Story Time

“She was one of those languid women made of dark honey. Smooth and sweet, and terribly sticky, who take control of a room with a syrupy gesture. A toss of the hair, a single, slow whiplash of the eyes—and all the while remain as still as the center of a hurricane, apparently unaware of the force of gravity by which they irresistibly attract to themselves the yearnings and the souls of men.” Perfume - Patrick Süskind

Annie stared out the kitchen window of Nellie’s home, the pad of her thumb caught on the tip of an empty pea pod. She could see Nellie’s mama in the yard hanging linens from the clothesline. Beyond that, the hum of Fourth Street crept through the backyards and alleyways of the neighborhood. Smoke rose from the railroad depot a street over, coughing thick black puffs into the air that looked like a blemish against the bright blue afternoon sky. And somewhere in the distance, the sweet, rotten smell of the Sunflower River floated its way through the cracks of the modest shotgun off Ashton Street.

“Louisiana?” Gigi asked. She shelled a pea with quick hands, dropping the pod in the waste bowl. “You over there daydreamin’.”

“With a big ass grin on your face, too,” Verity chimed in.

Annie blinked twice. “Yeah. Just thinkin’.” 

Nellie grinned. “Mhmm. She thinkin’ about her man.”

Annie rolled her eyes but her mouth twitched. Her man. Her mouth felt dry, words trapped in her throat, but she didn’t dare swallow. Not with Nellie sneaking glances at her, Pearline watching her closely out of the corner of her eye, and Gigi eyeing her curiously. Eventually the conversation folded back into itself. The phonograph skipped to a new song, shells hit the bowl in the middle of the table with a hollow tap, Verity started talking about living in Bronzeville. But desire bloomed under Annie’s skin like a bruise the more she thought of Smoke, spreading through her veins like a whisper of lightning before a storm. 

“So are you gonna…you know…” Pearline started. “Give him your virgin?” she whispered.

Annie turned her head to Pearline.

“Uhh, I-I think so.”

“You think so? Or you know so?” Gigi asked.

“Don’t do it if you ain’t sure,” Pearline added.

“I am sure.”

The answer settled into the room.

“You scared?” The question came from Verity.

A beat.

“Yeah.”

“Of what?”

Before she could answer, another question followed, this time from Gigi again. “You scared of what it’s gon’ feel like, or how you gon’ feel after the deed is done?” 

Annie hummed in thought. 

“Both,” she said finally. “But mostly what it’s gon’ feel like.” 

She fiddled with her fingers. “Do it hurt?” 

She looked up then, avoiding the direct gaze of the faces staring back at her.

Verity spoke up.

“At first, yes,” she said honestly. “Then it feels good. As long as he know what he doin’,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Mhmm.”

“Oh,” Annie trailed off. She rubbed her arms, looking down at her work. Their pile of peas was dwindling down as the day dragged on.

Pearline placed a hand on Annie’s forearm, the touch reassuring. “I feel like you in good hands.”

“‘Specially since he snatched you up so quick,” Nellie added. “He ain’t waste no time.”

“None.”

Annie chuckled. She rubbed her arms again. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She shifted her weight on the chair, her chest tightening. Her heartbeat thumped loudly in her chest, and she tried to ease it by taking deep, controlled breaths. As the conversation in Nellie’s kitchen turned into something lighter, Annie’s thoughts drifted back to what she finally admitted out loud.

The next day…

A bloody sludge of gills and guts covered Annie’s apron. Her fingers, the edge of the kitchen counter—coated in it. She cleaned and gutted catfish, then skinned, trimmed, and sliced them with a thin, sharp knife, separating the scaly skin from the fillet after removing the entrails. The heads sat in a corner of the countertop, where Felix sat on the kitchen floor just below. Tail swinging, eyes wide, he looked like he was ready to pounce.

Annie watched him out of the corner of her eye. 

“Aht aht!” she scolded, pointing the tip of her knife at him. “Don’t even think about it.” 

Some of the gunk from the knife flew onto his paw, which he looked down at like he was personally offended by its presence. He looked up at Annie and meowed, a short trill of frustration. 

She talked back like he could understand what she was saying, looking up from scooping the kidney out of a fish. “What?”

“Mrrp,” he meowed.

Annie rolled her eyes. “That ain’t my problem.”

“Mrrrrrrrrp.”

“Since when you scared of a lil’ blood?”

Felix yawned and rubbed his head with his clean paw, licked the blood off his other one, then meowed again.

“Le pauvre,” she teased.

He whipped around, slipping out the back through the slightly cracked door. Just then Aunt Della walked through the same door, a basket at her hip full of root vegetables. Her hair was pinned back and kept in place with a lavender headscarf, her temples displaying hues of vivid black and silver kinks, coils, and curls that spoke to time and memory. She set the basket and her gardening gloves down on the kitchen table next to the chipped ceramic bowl of onions.

“What you do?”

“To who?” Annie wiped the sweat beading on her brow with the back of her arm.

“Felix.”

“I ain’t did nothin’ to that boy,” she huffed. “He wanna stand in the rain and be mad he got wet.”

“Figures,” Aunt Della chuckled. “You almost done?”

“Almost done, auntie,” Annie answered. “Got two more left.” 

“Lemme start heatin’ this oil up then.”

Three knocks on the front door interrupted their routine, causing both ladies to turn their heads. Loretta Hightower stood at the door, visible through the front window in a tailored three-piece set and matching hat. The vibrant green suit dazzled under the sun that cloaked the porch in a veil of honey-gold. Annie, elbows deep in fish guts, turned back to the catfish while Aunt Della walked over to answer the front door.

“Delilah!” Loretta squealed. 

“Loretta!” 

They embraced. A long, familiar hold that spoke of history and friendship. The low murmur of their conversation carried into the kitchen as Annie stood facing the large back window. Felix was bathing himself with his tongue, staring at her like he had an attitude. She stuck her tongue out at him.

Soft footsteps and the click-clack of heels approached the kitchen. 

“Annie! Loretta got somethin’ for you.”

Annie gasped softly, turning and wiping her hands off on her apron. “What is it?” 

“You got a letter back.” 

Annie jolted and hurried to the wash basin. 

“Oh, let me just…” She submerged her hands down to her forearms in the soapy water, picking up a brush to scrub under her fingernails. “Just gimme a second. Thank you so much, Mrs. Hightower.”

Aunt Della and Loretta chuckled. 

“It’s not goin’ anywhere, baby,” Aunt Della assured her. 

“And it’s a thick one, too, Annie,” Loretta added.

Annie’s heart went from leaping, to soaring, to beating so fast it almost bolted out of her chest. She scrubbed death off her hands until they started to prune. They shook gently underneath the water, vibrating the basin and splashing droplets onto her apron. Aunt Della and Loretta could both hear the soft sniffles she tried to hide underneath the sounds of splashing water. Aunt Della approached her and Annie felt a hand on her back as she whispered something that made her calm her frantic movements.

Annie slowed her motions, dried her hands, and took the envelope, holding it like she held the world in her palms. She brought the paper to her nose, inhaling the familiar scent of her mother’s perfume and her father’s aftershave, breathing it into memory. She gently detached the adhesive of the envelope with wobbly fingers, her heart thumping in her chest as she removed a stack of thick, wide paper folded delicately from the envelope, taking care to notice the flower petals that were packed along with it. 

Blue lobelias. 

They were her favorite.

It was a visually striking perennial that grew in clusters in the field by her great-grandmother’s shack. She remembered hiding behind them when she played hide-and-seek with her brothers as a child. 

Annie wiped a tear that threatened to fall down her cheek carefully and unfolded the letter. The first thing her eyes ran across was her mother’s beautiful cursive that filled the page with soft, whimsical strokes.

Our dear Annie, was all she read at first. Then she reread it. And read it again. 

The words hit her right in the gut. Homesickness burned deep under her skin, hotter than the afternoon sun that hung large and heavy and beamed through the kitchen windows. Deciding to read the letter later on, she tucked it back into the envelope, careful not to spill any petals. The thick envelope went into her apron pocket. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hightower. Thank you so much.” 

Loretta took a step towards her, then widened her arms, bringing her into a hug. She rubbed her back with a soothing, maternal warmth.

“Lemme know if you need anything else, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Annie felt the long tail of Felix tickle the side of her calf as he contorted his body around her ankle and tilted his head up at her.

