mind.โ
Obadiah froze. His jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth, โMarigold.โ
โAhh, yeah.โ Stack snaps fingers, โMarigold. First Lady.โ Stack leaned off the car now, real casual. Took another puff. Let the smoke drift slow from his nostrils as he stepped closer, boots clicking like spurs on sacred ground. He tilted his head slightly, โThat ainโt who you showed up with though.โ
Obadiah stiffened.
Stack could see the vein twitch in his temple. Could feel the fury coiling beneath that collar like a serpent under holy linen. But Obadiahโs voice came calm, trained, weaponized.
โMy wife is a busy woman. Teaches purity. Leads young girls to righteousness. Sheโs an exampleโฆof what a Lady of God ought to be.โ
Stack just smiled.
He didnโt say a word about how Marigold moaned when he tongued her from behind, face buried deep, nose pressed to her crack like he was trying to breathe in her sin. Didnโt mention how she trembled when he bent her over and spread her knees wide, pussy glistening and twitching like it was begging to be fed on. Didnโt speak on how her breath hitched when he whispered โGood girlโ against her throat, voice thick and hungry, or how she beggedโbeggedโfor him to spank the holy right outta her, crying out every time his palm met her ass, soaking his lap like a filthy little church slut.
Nope.
Stack didnโt say a word.
He just flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushed it beneath a polished heel, and turned back toward The Blackline, โYou have a good night now, Reverend.โ He paused, smirking over his shoulder, โOhโand can you keep that bell tolling to a minimum? You spookinโ my girls.โ
Obadiahโs jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might bite through scripture. But Stack was already walking away, hands in his pockets, humming a slow Delta tuneโsomething about sin and salvation sitting on the same pew. The saloon doors of The Blackline swung open as he enteredโblues wailing from the stage, women laughing in silk and perfume, and the smell of smoke, sex, and fried catfish waiting like the arms of a devil that welcomed you by name.
Summary: When the preacherโs wife starts protesting outside The Blackline, Stack Moore mocks her from the shadowsโuntil her holy fire turns to something hotter. Plain and pious, Sister Marigold Baptiste hides a body made for sin, and Stack makes it his mission to break her righteousness down to the bone. Their hate burns into obsession, and soon sheโs sneaking out in her Sunday whites to be devoured in the dark. He fucks the holy out of her and sends her home to her husband full of his cum, knowing she canโt bear childrenโbut she can carry the weight of his sin.
I was holy once. But holiness never touched me the way he didโฆ
The hallway pulsed like a drumline made of perfume and heat. Laughter spilled from behind the thick velvet curtain, mingling with the sound of Lucille Boganโs last growl echoing through The Blackline like she left her spirit behind to fuck in her place.
Stack had his arm wrapped around Marigoldโs waist, fingers splayed low and intentional across her hip. He walked slow, lazy, like a man drunk on good music and bad behavior, tugging her along like she was his prize and his possession all at once.
His lips were on her neck again, wet and hot, dragging up to the spot just under her jaw where sheโd moaned his real name less than an hour ago.
โLucille always did like a low room,โ he whispered against her skin, โSay the air feel heavier, make her voice sit deeper in the cooch. Told me that onceโฆafter I poured her a drink in the back room, summer of โ28.โ He grinned, nosing into her skin, โKissed me soon as I brought her that drink. Slid her tongue in like sheโd been waitinโ all night to spend it.โ
Marigoldโs heart pinched.
The hallway narrowed. Her robe clung damp to her thighs. She could still feel his tongue between her legsโthe ache of it, the sweet bruised soreness heโd left inside her. But now he was talking about other mouths. Other women. Other nights.
His palm slid down. Grabbed a handful of her ass.
She gasped.
โI ainโt ever liked that woman in a dress, but damn she can sing,โ he muttered low, right in her ear, โShe sing like she fuckโloud, raw, full of teeth.โ
Marigoldโs stomach flipped. There was a tightness in her chest she didnโt recognizeโsharp, hot, bitter at the edges. It sat just beneath her ribs, coiled like a belt pulled too tight.
Jealousy.
It wasnโt holy, but it was alive.
They entered the private lounge through a beaded curtain so thick it rattled like bones in a bag. The heat hit firstโsoft and thick, touched with sweat and rose oil. The room was velvet dark, lined in oxblood and plum. Satin couches curved around low tables stacked with half-melted candles, fruit trays, ashtrays, and bottles that dripped sweat down their necks. Lucille Bogan sat in the center like a queen whoโd fucked her way to the throne. Her thighs were spread in a satin halter gown, glitter still clinging to her chest. She was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle and wearing a crooked grin that had broken a hundred men and at least two women that very week.
โLook who the dog done dragged up from between some thighs,โ she crooned when she saw Stack. Her voice was smoke and dirty promise, dipped in molasses, โYou still talkinโ sweet to โem, Mr. Magic Stick?โ
Marigold stiffened.
Stack smirked.
Behind Lucille sprawled her girlsโTrixie, Faye, and Ramona. All three were thick in the hips, tits spilling, eyes lined with kohl and lips painted dark like devils at a revival. Faye had one shoe off. Trixie was barefoot and flashing her pasties. Ramona had her leg slung over the arm of a velvet chair, her cleavage deep enough to drown in.
โOoooh weee,โ Ramona purred when she laid eyes on Stack. โLook at them lips. Got the kind of mouth make a girl see stars and the Lord.โ
โI bet they soft too,โ Trixie said, leaning forward, โSoft like silk on a sore tit.โ
Faye laughed, drunk and delighted, โHe got the kind of mouth make you forget what day it is. I wanna sit on it just to find out how deep it go.โ
Lucille howled, โYโall leave that boy alone! He just got done eatinโ. Canโt you tell by the glow on his skin?โ
Marigold froze.
Her glow.
Her cheeks burned. Her hands tightened around the wine glass that Peaches had handed her when they stepped in โunasked, unexpected, just thrust into her hand like she needed something to hold other than shame. She stood toward the back of the room, wrapped in Stackโs robe, her curls pinned up messily, damp with sweat and post-orgasm glow. Her lips were bare. Her feet were bare. She didnโt belong here, and everyone could feel it. She watched as Ramona straddled Stackโs thigh for a second, just being nasty, rolling her hips slow while Faye hooted and Trixie clapped.
Stack grinned. Didnโt stop her right away. That tightness in Marigoldโs chest twisted again. He finally tapped Ramonaโs thigh and leaned back, laughing.
โYโall wild tonight,โ he muttered, reaching for the bottle on the table.
โWild?โ Ramona licked her lips, โBaby, we just gettinโ started. You tryna start church or confession?โ
Thatโs when Faye clocked Marigold.
โWhoโs that?โ she slurred, nodding toward the shadows, โYou brought a lamb to the slaughter, Stack?โ
Stack glanced backโspotted Marigold still hovering, stiff and quiet in her robe. He stood and said it calm. Straight.
โThatโs Goldie.โ
A pause.
Then Lulaโs voice slid out from one of the corners like mischief in silk, โYโall ainโt ready.โ She grinned, tipping her wine glass, โThatโs the preacherโs wife.โ
Gasps. Whoops. Cackles.
Ramonaโs mouth fell open.
Faye clutched her chest. Trixie screamed with laughter, โWell damn! Baby got saved and backslid in the same night!โ Lucille sipped her drink and said, โMmm. Praise be.โ Marigoldโs ears rang. The robe felt tighter. Her skin buzzed with humiliation. Stack moved back to her side. Slipped a hand around her waist. Spoke just to her now.
โThey donโt mean no harm, baby.โ
Marigold didnโt answer. She sipped her wine, jaw set, heat crawling up her neck like shame wrapped in silk.
Stack spoke low and hot against her jaw, โMm. You jealous, church girl?โ
She donโt answerโeyes cut away like she tryna pretend she ainโt, but that little pout say otherwise.
He chuckles, darker now, โDonโt do thatโฆDonโt act like I ainโt just had you moaninโ through that pillow like it was gospel. Had you callinโ my name like it saved you.โ He leans in, lips ghostinโ her ear, voice rich and mean-smooth, โAinโt a damn thing Ramona could do for me. That lilโ loose beaver? That thing so stretched it donโt even blink no more.โ
He grins when she stifles a gaspโembarrassed, maybe turned on. Both.
Stack whispers filthier, slow, โBut you?โ He hums, low and sinful, โYou got that fat, tight coochie with the kind of grip that make a man rethink his whole lifestyle. Sweetโฆ softโฆmessy.โ
He licks his lips like he can still taste her, โStill got your scent on my mustache. Smell like sugar.โ His hand brushed the hem of his robe on her thigh, โCouldโve stayed in that room all night, tongue deep in your pussy, suckinโ you โtil you begged me to stopโthen begginโ me not to.โ
He lets the words drip down her neck like honey, โDonโt stand here tryna act shy now. You ainโt just fucked me, baby. You fed me.โ His tongue clicks, โAinโt no bird in here ever gone do me like you did.โ
Cordelia watched from a chaiseโdidnโt smile, didnโt laugh. Peaches clocked the whole thing, slow sippinโ her drink, quiet and knowing. And in the center of it all, Lucille raised her glass and purred.
โTo the preacherโs wife.โ
The girls howled.
Marigold didnโt raise her glass. Too shaky to hold it steady.
But Stack?
He kissed her temple, right there in front of everyone.
โTo Goldie.โ
The girls didnโt stop after the toast. If anything, Lucilleโs declaration lit a new fire under their asses. Faye was already making a lap of the room with the whiskey bottle, pouring straight into mouths like communion. Ramona threw one leg over the arm of Stackโs chair again, this time leaning so close he could smell the peach liquor on her breath.
โSo you really Mr. Magic Stick, huh?โ she purred, eyes sliding down his frame, โThat mean what I think it mean?โ
Lucille barked out a laugh from her corner, โIt mean that boy carryinโ a whole slab in them pants.โ She looked Marigold dead in the eye, grinning crooked and filthy, โYou felt it yet, baby? That beef?โ
Marigold nearly choked on her wine. Her hand jerked slightly.
Lucille didnโt miss a beat.
โOr you still tight like a communion cup?โ
Cackles. More laughing. Ramona practically doubled over.
Marigoldโs face burned. Her thighs clamped together instinctively, but the ache between them betrayed her. Because she could still feel it. Stackโs thick fingers stretching her, curling up and stroking until she screamed his name like a psalm rewritten. She tried to look away. But Stackโฆhe didnโt laugh. He didnโt even smile. He reached for her again, real calm and pulled her back into his side.
โChill out on Goldie,โ he said, low and smooth, looking at Lucille, not angry, but serious enough that the air shifted.
The girls backed off just a little, not with guilt, but with the satisfaction of knowing theyโd hit a nerve. But StackโฆStack turned back to Marigold like the room didnโt even exist.
His lips brushed her ear, โYou okay?โ
She nodded, stiff.
He stroked her waist with his thumbโslow, warm, groundingโthen dipped his head to speak low, close, the rum in his breath licking her jaw.
โThey donโt matter.โ Another stroke, โAinโt none of โem tasted you tonight.โ
She shivered.
He chuckled under his breath. His hand moved lower. She felt it first at her hip. Then her thigh. Thenโฆhigher. His fingers crept beneath the hem of her robe, slow as sin. He watched her body while he did it. Watched the way she froze, the way her lips parted, the way her lashes trembled. His hand slipped between her legs. She gasped, soft and helpless. He found her still wet. Still open. Still aching.
โMmm,โ he whispered, tongue grazing her earlobe, โYou feel that? Thatโs how good you taste. Still leakinโ for me.โ
She pressed her thighs together, breath hitched, eyes flicking up to the roomโterrified someone saw. But they hadnโt. Faye was now leaning against the piano, trying to light a cigarette upside down. Ramona had moved on to flirting with Cordelia, licking her lips and tracing a finger down her arm. Cordelia smirked slow, seductive, her lashes low, clearly entertained. But not untouched. Not untouched at all.
Peaches stood across the room, watching with a stillness too heavy for the wine in her hand. Her eyes lingered on Cordelia a second too long. And when Ramona whispered something in Cordeliaโs ear and Cordelia laughed, tilting her head just enough to flirt back. Peaches looked down into her glass like it said something she didnโt want to read. And meanwhile, back in the chair, Marigold sat perched on the edge of sin and secrecy. Stackโs fingers were slow. Teasing. Just sliding along her slit, not pushing in, just petting. His voice was a dark lullaby in her ear.
โI could make you cum in this room, right now,โ he whispered, โWouldnโt even have to move my hand. Just let you ride my fingers till you soak this seat. Make you whimper all holy and hushlike, and they wouldnโt know whether to praise you or punish you.โ
She trembled.
Her hand gripped his thigh hard and she felt it then.
His bulge.
Thick. Hard. Pressed against the inside of his slacks. She could feel it throbbing beneath her hand, begging for release.
And the best part?
She wanted it.
Even with Lucille laughing. Even with Faye drunk. Even with Ramona trying to seduce Cordelia and Peaches staring like she wanted to throw a drink. Marigold wanted him to pull her onto his lap and feed it to her like communion. She closed her eyes and prayed to a God to stop the pulse between her legs. Stack pulled her down without asking. One firm tug and Marigold was planted full in his lap, thighs parted around his, her robe still barely hiding anything from the rising temperature in the room. She let out the softest gasp, wine sloshing in her glass as her ass settled directly on top of his bulge.
Lord have mercyโฆ
She could feel every inch of him. Hot. Heavy. Hard as a damn pipe beneath her. Her thighs instinctively clenched, but that only made it worse. Stack leaned back in the plush velvet chair, one arm draped low on her waist, the other nursing his drinkโsome deep brown rum with heat like woodsmoke. His breath smelled sweet and dangerous.
And he was drunk now.
Not slurring. Not stumbling. Just loose-limbed, voice thick, lips glossy, eyes heavy-lidded and full of sin. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder and hummed low, the sound vibrating against her collarbone.
โMmm. That ass feel like a prayer answered, Goldie.โ Another sip, โSo damn softโฆI swear I could die right here between your cheeks and not even ask why.โ
She squirmed.
The fabric between them soaked with heat. His dick throbbed against her, and she gripped her glass tighter, trying to stay calm, to stay present, to not melt in front of all these people. Lucilleโs girlsโTrixie, Faye, and Ramonaโhad taken to the center of the room now, hips swaying, tipsy and barefoot, performing a slow, sensual dance to a new track Lucille had put on. The record crackled with low horns and thick bassโsomething slow and sticky that made folks clap and laugh and yell encouragement as they moved. The room had filled out more. High rollers now. A tall, dark-skinned man with diamond cufflinks and a silk scarf strolled in through the back curtain. He was flanked by two womenโone of them none other than Odessa in a cream lace gown, lips painted like sin, cigarette in hand. She tossed her curls and smiled when she spotted Stack.
โYou done turned this lounge into a juke brothel,โ she teased.
The man behind her? That was Langston Duvall, one of the most infamous Black Stag film directors in the South. Folks said he could make anybody a starโฆif you were bold enough. But Marigold was too caught up in the man behind her. Stack nuzzled into her neck again, his voice dropping into a filthy hush only she could hear.
โYou feel that?โ He rocked his hips slow. Up. Just enough, โThatโs all you. Got my dick hard and heavy and begginโ. You sittinโ on a problem, baby.โ
She bit her lip, โStop,โ she whispered, heat flushing up her throat.
He chuckled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, โYou donโt want me to stop.โ
His hand slid back down to her hip, strong fingers stroking slow circles into her side.
โHow you think itโs gon feel once I slide up in you, Miss Goldie?โ
Her breath hitched. He kissed her neck again, voice thick with liquor and filth.
โYou think that sweet lilโ pussy can take all this dick?โ
A pause.
โOr you think Iโma have to stuff it in slowโฆmake you cry a lilโ bitโฆbreak you in proper?โ
Marigold whimpered.
โEliasโโ she whispered, scandalized.
He groaned softly at the sound of his real name coming from her mouth again.
โSay it again,โ he rasped, grinding up once more.
She shook her head, curls falling loose from the combs. Her thighs trembled. Her robe loosened just slightly. Across the room, Ramona had slithered up next to Cordelia, whispering in her ear while tracing the line of her arm with a painted fingernail. Cordelia didnโt moveโjust tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowed, mouth twitching in a smirk that wasnโt quite rejection. But it wasnโt acceptance either. From across the room, Peaches watched. She didnโt say a word. She just sipped slow from her wine and looked at Cordelia like maybe, just maybeโฆ
Marigold was trembling. Not from cold. Not from nerves. But from the weight of him pressed beneath her, from the slow, steady, merciless filth pouring from his mouth like it was scripture. Stack had her in his lap like she was built for it. His hand gripped her waist, guiding every subtle grind, every twitch of his hips, every bounce that made his hard length throb right against her bare center.
โYou feel so fuckinโ good sittinโ on me like this,โ he whispered, voice hoarse now, drunk and raw, lips dragging across her throat, โSoft assโฆwarm lilโ pussy. I swear I can feel the steam cominโ off you.โ
Marigold bit her lip hard.
Her leg started bouncingโslow at first, then harderโ as if her body was begging for a release her mind was too shy to name.
Stack noticed. Of course he did. He grinned against her skin.
โThat leg donโt lie, baby.โ He slid his palm down her thigh, then back up again, gripping the meat of it with one big hand, โThat mean you ready for somethinโ. Ready for me to lift this robe, spit on that lilโ clit, and eat you all over again.โ
She whimpered.
Hands gripped the arms of the velvet chair like they were the only thing tethering her to Earth. And thenโHe adjusted himself. Slow. Deliberate. Tilted his hips up, ground his bulge against her with a soft hiss through his teeth.
โFuck,โ he groaned, โIโm so hard it hurt.โ He rocked again, โYou doinโ that. All that tight lilโ heat rubbinโ against me. Canโt stop thinkinโ โbout how you tasted.โ He brought his hand to her jaw. Turned her face slightly, โSweet and messy. Like rum and Godโs mistake.โ
Marigold couldnโt speak.
Couldnโt move.
Her breath came in shaky little pulls. Her lips were slick. Her skin was dewy. Her thighs were trembling so bad it felt like her bones might rattle.
Stack leaned in again, right against her ear now, โI can still taste you,โ he growled, โOn my tongue. In the rum. In the back of my throat. Pussy that good donโt disappear.โ
She gasps. Bites her lip again. Shakes her head, mouthing stop even though she doesnโt want him to.
He laughs, low and lazy, โMmm. You pretty when you begginโ without begginโ.โ
His hands slid lower again, and she could feel itโthe way his dick twitched beneath her like it was ready to break out, demand entry, claim the rest of what he hadnโt already conquered. And thenโHe shifted again. His voice changed. Lower. More urgent.
โCโmon,โ he said into her ear, like he was asking her to run off to war, โI need you in my mouth again.โ
He stood up with her in his arms before she could answer. Cradled her like something soft and sinful. Walked straight past Lucille and her girls, past Cordelia, past Peaches, past the high rollers, past the eyes.
Didnโt explain.
Didnโt ask.
Just carried his preacherโs wife out the velvet lounge like a man whoโd already been to heaven and wanted another bite.
They moved like smoke through silk.
Stack didnโt put her downโnot once. His arms wrapped firm around Marigoldโs waist, her thighs draped over his forearm, her robe hanging loose now, one comb slipping free from her curls with each step. The hallway behind the lounge narrowed into darkness and hush. No more music. No more laughter. Just the faint creak of wood beneath his boots and the way her breath caught every time he squeezed her tighter.
The walls changed here. No longer velvet red. Now black, with gold-painted edges and soft sconces that flickered like candlelight. It smelled like tobacco and perfume and pine floors. A hidden hallway inside the beating heart of The Blacklineโone only certain girls and certain men had seen. And at the end of it, a single lacquered door.
Stack kicked it open.
Inside, it was warm, dim, private. A small room with no windows. A low couch. A velvet chaise. Hooks on the wall for hanging clothes and ropes. And at the center, a tall, wide chairโalmost like a throneโcarved from dark wood, plush and deep with an ottoman in front.
He called it the initiation room.
Because this is where he trained them. Broke them in. Showed them how to be touched right. How to be wanted. How to open without apology. He set her down slow, eyes already dark with liquor and lust, his slacks heavy at the groin, the outline of his dick thick, long, straining against the fabric. Marigold adjusted her robe on instinct, tugging it tighter across her chest. Stack watched her. Silent. Heat pouring from him in waves. Thenโlazy, slouchedโhe took the center chair, legs wide, dick heavy between his thighs. His hand reached to stroke the thick length through his pants, slow.
โYou know what this is, right?โ he asked, voice low, smoky, โThis where new girls get broken in.โ
Marigold blinked at him, โWhat?โ
โYou a new girl tonight, ainโt you?โ he said, grinning now, โAinโt that how you actinโ? All shy and sweet. All tight and unclaimed. That robe donโt fool me. That pussy still mine.โ
She shifted in place, heart racing, thighs pressed together, โIโdonโt know what you mean.โ
โI meanโฆโ he said, leaning forward, โtonight you just a little thing walkinโ in off the street. Lookinโ to be initiated. We donโt fuck on first meetinโ. We justโฆ introduce your pussy to my mouth.โ
Marigold flushed hard.
She shook her head, took a step back, โStackโโ
He groaned loud, frustrated, hand still stroking his dick through the fabric.
โLord, you still shy?โ His hand gripped the arm of the chair. His jaw clenched, โYou sittinโ on my face less than an hour ago, squirtinโ on my tongue and cryinโ my name like and now you actinโ brand new?โ
Her eyes dropped to his lapโand froze.
The bulge in his pants was obscene. Long. Wide. So hard it curved slightly to the left beneath the fabric, pushing against the zipper like it wanted out. His thighs were spread just wide enough to make it worse,
Stack saw where she was lookinโ. Smirked.
โYeah. You lookinโ at it now.โ
She flinched.
He stood up.
The room felt smaller suddenly. His height, his weight, the pressure of him. He curled two fingers, beckoning.
โCโmere.โ
Marigold didnโt move.
He stepped forward.
โCโmere, Goldie.โ
Still nothing. Then, in a flash, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her over his lap. She gasped, caught off guard, and suddenly she was bent over his knee, robe hiked, thighs bare, her ass warm in the low light.
โYou wanna act like you ainโt hear me? Like you some brat?โ he muttered, hand grazing her ass, โThen Iโma treat you like one.โ
POP.
The first slap landed firm.
She yelped.
POP.
The secondโharder.
โYou donโt talk back.โ
POP.
โYou donโt tell me to stop talkinโ nasty when you like it.โ
POP.
โYou know how I know?โ He slid his hand between her thighs, pressed two fingers to the mess between her legs, โโCause this pussy still wet, still leakinโ, still begginโ.โ
She sobbed into her arm. Not from pain. But from overwhelm.
โStackโpleaseโโ
He rubbed her clit once, slow, right over the hood. Then smacked her ass again.
โYou wanna act like a hireling? Then obey.โ
Her body arched. Her thighs trembled. She moaned, soft, high, like something sacred had come loose in her throat. He leaned down close, lips to her ear.
โYou gonโ be a good girl for me now?โ
She nodded, breathless.
He rubbed her again, slower this time. Warm circles. Fingers slick.
โSay it.โ
โIโll be good,โ she whispered.
โSay youโll obey.โ
She swallowed. Gasped. Let out a shaky breath.
โIโll obey.โ
He kissed her spine. Smirked against her skin.
โThatโs more like it.โ
Marigold stood motionless, spine straight, heart slamming in her chest like it was trying to break free. Her robe clung to her skin, warm and damp from nerves and arousal, her lips parted in a soft pant. Behind her, Stack lit a match with one hand, cigar between his lips, watching her in silence through the flare of flame. The smoke curled slow.
โYou nervous?โ he asked low, voice rough like crushed velvet dragged over gravel.
Marigold nodded, throat tight.
Stack exhaled, slow and hot, โGood.โ
He stepped closer, and the smell of him wrapped around herโrum, sweat, and whatever spell she was under that made her knees feel like sugar. His voice dropped again, almost tender, almost cruel, โStrip for me, baby.โ
Her fingers trembled. But she obeyed.
The robe slid down her shoulders like a sigh. Stack watched her every move like he was starving. When she stood trembling and bare beneath the low light, he stepped forward again.
โTurn around,โ he said, โLet me see what I came for.โ
She turned, slow. Back to him. Bent over, shy. The curves of her ass framed the shadows like a painting. Thick. Plush. The kind of softness that promised comfort and ruin. The little thatch of hair between her thighs peeked out from behind, soft and natural, untouched. Even her ass had a dusting of hairโStackโs eyes glazed, lips parted, dimples deepening with a twitch of awe.
โGoddamnโฆโ he whispered, โThatโs beautiful.โ
She whimpered.
โSpread it.โ
Her breath caught. He didnโt raise his voice. Didnโt bark. Justโฆasked. Smooth. Confident. Heavy. Her hand reached back, slow. Nervous. She spread one cheek. And Stack groaned. Low and filthy, one hand gripping the edge of the nearby vanity like he needed to brace himself.
โLook at that sweet little fuckinโ hole,โ he said, voice thick, eyes glued to the split, โSo softโฆso warmโฆlike it pulsinโ for me already.โ He chuckled, โLook at you shakinโ. You like that?โ
She nodded.
โYou need to hear how nasty I get when Iโm in love with a pussy like yours?โ His laugh was gravel, โDown,โ he commanded gently. โOn all fours. Spread wide.โ
She movedโlike a puppet string pulled her hips down. Elbows on the rug. Hips cocked. She arched. Obeyed. Her thighs shook as she parted them, wide and low, dripping and glistening. Stack dropped to his knees behind her with awe, cigar tossed aside, hands gripping her thighs just to feel how warm and soft her skin was. His head tilted, admiring the creamy slick gathering at the center of her pussy like dew. Her lips were puffy. Dark with blood flow. And wetโsoaked.
โLook at this sweet fuckinโ thing. Leakinโ already, baby,โ he whispered, almost like prayer, โShe twitchinโ. Canโt even wait her turn.โ
He dragged one thumb through the slick, watching it glisten in the low light. Marigold whimpered. Her head dropped forward, face hot. She couldnโt meet his gaze if she triedโtoo undone already.
Stack leaned close, lips brushing her inner thigh, โYou wet for me, pretty girl?โ
She nodded. Weak.
โYou creamy?โ he asked, licking the crease slowly, โMmm. You are.โ He sucked on her inner thigh, hands spreading her wide, eyes locked on her dripping pussy like it held scripture. His voice rasped like sandpaper coated in syrup, โShe openinโ up for me, sayinโ Stack come taste. Stack come break me off. Stack come ruin me slow.โ
Marigold moaned. He didnโt touch her with his mouth yet. Just hovered. Breathed on her. Talked to it.
โLook at them lips. Soft little folds. All that pink under all that brownโฆfuck. Thatโs art. Thatโs heaven. I could tongue kiss you โtil the sun burn out.โ
He finally looked at her, eyes half-lidded, pupils dark, jaw flexing. His mouth glistened from the slick heโd smeared with his thumb across her skin. His hair was a little messy, that left side part falling forward now. His gold tooth flashed when he smirked.
โDonโt be scared,โ he whispered, โYou gonโ do just fine. I got you, girl.โ
She trembled. He lowered again, hands gripping her ass like they belonged there, like he paid for them. He leaned in, lips parting, breath hot.
And when he finally lickedโshe nearly screamed.
He kissed her once. Just above the slit. Lips soft. Reverent. ThenโOne long lick. Thick tongue dragging slow and heavy up her folds like he was trying to taste her whole life. From her weeping entrance to the shy rise of her clit, Stack lapped like he was licking honey off his knuckles. Marigold gasped, full-body shiver rippling from her spine to her toes.
โMmm.โ Stack hummed.
Low. Deep. The sound vibrated right against her pussy like a second tongue.
He licked again, โMmm.โ
The hum came slower this time. A breath through his nose, an exhale through his throat, like he was worshipping. Like her pussy was something divine and he was singing to it.
Lick.
โMmm.โ
Every single stroke of his tongue left her wetter. Creamier. Shakier.
โKeep still,โ he murmured against her folds, voice sticky and ruined, โYou donโt run from whatโs holy.โ
Another lick. This one messier. Longer. His nose dragged through her curls, and his tongue stayed flat, savoring the way she leaked for him. Her thighs trembled.
โMmm.โ
Marigold moaned into the crook of her elbow, eyes glassy, face flushed. Her whole body was vibratingโhunger and fear and fire wrapped up in one trembling package of please donโt stop. She was slick down her thighs now. Her nipples stiffened so hard they ached. Her pussy pulsed and throbbed, twitching with each lick, each breath, each hum.
And thenโhe pulled back.
Stack sat up slow, like he was high off it. Eyes heavy-lidded. Lips glossy. Breath uneven. His big hand slid over his mouth but didnโt wipe anything awayโhe pressed that wet tongue to the corner of his mouth like he was tasting what lingered. He licked his lips, slow and wide, the kind of lick that started from the corner and dragged acrossโglossy, syrup-thick, leaving his lower lip shining. His tongue was big. Wide and full, pink and strong like it had been built to taste only pussy. It hung in the corner of his mouth for a moment, heavy with saliva, damn near dripping.
He looked wrecked.
โFffuck, babyโฆโ he breathed, sitting back on his heels, โLook at this. Just look.โ
His hands slid to her ass, spreading her again. Tilting his head. His lip curled when he saw the fresh drip stringing from her slit to her inner thigh.
โShe twitchinโ. Look at that pretty lil hole flexinโ like she begginโ me to come back.โ He popped her ass once with a soft thud, โYou missinโ me already?โ
Another thump. Then a grip. Hard.
โDonโt run. You hear me?โ His voice dropped to a ragged whisper. โYou fuckinโ beautiful. Look at you. Back dimples, sweet fat lips, lil brown ring peekinโ out like a kiss. You made for this.โ
She couldnโt answer. She was panting. Shaking. Her pussy so wet it squelched when she shifted slightly. Her elbows were trembling from holding herself up. Her chest was flushed, nipples taut, her mouth slack. She felt like she was outside herselfโsomewhere hovering, waiting to fall apart under his voice alone.
Stack stared like he was painting her in his mind.