“Mrrow,” he purred.

“Guess you ain’t mad at me no mo’, huh?” Annie pursed her lips at Felix as he stared at her for a moment before disappearing into the front room. 

“Well, I better be goin’,” Loretta said. “Almost supper time at the restaurant.” 

“Thank you again,” Annie said.

Loretta nodded, gave Aunt Della a hug, then walked towards the front, the floorboards groaning under her heels. She hesitated at the door, looked back and gave another winsome smile, then slipped outside without another word. 

For a moment, the cool air that crept in made the room feel less stuffy, like the crack of the door let something slip out with it. 

Annie exhaled, her shoulders relaxing.

“You okay, sugar?” Aunt Della asked.

“Yeah,” Annie looked around, rolling up her sleeves. “Just need to do somethin’ with my hands.” 

She crossed the room to the woodstove and scooped a heaving amount of lard into the cast iron pot to heat up. She checked the pot of beans on the back burner, stirring it once before covering it back up. Aunt Della moved to the counter, rolling her own sleeves up and cleaning the catfish filets while Annie mixed the batter together.

The scent of frying oil filled the kitchen even as words didn’t. 

The two women worked together quietly preparing supper as the shuffle of boots became louder, attracted by the smell of spice and fried cornmeal. 

Annie stood at the stove frying fish in batches, watching the corners curl up and waiting to feel the underside was the perfect shade of golden before it was ready to flip.

Annie was in her head.

Because that’s where the letter lived. Not the words. Not yet. It was the smell of her parents soaked into the paper. The flower petals that brought her back to her childhood. 

She didn’t hear the door creak, the screen door slamming shut in that playful way. Didn’t notice the floorboards acquiesce under the weight of his soldier-like footfalls. Didn’t feel the air in the room shift. Didn’t hear him greet Aunt Della in the background. And definitely didn’t hear him approach her.

Two large hands gripped Annie’s waist. The scent of tobacco and peppermint, potent and personal, floated over her shoulder eclipsing the smell of hot grease.

Annie smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey.” 

Smoke set his chin on her shoulder, his hands firm on her hips. “How you be?” 

“Good,” she hummed, the answer an affirmation that settled deep in his chest. 

Better now, she thought to herself. 

The homesickness—gone. Thoughts of the place she called—used to call—home, all melted under his touch. It soothed her somehow. The way his grip was firm but gentle on her waist. Possessive when he pulled her in tighter and rested his chin on her shoulder. Restrained when a shaky breath hit the delicate skin of her neck.

Smoke noticed it all. 

The way her shoulders slackened when he touched her. 

The little jolt that ran through her body. Barely noticeable, but there. 

The way her breath hitched. 

The way she tried to hide it all. 

That was his favorite part; the way she tried to mask her reactions. 

Then she did something unexpected.

Before he knew it she reached behind her, her fingers finding the shell of his ear. She grazed it just once with her fingertips, the touch barely there. But still. He couldn't help but shiver. It was a full-body one. His grip tightened on her waist, fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt for a second before relaxing again. He watched the corner of her mouth turn up as she turned a fish filet in the cast iron pan. Then he grinned too. His lips twisted playfully, the dimple in his cheek caving in.

“Y’all lookin’ mighty cozy over there.”

Stack. 

He walked in, brows high on his forehead when he saw Smoke behind Annie like a vat of hot oil wasn’t bubbling right in front of them. Steam rose slowly from the pot, beading sweat on both Annie and Smoke’s foreheads. One bad decision and a body part could end up with a third-degree burn.

But neither of them seemed to care. 

They didn’t seem to notice he or Miss Della were even there.

Annie swayed a bit as she flipped and dipped fish. And Smoke moved with her, a hushed conversation taking place between them as he rested his head on her shoulder. 

Stack looked at Aunt Della like “you seein’ this?” She shrugged. He walked over and gave her a hug as she prepared sides with serving utensils, all the while eyeing the perfectly golden-brown catfish strips piling up on a platter next to the stove. 

His mouth watered at the smell of the crispy fried crust and the spice of the batter—and he just knew once he bit into it, it’d steam and flake just the way he liked it.

So he took a chance.

He reached for a piece at the edge of the platter and two heads snapped towards him.

“You tryna get popped?” Annie asked.

Stack pulled his hand back. “I’m tryna get some fish, actually.”

“You’ll get some when it’s ready.”

“It looks ready.”

“I mean during supper. At the table.”

“I just wanna taste.”

Annie smirked, her chin tilting up playfully. “Later.”

Stack reached again.

“Boy!” She pointed her tongs at him.

Smoke watched the whole thing, amused. He didn’t move from his position.

“Girl!”

“You tryna get burned? Stack, you too close to the stove.”

Stack blinked. “Y’all basically knee deep in oil.” He smoothed out his shirt. “Besides. A lil’ burn won’t hurt me, woman.”

“You gon’ get popped with more than just oil if you don’t move,” Annie said with a grin. 

“Make it worth my while then,” he teased back. “Lemme get a lil’ piece.” He was relentless. He eyed a strip with a crispy end that he could break off easily. He reached out for the third time. 

Annie sighed. She had turned back to watching the pot now, but still caught Stack out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t move that hand.”

Stack smirked.

Annie rolled her eyes, breaking off the end of the piece Stack was eyeing. Steam curled into the air as the fish broke apart in flaky, white pieces. “Here, greedy!” She placed it in his palm before turning back to the stove.

“I’ll be that,” Stack teased. He hummed as soon as the savory spice of the fish hit his tastebuds. “Thank ya kindly.” He swaggered into the front room satisfied.

Smoke finally moved. 

“I’ll let you get back to it,” he said. He rubbed her shoulders and kissed her cheek before following his brother out the same way.

Annie chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she finished the last pieces she had left to fry. 

“I reckon everything goin' well between you two.” Aunt Della said.

Whole time, Annie had completely forgotten her great-aunt was even in the room. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of a moment—any moment with Smoke, really—being watched.

“Uh yeah,” she replied. That familiar tingling she only got when she thought about him spreading across her skin like wildfire. “We are.”

Annie felt Aunt Della’s smile from across the room, even with her back turned. She left the kitchen to ring the supper bell, the fabric of her skirt fluttering around her. 

Men made their way into the dining area one-by-one, fresh from cleaning their hands. They carried with them the smell of musk, turpentine, and a hard day’s work. It was heavy. Masculine. 

The twins walked in last.

Stack came in first, all dimples and bright eyes.

Smoke walked in behind him still sporting that same dimple that showed up earlier when his eyes found hers.

He didn’t hurry to sit at the table. Didn’t hurry to grab a plate. He stood at the edge of the room, waiting as Annie and Miss Della brought in the food. A large platter of fried fish, a steaming pot of beans and rice, skillets of cornbread, and a large pot of greens went to the middle of the table. 

The dining area filled with rising steam, watering mouths, and low conversation as the lodgers began to devour their supper.

Annie dropped her arms and stepped to him, the faint smell of pipe mix and soap clinging to his clothes.

“You not gon’ eat?” she asked.

“Was waitin’ for you.”

“You ain’t gotta do that.”

He grabbed her hands. “I do.”

Annie tipped her head towards the kitchen. “Lemme go wash up first.” 

“I’ll fix you a plate. Before these niggas eat it all.”

Annie giggled softly.

“Whatchu want?” 

“Just some fish…,” she said, walking backwards to the kitchen, “and some beans and rice.”

Smoke nodded once. “I got it.”

Supper was spent at the high-top four-seater table in the corner of the dining area. Smoke and Annie sat next to each other, Stack and Aunt Della directly across from them. They talked. They laughed. They ate. They drank. 

Every so often, Annie’s shoulder would brush against Smoke’s. She’d reach across the table for something—her glass, the saltshaker. When she pulled back their arms would press against each other and they’d stay there. Close. It felt like both of them were waiting for the moment something would force them to pull away from each other. It didn’t. 

Occasionally, Smoke would brush lint from Annie’s clothes or thumb a crumb from her cheek. His fingers would linger for a second too long, like they were waiting on her to pull back. She didn’t.

By the time supper was long over, the heat still lingered. 

It wasn’t from the food.

Even outside where a cool breeze swept through the night in broken intervals, pulling a delicate, melodic sound from the windchimes that reached back into the yard where Smoke and Annie stood. A fading oil lamp hung up high, casting gold across the backyard and leaving the rest of it in shadows. 

Annie didn’t know why she pulled Smoke to the side of the lean-to shed. Or maybe she did and she just didn’t want to admit it to herself.

She stood by it, back pressed against the wooden siding, hips tilted out slightly as her fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt. 

Smoke stood in front of her, jaw tight, hands at his sides. They flexed periodically, twitched like he was fighting something. 

Nature’s soundtrack felt even louder tonight. The chirp of crickets shuddered in the grass. The deep bellow of a bullfrog echoed in the distance. And somewhere down the block, a harmonica played a gritty blues bend that floated down the street like smoke curling from a cigarette.

But the moment Annie shifted, the sounds began to slowly fade away. 

She moved in one smooth motion. Her hands rose to the collar of Smoke’s shirt, fingers twisting around the edge. Then she tugged, just once. The movement pulled him in until his hands bracketed her on the shed. 

She didn’t hesitate. 

The kiss started softly.

The slow smack of lips drowned out the crickets first, then the bullfrog. Then the metal-on-metal tapping of the water pump, its handle moving stubbornly with the wind. Smoke pulled Annie towards him as their mouths moved against each other. His hands found the small of her back, making it bow into him until she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave in to his pull. He sighed as the feeling of soft, plush curves met a hard stomach, strong arms, and broad shoulders carved by war and Mississippi cotton fields. 

They kissed slowly. Like they were savoring the taste of each other. Their lips met and released, connecting in a slow dance that was all their own. Then the kiss deepened, their tongues coming out to play as they twirled around each other.

Annie’s hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to steady herself as their heads swiveled and they explored every corner of their mouths. She gasped, then groaned, when he pulled her bottom lip into his mouth. Biting, then soothing the sting with a lick.

Their tongues flicked against each other, slow and nasty. Like the harmonica still playing down the street. It had slowed down its tune, the legato wailing all sultry and soulful through the night. 

Even that sound disappeared after a while. It was quiet in the bubble they created when it was just them two, just shared breaths and gasps for air. 

Annie tasted like pot likker and the peppermint stick she sucked on after supper. Like home on a quiet winter evening in front of a fire. Smoke tasted like tobacco and grass from the cigarette he finished right before Annie pulled him into the backyard when she thought nobody was paying attention.

Her hands fell from his shoulders to his chest, rubbing her palms against the solidness that sat underneath the cotton. His hands traveled south from her back to the curve of her ass, his calloused hands smoothing over all the thickness that sat back there. 

His blood sparked hot. 

His hands itched to grip, wanted to grab—but he pulled back instead.

“Annie,” he rasped, his voice low and rough.

Their breaths were heavy, lustful. What began slowly was quickly turning into something more gluttonous than supper. He felt it in him. He saw it in Annie.

He pressed his forehead to hers. Her eyes widened as the noise from inside swelled abruptly. She turned her head towards it as her pulse sped down and her breath came out slower. When the noise dimmed down again, she turned back.

“Why’d you stop?”

The question cut through the silence. 

Smoke looked at Annie, her brows knit, her eyes searching his.

The oil lamp above them crackled one last time before completely snuffing out, leaving them with just the dim light that pooled outside from the kitchen window. A large wax candle sat on the sill, its fire burning dimly through the window. Annie looked at Smoke. Even in the near darkness outside, she could feel the hunger in his gaze. 

And she felt the same way. 

Famished.

Smoke lifted a hand. His fingers brushed the side of her face, grazing the smooth skin of her cheek. Annie’s eyes fluttered under his touch. Her hand grabbed his wrist and his hand stilled, but it wasn’t to stop him. It was to hold him there. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, gulping when she saw the darkening of his eyes.

“I ain’t never…” was all she got off before the words disappeared in her throat. 

She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t need to.

Everything in Smoke went still except the muscle of his jaw that twitched once then stopped.

He looked away.

He wasn’t surprised. That was the thing.

Her words were confirmation of something he’d already assumed about her. 

But there was something about the way she said it that he filed away for later.

She’d never been touched. 

Not like this. 

And while he stood breathing desire down her throat with his hand on her ass, he felt something twist in his chest.

Guilt.

It moved in quickly, crowding his thoughts. Guilt for moving too fast. Guilt for letting his want for her carry him far enough that he had to stop himself before she did. 

“I know,” Smoke said finally. 

Annie looked away.

“Look at me.”

She couldn’t look at him at that moment. 

Not because she was embarrassed, ashamed, or insecure. Not really. She just felt inexperienced. Young in a way she hated feeling in anybody’s eyes. 

Her eyes traveling up his chest to his collar where she picked at a loose thread. “I want you,” she whispered, “to be my first.” 

The words were so quiet that the night almost took hold of them. 

Smoke’s eyes closed for half a second. He pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“You ‘sho?”

For a split second, his words sounded like a plea to Annie rather than a question.

“Yes,” she said, grabbing onto the folds of his shirt. 

The backyard held its breath. Here in their little bubble, the only thing that existed was Smoke, Annie, and this moment between them. Smoke took Annie’s hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, keeping his eyes trained on hers.

“You mine?”

Annie grinned, nodding once. 

“Nah,” Smoke gripped her chin again, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. “I wanna hear you say it.”

She lowered her head, then looked up, her big brown eyes certain and glittering in the sliver of moonlight that peeked out from behind the clouds. Her lips parted. “I’m yours. Tout.”

“Creole?”

“Mhmm,” she grinned proudly.

Smoke hummed— a deep vibrating sound that shot up Annie’s spine. Her words were a soothing balm, loosening the hooks of guilt lodged in his back.

“Good,” he said. He rubbed her back with wide strokes, holding her close as the nighttime settled around them, comfortable and warm despite the November cold. 

“Ou m’ap pèm?”

“What’s that?”

“You mine too?”

“Teach me how to say it back.”

“Mwen se ou.”

“Mwen se ou,” he repeated back.

“You gettin’ better,” she gasped, her whole face lighting up. 

Smoke smirked smugly. “Gotta good teacher.”

“Mwen se tout ou.”

“That too,” he grunted.

Annie snorted, turning her head briefly. “Don’t be makin’ fun of me.”

“I ain’t,” he shrugged. “That’s what you sound like.”

He gave her a real smile then, dimples deep in both his cheeks. He couldn’t hide it.

“I was so nervous,” she admitted, her grin wrapping around her words despite herself.

Smoke raised a brow. “Nervous ‘bout what?” 

“To tell you.”

“That you a virgin?”

Annie nodded, hand finding that loose thread again. Smoke grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“You ain’t gotta be nervous to tell me stuff, you hear?” 

Annie sighed, pressing her palms to his chest. “I know.”

Smoke stared down at Annie. Her soft, panting breaths, her heart beating against his own chest. He raised his right hand to hers, covering her right palm that lay directly over his heart. His thumb brushed over her knuckles. The gesture—the warmth in it—made her look at him. Their eyes locked and held, the look between them speaking louder than any words could at that moment. 

“I’m scared,” she said quietly. 

“Scared of what?” 

Their mouths moved but their bodies were still. Smoke’s hand sat over Annie’s on his chest like it was frozen there, his heart beat steadily under her palm. 

“What it’s gon’ be like,” she mumbled, barely a breath, “the first time.”

“What you think?”

Annie shook her head, unsure. “I don’t know.”

Smoke ran his tongue along the back of his teeth.

“How you want it to be?”

Annie’s lips twisted in thought as Smoke’s eyes pinned her in place. Their hands stayed where they were, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. 

“Don’t be scared.”

Annie said nothing. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak but decided against it.

Smoke’s voice dropped low and deep, rough with something—but not sultry. He wasn’t trying to make her shiver or choke on a gasp. Not right now. Right now he wanted—needed—to assure her. He needed her to feel the promise in his words. Needed her to know he meant it.

He looked Annie in the eye, the weight of his hand pressing harder against hers where it rested on top of his heart. “I’m gon’ take good care of you, Annie.”

The words were simple, but she felt them in her core. Her skin lit up with that familiar tingle, her heartbeat thumping hard against her ribs. 

Annie looked down at her hand, shifting it slightly under his.

She could hear the promise beneath the words.

And something in her—something that felt older than her—told her to believe it. So, she did.

“I ain’t even thought about it like that. Not for real.”

Lie.