His lip curled. He bit it. Grinned. Spanked her again just to watch the jiggle. His handprint bloomed hot and red across her ass. ThenโHe thumped her once more and sighed, eyes rolling back like a man on the edge.
โGo on,โ he said, voice deep as thunder but velvet smooth, โBend over the chaise.โ
His tone changed.
Roleplay resumed.
Like he was the man in charge of breaking her in.
โPut them hands flat. Arch that back. Spread them legs. Donโt make me say it twice.โ
She moved like a whisper. Silken, shy. The chaise groaned as she leaned over it, hands braced. Her thighs parted. Her pussy still slick. Still open. And Stack just stood behind her for a moment, rubbing his hand down his beard, that thick tongue peeking out again.
He wasnโt ready to stop admiring her. He smirked. Reached down. Spanked her again.
โUh uhโฆโ Stack rumbled, โTurn. I need them eyes.โ
She started to move slow, hesitant, and that just made it sweeter. Hair wild againโthose combs had long hit the floorโand her face, lawdโฆher face. Flushed and needy, trembling lip tucked between her teeth, lashes flutterinโ like she was scared to look too long or sheโd come undone just off the eye contact.
Good.
He wanted her wrecked.
Marigold turned her head, just like he said. Cheek pressed to the chaise cushion, mouth parted, eyes locked on him like she ainโt even realize how desperate she looked. That moan-stuck expression. Pupils wide. Breath catching. Like heโd done laid her soul bare and she couldnโt gather it back fast enough.
Stack licked his lips again and sank down.
โI said legs wide,โ he muttered, voice already thick, eyes dragging down her backside slow.
She parted them a little more.
He smirked.
โThere she go.โ
That fat little pussy was still leaking for him. All puffy and glistening, twitchinโ like it was waiting on him to come back and make it feel right. He leaned in. Didnโt rush it. Didnโt even breathe. Just let his nose brush her inner thigh first, lips ghosting the heat of her. She gasped. Tilted her head more. Neck long, soft and trembling.
And thenโhe dove in.
Thick tongue, open mouth, slurp first. Not no gentle lick. No soft taste. Stack feasted. Sucked the whole center of her into his mouth like he was tryna pull the moans straight from the source. His lips sealed around her like a man starvinโโchin buried in the crease, nose pressed firm against that brown ring while his tongue slid in deep, messy, wet.
โMmmf,โ he groaned, grinding his mouth into her, โGoddamn, babyโฆlook at what you feedinโ me.โ
He didnโt stop to let her speak. He wasnโt interested in words right now. Not hers. Just her moans. He dragged his tongue up again, wide and slow, then sucked her clit with a filthy, open-mouthed pop. She jerked. Thighs twitched.
โAhnโStackโฆโ she whimpered, breath breaking.
โThere she go,โ he whispered, tongue flicking that button again, slow and heavy, lips swollen from how heโd been devouring, You hear yourself? Thatโs what this pussy need. Ainโt no prayer gonโ hush that.โ
He kissed it. Like it was holy. Then licked it again. Long. Loud. Sloppy. Each lick came with soundโhis moans, her gasps, the wet suction of his tongue against that creamy little hole. She was fuckinโ drippinโ. Fat drops slid from her down to his beard and he let it coat him. Didnโt wipe a single drop.
He was talkinโ to it now. Real low. Filthy.
โYou talk all that shit about sin,โ he spoke against her folds, โand here you goโฆfeedinโ a pimpinโ pussy so sweet. You should be ashamed, baby. Thatโs the Devilโs nectar, ainโt it?โ
He kissed it again. Tongue swirling. He licked her open and watched the mess stick to his mouth like syrup.
โYou moaninโ now instead of preachinโ. Pussy preachinโ louder than you ever could.โ
Marigold gasped. Her voice crackedโhigh, soft.
โOh my goodnessโฆohhhhโฆ Stackโpleaseโโ
He slurped.
Loud. Dirty. Intentional.
โSay it again,โ he mumbled, licking right over her again and again, โSay my name like that. Donโt hold it in now. You already made the offering.โ
Her face was a visionโeyes all glossy, lips glistening, jaw slack like her words got tangled up in sensation. She could barely keep her head up. Her body was trembling, her nipples stiff against the chaise, legs shaking from how wide he had her. She peeked at him through lashes, mouth still open, lower lip trembling like it didnโt know how to act.
He chuckled low.
โLook at you,โ he whispered, โLook at me.โ
She tried.
And what she saw?
His face drenched in her. Tongue peeking out again. Beard glistening. Eyes low and wild like a man mid-revival.
โI got you quiet now,โ he said, licking her slow one more time, โThatโs what you needed, huh? All that hollerinโ you was doinโ? All that carryinโ on โbout righteousness?โ
Spank.
โLet it go.โ
Grip.
โGonโ let Daddy rectify that shit.โ
She whimpered. Her moans turned into pleas, head tilted like she ainโt had the strength no more to resist. Stack leaned in again. Mouth open, lips wrapped tight. He sucked. Sucked that clit until she squealed, until her hips tried to run, until her toes curled and she slapped the damn cushion.
โStay still,โ he growled.
Slap.
โKeep them legs open.โ
Grip.
โLet me finish breakinโ you in.โ
And thenโhe licked her again. Deeper. Sloppier. He groaned into it like her taste was a drug and heโd just hit the high.
And this time?
He didnโt stop.
She ainโt know what to do with herself. Still bent like a sinner in the pew when he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over. Slow. Easy. The move made her tits bounce, her breath hitch, and that sweet lilโ gasp spill off her lips like a song she wasnโt ready to sing.
Now she was laid out.
Back on the chaise. Hair wild. Thighs open. That trembling, messy, perfect pussy glistening under the lamplight like a fresh anointing.
And Stack? He got low. Didnโt ask. Didnโt wait. Just hooked his hands behind her knees and pushed them up, spread her thighs wide until her heels balanced on the edge of the cushion. Pussy parted. Pouting. Still soaked from the last go.
He stared.
Smirked.
Thenโ
He feasted.
Tongue first. Flat. Firm. The first lick made her whole body jerk.
โAhnโ!โ
Yeah. Thatโs what he wanted. He kissed it again, tongue deeper this time. Then again. Then again. Then he got mean with itโslurping, open-mouthed, noisy like he had no shame. Chin coated, lips soaked. He didnโt stop.
Not even when she tried to squirm.
Because now?
He could see her face.
And fuck, that face. Eyes wide and glassy, lips wet, parted in disbelief. Like she ainโt know whether to cry or cum. Every sound she made hit different now. No hiding in the crook of her elbow. No more pressed cheeks or shy gasps.
She had to feel it.
Had to watch it.
And that made her all the more wrecked. Her chest rose fast, her nipples hard, round tits bouncing slightly every time he sucked on that soft lilโ clit. His beard was slick with it now. Chin shining like heโd been baptized in her. Stack groaned low, tongue dipping again, mouth locking around her entrance with filthy precision.
And thenโ
He felt it.
That sweet little hand reaching out. Her fingers clawed into his scalp, tangled in the slick waves of his hair like she needed something to hold while she lost her mind.
That grip?
Whew.
That grip made his cock throb.
She was moaning now. Whimpering, whispering nonsense like she couldnโt even figure out what was happening to her body. Stack just kept working, tongue relentless, beard rubbing up against her like he was tryna rub the good girl off her skin.
And then he pulled back just a bit. Just enough to talk to it. He licked his lips slow and wide, left that bottom one shining again. Then leaned in so close her clit twitched from the heat of his breath.
โSay it,โ he whispered, tongue flicking once, twice, licking the words into her. โRepeat after me, baby.โ
She blinked. Lips trembled. Stack lifted his head just enough to look her dead in the eyes, still holding her thighs open wide.
โSayโDaddy eat this pussy up.โ
She hesitated. Gasped.
Bit her lip.
โIโIโฆโ Her voice was soft. Barely breath. โDaddy eat thisโฆpussy upโฆโ
That shy little whisper?
That did him in. He growled and went right back in. Lips locking tight. Tongue moving like he had something to prove now. Every flick, every slurp, every suck was rougher. Deeper. Slower. Purposeful.
She screamed.
โStack! Oh myโStack!โ
Her hand fisted tighter in his hair and he let her pull. Let her grind. Let her moan till she sobbed, pussy squelching and shining with each new suck.
He came up for air onceโjust onceโto whisper.
โYeah you do. You need this. This what that sweet pussy been waitinโ on.โ
And then he dove back in like he was tryna take her whole soul with his mouth.
She was done. Wrecked. Ruined. Beautiful.
And he wasnโt fuckinโ stopping.
She said it.
Whispered it like a secret.
Like a confession.
โDaddy eat this pussy upโฆโ
He damn near came just hearing that come out her mouth.
Sweet. Shy. Sin-drunk.
โYeahโฆโ he growled against her folds, tongue sliding low, slow, deep, โYou got damn right.โ
Stack buried his face in her pussy like he planned to never come up again. Hands firm under her thighs, holding her wide, beard soaked, tongue moving like scripture on a Sunday morninโ.
But this?
This was filthy.
โTalkinโ to me now, huh?โ he muttered right against her entrance, licking in slow, pulsing circles, โMouth was runninโ all that righteous shit and now look at youโslobberinโ all on my fuckinโ tongue.โ
Marigold whimpered. Full-body shiver. Hips arched up like her pussy was trying to meet his mouth halfway.
โNah, baby,โ Stack chuckled, licking long and firm up her crease, โLay back. I got you.โ
Then he leaned in real close and did itโ
He started talkinโ to the pussy. Low. Wet. Groaned like he was talkinโ to a woman he was tryna tame.
โThere she goโฆlil twitchinโ thing. You like Daddy talkinโ to you, huh?โ He slurped her clit like he was sucking mango juice from a split fruit, โThat lilโ thump I feel? That heartbeat in this pussy? Mmm. She close.โ
Stack flattened his tongue and dragged it up again. Her thighs shook. He licked her hard and slow, then sucked her clit deep between his lips with a pop that made her whole body spasm.
โOhโoh my GodโStackโyesssโuhnnnnnnโโHer voice broke. One leg kicked. She was there.
He didnโt stop.
He locked on and kept goinโ. Slurping. Sucking.
Worshipping.
He growled into her folds.
โCโmon then. Let it out. Donโt fight it. Let Daddy taste it.โ
He licked in tighter circles now. Deep, rhythmic, slow-fast-slow again. Tongue drawing patterns like he was writing his fuckinโ name.
Her breath caught. Hips bucked. Hand still fisted in his hair, dragging, holding on like she was falling through the damn earth.
And thenโ
He spoke again.
โYou gonโ cum for me, ainโt you? That lilโ pussy need it bad, huh? Cโmon, mama. Let Daddy make her cry. Let me hear her talk back.โ
Body curling, legs trembling, her pussy gushing against his mouth. That creamy release rushed out warm, thick, sweet, and he caught every fuckinโ drop. Didnโt flinch. Didnโt let go.
He groaned like it fed him.
โNnnhhโฆthere she is,โ he moaned into it, โThatโs my good girl.โ
He kissed her through it. Licked her clean. Sucked her clit until her thighs twitched again. Until she sobbed his name, broken and beautiful, body limp with relief and ruin.
And when he finally pulled back? His face was drenched. Beard glistening. Lips shining. Eyes dark. He licked his bottom lip slow, savoring it like honey.
โTaste like redemption,โ he muttered, grinning crooked, โTold you Iโd get that pussy.โ
And she was still spread. Still trembling. Still breathless.
Half-lidded. Fucked-out. Blessed.
Stack wasnโt finished. Not even close. He stood. And the moment he did, her breath hitched.
Stack loomed above her, thick muscle and confidence wrapped in dark wool and sinful intent. And there it wasโpressing against the front of his slacks like it had a pulse of its own. A thick, twitching outline that made her mouth go dry. She couldnโt stop staring. Her knees pressed together on reflex, thighs clenching tight like they could hush the throb blooming between them.
Then came his voiceโlow, teasing, so deep it seemed to vibrate inside her.
โYou wanna free it, baby?โ
Her eyes snapped up, wide and nervous. She didnโt answer at first. Just blinked. Like she didnโt know if he was serious. Like she didnโt trust herself to touch what was clearly dangerous.
โHesitatinโ?โ he goaded, cocking a brow, โThat donโt sound like a woman ready to get her guts rearranged.โ
She bit her bottom lip. Hard.
And thenโฆshe nodded. Barely. But he caught it. He reached down, unfastening the top of his slacks, unzipping slow, and then stepped closer. He didnโt pull himself outโnot yet.
โDo it,โ he said, โYou brought all this shy heat in hereโฆ now act like you want me.โ
Her hand trembled as she lifted it, fingers brushing against the warm fabric of his briefs beneath. The heat coming off him was obscene. She could already feel the throb through the cotton. Her hand paused thereโjust restingโuntil he spoke again.
โMmhโฆ go โhead. Bring me out.โ
Swallowing hard, she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband and eased it down. It sprung out.
God.
Her whole face flushed hot. It was so much. Long and heavy and thick, the color deep and rich and angry-looking. Veins snaked the shaft like roots, pulsing just beneath the skin. It twitched in the air like it had a heartbeatโlike it knew it was being looked at. Already slick at the tip, glistening.
She gasped. Actually gasped.
Stack just stood there biting his lip, watching her watch him like it was a damn show. His chest rose slow. Eyes hooded. Lips parted.
โWell?โ he drawled, โYou gonโ hold it or just stare like itโs the second coming?โ
She reached for it.
Her fingers wrapped around him, and even that felt shocking. Heavy in her hand. Warm. Smooth but ridged. He hissed through his teeth the moment she gripped it, and her thighs squeezed tighter at the sound.
โMmm,โ he moaned, โThaaaatโs itโฆHow that feel, baby?โ
She didnโt answer. She couldnโt. Her mouth was parted, her breath uneven. She was too busy staring at how her hand barely wrapped around it. He reached for her other hand and slid it beneath. Brought it to his balls.
โBoth hands,โ he whispered, โYeahโฆwarm lilโ hands. You feel how heavy them nuts is? Thatโs full, baby. Thatโs a whole baptism waitinโ to happen.โ
She whimpered. Actually whimpered.
Because the weight of it in her palmsโthe twitch of his length, the scent of skin and musk and heatโwas too much. She started stroking, slow and unsure. He made a sound deep in his throat, head tipping back, hips shifting just enough to push into her grasp.
โYou see how big it is?โ he grunted, โYou really think you ready for this in them holy holes of yours?โ
She couldnโt speak. She just nodded again, helplessly. He took over thenโguiding her stroke. Fisting himself with her hands still wrapped there. Making it glide slick and smooth between her palms. She watched as he played with his own tip, thumbing the slick bead leaking out. He brought it to her lips without a word. She opened her mouth without thinking. He smeared it across her tongue. Let her taste it. She blinked up at himโashamed, stunned, starving. Stack smirked. His dimple carved deep like it knew what kind of devil he was.
Then he swung his length in her face.
Not playfully.
Like a warning.
Like a threat.
It slapped her cheek with a soft, wet smack, the weight of it making her shiver. She gasped again, frozen, lips parted.