Smoke raised a brow. “Never?”

Annie shook her head once. Then she nodded, pursing her lips so the corner of her mouth would stop twitching. 

“Well,” she breathed, the gust of air warming his collarbone. “A little.”

She rolled her lips inward and finally looked up at him. 

The heat that had reduced to a simmer sparked up again. Smoke’s eyes darkened at her words, her curiosity, her comfort. Her closeness felt like second nature to him, but her vulnerability hit something deeper in his chest.

“What you was thinkin’?”

Annie’s eyes trailed from his eyes down to his lips. They sat perfectly on his face— thick, plump, and so soft against her own.

“Tell me,” he insisted, voice low and coaxing. 

“I had a dream…” She looked away. Her eyes went to something different now since she felt his gaze piercing her soul. She focused on a bush of moonflowers by the fence, their wilting petals fluttering in the breeze like little ghosts. “About you.” 

“‘Bout me?” he drawled. Smugly, almost. “And what happened in this dream?” His hands traveled up and down her spine.

Annie fidgeted nervously.

“I don’t remember.”

Smoke tilted his head. “How you know it was about me then?” 

She hesitated. 

“‘Cause….”

“‘Cause what?”

“How I felt.”

“How you feel?”

The flashbacks came in waves. Along with a feeling she couldn’t find the word for until now. 

“Full.” 

The word came out so tiny, it sounded accidental. It was barely a word. More like a faint expulsion of air that drifted through the seams of his mouth. But it was raw, and it settled like a presence in his chest, latching onto the corners of his soul that housed devotion and something deeper. 

Restraint pressed against every instinct he’d ever possessed and the inside of his slacks. 

This woman had no idea what she was doing to him.

“We should go inside,” he muttered. “Befo’ your aunt come lookin’ for us.”

Annie giggled softly, his shoulders relaxing at the sound. 

“You scared of Aunt Della?”

“Yes.”

Annie laughed for real this time, the tension loosening just enough to let them breathe again. They walked towards the back door and Smoke held the door open for her to fully step inside. 

The moon hung high above the rooftops, cutting through the inky black sky like a blade of silver light. It poured through the windows of Annie’s bedroom, making the lobelia petals that were scattered across her covers glow around the edges like they were suspended in a dream. 

Annie unfolded her letter, her eyes scanning through the words briefly, but she was only looking for one thing. Something she’d been holding in since Loretta first placed it in her hands.

The end.

The signatures.

She read it with shaky hands.

All our love,

Papa & Maman

Nana

Junior

Vernon

Leroy

Raymond

Maurice

They were all there.

Except one.

Uriah. 

He was her closest brother.

Annie didn’t know why she expected his name to be scrawled among the signatures, his chicken scratch inked deep into the paper. He’d been dead over a year at that point. But the absence felt worse than accepting he was dead.

She still felt him, like him slipping through the cracks of the earth didn’t necessarily mean he would be missing from a letter sent from home. 

She knew it wasn’t really his missing signature that made tears pool in her eyes, it was his soul. 

Since the government refused to send his body back from France after the war, his spirit had been unsettled. Restless. 

She felt it the most when she took her ilekes off. She always covered them, sandwiching them between two thin, white cloths that belonged to her great-grandmother, then set them in a drawer taking care that they didn’t touch the surface of the wood. 

She’d say a prayer for him at the tiny altar in the corner of her room that sat on top of a warped, lopsided, low table. It smelled of old wood, herbs, and dust.

Salt for protection and peace of mind.

A pinch of soil.

A Mississippi river rock.

His name written on a piece of paper. Pinched and folded in half towards her. 

A half-burned taper candle.

Blue cloth. A snippet from his baby quilt, stitched from her mother’s, grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s hands.

Molasses chews. Because those were his favorite growing up.

She lit the candle, the flame catching blue at first before bleeding orange. When it steadied, she bowed her head.

“Uriah Silas Antonio Royal,” she said. Her voice sounded tiny and helpless in the confines of her room. 

“Blood callin’ you even though your bones ain’t make it back.” 

She paused, taking a shaky breath. 

Then she laid her offering.

“Water for the journey. Salt for your peace. Light so you can see. A piece of home so you remember. Think of us, and remember where you belong.” 

The candle flickered violently. 

“Ancestors, please,” she said, looking out the window to the moon. “Don’t let him cross alone, he scared.” 

Annie swallowed hard to clear the lump that swelled in her throat, a tear drop falling directly onto the flame. It flickered and smoked, but the amber light held the line in the darkness of her room.

She bent over, crying quietly into the fabric of her nightgown, her tears dampening the delicate white cotton. She closed her eyes and the present slipped into the past, seamless and real. She could see it all— the draw, the aim, the shot. The scream she could feel in her bones, muffled by wet soil, quicklime, and tarp. 

Annie opened her eyes and the scent of graveyard dirt and saltwater hung in the air. The silence that came after wasn’t peaceful. It was eerie. 

After a while, she spoke again.

“Ain’t no guns tonight,” she said. She cleared her throat to silence the tears and took a few deep breaths. “Ain’t no shoutin’. Ain’t no mud in your mouth. Just light. Just a way home.” 

The flame flickered again, its shape bending against the darkness like someone was pushing on it. 

Annie wiped the grief that lay wet tracks on her cheeks. 

“It’s okay,” she rasped, catching her breath. “Come on home.”

The flame finally settled into itself. 

Only then did she blow it out. 

The next morning felt like a slow exhale. Annie moved around the boarding house with a lightness that felt like the rainbow after a thunderstorm. Morning duties went by smoothly, followed by breakfast, chores, lessons, and a quick lunch. By the afternoon she was tying bundles of roots in the kitchen while Aunt Della sat in the front room writing a letter at her desk. The house groaned around them as cool air settled into its bones. The phonograph was playing low in the background when they heard a knock on the front door followed by two impatient honks of a car horn.

“I’ll get it,” Annie called from the kitchen. 

She wiped her hands and walked towards the front.

“Hey Pea,” Annie said when she opened the door.

Pearline frowned as she laid eyes on Annie. 

“Annie girl, why you ain’t dressed?”

Annie looked at Pearline. Then she looked at the car idling on the street. Then back to her, confused. 

“Dressed for what?”

“Your fittin’ today!”

“Oh my Lord!”

Aunt Della shook her head as Pearline stepped in, watching Annie trip halfway up the stairs.

“How you doin’, Mrs. Clark?”

“Doin’ fine,” Aunt Della responded. “How you?”

“Doin’ mighty fine myself.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Aunt Della put her pen down and looked at Pearline as she stepped further into the front room. She pulled a small drawstring pouch from the pocket of her dress and placed it on her writing desk. 

Pearline took it and quickly stuffed it in her purse. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“You welcome.”

Aunt Della's eyes flicked down to Pearline’s stomach before she turned back to her pen and paper. 

Twenty minutes later, Pearline and Annie were on their way to Issaquena Street. The ride was quiet, with Pearline staring out the passenger window while her husband drove. Annie sat in the backseat, lips rolled and hands in her lap. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. George,” Annie said to Pearline’s husband. “It completely slipped my mind.”

Mr. George grunted as the car came to a slow stop in front of the shop. “That’s alright.”

The girls climbed out of the Model T Ford. 

“Pearline?” He called after his wife.

She looked back as she stepped on the curb. “Yes?”

“Six o’clock.”

“Alright.”

The sign for the shop hung overhead as Pearline and Annie inched their way toward the door. As they walked down the steps and down the short, covered walkway to the modiste, Annie’s thoughts drifted to the excitement waiting for them next week.

The Harvest Party.

LUELLA’S DRESSING ROOM & ALTERATIONS

“Smoke gon’ forget his own name when he see you,” Pearline teased Annie. 

Luella smirked, adjusting a corset frame where it was pinned to one of the Dressmakers’ mannequins. 

Annie blushed where she stood barefoot on the platform in front of the three-way mirror, knee-length robe wrapped around her thick frame, long hair braided into a coily crown. 

Sunlight came through the curtains in golden slits, turning the dust motes suspended by the window into glitter. The click of heels and the low hum of sewing machines faded away behind the damask velvet drapes that separated the private alcove from the showroom. It felt cozy back here— like warmth, perfume, and whispers. Gloves, hair combs, purses, and other finishing touches were lined up on a table on the side where the crystal jars filled with candies added to the plush decor. 