โStroke it,โ he ordered, โNice and slow.โ
She did. She obeyed. And he just watched her, biting his lip again, his chest rising, his hand guiding hers, until his hips started to roll with itโgently at first, then a little deeper.
โYou see what you do to me?โ he asked, voice rasped, โLook how hard I get for you. You gonโ keep playinโ with it or you gonโ put it where it belong?โ
Her breath hitched, โItโsโฆwarm.โ
He laughed. Quiet and rough, โCourse it is. Itโs waitinโ on you.โ
She swallowed again. Her eyes trailed down. She already knew where it belonged. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she continued stroking him, his tip gliding in her hand, slick and messy. Her thighs wouldnโt stop clenching. She could feel her own slick now, sticky, heat pooling in her belly like something unholy.
And stillโhe kept watching.
Waiting.
Ready to ruin her.
โNah,โ he muttered, shaking his head slowly, eyes trailing down to her lips, โYou ainโt ready for this in your mouth.โ
The words hit her like a palm to the chest. She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Ashamed. Aching. Her lips were parted, trembling a little. She didnโt even realize sheโd started leaning forward, mouth open like she was gonna beg. But Stack saw it. Saw all of it.
โLook at you,โ he spoke, voice low, amused, wrecked. โSo hungry, and still ainโt earned your supper.โ
She swallowed thickly, face burning. His dick bobbed in her handโheavy, twitching, leaking like it was aware of every sinful thing passing between them. Her palm was slick from stroking him, fingers wet with that glossy mess from his tip.
โYou still got work to do, baby. But Iโma show you.โ
He slid a hand along his own length while she held it, guiding the pressure. He gripped the base and slapped the tip across her cheek againโwet, slow, a soft pap that made her flinch and whimper. It swayed afterward like it was alive, twitching with every beat of his heart. He stepped back, breathing heavy, and dropped into the nearby chaise like a man needing to sit. His thighs parted, one arm thrown over the back lazily while the other gestured for her to follow.
โCโmere. On your knees, right there.โ
She crawled forward, still holding him. She felt deliriousโlike sheโd been drugged by desire. Her whole body flushed, nipples tight, core pulsing, her pussy sticky from how worked up she was just from looking at it and the way he ate her up. He leaned back, eyes dark, and his lips gleamed with pussy juice and spit. Half-lidded now. Ravished.
โPump it slow, baby. Like I showed you.โ
She wrapped her hand back around him, and he hissed loud through his teeth.
โThaaaatโs it. Mmm. Just like thatโฆโ
Her hand moved, gentle but firm, up and down. She watched how his length looked in her handโtoo big, too thick, veiny and proud and angry-looking. The tip had a deep flush, and it kept drooling like it couldnโt hold back. His skin was satin-warm, but there was a steel weight underneath. Her hand trembled as she strokedโher thumb catching the sensitive underside every time she came up.
โGood girl. Thatโs how you stroke me.โ
Then he started talking filthy.
โMmm, you feel that weight? Thatโs a whole Sundayโs worth of sin sittinโ in your hand right now. You strokeinโ it like a good little convertโฆYou tryna be saved by the stick, huh?โ
Her throat tightened. Her breath came faster.
โMmphโahhhโฆfuuuuckโฆโ His moan broke loose like it slipped past his teeth on accident. Long. Raw. Guttural,โHhhahhhhโshhhhitโฆโ He bit his bottom lip hard, nostrils flaring. His hips flexed once. His abs tightened. He growled something deep and Southern under his breath, voice low and rough, โJust like that, babyโฆ fuuuuck, yeahโฆโ
She could hear how wet the sounds were nowโher hand moving through all that slickness. The mess was obscene. His tip kept swelling, his balls drawn tight now in her other hand. He pulsed so violently in her grip it made her tremble.
โFaster now. Thatโs itโtighten that grip. Lemme fuck your fist for a secondโmmmghhโfuck.โ He threw his head back, โNnnnghโshit. Thatโs it. Thatโs it. Keep goinโ. Donโt stop now, girlโfuckโโ
The sound of her name half-escaped his mouth but died on a moan so raw it made her thighs clench again. His voice cracked with it. Her name had turned into just a sound:
โMmmโMarigoโfuckโgoldโuhhhhhhโฆโ
Sheโd never heard a man sound like this. Like he was unraveling at the seams. He started breathing through his teeth, fast and sharp. His thighs tensed, the muscles twitching. His chest lifted and fell with every stroke of her hand. Sweat gathered at his collarbone. His lips parted, and he looked down at her like he was ruined.
โYou gonโ make me cum, babyโฆYou gonโ make me spill all this in them pretty handsโฆYou gonโ keep pumpinโ like a good girl, or you gonโ stop now and disobey?โ
Her hands didnโt stop. Her mouth opened in a shaky gasp. She wanted it. Wanted to see what he looked like when he let go for her.
And she was about to find out.
It happened fast.
One moment, she was stroking him like he taught herโwatching the way his body tensed, listening to the filthy praises falling from his lips like gospelโand the next, his whole frame snapped.
He gripped the back of the chaise like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth, his arms stretching wide, every muscle flexing like a cord drawn taut. His back arched. Hips jolted. His thighs trembled as he spilled with a broken, desperate groan.
Her hand flew to her mouth in pure, wide-eyed shock. It was spurting. Thick and hot. Rope after rope spilling over her fist and wrist. Her skin was painted in it. The first shot startled herโit hit her thumb, thick and sticky. The next slid down between her fingers, warm like molten honey. The way it pulsed out of him, kept pulsingโฆit was unreal. Her hand never stopped moving, instinctively now, as if guided by his need.
He was twitching. Moaning through it. Loud.
Not quiet grunts, not polite sounds.
โAhhhโahhhnnโfuckfuckfuckโmmmghhhโlook what you do to meโฆyou see this mess you made?โ
His head tipped back. Then it dropped forward again as if the weight of release was too much. His eyes squeezed shut. His brow wrinkled in the middle, lips falling open in a moan so raw it sounded like prayer. He was panting. Rattled. Ripped apart.
She had never seen a man come before.
Not like this.
Sheโd heard whispered things from the church wives, veiled confessions in kitchens and back pews. But nothing prepared her for this. The way his body movedโฆthe tremble of his thighs, the way his abs clenched, the way his dick jerked in her slick palm, spurting more than she thought possible. The veins down his shaft bulged. His tip flushed nearly purple. It justโฆkept coming.
She was soaked in him.
His moansโฆ
They werenโt just noises.
They were unholy.
โUhhhhhhโmmmhh, shitโso warmโthatโs it, thatโs itโyou made me bust like thatโฆlike a nasty fuckinโ addict. You feel that mess? Thatโs from you, girl. Thinkinโ โbout that sweet lilโ mouth. That tight lilโ hole. You did that to meโฆโ
She was shaking.
Knees pressing together, breath ragged. Her heart thumped like a drum in a revival tent. Her thighs were soaked nowโnot with him, but with herself. She was leaking, pulsing around nothing. Vibrating from the inside out.
She kept staring at her hand.
It was coated.
Sticky, messy, oozing down her palm and wrist in strands. Creamy and warm. Her lips parted slightly, but she didnโt dare move.
Stack opened his eyes.
They were wrecked. Heavy-lidded. Glazed over like he was still coming down. His voice was hoarse but deep when he spoke again.
โYou wanna taste?โ
Her eyes jerked up to his. She froze.
She didnโt answer.
โGo on. Just a lilโ taste. You earned it.โ
She looked back down. Swallowed hard. The heat between her legs pulsed again. Her face was burning. But her hand lifted.
Slow.
Uncertain.
She brought two fingers to her mouth, lips trembling. Her tongue darted outโฆ just a flick. Just enough to sample what was still slick and warm on her skin.
The taste wasโฆstartling.
Raw. Salty. Heavy. Not sweet, not bitterโjust masculine. Musky. Like the scent of his skin, but deeper. Something earthy and thick. Her eyes fluttered closed for a split second as she took it in.
Stack was watching her.
His mouth twitched into a slow, sinful smirk.
โMmmโฆtaste good? Thatโs that stuff that fill your lilโ hole up like a cream fillinโ. Thatโs what you make me do when I think โbout you. When I picture you sittinโ on that church bench all high and mighty. That tight dress. That mouth runninโ. You know what I wanna do?โ He leaned forward now, breathing still uneven, โI wanna stuff that mouth full so you hum when you pray. Wanna bust again in that sweet lilโ pussy. Feel it spill deep inside. Warm you up from the inside out. Donโt worryโฆ you gonโ feel it soon. In your mouth. In that holy lilโ puss.โ
She whimpered. Her thighs squeezed together again. Her stomach turned in knots. She was damn near vibratingโwith shock, with shame, with overwhelming desire.
She wanted it.
Wanted him.
All of it.
Even the parts that made her feel like sheโd never be clean again. She licked her fingers againโslower this time.
And Stack groaned.
Low. Long. Possessive.
The robe slid soft over her shoulders.
Stackโs fingers tucked it closed with care. One hand lingered at her waist while the other rose to cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking just beneath her eye. Marigold was still trembling a littleโbody flushed and spent, lips kiss-worn, thighs sticky with arousal and ache.
โYou did good fโme tonight,โ Stack spoke softly, voice low and warm against the curve of her jaw, โBetter than good. You was beautiful.โ
She swallowed hard. Couldnโt quite look him in the eye yet.
Stackโs lips brushed her temple, โI know that was a lot. Intense. But you made it through. And you gonโ keep makinโ it through.โ
A beat.
โLong as you listen.โ
Marigold nodded, shy. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Stack kissed her thereโsoft and slowโbefore pulling back and adjusting the robe again like she was something precious. Then he ran a hand down her back, giving her a little pat on the behind.
โCome on. Letโs get you cleaned up.โ
He opened the door.
And there she was.
Mirabel.
Perched near the end of the hallway, leaning casual against the wall like sheโd been waiting to catch him. The lighting cast her face in partial shadow, but not enough to hide the spark of jealousy in her eyes. Her gaze dropped to Marigoldโrobe-wrapped, cheeks flushed, collarbone still damp with sweatโand then it snapped back to Stack.
She smiled. Tight. Slow.
โEveninโ, Stack,โ she said cool, but her eyes were daggers.
โEveninโ,โ Stack tossed back just as calm, guiding Marigold past with his hand firm at her waist. He didnโt stop walking. Marigoldโs heart pounded harder as they passed, but Stack just leaned down toward her ear once they were beyond reach.
โShe mad,โ he whispered with a smirk, โLet her be.โ
The bathroom was one the girls usedโa big space with soft yellow light, lace curtains, and a clawfoot tub full of steaming water already drawn and waiting. Someone mustโve prepared it during the performance. Maybe Cordelia. Maybe Peaches. Stack guided her to the edge of the tub and helped untie her robe, laying it across the bench before helping her in like she was something breakable. The warm water hit her skin, and she gasped softly. Stack knelt beside the tub, sleeves rolled, one hand lazily skimming the water near her knee.
โIโm gonโ keep takinโ care of you,โ he said softly, โLong as you let me.โ
Marigold blinked at him, still trying to find footing in her own body. He picked up the soap and a washcloth, worked up a gentle lather, and began to clean herโslow and thorough. Between her breasts. Under her arms. Between her thighs. He never rushed. His hands were skilled, but his touch was almost devotional. And then, just as he was wringing out the cloth, he spoke again.
โYou goinโ to church tomorrow?โ
She nodded.
Stack leaned in closer. His voice dropped like honey over fire, โThen go with your collar loose.โ
Her brows knit.
โNo gloves, neither.โ
โButโโ
โUh-uh,โ he cut in softly, โYou wanna wear them stockings, fine. But leave that stiff little jacket off. Let โem see you. Let โem see that skin glowinโ.โ
She looked down into the water, heat creeping up her throat. Stack grinned, brushing a kiss to her shoulder.
โLet it be known you ainโt hidinโ no more. Not from me. Not from them. Not from yourself.โ
A pause.
โWear somethinโ with some movement,โ he added, โSomethinโ that feel good on your skin. Not just somethinโ to be good in.โ
Marigold stared into the rippling water, the heat curling between her ribs and down between her legs all over again.
Stack stood and wiped his hands, โIโll see you in a couple days. Finish soakinโโ
He left her with thatโwet, warm, soaking in his scent and his commandments, her fingers brushing the steam off her thighs and her heart pounding like a hymn.
The bathwater had gone lukewarm.
Marigold sat still in it, her knees tucked close now, the steam gone but the heat still lingeringโbeneath her skin, between her legs, in the deep places where Stackโs voice still echoed like a pulse. She didnโt even realize heโd returned to the doorway until she heard the gentle click of the door shutting again. He carried a fresh towel, big, soft, still warm from the line, and he knelt beside the tub without a word.
โCome on, sugar,โ he said gently, โLet me get you out this water.โ
She stood, legs wobbly, heart even worse. The air felt too cool against her flushed skin. Stack didnโt leer. Didnโt smirk. He just wrapped her up and held her there for a moment, hands rubbing slow over her back, the towel soaking in the water beading off her thighs.
โStill tremblinโ,โ he murmured, โYou somethinโ else.โ
He dried her in silenceโslow, sure strokes. No rush. No shame. He was still half-drunk, but his hands were steady now. Every time she flinched or tried to cover herself, he just shook his head and pulled her hands away.
โYou got no reason to hide from me, Miss Goldie.โ
Once she was dry, he crossed the room and returned with the same church clothes sheโd arrived inโfolded neat, the little pearl buttons glinting in the bathroom light.
โPut your arms up,โ he said.
She did. Stack dressed her like she was a dollโpatient, careful, brushing her curls back from her face once he was done, fastening the buttons she was too dazed to handle herself. He stepped back to look at her once it was all done, nodding slow with his arms crossed like he was admiring something he built with his own two hands.
โYou came in lookinโ like the preacherโs wife.โ His smile deepened, โNow you look like mine.โ
She didnโt know what to say. So she didnโt say anything.
He held out his hand. She took it.
The walk to the kitchen was quiet. The Blackline had quieted some, the pulse of the music fading into background laughter and the clink of glasses being washed. Late-night was creeping in now. But there was still that magic in the air, that slow drag of honeyed sin and soft perfume. Aunt Pearl stood at the big wooden counter, wiping down mugs. Stack kissed her on the cheek.
โNeed a favor, Auntie.โ
Pearl glanced between themโbetween Marigoldโs glassy eyes and Stackโs possessive hand at the small of her backโand smiled slow.
โLet me guess. She need a ride?โ
โIf you donโt mind takinโ her home the long way, quiet-like. Donโt want no preacher poppinโ up with holy water at the back door.โ
Pearl smirked, โAinโt no problem, baby.โ
Stack turned to Marigold and took her face in both hands. His thumb stroked just under her lip.
โI got some things cominโ up later in the week,โ he spoke, close enough that she felt the rum still warm on his breath, โMy lil cousin Sammie cominโ in town from Clarksdale. Throwinโ a lil event here for him. Lot to plan.โ
She nodded, trying not to show the disappointment that fluttered through her chest.
โBut I canโt wait to see you again.โ
He kissed her. Tongue slow, soft, just enough to make her knees buckle again. Just enough to make her whimper and press closer.
He broke it with a soft growl and a smile.