Pearline sat on a velvet ottoman, one leg crossed politely over the other. Her gloved hands came together in her lap, her fingers mindlessly playing with the lace trim at her wrist.

“I can’t wait to see it,” she said. She smiled at Annie through the mirror—but it was bittersweet. Pensive. 

Annie’s brows knit together. “What’s wrong?” she mouthed. 

Pearline just shook her head and looked down. Annie tilted her head at her friend.

Just then, Luella’s assistant walked around the corner with a garment bag. She handled it carefully, hanging it on the clothing rack before rolling it from behind the seating area to rest at the side of the viewing platform. “You ready?” 

Annie turned, her face lighting up, but she still watched Pearline carefully out of the corner of her eye. She had a melancholic aura to her even though she tried to cover it with excitement for her friend. Her spine was snapped straight, her legs politely crossed— but something hung in the air between them.

Annie nodded, signaling she was ready. Luella stepped to the clothing rack and unzipped the garment bag as her and assistant removed it from its cover. She gasped when the rich, deep green velvet bodice caught the dim light of the alcove, then hopped off the platform, padding over to the rack.

“Wow,” Pearline stood up in awe. “It’s beautiful, Annie,” she whispered. She ran her gloved fingers down the sides of it, skimming over the delicate beadwork and fringe. 

It was a one-of-a-kind piece, made to stand out and be seen through the low lights and smoke in the juke. 

Luella and her assistant went over accessory ideas with Annie— purses, coats, shoes. Even some hair ideas. They talked to her about pressing her hair and wearing it pinned back into a chignon with a side part. Her excitement grew by the minute until she looked to the side and saw Pearline. The teasing from earlier was gone. Now she was quiet.

Polite.

But barely there.

They finally got to the jewelry options. Lightweight earrings, delicate necklaces, beaded bracelets. Luella held up a thin silver chain for Annie to look at, but Annie almost winced at the idea of wearing anything but her ilekes. She ran her finger over them.

“You can’t wear that necklace with,” she pointed to it, then to the dress on the rack, “that dress!” Luella’s assistant exclaimed.

Luella quietly agreed. “She’s right, sugar.” 

“But, I always wear my beads,” Annie rubbed one, taking a small step back from the accessory table. 

“Every single day?” Pearline asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “Not every day.”

Pearline shrugged. “So you can go one night without ‘em,” she trailed off as a hand reached over to touch them. 

She stopped herself when she saw Annie’s eyes grow wide.

“I can’t touch ‘em?”

Annie shook her head no.

Pearline crossed her arms, putting her weight on one hip. “Why not?” 

“Cuz they blessed.” 

Pearline scrunched her nose up. “What you mean, blessed?”

Annie looked towards the window, then back. “I don’t really know. But my great-grandma told me I can’t let anyone touch ‘em, or she gotta bless ‘em again. And she dead, so...”

“Annie,” Pearline pleaded quietly. Her face relaxed like she recognized this wasn’t a conversation to have here. Not while they were surrounded by pearls and sequins, lace, leather and perfume. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Luella and her assistant sorted necklaces while they continued their conversation in hushed tones. 

“She gave ‘em to me when I was seven.” 

Pearline’s eyes softened.

“Told me never to take ‘em off.”

“Have you?”

“No,” Annie sighed. “Only on certain days.” 

She exhaled again, her lips curving up into a sly grin. “But I guess I can go without ‘em…for just the night.”

Pearline smiled. 

Luella’s assistant came over and squealed with glee while Luella picked up a long silver necklace with a small diamond pendant that hung like a teardrop in the center.

Luella’s assistant pointed at it. “Annie, what you think ‘bout this one?”

Annie’s eyes lit up, intrigued. “I like it.” Her hands fingered the delicate chain. “A lot.”

She turned to reach over and rub Pearline’s shoulder as Luella and her assistant continued to talk her ear off about her jewelry options. 

“Wanna get a soda after this?” she asked.

“I’d love to.” Pearline couldn’t agree fast enough.

The walk back over to Fourth Street was brisk. Annie and Pearline walked the streets, arms folded across their chests, wool overcoats wrapped tightly around them. 

The sidewalks were even busier today. Despite the unusual cold front that blew into the Delta, most sharecroppers were stuck in limbo waiting on their settlements to come back from the plantation owners. Which means they’d make their way to town looking for some way to entertain themselves.

Besides the cafes and jukes, Fourth Street Drugs was a popular spot. It held a soda fountain on the right side of the store with ice cream, soda, and other fizzy drinks.

Step through the narrow wooden door that separated it from the drugstore and it felt like you were stepping into a different world. 

The space was a haven for young folks—swirling on lacquered stools, sipping sodas, floats, and malts. A polished oval countertop ran along the mirrored wall, a bar-like soda fountain directly in front of it. Ice cream, fruit, and syrups stood in a line up for the soda jerk to easily mix flavors. Light snacks sat in glass displays at each end of the countertop. 

The bell above the shop dinged twice as Annie and Pearline stepped through. 

They made themselves comfortable at the bartop, unwrapping scarves and taking off their hats. Annie ordered an ice cream soda from the soda jerk and Pearline decided on a cherry phosphate over ice. 

They enjoyed the live music— an elderly man in dark blue and black checkered shirt and overalls playing his harmonica and singing. He was tall, dark-skinned, and lanky, but his eyes were warm. His harmonica sat between his hands like a silver smile.

🎵 Don't get mad at me, boys, if your buggy don't ride like mine

I said, don’t get mad at me if your buggy don’t ride like mine

'Cause it's an easy-ridin' buggy, rarin' to go all the time* 🎵

Annie didn't recognize the song, nor the man. But she recognized the sound of that harmonica. The way he bent his notes felt familiar to her, like it was the soundtrack to something special.

The memory hit like a freight train.

Her and Smoke in the backyard after supper.

She barely heard, let alone remembered, anything from that night. Not besides the sound of Smoke’s voice. But she remembered that harmonica playing while they kissed slow under the moonlight.

She instantly got chills.

“That’s my time for today, my name is Delta Slim and I thank ya for listenin’.”

The whole room exploded with applause as Delta Slim slipped from the stage to the backroom. 

Annie watched him disappear down the hallway, then turned to Pearline.

She could tell she was only halfway present.

She tried to be cheerful while sipping her drink, but every time the shop bell rang her eyes would drift towards the entrance. Annie watched her out of the corner of her eye, wiping the corner of her mouth when a drop of ice cream landed on her chin. 

“I can’t go to the party,” Pearline admitted. 

“Why not?”

Pearline sighed. “My husband.” 

Annie’s lips pressed into a straight line. 

Pearline’s husband was an older man. Good bank job. Well-maintained house in a decent part of town. He was respected in the Black community of Coahoma County. 

He was protective over Pearline when it mattered. 

She found it sweet at first. Endearing. 

But that protection started to feel like a suffocating control.

And Pearline was starting to feel like a fish out of water. 

Annie shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

Pearline looked down, swirled her drink, and took another sip. 

“He's a good man, Annie,” she said, staring into her cup like that would make it true.

Annie felt skeptical but she was unwilling to push her friend into feeling uncomfortable.

“You happy?”

Pearline took a full minute to answer. 

“Yeah.” 

“Well,” Annie grabbed Pearline’s forearm, stroking her skin. “That’s what matters then...that you happy.”

Pearline gave her a weak smile.

A Few Nights Later — Moon Lake, Mississippi

Smoke and Stack stepped foot into the building, overhead lights so bright they had to blink so their eyes could adjust. It was something Smoke never got used to—the lights. He’d seen the Mississippi sun become a furnace in the sky— but this new, artificial shit? It was stronger. Blinding.

He didn’t like any of it. 

Stack was prepared. He always was when it came to his twin.

He handed Smoke a pair of American Optical aviators that they were fitted for during the war. They had smoked out dark lenses, a thin metal frame, and a double bridge that sat comfortably across his nose.

The twins walked through the casino like men on a mission. Smoke kept his hands in his pockets, but he still met eyes. A bootlegger on a craps table. Another man in a fancy pressed suit, elbows deep in a blackjack game to the right. 

They made their way to the side of the room, shoulders squared, eyes sharp, steps measured, cutting through a maze of fumes, lights, and laughter, until they were standing in front of the walkway that led to the private gaming salons. 