โIโll have Auntie come get you next time. Make it easy. Safe. That alright?โ
She nodded again, more grateful than she could say, โYes, thank you.โ
โGood girl.โ He kissed her one more time. Slower this time. Possessive. Sweet, โGet home safe.โ
She was still floating when Pearl led her out the back. Still tasting him on her lips. Still flushed beneath her clothes. The robe, the bathwater, the whisper of his mouth between her thighsโevery part of it clung to her like perfume. She stepped out into the cool night air with a full moon overhead and a feeling she couldnโt name blooming wild behind her ribs.
She had just been claimed. And she didnโt know what would come nextโฆbut she knew she wanted more.
The road was quiet at that hour. Streetlamps cast long amber streaks across the windshield of Aunt Pearlโs old Ford, the soft rattle of the engine humming beneath them like a low lullaby. Marigold sat in the passenger seat wrapped in her robe and freshly buttoned-up clothes, thighs still tingling beneath the hem of her skirt, fingers nervously fidgeting in her lap. The scent of cinnamon oil and sweet tobacco clung to the airโAunt Pearlโs scent. It felt like a balm. For a while, neither of them spoke. The tires hummed beneath them. Houses passed like slow-moving ghosts.
Then Pearl said softly, without even looking, โYou alright, baby?โ
Marigold blinked. โIโฆI think so.โ
A pause.
Pearlโs hands stayed steady on the wheel, knuckles catching the orange glow of the dashboard, โFirst time a man look at you like you ainโt never been seen beforeโฆ whew. Thatโll rock your world.โ
Marigoldโs face flushed, but she smiled. She turned to the window, a quiet laugh caught behind her hand. Pearl gave her a look from the corner of her eye.
โDonโt be shy with me. I know that look. Your lips all bitten, eyes got that glossy glaze to โem, cheeks hot as the back of a cast iron stove.โ
Marigold let out a bashful giggle.
Pearl softened.
โLet me tell you somethinโ, baby girl. I was married once. Long time ago. Thought I had it all. A husband who wore a suit to church and shined his shoes every Sunday. But you know what else he did?โ
Marigold glanced over, brows lifting.
โHe made me feel small. Like I was too much and not enough all at the same time. Said my laugh was too loud. My hips too wide. My needsโฆโunholy.โโ
Pearl gave a scoff that turned into a hum.
โLet that man convince me I was a sin for wantinโ to be touched soft. For wantinโ more. Took me years to shake that lie off.โ She looked over now, her eyes steady on Marigoldโs, โSo let me be clear with you, sugar. You a woman. You got blood in your veins and fire in your belly. Donโt you ever let anybodyโpreacher or notโmake you feel bad for wantinโ to be seen, touched, loved. That donโt make you sinful. That makes you alive.โ
Marigoldโs eyes stung, her throat catching with something deeper than gratitude. She reached across the seat and took Pearlโs hand, squeezing it tight.
Pearl gave her a wink.
โAnd while you at itโฆget that head, let him spoil you, and have yourself a time, baby!โ
Marigold burst into laughter, covering her face, shoulders shaking, her heart suddenly light. The car slowed at the curb outside her home. The laughter faded. The quiet crept back in. Marigold stepped out of the car slowly. The night air was still warm, but it carried a different weight now. A solemn hush. The kind that curled around old houses and old habits.
She leaned in the window before Pearl could drive off and whispered, โThank you.โ
Pearl nodded, โGo on, Sister Goldie. Be soft with yourself.โ
With one final squeeze of her hand, Pearl drove off into the dark, her red taillights disappearing like slow-dragging fireflies into the quiet night.
Marigold turned to face her house.
The porch was dark. The windows stared back like judgmental eyes. She stepped onto the walkway, every footfall heavy. Each one peeling a layer off. The robe felt tighter now. Her dress stiff. As the front door opened and she stepped inside, the warmth of The Blackline seemed to slip right off her skin. Her church clothes became a yoke again. The buttons became a seal.
Goldie slipped awayโฆand Sister Marigold Baptiste took her place once more. The silence inside her home wasnโt gentle. It was cold and holy and hollow. She walked past the mirror in the hall without looking. Somewhere in the quiet, in the hush between then and now, a line was typed on paperโfaint, soft, but resolute.
He didnโt save me. He saw me. And that was enoughโฆ
Thursday MorningโLoosened
Marigold stood barefoot on the worn floorboards of her bedroom, toes curling against the rug, a slip clinging to her skin like a hush. The morning sun spilled through the lace curtains in fractured gold, catching dust and memory in its beams. The house was still. Too still. She stood in front of her wardrobe, staring. Her usual church uniforms hung in a neat rowโhigh collars, long sleeves, skirts that swept to the ankle, gloves folded into little nests in their matching hats. Obadiah liked her polished. Liked her dressed like the wife of a man of God should be.
Stiff. Lacquered in piety. Unreachable.
Her fingers drifted toward her usual dressโthe navy one with the pearl buttons. But they stopped.
Go to church tomorrow with your collar loose.
Donโt wear gloves.
Stackโs voice, still hoarse with liquor and lust, wrapped around her spine like a binding spell.
She exhaled. Slowly. Deeply.
Her thighs still trembled with aftershocks. Her hips ached faintly from how wide heโd spread her. Her pussy twitched at the memory of his mouthโhot, open, devouring. The sound he made when he came. That growl. That filthy, guttural praise as he spilled thick and heavy into her hand. She stared at her palm like it had been marked. It wasnโt just the touch. It was the way he made her feelโworshipped and ruined at the same time. Her lips parted, breath catching. She squeezed her legs together. She still couldnโt believe she had let that manโthat gangsterโdo all that to her. That she had gasped, moaned, begged for more. She, Sister Marigold Baptiste, had opened her legs for Elias Moore and nearly drowned in her own pleasure.
What am I becoming?
The robe slipped off her shoulders. She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Skin flushed. Nipples still taut.
She never thought about sex. Never allowed herself to. Not like this. Obadiah had never undressed her slowly. Never kissed her thighs. Never praised her wetness. Never even called her pretty during the act. Sex was a duty. A quiet, rushed thing. A groan in the dark. He barely removed his shirt. She had seen his penisโbriefly. Small, and already soft when he rolled off of her. She had never felt a man hard in her hands. Had never stroked one.
And then Stackโฆ
Lord.
The weight of it. The way it twitched, leaked, pulsed. Veiny. Warm. So long she couldnโt close her fingers around it fully. So thick she had no idea how it would fit inside her. She could still feel it against her stomach, taste the salt of it on her lip from when she brought her fingers to her tongue to taste.
She trembled.
Her heart beat between her legs.
She reached for a blouse. One without the stiff high collar. She left the top few buttons undone. Her neckline open just enough for a breeze. Just enough to feel free.
No gloves.
Her hands were bare. Feminine. Exposed. She pinned her hair up soft instead of slicked back tight. Let a few curls hang. Her lips looked fuller today. Her cheeks glowed. When she looked in the mirror this timeโฆ
She saw her.
Goldie.
Not fully, but there. Blooming beneath the layers of shame and satin. Marigold touched the edge of her blouse, breathing deep.
Was it wrong? To feel this good?
Was it unholy to want?
She didnโt have the answer. But her body had already made the choice. She closed her eyes for a moment and whispered a quiet prayerโhalf apology, half thanks.Then she stepped into her shoes and walked toward the door.
One button looser than she used to.
No gloves.
The church was near-empty. Sunlight filtered through the high windows in dusty shafts, slanting across wooden pews and catching on the glint of polished brass. It was the middle of the weekโtoo quiet for comfort, too sacred for secrets. Marigold stepped inside, her gloves absent, collar loose at the throat. She hadnโt dared to add rouge, but her skin still held that post-bath glow, a hush of warmth left behind by hands that had no business touching her. The heels of her shoes clicked against the worn tile floor as she made her way past the vestibule.
โSister Baptiste,โ came a voiceโcrisp, sweet, and dipped in Southern varnish. She turned to see Sister Bernadine rising from a side pew, wiping her palms down the front of her skirt, โYou just missed Reverend Obadiah. He arrived early this morning, before sun-up. Said he wanted to have a word with you after his meeting.โ Bernadine gave her a curious glance, โSaid to tell you personally.โ
Marigoldโs heart stuttered. A small, polite smile curled on her lips, โOf course. Thank you, Sister.โ
She turned toward his office, trying to still her breath.
He knows.
He had to.
The door was slightly ajar, just enough for sound to bleed through.
โโฆitโs already begun,โ a deep male voice was saying.
Another voice: โThe signs are here, same as the others.โ
Marigoldโs hand paused on the door. Her stomach turned, bile rising to her tongue. She knocked once, just hard enough to interrupt.
Obadiah called, โCome.โ
She entered. The room smelled of sandalwood, ink, and something like musty linen. Four men were presentโ Deacon Braith, Deacon Ellison, Deacon Ross, and Deacon Wells. Their eyes flicked toward her without warmth. On Obadiahโs desk lay an aged black book with a cracked leather spine. Its pages were stained in sepia and shadow, the title embossed faintly in gold. The Book of Pruning. The deacons excused themselves with short nods, brushing past her like a chilling fog. Obadiah did not move. He watched her with his chin propped on one hand, fingers tapping at his mouth.
When the door clicked shut behind the last man, he rose.
โMarigold.โ His voice was smooth, but cool, โCome sit.โ
She obeyed.
โYouโve had a busy week, I assume?โ
She nodded gently, folding her hands in her lap, โYes, Reverend. Iโve made sure the Wednesday scripture pamphlets were printed and the childrenโs corner in the chapel was dustedโโ
He cut her off, โI wasnโt asking about pamphlets.โ
She stiffened.
โIโve been made aware of a few matters during my absence,โ he continued, walking slowly around the desk, eyes never leaving her, โNamely, Evangeline. Her mother and father came to me concerned. Said sheโs been slipping in her study, missing youth devotion. Said sheโsโฆdistracted.โ
Marigoldโs throat dried.
โYou were entrusted to oversee the young womenโs ministry,โ he said, now standing just beside her, โIt is your duty, as First Lady, to guard their gates. Their minds. Their bodies.โ
โYes, Reverend,โ she murmured.
โTell me, why wasnโt your focus where it shouldโve been?โ
She opened her mouthโto lie, maybe. To give some excuse. But nothing came out. Just the sound of her own guilt, ticking like a metronome inside her skull. Obadiah turned his back briefly, adjusted the placement of a hymn book on the shelf. Then, as if it were an afterthought, said:
โYou wonโt be attending the leadership banquet tomorrow.โ
Marigold blinked. โBut ObadiโReverendโฆthe event was reserved for First Ladiesโโ
โIt is,โ he said, without turning.
Her voice dropped. โThen whyโ?โ
โIโve extended the invitation to Sister Lillian instead.โ
The name cut like glass.
Obadiah turned slowly now, walking back toward her, gaze sharp, โBecause your attention is better spent here, at this church. On the youth. On prayer. On watching.โ He leaned closer, voice almost tender, โYou do believe in purityโฆdonโt you?โ
Marigold nodded, but her throat burned. Her blouse collar felt suddenly too loose, like a noose hanging slack. Obadiahโs fingers reached forward, too soft, and buttoned the top of her blouse himself. His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat. She flinched.
โYou rushed from your bed, I imagine?โ he asked quietly, โYouโre exposed. Immodest.โ
She dropped her gaze.
He let out a slow breath, โIโll let it pass. Youโre tired. But we must be careful with tiredness, Marigold. The devil moves fastest through women who are weary.โ
His words hung heavy.
And yet, underneath his cold poise, she could see something twitching beneath the surface. A restlessness in the way he adjusted his cuffs. A fire behind his eyes. He was looking at her too long. His nostrils flared slightly, as though searching for scent. She felt like an open book. One he was preparing to underline in red.
โIโll pray for your clarity,โ he said.
Marigold stood heart racing, โYes, Reverend.โ
She left the office with her head down, but her fists clenched. Something inside her was beginning to burn. And far behind her, unseen, Obadiah reached back and laid a hand on The Book of Pruning. His fingers tightened.
The porch creaked beneath Marigoldโs heels.
Afternoon light lay heavy across the crooked planks, and the rusted screen door swayed just slightly with the breeze. Paint peeled from the siding in long, flaking strips, and a row of flower pots sat cracked and bone-dry along the railing. The yard hadnโt been trimmed in weeks. She adjusted her gloves, hesitated, then knocked. It was Ruth Monroe who answeredโthin-lipped and graying, her face drawn tight like the line of her apron. A streak of flour dusted her cheek, and her hands were stiff with age and labor. She blinked once, slowly, before recognition set in.
โFirst Lady Baptiste,โ she said, voice clipped, โDidnโt expect no company.โ
โI was hopinโ to speak with Evangeline, if sheโs home.โ
Ruthโs eyes flicked down the road before settling back on Marigold. A pause. Then a stiff nod, โShe in her room. Supposed to be readinโ scripture. I wonโt stop you.โ
The house was dim and quiet. The smell of old starch and yesterdayโs cooking clung to the air. Crosses lined the hallwayโsome metal, some wood, one with a cracked porcelain Jesus. Marigoldโs shoes made soft taps on the floor as she passed.
Ruth didnโt follow.
Evangelineโs door was cracked just enough to let the breeze curl in from the open window. Lace curtains danced slow, and somewhere beyond, a mockingbird sang. The scent of faint smoke lingered, tucked behind the sweetness of youth and dust. Marigold knocked gently before pushing the door open. Evangeline sat on the floor, cross-legged, in a faded cotton slip. Her Bible was open in her lapโbut a carved-out hollow in the center held a pouch of weed. Her eyes were sharp as glass when she looked up, wide-set and dark like stormwater.
She didnโt rise.
โDidnโt know we had surprise inspections now,โ she said dryly.
Marigold stepped inside, softening her voice, โAinโt here to scold. Just checkinโ on you.โ
Evangeline leaned back against the wall, โSure you are.โ
Marigoldโs gaze drifted to the bruise on the girlโs arm. Faint, blooming purple beneath warm brown skin. It looked like a grip. Marigold said nothing, but the chill moved through her.
โYouโve been missed,โ she offered, โThe studies ainโt the same.โ
โThey never were,โ Evangeline said, โNaomi knew that. Thatโs why she left.โ
Marigold stiffened, โYouโve spoken to her?โ
Evangeline tilted her head, โMaybe I have. Maybe I ainโt. What difference it make?โ
There was something older than eighteen in her tone. A tiredness that hadnโt been earned fairly.
โYou should come back,โ Marigold said, โEven if itโs just to talk.โ
Evangeline smiled bitter, โTalk to who? The sisters who whisper about my skirt length? Or the elders who think weedโs worse than beinโ touched up by your own blood?โ
Evangeline held her gaze a second longer, then looked out the window.
โI donโt need pity,โ she said, โYou ainโt gotta pretend.โ
โIโm not pretending. I justโฆI want to help.โ
The silence between them crackled.
Finally, Marigold said, quieter, โIf you ever need to talkโmy doorโs open. You know where I stay.โ
She turned to go.
โHey,โ Evangeline called out.
Marigold paused.
โTell the church ladies Iโm doinโ just fine,โ she said with a crooked smile, โTell Obadiah too.โ
Marigold nodded, but her heart felt like glass cracking. She stepped back into the hallway, past the stiff furniture and the quiet disapproval in Ruthโs eyes.
Door on the knob, Ruthโs voice cut through.
โTea?โ
The teacups trembled slightly in their saucers as Ruth returned with the tray. She set it down on the table with care, though her hands betrayed herโfingers stiff, nerves frayed at the edges.
โChamomile,โ she said quietly, โCalms the heart.โ
Marigold nodded, her hands folded politely in her lap. โThank you, Sister Ruth.โ
They sat across from each other, the tea untouched at first. Ruth stared into her cup as if it held answers she didnโt want to name.
โI worry โbout my baby,โ she said finally, voice catching in her throat.
Marigold glanced toward the hall, โSheโs still young. Young womenโฆthey test boundaries.โ
Ruthโs hand came to her mouth, โLast week, I caught her with a boy. In her room. Pants down. The devil in both their eyes. IโI ainโt never seen her like that.โ Her voice broke, โI raised her better.โ
Marigoldโs expression softened. She reached into her purse and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, embroidered with a tiny cross in the corner. She placed it gently in Ruthโs hand.
Ruth took it with a whispered thank-you, dabbing her eyes, โI told her daddy. He ainโt say nothinโ. Just got quiet. That quiet he get when he ready to act.โ
Marigoldโs brows lifted, concern blooming, โHe put his hands on her?โ
Ruth didnโt answer directly. She looked away, swallowing hard, โHe say he takinโ it to Obadiah. Thatโs what he said. Said the church gonโ fix her.โ
The words sank into the room like wet cement. Marigold kept her posture composed, but her knuckles were white around the teacup.
โIโve tried, Sister Marigold. God knows I have. Iโve prayed. Fasted. Tried to bring her back to the Word. She used to be so close with Naomi. I donโt know what changed.โ
The shift in Ruthโs voice was subtle, but sharp. A buried grudge resurfacing.
Marigold straightened, โNaomi was a good girl. Spirited, yes. But kind. And smart.โ
Ruthโs mouth tightened, โSpirited is one word for it. Wildโs another.โ
Marigold blinked, the sting immediate.
Ruth sipped her tea, then sighed, โIโm sorry, butโฆNaomi was already walkinโ a dangerous path when she left. And your sisterโEstherโLord knows she had her own darkness to wrestle with. That blood runs hot, Sister Marigold. Always has. And now my childโs caught up in it.โ
Marigold rose from her chair slowly, โThat blood is my blood, Sister Ruth.โ
Ruth flinched, but didnโt apologize.
Marigoldโs voice was quiet but firm, โEsther may be in a home now, but she is still my sister. And Naomi is still my niece. She stayed with me after everything. When no one else would take her in.โ
โShe ran off again, didnโt she?โ Ruth asked, โLeft you, too.โ
โThatโs between me and God,โ Marigold said.
A beat passed. Ruthโs expression faltered.
โIโIโm sorry,โ she stuttered. โIโIโm just scared, is all.โ
Marigold nodded, brushing invisible dust from her gloves, โWe all are.โ She reached for her purse and paused before leaving, โIf Evangeline ever wants to talkโฆshe can come to my home. No judgments. No rules.โ
Ruth looked up, eyes shining, โThank you.โ
With a polite nod, Marigold turned to go, her shoes tapping lightly against the wood floor. But something about her posture had changedโshoulders set a little firmer, gaze a little deeper. She was beginning to see it now. The cracks. The blame. The way righteousness could be twisted into something cruel.
The hallway is dim, lit only by the last stretch of sunlight clawing its way through the lace curtains. Shadows stretch across the walls like reaching fingers. A faint tick-tick of the old clock chimes from the mantel in the front parlor, counting down a moment sheโs already decided on. Evangeline moves quietly, barefoot on the worn wood floors. Her room door closes behind her with a soundless pull. Sheโs changed out of her at-home dress into something a little looser, a little freerโsoft cotton skirt, button-up shirt tied at the waist, and a pair of borrowed saddle shoes. Lips glossed. Hair fluffed. Her eyes flicker like theyโve been holding back a storm.
She steps carefully past the kitchen doorway.
Inside, Ruth Monroe, hunched at the table, her back to her daughter, a teacup forgotten in her hand. Sheโs holding something in her other handโa photograph. The edges are curled from years of drawer dust and sunlight. The image: a toddler in frilly white socks with a wide, gummy smile. Baby Evangeline. Ruth stares at it, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Evangeline stops in the hallwayโjust for a breath. Her eyes soften, guilt threatening to root her feet in place. But she doesnโt speak. Doesnโt step in.
She moves on.
Out the back and into night fall.
The screen door creaks, the sound swallowed by the rising hum of crickets and distant dogs barking in the dark. The porch light flickers once, then steadies. Down the gravel driveway, headlights flash twice.
A car waits at the corner.
Behind the wheel is a broad-shouldered boy with slicked-back hair and a look that says he knows how to lie for fun. In the passenger seat is a girl, maybe twenty, sharp-lined eyeliner and bubblegum lips, smacking gum with the window half-down. She waves Evangeline over like she owns the night. Evangeline grinsโcrooked, excited, a little scaredโand runs. She climbs into the back seat, sliding in with practiced ease, the leather hot against her thighs.
The girl up front twists in her seat, โTook you long enough.โ
โHad a visitor,โ Evangeline says, breathless.
โYou good?โ
โAlways.โ
The car rolls forward slow at first, wheels crunching gravel as it pulls away from the Monroe house. In the rearview mirror, Evangeline sees the porch light still on. Her mother still inside. Her past still burning quietly behind her. Then the car turns the corner. The house disappears. The road stretches on. The music comes up low and dirtyโsomething bluesy and grown. And Evangeline leans back, wind slipping through the open window, eyes wide and wild with the freedom of a girl who knows the night belongs to her.
The back office of The Blackline was dim-lit, heavy with cigar smoke and the faint sound of Ella Fitzgerald humming low from the gramophone in the corner. Stack stood by the mirror, brushing the dust from his shoulders, a half-buttoned shirt hanging open over his chest. His gold toothpick glinted as he adjusted the tilt of his fedora. Behind him, Smoke sat in the old leather chair, one leg draped over the other, wrist resting on his knee. He looked tired. The kind of tired that clung behind the eyes even when the body sat still. His undershirt was damp with the heat of the day and he was nursing the stub of a cigar that had long gone out.
Stack caught his twinโs reflection.
โYou look like you been rode hard and put up crooked,โ he muttered with a grin.
Smoke smirked, slow, โAinโt slept much.โ
Stack glanced over, โEverything straight?โ
Smoke nodded once, eyes sharp even in fatigue, โGoods came in this morning. Delia counted it out. Runners are loading the dry cellar now. Iโll handle the rest โfore sundown.โ
A beat passed.
Then Smoke added, like an afterthought, โThank God for Aunt Pearl and Minnie. They been holdinโ it down.โ
Stack caught thatโthe weight in his voice. But he didnโt press. Not yet. Instead, he moved to the small liquor cart and poured himself a splash of bourbon.
โYou gonโ be alright while I pick up Sammie?โ
Stack chuckled, โFeels like yesterday he was cryinโ โcause we wouldnโt let him hold the shotgun.โ
Smokeโs mouth twitched. Then, like a shift in the wind, he asked, โYou been seeinโ her lately, huh?โ
Stackโs hand stilled on the glass, โWho?โ
โDonโt play dumb witโ me.โ Smoke tilted his head, โThat preacherโs wife.โ
Stack leaned back on the desk, licking the bourbon from his bottom lip. His face didnโt give much awayโbut his voice softened, โNames Marigold.โ
Smoke raised a brow, โYou helpinโ her or huntinโ her?โ
Stack gave a long pause. Then said, โShe donโt even know what she is, man.โ
Smoke narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting.
โAll her life she been told she was a lamb. Quiet. Meek. Somethinโ to protect. Somethinโ to keep holy. But she ainโt just that.โ Stack swirled the liquor in his glass, โShe a woman. And ainโt nothinโ shameful about that.โ
Smoke let the words hang, chewing on them like tobacco, โYou like her.โ
Stack didnโt flinch. Didnโt smile either.
โAinโt got a name for it yet.โ He looked toward the half-cracked window where the sunlight broke in like gold ribbon, โBut when she talk, I listen. When she cry, I feel it. When sheโs quietโฆI still hear her.โ
Smoke whistled low. โDamn. Thatโs deep for you.โ
โShe different.โ
A silence settled between them.
Smoke leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. The tension in his shoulders never left, โYou sure you know what you doinโ? Messinโ witโ a church woman. You donโt think sheโll break the moment she sees all this?โ He gestured around to the room, to the whole world theyโd built.
Stack shook his head slowly, โShe already cracked, Smoke. Iโm just showinโ her whatโs on the other side of it.โ
Smoke blew out a breath, finally standing. He grabbed his coat from the hook and tossed it over one shoulder.
โJust donโt fall too hard, Stack. Been through enough trouble.โ
โToo late.โ
Smoke stopped in the doorway and looked back, lips parting like he might say something moreโsomething truer. But instead, he clapped his brother on the back once and said, โGo get the boy. Iโll have the drinks cold and the girls ready.โ
Stack grinned.
โYou better. He ainโt never had his dick wet or his soul stirred.โ
Smoke chuckled, shaking his head as he walked off, โLord help him.โ
And just like that, the office went quiet again except for the soft scratch of Ella on the record player, and the faint echo of two lives breaking in ways neither of them could name yet.
Stack stepped out of his office like a sermon in silk.
Midnight-blue three-piece suit hugging him just right, pocket square crisp, gold rings glinting with every flick of his fingers. His toothpick shifted as he adjusted the collar of his shirtโan ivory number with subtle embroidery so fine youโd have to squint to catch it. His shoes? Black leather gators. He walked like they knew how much they cost. On his way out, he caught sight of Violet at the end of the hallโpressed sweet against Smoke, who was acting downright boyish for a man with a .38 tucked beneath his waistband. Smoke had her giggling in a soft dress, hands roaming her hips, his voice low and teasing in her ear. He cupped her ass like it was his second home.
Stack paused with a smirk.
โLord, yโall actinโ like I ainโt got places to be.โ
Violet laughed, bashful, swatting Smokeโs hand away.
Smoke just grinned, eyes never leaving her.
โAnd you actinโ like you ainโt jealous.โ
Stack strolled closer, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to Violetโs forehead.
โNah, Iโm proud. She finally got him to smile like he ainโt made of brick and bourbon.โ
Smoke snorted. Violet blushed deeper.
Stack adjusted his cuffs and headed into the main lounge.
The BlacklineโMain Floor
The air was velvet-thick with cigarette haze and the scent of clove oil and red lipstick.
Cordelia, draped in deep plum and dark pearls, stood near the bar snapping orders with a voice that cracked like a whip.
โMove them tables. No, not thereโby the stage. Odessa! If that hem ainโt fixed by showtime I swearโโ
Stack passed her with a grin and a low whistle.
โDonโt work too hard, Boss Lady.โ
โDonโt flirt too loud, Player.โ
He blew her a kiss. She caught it midair and slapped it into her bra with a wink. Near the front, Liza June sat cross-legged on the velvet fainting couch, her eyes deep in a tarot spread laid across the lap of Clarissa. The air around them shimmered with mystery and slow jazz.
Stack gave Liza a nod.
She nodded back without looking up.
โYou walkinโ into somethinโ new today.โ
โAinโt I always?โ Stack replied, slipping on his overcoat.
West Ninth StreetโโLittle Harlemโ
Early evening. Golden hour. A Cadillac LaSalle, black with whitewall tires, glides through the bustle like a crown through a crowd. Stackโs hand rests out the window, rings catching light. Street corners hum with lifeโboys shining shoes, girls laughing in curls and cotton, a brass band warming up down the block.
West Ninth is pulsing.
Men in brimmed hats gather outside the barbershop, talking baseball and bootleg money. Church mothers step out of bakeries clutching warm pies and giving Stack a knowing side-eye. Teenage boys pause their dice game to admire his car. Stack pulls up outside a Black-owned shoe shopโThompson & Sons Fine Footwearโwhere the windows glisten with patent leathers and hand-stitched brogues. A wooden sign out front reads:
EST. 1917 โ STYLE THAT SPEAKS
He steps out slow, coat sliding off one shoulder, giving the full view of his suit. The wind catches the edge of his jacket. A girl walking by mutters:
โMmm, that man look like trouble in cologne.โ
Inside, the shop smells like cedar, leather polish, and confidence. Mr. Thompson, an elder with sharp eyes and a sharper press, greets him:
โMoore.โ
โThompson.โ
Stack tries on a pair of custom blood-red two-tone lace-ups, alligator trim. He lifts his leg, admires the gleam.
โYou makinโ devils dance in these, old man. Only the bold can wear red without bleedinโ in it.โ
Stack pays in full. No haggling. He tips extra for the young boy who buffs the heel until it gleams like a moonlit spill. Outside again, he slides into the driverโs seat, lets the door thud shut, and lights a cigar. His reflection smirks at him in the rearview.
The manโs ready. He ainโt just Stack. Heโs legacy. Swagger. Lust in linen. Blues in human form.
And tonight?
Heโs got Preacher Boy Sammie to pick up.
Union StationโLittle Rock, Arkansasโ4:16 PM
The train hissed into the station with a long, dusty breath, its steel spine gleaming beneath the fall sun. Smoke curled up from the engine stack like an omen softened by rhythm and routine. A gust of wind kicked through the terminal, lifting loose flyers from the bulletin board and tousling the feather in Stackโs wide-brimmed hat.
Elias โStackโ Moore leaned against his Cadillac LaSalle, black with whitewall tires, immaculate as always. The paint caught the light like obsidian, fresh from a hand-rubbed polish. His shoesโcustom-made from stingray leather, jet-black with a silver tipโgleamed as he crossed one ankle over the other. He flicked open his pocket watch, adjusted his cufflinks, and waited with a crooked grin, knowing he looked like sin with credit.
And then he saw him.
Sammie Moore.
Twenty years old and walking like the world had finally called him by name. Fresh off the train in a three-piece tan suitโclean, but not flashyโwith a golden pocket square folded just right and a worn leather guitar case slung over his shoulder like a badge of freedom. His hair was brushed back in smooth waves, sides taper-clean. His eyes, wide and alert, took in the city like a hymn heโd only ever heard about.
Sammie Moore was Delta-born, raised in the tight drawl of wooden churches and crooked porch swings, but he carried the sharp edge of something bigger now. A college man. A first-generation miracle.
He stepped down onto the platform, his gold fraternity pin shining on his lapel: Alpha Phi Alphaโthe first of its kind, newly founded by Black scholars hungry for more. And Sammie? He was studying Education and Black History, determined to uplift what his people had been taught to forget. His scholarship came from a local Black benevolent societyโone his mother petitioned after his father refused to sign the papers.
He spotted Stack instantly.
โCousin Stack!โ Sammie grinned, wide and sunlit.
โPreacher Boy!โ Stack stepped forward, his voice slick and gravel-laced. โLook at you, all grown and full of scholar. What they feedinโ yโall in them lecture halls? Confidence?โ
They embraced hard and quick, two firm slaps on the back, the kind that say I see you, Iโm proud, I got you always.