A narrow, low-lit corridor loomed in front of them. Dark green doors stretched down the hallway lined up like little soldiers. The walls were covered with patterned maroon wallpaper that looked like old blood dripping slowly from the panels. Smoke hovered overhead, suspended at the ceiling like a thick, tobacco-filled cloud. Floorboards groaned underneath heels and two-tone spectator shoes while furniture legs groaned under men all looking to play the long game with duffel bags full of cash.

Door 14. The Roulette Room.

Laughter slipped out the open door. 

The room was cozy but not small, decorated to feel expensive with its soft lamplight, burgundy wallpaper, velvet drapes and deep mahogany woodwork. 

A large roulette table flanked by carved wooden chairs with upholstered seats sat in the middle, the dealer leaning over the table with practiced focus. Framed paintings hung high above tall wooden panels, fireplaces, and wall sconces that divided the space. 

The room wasn’t full but wasn’t empty either. 

And most people present weren’t there to play. 

Not really.

Members of Clarksdale’s fraternal lodge were scattered around the room—Pythians with their ceremonial hats and others in regular suits. Smoking, fraternizing, throwing drinks back. Women in sequined dresses, strappy shoes, and pressed waves socialized among them.

Clay stood in the middle, leaning against a fireplace with two fingers of something dark in his hand. Maybe whiskey. Maybe brandy. A crystal glass decanter sat by his elbow. He swished his drink around, taking small sips while he listened to a man speak, voice low under the soft clatter of chips and murmured bets.

It was a white man. Rotund build. Dressed in a white single-breasted suit jacket and trousers, white shirt, and striped bowtie. He had a thick unibrow and mustache, and a hearty laugh that echoed off the walls but a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t look flashy; he looked comfortable. Too comfortable. 

And that was just from a distance. 

Smoke’s lip curled up instantly. 

Stack elbowed him in the arm when he saw the raw expression on his brother’s face. 

“Chill out, nigga.” 

Smoke grunted.

When Clay saw the twins across the room, he didn’t flinch. He just waved them over, setting his glass down on the mantle.

They split up like they always did when they first entered a space, Smoke rounding left, Stack circling right. 

It was part of their routine. A twin language developed from survival and war. 

They didn’t discuss it. They didn’t need to. 

They orbited the room. The movement looked casual, but they were quietly filing away every detail. Every glance meant suspicion, calculation, or warning. Nerves that had nothing to do with gambling. Shifty eyes. Hidden weapons. 

Smoke was the quicker draw of the two, and he always rolled deep. Two pistols. Bolo knife. Always tucked away but easily accessible.

Stack was slower to draw but had a way of disguising danger as charm before anybody realized it was danger. He kept a colt .45 and a brass knuckle knife hidden seamlessly in his clothing.

When they reached Clay, he already had two cigars cut for them. 

“Jim—” he said with a wide grin. “These the two gentlemen I was tellin’ you ‘bout earlier.” 

“Ah, the twins!” this Jim character said. 

He tapped ash from his own cigar on a lacquered tray and looked between Smoke and Stack who flanked him—one twin on each side.

“You fellas ever think about comin’ up North?” 

Stack answered. “We been up North.”

“Where to?”

“Harlem.”

“New York...What about Illinois? Arkansas?”

Smoke spoke up. “Arkansas ain’t up north.” 

“I know,” Jim replied.

“So why you askin’?” he asked flatly.

Jim shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Nah.” Smoke turned his head. “We don't go up North much.”

“But it depend on who askin’,” Stack added. 

Both twins looked at Jim.

Smoke with his head tilted downwards and his hooded eyes that could look up through a man and pierce his soul. 

Stack stood with his head tilted up so he was always looking down at someone, eyes twinkling, smirk wide, golds flashing.

Jim chuckled once, amused. At least on the surface. 

The ice in Stack’s cup tapped against the glass as it melted, sitting completely untouched in front of him. Smoke had already smoked his cigar down to the nub and sat with his elbows on his knees. 

Jim and his posse were long gone by now. 

Smoke, Stack, Clay and two of Clay’s men sat around a small round table that was polished to a shine that caught the lamplight in amber streaks. They talked routes, distribution, provisions, collections, hidden shipments, payoffs. 

Stack’s eyes sparkled every time someone mentioned Little Rock or Chicago. 

Smoke’s eyes held an unimpressed dullness even under the golden pools of lamplight.

Clay noticed, his eyes flicking between the two of them, subtly eyeing the difference in demeanor. 

“What you think?” Stack whispered to Smoke.

Smoke frowned then leaned over. “‘Bout what?”

“Big Jim.”

“I ain’t.”

Stack sucked his teeth loudly which earned a stare from Smoke.

Stack grumbled under his breath. 

“Shut up, nigga” Smoke gritted. 

“Just think about it,” Stack pushed. “Me. You. And Little Rock.”

Stack finally picked up his drink and took a swig. “You can bring Annie, too.”

Smoke just shook his head. Leaving Clarksdale was the last thing he was thinking about. 

The casino carried on in the background. Jazz, smoke, and the sweet-sharp smell of corn liquor spilled from the large double doors every time a patron stepped out. 

Smoke stood outside, the orange ember of his cigarette burning bright behind his palm. 

He didn’t come outside for quiet. The casino wasn’t quiet. Moon Lake never was. 

He stood at the dock and took a long drag of tobacco. It burned his chest. The cherry, spice, and the faint trace of lake humidity calmed the dull throb of a headache that sat behind his skull. 

“People done carved out every corner of Chicago. Whole lotta money there. But Arkansas….” 

Big Jim’s words echoed in his head. 

And Stack’s. 

He was always hyped about something. A scheme, a trick, a scam. 

And Smoke would always be caught up right along with him. 

But this one—

“Know a couple call houses in Little Rock need fixin’ up,” Big Jim said between puffs. 

A member of his posse, another white man with olive skin, a stocky build and a scar on his left cheek spoke up next.

“Bathhouse in Hot Springs. Y’all would do good up there, too.” He took a swig of his whiskey. “Real good.”

Smoke pushed the thoughts away before they could take root in his mind.

His thoughts turned to Annie instead.

To the confession she made.

The thought he filed away for later resurfaced while he looked out at the water. Night blanketed the cypress trees and the shores and the forest beyond it while the twinkling lights of the Moon Lake island helped soften its edges. 

Annie never shrank herself or made herself smaller for other people’s comfort. That’s one thing Smoke noticed the most about her. She was like him in that way. 

But something was different about the look on her face when she said those three words.

I ain’t never…

She looked vulnerable. Timid almost. 

His chest tightened at the thought. 

Something flickered in her eyes that night, just for a second before it disappeared. 

It wasn’t from the moonlight, from the candle on the windowsill, or from the oil lamp that hung above them on the shed.

It was deeper than that.

It was fear.

Fear of how he’d take it. Fear it would change his mind about her. 

He could see it in how she rushed to cling onto something. The loose thread on his shirt, something in the backyard. 

She showed him a part of herself. A part nobody else got to see. 

She gave that to him. 

And for just a second, she was scared of what he’d do with it.

Smoke’s jaw clenched.

He never wanted her to feel like that. He never wanted to be the reason she felt like that. Not again. 

Because that softness, the most tender part of her that she revealed to him in a whisper, barely a breath—that was his to protect now. 

Reeds danced with the current as it drifted downriver. The blades flitted across each other in the breeze, the low, whispery rustle felt gentle and soothing compared to the harsh sounds of the casino.

It felt like Annie.

Her scent arrived like a memory carried over water.

The lake carried the smell of some woman’s perfume. Smoke wouldn’t have noticed it, but the smell of lavender carried something sharper underneath that made his head snap around. 

Night-blooming jasmine. 

That sun-drenched, heady lushness that lingered on Annie’s wrists, behind her ears, and on her necklaces. 

That combined with the smell of something brackish made him feel like she was standing in front of him, those soft arms wrapped around his neck while his head tucked into her chest smelling like a midnight garden.

It cut through the harshness of the casino. The haze, the booze, the sweat. 

Moon Lake smelled like vice and pressure.

Annie was the opposite of all of that. 

While moonlight turned lake waters into glass, Smoke closed his eyes and made a decision.

Then another one.

He showed up at Della’s a few days later when the house had lulled into its afternoon pace.

“Got somewhere I wanna take you.” 