โYou look like Harlem itself,โ Sammie said, eyeing Stackโs tailored fit and toothpick grin.
Stack cocked a brow. โAnd you look like you just graduated from Sunday school for grown men. Cโmon, lemme show you what Little Harlem got cookinโ.โ
They walked toward the Cadillac, Sammie whistling low. โThis yours?โ
โShe purrs when I talk sweet and bite back when I donโt. Just how I like โem.โ
Sammie chuckled as they slid into the car. The doors shut with a deep, luxurious clunk. Windows down, wind in their collars, blues on the radioโsomewhere between Bessie Smith and the devil humming in a bottle.
As they eased into traffic, Sammie caught the glint of sunlight off glass across the street. He turned to look.
There she was.
Evangeline Monroe.
Standing just outside a beauty supply shop, laughing with two other girls. Her dress was butter-yellow with white gloves and shiny black oxfords. Hair done in a neat bob, curls perfect. Her profile hit like a note not written downโdelicate, sharp, unforgettable.
โDamn,โ Sammie whispered, eyes tracking her every movement, โWho that sweet thing?โ
Stack didnโt look. Just kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift like a preacher who knew exactly when to pause before the punchline.
โThereโs plenty of sweet at the House,โ Stack said, โYouโll see.โ
Sammie glanced once more, then leaned back into the seat, guitar case pressed against his knee. But the look on his face stayed soft. Curious. Marked.
Stack didnโt say more.
And somewhere behind them, Evangeline turnedโas if sheโd felt eyes on herโbut the car was already gone.
The front doors of The Blackline eased open with a slow, sensual creakโlike even the hinges knew how to teaseโand the air inside wrapped around Sammie like velvet dipped in molasses and smoke.
He stepped inside behind Stack, and the world bloomed.
The camera didnโt cut. It glided. Swooped. Curved around their shoulders and swept left, past the smoky lamps and satin-draped booths, past the heavy perfume of sin and sugar, and the sound of laughter layered like jazz chordsโsharp, low, then rising.
Stack paused in the doorway, Sammie just a step behind him, holding tight to that leather-strapped guitar.
The scene was alive.
๐บ Cue jazz horns and shuffling feet ๐บ
Liza June was halfway through a Tarot reading near the fireplaceโher golden curls bouncing as she laid a card down with a hiss of silk and whispered, โOoh baby, Death reversed. That mean change is cominโ.โ The woman across from her gasped like sheโd caught the Holy Ghost. Someone refilled their glasses with blackberry wine.
The camera panned right.
Cordelia, decked in a sheer black robe with nothing underneath but thigh straps and a mouth full of threat, barked orders to a new girl about fixing her eyeliner, then turned, heels clicking, and caught sight of the boys.
โWell well well,โ she drawled, one brow cocked, โThe Moore boys walkinโ in like Sunday salvation. And whoโs the cutie?โ
Sammie blushed under the lights. His tie already felt too tight.
Cordelia sauntered up and cupped his face gently with one manicured hand. โAinโt you handsome. You legal, baby?โ
โJust turned,โ Sammie mumbled.
โMm. Thatโs the best flavor.โ She winked and moved on, hips rolling like music.
The camera kept moving. Girls passed byโsome half-dressed in beaded bustiers and garter belts, others wrapped in lace robes or chemises that barely skimmed their thighs. A group of them waved from a nearby booth, one licking whipped cream off her finger.
โHappy birthday, sugar!โ one called.
โDamn,โ Sammie whispered, eyes darting, lips parted, โThis place real?โ
Stack just grinned, proud and unbothered, an arm slung heavy across his cousinโs shoulders, โYou in The Blackline now,โ he said, โI built it from sin and good taste. You see liquor, you drink it. You see sugar, you taste it. You see pussy, you praise it.โ
They passed a hallway where flickering wall lamps threw long shadows. The camera dipped low as someone dashed past in stockings and laughter. Somewhere deep in the back, the slow clatter of dice and the moan of a piano spilled through a cracked door.
From the kitchen, the smell hit like a memory Sammie hadnโt earnedโfried catfish, hot water cornbread, sweet peach glaze, and something that smelled like his mamaโs poundcake but naughtier.
He inhaled sharply, โGoddamn.โ
Stack chuckled, โThat be Aunt Pearl. Donโt let her fool youโshe got more spice in that pot than Jesus had disciples.โ
And thenโ
Violet.
A burst of soft curls. A squeal of joy.
โSammie!โ she called out, hurrying over in a warm, wine-colored dress that hugged her soft curves. She wrapped him up in a hug that was all hips and sunshine.
Sammie grinned wide, surprised but clearly overjoyed.
โI ainโt seen you inโโ
โToo long,โ Violet finished. โLook at you! Little cousin all grown up and dressed better than a Pullman porter.โ
โLook at you! You jumped witโ Ghost and got fine doing it.โ
She laughed, and Stack tilted his head, โDonโt give him all your sugar, Vi. Leave some for Smoke.โ
She smacked his arm.
Stack turned to Sammie again, clapping a hand on his back, โI brought you here for a reason,โ he said, his voice lowering just a touch, like a promise being carved. โWe gonโ celebrate your transition. Blues, bourbon, and if you play your cards rightโฆโ He smirked, โYou gonโ get your tip wet for the first time.โ
Sammie blinked. โIโwait, what?โ
โDonโt act brand new.โ Stack leaned in, voice thick with mischief. โYou grown now. Iโm givinโ you the keys to the kingdom.โ
The camera followed as they crossed through the den, past sultry shadows and swaying silhouettes. Upstairs, Stack showed him a room set asideโmodest, but nice. Clean sheets. A basin. A mirror edged in gold. Sammie dropped his duffel on the bed but kept the guitar slung over his shoulder like it was part of his ribs.
โYou still playinโ?โ Stack asked.
Sammie nodded, stroking the neck gently. โEvery damn day.โ
Stack gave a small nod, respect in his eyes, โYou should. That axe got blood on it.โ
Sammie looked down at the guitarโthe one he and Smoke had passed to him when he was just thirteen. Their fatherโs.
He swallowed hard.
Stack tapped the doorframe.
โCome on, Preacher Boy. Nightโs young. Letโs get you blessed proper.โ
And as they stepped out, the camera stayed behind for just a moment, lingering on the guitarโs worn fretboard.
The hallway behind the bar was narrow, lined with old liquor crates and dusty red curtains that swayed for no reason at all. Just past a locked doorโkey slid from Stackโs bootโwas The Secret Room. The one with no windows. The air changed when they stepped inside. It smelled like old velvet, aged whiskey, tobacco, and secrets. Thick crimson drapes hung heavy over the walls. A pull-down screen waited, curled like a tongue. In the corner, the projector sat humming quietly like it had a memory of its own. Stack lit a cigar and let the door click shut behind them. Sammie followed, carrying his guitar case, eyes darting across the room like heโd stumbled into a place grown folks didnโt talk about out loud. He tried to play it coolโbut he was twenty. Curious. Alert.
And perched in the far armchair, legs spread and boots dusty, sat Rattlesnake Joeโgrinning like a man who knew too much.
โEveninโ, Pretty-Slick,โ Joe said with a gold-toothed grin, lifting a brown burlap sack from beside him, โBrought you some heat. And a lilโ moon blessinโ for them tender girls oโ yours.โ
Stack took the sack. Set it on the sideboard beside a bottle of Bama bourbon and a stack of steel canisters.
โLetโs see what you got,โ he said, voice smooth but watchful.
Joe leaned back, tipping his hat toward Sammie, โYou the one he was talkinโ about? Birthday boy?โ
Sammie gave a polite nod, โYessir.โ
โWell, well,โ Joe chuckled, โYou in for one hell of a sanctified education, son.โ
Sammie squinted, โWhatโs a stag film anyway?โ
Stack turned slowly, lips twitching around his cigar. He walked over, draped one arm around Sammieโs shoulder, and pulled him in, โItโs like church,โ he said low. โOnly instead oโ shoutinโ, they screaminโ your name.โ
Joe hooted.
โShit, thatโs good! Write that down, Pretty-Slick!โ
Stack ignored him, lifting a canister off the stack. He showed it to SammieโReel #14: Pussy on the Phonographโsmudged label, faint red kiss mark near the edge.
โThis here?โ he said, handing it to Sammie like it was scripture, โA woman touchinโ herself while her own blues record spins. You ever seen a woman make herself cry with her own voice?โ
Sammie flushed. Swallowed, โNo sir.โ
Stack smiled faintly, then clicked the projector into place.
The machine began to whir.
Joe tossed over a leather pouch of herbsโโthatโs for Cordeliaโs tea, and the girlsโ knees,โ he mutteredโand poured himself a glass of whiskey. Stack watched the reel come to life, light flickering on the screen as grainy, black-and-white heat filled the room.
The figure on screen moaned. Slowly. With rhythm.
Sammieโs mouth parted. He leaned forward, guitar case still between his legs.
Joe lit up, โSee that right there? That ainโt no actress. Thatโs a real woman. She ainโt performinโ. She rememberinโ. Thatโs what make the reel worth a damn.โ
Stack nodded, still watching.
โYou listen to the breath. That lilโ hitch when her fingers dip lower? That ainโt no script. Thatโs memory. Thatโs ache.โ
He looked at Sammie.
โYou ever had a girl touch herself to you before?โ
Sammie blinked. Eyes flicked back to the screen.
Stack laughed soft, low, โDidnโt think so. But you will. Maybe sooner than you think.โ
The moaning on screen grew louder. The womanโs thighs trembled. The record player needle skipped.
Joe wiped his eyes with a kerchief, โGoddamn thatโs art,โ he whispered.
Sammie shifted in his seat, โSoโฆthese get shown here?โ
โOnly for folk who know the password,โ Stack said, reaching for another reel, โWe call it Midnight Sermon. You sit in one of these velvet chairs, light a cigar, and let truth flicker โtil it stick to your ribs.โ
Joe pulled a flask from his boot. โI ever tell yโall about the cursed reel I found down in Plaquemine? Swear to God, the folk on it kept lookinโ at the camera like they was watchinโ meโโ
โTell it later, Joe,โ Stack muttered, โLet the boy finish his first viewing.โ
The screen glowed.
The moans got real.
And Sammie, breath caught in his chest, clutched the neck of the old Moore guitarโthe one Smoke and Stack had given him years ago, their fatherโsโlike it was the only holy thing left in the room.
West Ninth Street, Little Rock
The sun glared low, syrup-thick and lazy, as Stackโs flashy green and cream roadster rolled smooth down West Ninth. The chrome caught the day just rightโgleaming like fresh silver, purring like a panther. Folks on the sidewalk turned to look. They always did when Elias โStackโ Moore pulled up. He parked clean in front of Delโs Shine Parlor, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. His suit was pressed to perfection, tie knotted sharp at the throat. A gold toothpick rode lazy in the corner of his mouth. He turned his head just enough to speak.
โStay here, lil cousin. Iโm just makinโ a drop. Wonโt be long.โ
Sammie, sitting passenger, nodded, his fingers absently tracing the neck of the old guitar that lay in the backseat, strapped in like a relic. Stack stepped out and closed the door with the kind of swagger that didnโt need announcing. He moved like he owned the whole block. The gold handle of the Shine Parlor door caught the sun just before it swung closed behind him. Inside, Delโs was dim and cool, smelling of leather polish, cigar smoke, and the faintest trace of musk perfume. Delphinaโthe ownerโsat behind the long, high counter, legs crossed, counting bills in a ruby-red slip and silk robe. Brass spit buckets glinted near old barber chairs. A phonograph spun a scratchy jazz tune in the corner. And in the back, behind a velvet curtain, murmurs from the men laying bets rolled low like thunder.
Stack tipped his hat, โGot somethinโ warm for your drop box.โ
Del didnโt look up, โYou always do.โ
Outside, Sammie cracked the window and leaned back, watching the bustle on West Ninth through dark lashes.
Then he saw her.
Again.
Evangeline Monroe.
Same girl from earlier. Same dressโbutter-yellow, soft and spring-sweet, like pound cake cooling on the sill. White gloves tugged tight to the wrist. Shiny black oxfords catching light with every step. Her hair was a flawless bob, curled under like sheโd just come from the beauty parlor. She walked with two other girls, laughing about something only they knewโbut when she paused to lick at the edge of a vanilla cone, Sammie forgot to breathe.
She hadnโt seen him yet.
He climbed out of the car, smoothing his slacks with one hand and checking his breath with the other. The collar of his dress shirt was popped open, no tie, sleeves rolled. His fraternity pin gleamed at his lapelโKappa Alpha Psi, recently founded, and he wore it proud. Sammie adjusted his stance, made sure his posture said: charming, not desperate.
โMiss?โ
Evangeline turned. Lips still close to that ice cream. Eyes sliding over him, then back down the cone. No smile yet. Just that curious arch in her brow.
โTwice in one day?โ she said coolly, โYou followinโ me now?โ
Sammie chuckled, a low, warm sound, โI think itโs the other way around. You keep appearing like sunshine.โ
That got the ghost of a grin. She licked slow, once, eyes on his face, โYou a poet or just full of it?โ
He stepped closer, โLittle bit of both.โ
Evangeline didnโt move. Her two friends stood off to the side, whispering, giggling behind cupped hands. One elbowed the other and whispered heโs cute, but Evangeline ignored them.
Sammie glanced down, bashful but still bold, โYou from around here?โ
โBorn and half-raised.โ
โYou ever heard of The Blackline?โ
That name made her eyes flicker. Not wide-eyed, not shockedโjustโฆknowing. Like sheโd heard stories behind closed doors. She leaned on one hip.
โMaybe. Depends whoโs askinโ.โ
โIโm Sammie Moore.โ He held out a hand, โStackโs blood. Smokeโs too. I just got in.โ
Evangeline didnโt take his hand. She licked the ice cream again, then said, โYou a Moore? That explains the mouth.โ
He laughed, โYou say that like itโs a bad thing.โ
โItโs a dangerous thing,โ she said, one brow lifted.
โWellโฆmaybe you like a little danger.โ
โYou maybe ainโt as smooth as you think.โ
He leaned close enough for her to catch a breath of his cologneโcitrus, vanilla, something boyish and clean. A college manโs scent.
Then he whispered, low like temptation, like something you werenโt supposed to repeat unless you meant it, โThree slow. Two fast. Then say: Velvet Devotion.โ
That made her pause. The corner of her lip twitched, โVelvet Devotion, huh?โ
Sammie nodded once, โGets you through the front. Tomorrow. What happens afterโฆdepends on how bold you feel.โ
Evangelineโs lips curved slow, โYou got the tongue for a preacher.โ
Sammie grinned, โMaybe I just been sinninโ better.โ
Her friends hooted behind her. One of them asked, โYou gonโ invite us too, Vangie?โ
Evangeline glanced back at them, then looked Sammie up and down.
โIf I comeโฆI bringinโ company.โ
Sammie nodded, โLong as yโall come lookinโ this good, I ainโt got no complaints.โ
She tilted her head, โWhat if we donโt come lookinโ good? What if we come lookinโ dangerous?โ
He smirked, โThen youโll fit right in.โ
From the parlor door, Stack stepped out just in time to see the last of that smile exchanged. He raised a brow but said nothingโjust tapped the side of his pocket where his cigar case sat and headed back to the car.