Those were the only words Smoke muttered before he whisked Annie out of the boarding house and into his truck. He wouldn’t tell Annie where they were going. All she knew was that they were heading north, the sun just starting its slow descent to the left of the road. 

The fields were empty this time of the year, of both people and cotton. The bare stalks stood tall and rigid like silent witnesses.

“I got a letter from my folks back home,” Annie said, looking out the window.

Smoke kept his eyes forward. “What they say?”

“Everybody doin’ good.”

“Good.”

Annie went on, talking Smoke up about her nieces and nephews, cousins, aunts and uncles. By the time she stopped to catch her breath, she was beaming with pride. Smoke listened to her talk with a lopsided grin of admiration. Then she started talking about her immediate family. Her mama. Her daddy. Her brothers. Her words got slower. Her breath hitched a few times like she was choosing her words carefully. 

Smoke noticed and started probing.

“Your mama a midwife, right? And your daddy—he work at the docks?”

“He a fisherman. You remembered.” She grinned and relaxed a little bit.

“How your brothers be?”

Annie tensed. “They good,” she said quickly.

“Hmm. And what they do?”

She rattled off five different occupations, but he knew she had six brothers. She told him. 

Annie was her parent’s seventh child.

He waited for her to fill in the blanks, but she didn’t. She just stared out the window like she was holding her breath.

“What was his name?” he asked.

Annie looked down at her hands. They were fidgeting again, playing with the hem of her clothing. She had on a tan-colored shirtwaist dress that complimented the rich brown color of her skin. It sat underneath a grey overcoat made from a light material. 

Mississippi weather was mild that day, a nice break from the cold front they experienced the past few weeks. 

Stockings and oxfords completed her look, and a cloche hat with a cream-colored ribbon was pinned onto her low bun.

The cab of the truck was silent for a while as the wheels rolled over loose gravel. But after a few more moments, Annie finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Uriah,” she said quietly. “His name was–is–Uriah.”

Smoke’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What happened to ‘em?”

“The war.”

“I’m sorry.”

Annie looked towards the road again. “Ain’t your fault.”

“Still.” He looked over at her briefly. “Y’all were close?”

“The closest.”

Smoke’s hand grabbed hers in her lap. She took a moment to rub the skin of his hands, his calloused palms warm around hers.

The road in front of them narrowed slightly. They crossed a bridge, the packed dirt turning into dusty brickwork as they traversed the water. 

The sun was beginning to wane, writing its farewell letter in shades of orange and purple as it disappeared behind the trees. 

On the other side of the bridge sat Moon Lake Island. 

A twenty-four-hour haven of whimsy, seduction, and leisure. Hanging lights glittered like fireflies, their bulbs blinking rapidly like they were dying out. That was on purpose.

It was just a bridge away from Lula, but it felt miles away—a sharp contrast to the cotton fields and the back of plantation houses that sat just across a small stretch of water. 

A supper club and casino stood like landmarks on the north island. The Blue Room was a pleasure palace that fronted as a place to enjoy oysters and prime cuts of steak at all hours of the night, and the Moon Lake Casino was its younger, slick-talking brother. 

The Black Elk Lodge was a hotel that stretched across the entire span of the southern island, wide and proud like the hand of a giant. Small lake front cabins scattered along the shore surrounding the courtyard hotel, a place where the whole world could go quiet.

Smoke cut the engine. He kept a hand on the small of her back, the other hand holding onto a covered basket as he guided Annie to the small private dock where he’d rented a rowboat from the lodge. He tugged the fraying rope that moored it to the shore, pulling it up so it sat halfway on the bank.

The inside was a tight fit, but dry. It was deep, lined with fragments of mismatched, aged wood where he set the basket of food in the middle of the two benches. Smoke helped Annie inside, unleashing the boat while he took the oars in his hand. 

His muscles moved beneath rolled sleeves while he rowed them away from the shore. He grunted under his breath as he stroked, moving his arms back and forth until their boat was dislodged from the thick mud on the shore. It glided smoothly into the water.

Annie’s thoughts were a tangled web. She smoothed her skirt down and crossed her legs, staring at the lake surrounding them to avert her eyes from the way his muscles clung to his shirt. A cool gust of wind swept over their boat drying the small bead of sweat that had started to form at her temple.

The lakefront cabins of The Black Elk Lodge lined the shore behind them. Small, wooden cabins with hanging lanterns, flower boxes on the porch, and warm orange light in the windows. 

Sounds from the island started to fade as they rowed into a thinner stretch of the lake. Ancient trees stood tall like ancestors along the shore. Spanish moss hung overhead like lace curtains, turning the sun into little slivers of bronze light that spotted the forest floor.

“Pretty out here,” Annie remarked quietly.

She trailed her fingers along the water. It rippled and separated under her touch into gentle waves that sloshed along the side of the boat.

“Yeah it is,” Smoke agreed. 

But he wasn’t talking about the lake. He was talking about her.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. 

The colors of dusk shimmered on the water catching the contours of Annie’s skin that looked lit from within. Her cheekbones, full lips, button nose, doe eyes. She unpinned her hat and released her bun once they got further from the shore. Her hair—dark, thick and coiled down her back—caught the light in deep blue streaks that shimmered against the jewel-toned sky. She looked ethereal. Sunset made her beads glow against her skin; the multi-colored necklaces sat tucked gracefully under the neckline of her dress.

“You gon’ burn a hole in me, Elijah,” Annie said, eyes trained on the rippling water around their boat.

Smoke smirked.

“Just thinkin’ about how pretty you look right now.”

Annie huffed a laugh. “Just right now?”

“Nah,” Smoke chuckled. “You always beautiful…but you glowin’ different right now.” 

“Why, thank you.”

Just then, the sun cut sharply, burning into her eyes. Her entire iris flooded with a deep bronze color just long enough for it to make Smoke blink twice. 

“What?” 

Smoke shook his head. “Nothin’.” But something about the evening sky and the water bleeding into each other had him feeling like he was seeing something that wasn’t really there.

“You hungry?” he asked.

Their picnic basket was lined with sheer fabric and made of handwoven old reed with a handle covered in spiral carvings. It carried a couple baloney sandwiches with mustard, mason jars with sweet tea, and a brown paper bag filled with boiled peanuts rolled in honey and brown sugar. 

“‘Could use somethin’ sweet.”

Smoke uncovered the basket. Annie removed the paper bag from it and inhaled its sugary scent. She reached in and popped a peanut in her mouth. “Want one?”

Smoke looked at her like she should already know that answer.

Annie smiled. “You know–I never thought someone like you would be a sweet tooth.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause you walk around like you eat straight salt for dinner.”

Smoke sucked his teeth and looked away.

Annie laughed lightly. “You know it’s true.”

Smoke looked back at her. “It ain’t.”

“Here.”

She put a peanut in her hand, holding it up to his lips as he held onto the oars. It went in easily, his lips leaving moist heat on her fingertips that went through her body in waves. 

Smoke hummed at the salty, sweet taste. “Mmmm.” The echo of his voice vibrated deep in her body. “That’s good.”

“You like it?” Annie teased with a sultry voice.

Smoke raised a brow as he set the oars in the boat. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Smoke looked down at the peanut she had ready in her palm and leaned towards her anyways. He parted his mouth just enough. His lips touched her fingers again this time, his tongue licking through the opening of her fingertips as he took the candied peanut in his mouth. He licked his lips when he pulled back, eyes on her.

“Trouble.” 

“Me?” she snickered. She clutched her chest, taunting. “You the one tryna swallow my fingers.”

The air outside felt thicker over the water. The sky grew darker now, the brightness of the day dimming to something that looked like the glow of a low-burning oil lamp spread across the sky. Annie tossed the bag of peanuts back in the basket and screwed the cap off her mason jar of tea, taking a nervous sip.

“You come out here often?” she asked.

Smoke shrugged. “From time to time.”

“For what?”

Her eyes drifted to a pair of wood storks nested together along the bank. It was lined in reeds, soft mud, and the thick, tangled network of cypress roots that reached like fingers into the water. Annie thought it looked like the kind of place old spirits preferred. Somewhere quiet enough to listen and deep enough to hold secrets. Smoke favored that part too—the quiet, the shade, the way the trees swallowed noise and gave a man room to think.

“To quiet what won’t settle anywhere else.”

Annie turned to look at Smoke. This wasn't just a date.