โCโmon, Romeo. Time to get you ready for your rites.โ
Sammie nodded at Evangeline, tipped an imaginary hat, โIโll see you soon.โ
She turned without answering, hips swaying like she knew she had him.
Because she did.
THE BLACKLINE โ NIGHT โ WEST NINTH STREET
The night air hung low, sweet with magnolia and sin.
Stack Moore leaned against his coupe, slow-smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He looked sharp as a straight razorโslacks pressed, suspenders hugging his shoulders, white tank gleaming under the streetlight. His hat sat tilted just enough to show off the glint in his eye. A quiet smirk curled the corner of his mouth like he was always halfway to trouble. Behind him, The Blackline was alive, low brass and blues seeping through the walls, laughter floating past velvet curtains. A shadow moved across the stained-glass window just as Sammie disappeared inside, guitar case in hand, wide-eyed and grinning.
Stack took a drag.
Then he heard it.
Polished footsteps.
Church leather.
Turning his head just slightly, Stack watched as a black Studebaker slid to a clean stop across the street, engine purring like judgment withheld.
The driverโs door creaked open.
Out stepped Reverend Obadiah Baptiste, tall and rigid in his navy wool suit. Crisp. Sanctified. A silver pocket watch chain glinted against his vest. He adjusted his cufflinks, smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle, then shut the door like it had sinned. Sister Lillian exited next, already halfway up the church steps, her Bible pressed tight to her chest. She didnโt look back. Obadiah paused to speak with an older Deacon Josiah at the gateโjust murmured blessings and leadership pleasantriesโbut his eyesโฆhis eyes were locked on Stack.
Stack didnโt move.
Just blew a stream of smoke toward the stars.
Then, with a cocky flick of his chin and a smile that could skin a preacher alive, he spoke, โEveninโ, Rev.โ
Obadiahโs jaw twitched.
He offered a tight-lipped smile that didnโt reach his eyes, nodding once like a man humoring a snake.
โMr. Moore. How you be?โ
They stood there in silence for half a breath too long. The street hummed. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. The lights from The Blackline pulsed behind Stack like a neon halo of temptation. Stack tilted his head, studying Obadiah like a man sizing up an old rival at a poker table.
โCanโt complain. Got a full house tonight. Blues, bourbon, and bad intentions.โ
He grinned, โGearing up for a weekend of sinninโ, you could say.โ
Obadiahโs smile flattened. His hands folded at his waist, the way one might withhold a curse behind a hymn.
โThe women in my congregationโฆthey donโt protest no more.โ He paused,โFigured there ainโt no use preaching to a hell den.โ
A quiet laugh rumbled from Stackโs chestโgenuine, easy, but edged like a switchblade.
โThatโs real kind of you, Reverend. Makinโ room for the damned.โ
Obadiahโs smirk returned, but now it was bitter. He turned as if to leave, but Stackโs voice cut the silence like a crack of gunfire in an old Western.
โHowโs your preacher wife doing? Whatโs her nameโฆuhhโฆโ He tapped a finger to his temple, mocking thought, โSlippinโ my mind.โ
Obadiah froze. His jaw clenched tight enough to crack a tooth, โMarigold.โ
โAhh, yeah.โ Stack snaps fingers, โMarigold. First Lady.โ Stack leaned off the car now, real casual. Took another puff. Let the smoke drift slow from his nostrils as he stepped closer, boots clicking like spurs on sacred ground. He tilted his head slightly, โThat ainโt who you showed up with though.โ
Obadiah stiffened.
Stack could see the vein twitch in his temple. Could feel the fury coiling beneath that collar like a serpent under holy linen. But Obadiahโs voice came calm, trained, weaponized.
โMy wife is a busy woman. Teaches purity. Leads young girls to righteousness. Sheโs an exampleโฆof what a Lady of God ought to be.โ
Stack just smiled.
He didnโt say a word about how Marigold moaned when he tongued her from behind, face buried deep, nose pressed to her crack like he was trying to breathe in her sin. Didnโt mention how she trembled when he bent her over and spread her knees wide, pussy glistening and twitching like it was begging to be fed on. Didnโt speak on how her breath hitched when he whispered โGood girlโ against her throat, voice thick and hungry, or how she beggedโbeggedโfor him to spank the holy right outta her, crying out every time his palm met her ass, soaking his lap like a filthy little church slut.
Nope.
Stack didnโt say a word.
He just flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushed it beneath a polished heel, and turned back toward The Blackline, โYou have a good night now, Reverend.โ He paused, smirking over his shoulder, โOhโand can you keep that bell tolling to a minimum? You spookinโ my girls.โ
Obadiahโs jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might bite through scripture. But Stack was already walking away, hands in his pockets, humming a slow Delta tuneโsomething about sin and salvation sitting on the same pew. The saloon doors of The Blackline swung open as he enteredโblues wailing from the stage, women laughing in silk and perfume, and the smell of smoke, sex, and fried catfish waiting like the arms of a devil that welcomed you by name.
๐ฅน๐ I never expected to get tagged in this so thank you. These wonderful people eat too though so I gotta give them their props!! Because theyโre fantastic writers!! ๐ฅณโฃ๏ธ
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๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ เฟ you didnโt have much but you managed to move out of your troubled motherโs home and in the midst of you adjusting to a brand new chapter of your life.
someone has been watching you.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ เฟ vampire! elijah โsmokeโ moore! x reader! (stack might pop in!)
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ เฟ heyyy.. yโall missed me? I missed yโall pls forgive me yโall ok I know itโs been a while. who do I slap? myself or myself? lol, I figured on my own time that i shouldnโt tie myself to one story so I started with this. Iโll be honest, Iโm way too hard on myself and I gotta chillat and juh vibe. sunfield is still in the works so no worries. I hope yโall like this. lemme know. It could maybe be a 5 part thing or something!
the elevator broke down for the second time this week. lights in hallways flickered on and off like it was straight out of some horror movie, swallowing the walls whenever it felt like it. it sometimes made you uncomfortable. the neighbors were the strangest. the majority of them avoided eye contact when passing by each other and shady looking people frequently waltzed in and out of the apartments like a trap house, smelling like liquor and cigarettes but you didnโt do or say a thing about it.ย
for your own good, lips were sealed unless necessary.ย
truth be told, you had not much of a choice.ย
you were kindly advised, or somewhat warned by people to consider moving into an improved neighborhood. into a secured community, not exactly private. just one that would provide you โcomfortโ and a long stay but you didnโt have that type of money to your name. It didnโt fit in your budget and you were just desperate. you told them just that, rather than being passive aggressive and sarcastic. you appreciated the concern.ย
but youโd be lying if you said you didnโt feel an ounce of pity for yourself when you took a look at their faces that day.ย
rent was cheap, and you seen why. poor, disadvantaged neighborhood, infrequent maintenance and repairs within the complex. one bedroom, a comfortable living room with an open kitchen and a nicely sized bathroom for one person. unfortunately it groaned louder than you when you showered for too long. It had a cute oval shaped mirror above the sink though, the only thing you instantly liked about your new home once you saw the apartment for the first time.ย
itโs close to work too. so what was supposed to be transportation money went straight to your savings instead, tucked away for better things. you could consider it killing two birds with one stone. saving money and getting your steps in while daydreaming. a habit that needed some handling from the root. last time you almost ran full on into a street light pole. totally aware you needed to fix it.ย
young and making wiser choices.ย
see, you noted that this was a temporary situation. and looking at the positives, the place was decent.ย
it came together nicely the more you decorated the space and made it your own. did a good job with that also. It felt like you finally belonged somewhere that reflected you and was strictly yours. you told yourself that. odd neighbors and their visitors aside, nobody really bothered you if you didnโt mind the shameless staring, occasional cat calling whenever you walked past hooded men hanging in or around the complex. It alerted you at times but you tried to stay focused regardless. you did this for a bigger purpose.ย
independence, ownership and freedom, but deep down.ย
you were really trying to shit on a group of people and prove a point.ย
like this elevator you had beef with alike. slower than a sloth and nearly useless. apparently it had been โfixedโ a few days ago. โfixed, my assโ you mumbled soft, almost breaking the push button. patience wasย running thin but you didnโt dare to complain out loud just in case the machine would never work again. power of tongue they say. you opted to take the timeless staircase. took your time with it too.ย
deep down in your gut you prayed and hoped that the power of tongue would have someone miraculously call or text your phone and tell you the magical sentence โdonโt come in todayโ but your phone never buzzed or rang. It was silent likeit was forgotten. clearly, you were destined to go to work. an evening shift that would last past midnight at that.ย
you had done those countless times before, back to back when time was rough and money was tight. so, no pressure. managers you resented were absent today and the laid back representatives gave the staff some grace. the best part of being a receptionist in a small hotel was surviving with a coworker you clicked with since day one. Denise.
Denise with the French tips, signature long bob that swung gracefully without a care and glossy lips so shiny it looked like they was made out of glass. a nine hour shift with that lady easily felt like four and it made the reception struggles a lot more manageable. thatโs how the love-hate relationship with your job started.ย
the two of you were inseparable like conjoined twins.ย
yโall sat at the front desk, half filled noodle cups sat right next to the keyboards, unused nail files scattered all over the table and neatly printed papers stacked between monitors. today was a slow one but aint nobody mad at it unless they want life to be harder than it already is. the easy part today was listening to Deniseโs fourth story. it kept you entertained while you took a cautious bite from your hot noodles.ย
โand then.. then this knucklehead- he look like a fucking knuckle too. no hair, bald like shit. I can polish it and see my own reflection on that.โ the noodles flew straight out your mouth into the cup. โDenise-โย
โnah. I hate that manโ she confessed cold heartedly, leaning forward to grab her nailfiller with a sigh.ย
you chuckled and wiped the sides of your mouth. setting your noodles aside. โI canโt believe you gave him a chance in the first place.โ you tried to steer Denise away from the man that, to you, smelled like a walking red flag but unfortunately had the face of someone you would never mind waking up to every morning. nowadays, a pretty face canโt be trusted either.ย
โI should be listening to youโ Denise mumbled in complete defeat, glancing over with a thought behind her eyes. โyou never been in a relationship before, but somehow you know how to spot the bad, the โnot good enoughโsโ and the oneโs with a mask on.โย
true. you always had that in you. you werenโt sure if it was passed down to you or it simply developed because of past experiences. It taught you more than a thing or two from a very young age. never questioned it or dismissed it when the feeling came. you owned it and worked with it rather than against it. so far it never forsake you.ย
โyou've been in plenty of situationships, you should be ahead of meโ you stated and it was nothing but the truth, Denise didnโt protest. all she did was grumble and pout. you couldnโt help but grin at that and nudge her. the woman had terrible eyes for men and friends. a thing you couldn't quite understand or relate to. your program was strict but you loved her nonetheless.
an irrelevant notification from your phone lit up the screen, grabbing your attention. 11:37pm you read. a few more hours left and then your body could finally hit your bed.ย
โMm, girl-โ Denise began. โyou tryna slide to a block party this weekend? please please please donโt leave me hanging this time please-โย
how could you refuse the invitation when itโs asked with a bunch of pleads. although, you were known to say no so often it suited best as your second name. but for a change, as you thought of it, you accepted the invitation and two familiar arms instantly pulled you into an embrace. your left ear surprisingly didnโt disintegrate from all the hootinโ and hollerinโ she did in it.ย
why not? you had nothing grand to do on the weekend. itโs been a while since youโve gone out to have fun. living in your head was causing you more trouble than wisdom. so, you viewed this as a great opportunity to live outside of it, push the stress behind and have a good ass time. โIs the party themed?โ you asked and leaned back in your chair to relax.ย
โ90โsโ Denise answered and went on to tell you a collection of outfits she assembled and memorized in her head. she gave you context and reasoning. all of them had your interest. It ainโt no secret Denise adored dressing up and clothes. you suspected it was a borderline addiction and a real problem when she called you over on your day off for help and with your own eyes you saw that closet on the verge of exploding. that day was spent putting clothes in bags for donation. you counted 7 bags. the 8th bag may or may not have gone home with you.
โminimal jewelry fits betterโ โyou right but think about it with the flat cap and gold brace-โย
you never got the chance to finish your sentence.
someone cleared their throat. not you, definitely not Denise.ย
then the entire air shifted real quick the moment you slowly looked up.
a tall man dressed in all black, broadly framed, stood strong and still in front of the desk. never seen him before but he held a sharp gaze at you like he knew you. It burned through the dark shades he wore, felt the force of it rush through your veins. felt him looking inside of you, right through you.
then he tilted his head, slow and deliberate. like he knew exactly what he was doing as you watched him back, silent.ย
trapped in a trance that forbade you control. your body grew stiff, your heart raced against your ribcage so hard it tightened your chest and every beat drummed loudly in your ears as if you were about to faint but you remained seated and conscious. stuck like stone. his presence commanded it.ย
what the fuck was going on?ย
โdonโt worry โbout itโย
you heard him say. clear like a whistle in the night. low and gruff, but his lips never moved. your eyes started to sting, welling up with tears. a soft huff left you, stuttering like it couldnโt hold itself steady.ย
โgirl.. whatโs wrong?โย
and just like that your head snapped towards Denise. she was looking at you with a frown on her face. confused and concerned as her eyes lowered down to your hands. they were shaking. โwhatโs goinโ on with you, girl?โ Denise asked, reaching forward to grab your water bottle. โhere take a lil sipโย
you were too busy scoping your surroundings. the man was gone and you felt like youโve gone crazy. โyou didnโt see what he did?โ you asked her and it confused her even more. so you mustโve really gone crazy.ย
โwhat are you talkinโ about?โ she started. โall I seen is you drillinโ holes in his fine ass face with ya eyes like-โ she proceeded to mimic what you looked like and to see Denise eyes slightly widened like a child seeing a giant candy, lips all parted, staring into the distance made you slightly acknowledge how ridiculous you probably looked but that was beside the point. what just happened, happened. right?ย something happened to you.
โwhat did you see? you know him?โ you heard her ask and you shook your head no, opting to keep quiet. โwell.. he good looking but a lil scary though. I know he donโt playโ Denise continued talking but you didnโt really catch on. your mind jumbled and jumped around for an explanation.ย
you were there but you really werenโt there throughout the remaining minutes of your shift. you fiddled with the fabric of your pants, spoke less and Denise noticed it, reassuring you that it was just a regular guy picking up his keycard for the room he booked, like any other person. she adviced you to rest more properly.ย
but something told you he wasnโt a regular guy. something was abnormal no matter how many excuses you came up with while you marched your way back home, extra cautious about your environment as you took the shorter route through the alleyway. you went as far as going on the internet the second you got inside of your apartment, locked the door and triple checked.ย
like you expected, you found nothing on the matter.ย
as strange as it was, your body finally hit your bed after a hot shower you been craving for all day. your arms and legs sprawled under the blanket with the unknown silence wrapped around your head and body.ย
maybe you should let it go.
itโs been a rough couple of months and you were severely exhausted from it. not long ago you accidentally put your phone in the fridge and tore up your poor bedroom looking for it but the more you thought of his gaze and the burn of it.ย