“Thank you for showin' me this place,” she said. “Your place.”

She leaned in and he met her halfway.

The front room was dim. 

Not because he was trying to set the mood, but because he only had the patience to light two candles. The soft light brushed the walls, the flames coaxing shadows into a slow dance. Outside, the night breathed in low drones. An owl hooted somewhere—a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the trees. The wind fluttered through fallen leaves and whispered secrets through branches. But inside, the living room of Smoke and Stack's home held a calm, comfortable level of domesticity despite the hum of outdoors.

Smoke and Annie sat next to each other on the couch in Smoke’s house. Annie played a crossword puzzle from the Chicago Whip, stretched sideways across the couch with her feet in Smoke’s lap. Smoke had his hands on her feet as they went back and forth about the answers. 

“What’s a three-letter word for a four-legged animal with spots?”

“A cow,” Smoke said easily.

“No, that don’t fit my crossword.”

“What? Lemme see that…”

Smoke reached for the newspaper, but Annie moved it away from his grasp.

“It's a dog.”

“It could be a cat, too…since we just sayin’ shit.”

Annie swatted him with the newspaper.

“What was that for?”

“For bein' a smart ass.”

Annie set the newspaper down.

“Givin' up already?”

She shot him a look that could have cut through glass. “I’m tired.” She propped her head up with her hand.

Smoke started to push off the couch. “You ready to go back?”

“No,” her hand shot out, “not yet,” she said softer.

Smoke sat back.

Annie tugged on his arm, and he followed her pull as she brought him towards her. Slowly.

Not because he was scared.

He hadn’t been scared since he was a child.

But because he cared.

He laid down behind her, his front pressing against her back, and automatically wrapped an arm around her waist. His hold on her was tight, possessive. 

And Annie loved it.

She stroked his hand with her fingertips. It sat just above her bellybutton with a firm grip.

She melted into him.

He kissed the back of her shoulders first.

Light, delicate pecks that left warmth on her skin.

His lips moved to her neck and the kisses lingered longer, his arm tightening around her waist. He heard her gasps, her short panting breaths, and decided to keep going.

And Annie could feel everything. 

His kisses became closer together. 

Somehow, her hand lifted to the back of his head pulling him closer to her. 

She finally let out a word that wrecked him.

“Elijah,” she gasped.

Smoke chuckled, the sound forced a breath onto the delicate spot just behind her ear, and he heard something from her he never heard before.

A sharp, sudden intake of breath.

It was nothing like the noise she let out when he kissed her the other day. This one was quick, unexpected, new. It made her eyes widen.

It made her roll her hips once. The friction was there for a second and gone just as fast, but it pulled a low groan from him.

She laced their hands together and turned, just slightly. The movement pulled her under him.

Their faces met first.

They looked into each other’s eyes and rubbed noses. 

“Damn,” Smoke whispered. “You so beautiful.”

He leaned forward and their lips met gently. The kiss quickly turned passionate, their hunger urgent and palpable. Annie’s back pressed into Smoke’s front, and she could feel him behind her, hard and growing and right there.

Between the breaths and the pants and the tongues and the lips, he pulled back from her a second. Smoke looked down at her kiss-bruised lips and her blown pupils, and the want written all over her face.

They were so wrapped up in each other that he almost missed the sound of a car turning onto the dirt path that led to their home.

Almost.

But the soldier in him never knew a full night's rest.

Smoke’s head turned towards the door out of instinct. He listened carefully, then heard it clearly.

The rumble of an engine. 

Wheels erratically crunching over dirt.

Stack.

Smoke looked at Annie who had stilled under him, trying to figure out why he stopped.

“He's back.”

Annie paused for a second, then exhaled sharply and swung her legs over the side of the couch. She stood up slowly, smoothing the fabric of her dress along her hips as the adrenaline started to fade and annoyance started to set in. She walked over to the mirror to check her hair which had become a mass of crushed kinks, coils, and curls, and tried to tame it back into place even though she herself was completely undone.

Smoke sat on the couch, just staring at the floor.

He rubbed a hand down his face.

He couldn’t help but feel like Stack picked this very moment to come back—on purpose. He checked the Elgin watch on his wrist, 9:30pm. Stack never came in this early— not on the weekend anyway. 

Doors opened and closed in succession. Car door first. The snap of twigs and the crunch of polished shoes over solid earth next. Then the screen door creaked open and the bolt on the front door unlatched.

Stack walked in the house completely aware of what had just transpired, but he knew better. He was well versed in reading a room.

He noticed the way Smoke was sitting. Noticed how he was staring at the back of Annie who was fixing her hair in the mirror. He saw the pillows on the couch that look just as deflated as his brother.

He looked between them and his smirk spread slow and smug on his face. 

“Well good evenin’,” he announced, his voice cutting through their quiet tension.

Annie looked over from the other side of the room. “Evenin’,” she said warmly, putting the last of her pins in her hair.

Smoke didn’t respond. He pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed off the couch. 

“Annie,” he said to get her attention. She turned around as he stood up to grab his coat and car keys. “Let’s get to gettin’.”

Stack crossed the room and sat right on the couch. He got comfortable, putting an ankle on his knee before pulling a small notebook from his pocket.  “Leavin’ so soon?” 

He looked at Smoke, then Annie, then back to Smoke. 

“It’s gettin’ late,” Smoke grumbled. He grabbed Annie’s hand and held the door wide as she slipped underneath his arm. 

“Bye, Elias!” Annie said as she practically skipped to Smoke’s truck with Smoke’s gaze following right behind her. 

“Bye, Annie!” Stack yelled after her. “Bye, Elijah,” he said to Smoke in a slower, more teasing manner. 

Smoke rolled his eyes and grunted as he walked down the steps to his truck. He opened the door for Annie who hustled into the passenger seat. Smoke shut her door carefully then rounded the front to the driver’s side. Once he got in, he let the quiet sit for a second before adjusting himself in his seat.

Annie pretended she didn’t see it, but her face, half shadowed in darkness and the light from the front room of the cottage, betrayed her. She looked out the window smiling as the engine started with a rattle and sputter of the exhaust pipe. 

The drive back to Aunt Della’s boarding house was quiet. Moonlight flooded the cab of the truck, highlighting the contours of Smoke's face—his eyelashes, his lips, his mustache all bathed in a pale, lunar glow. His hand rested on her thigh, holding firmly onto the supple flesh. Annie traced along the veins of his hand with her fingertips before laying her palm on top of his.

“I had a good time tonight,” she said after about a mile of silence.

“You did?” 

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good,” he said quietly. 

The stars sprinkled tiny silver blessings above them as they made their way to the boarding house, the occasional animal darting in the road, drawn like a moth to a flame to his headlights. Smoke and Annie laced their fingers together as the road to town stretched in front of them. 

-

-

*Song by Bud Spires

Note: Sorry this took so long to post. I was lowkey scared. 😂 But on another note— The Harvest Party is coming up next!

She didn’t have to look to know.

The air changed, thickened, charged with something heavier than the heat. A slow burn of awareness slid down her spine before she finally turned her head, confirming what she already knew.

Aaron stood at the entrance, dressed in all black, hands tucked into the pockets of his relaxed linen trousers. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, the chain at his neck glinting under the soft spa lights. But it wasn’t the way he looked that sent a thrill curling deep in her stomach—it was the way he was looking at her.

Green eyes locked onto her form, dragging over every exposed inch of skin in a slow, deliberate assessment. Not rushed. Not outwardly reactive. Just watching.

She tilted her head, teasing. “Took you long enough.”

Aaron hummed, taking an unhurried step forward. “Seems like you were keeping yourself entertained.”

The way he said it was light, almost absentminded. But the underlying edge was unmistakable.

She smiled, pretending not to notice. “It’s a spa, baby. I was relaxing.”

His gaze flickered lower, lingering on the curve of her hips, the deep plunge of her bikini top. Another slow, unreadable hum.

“Hmm.”

That was it. No sharp remarks, no immediate reaction. Just a quiet observation, followed by a small, knowing smile that made her stomach dip.

Then, without another word, he extended a hand.

She hesitated, just for a second, but his patience was thinner than it looked. His fingers curled slightly in a beckoning motion, voice lower this time.

“Come here.”

A command, wrapped in velvet.

Heat flooded her body—not from the sauna, not from the glances of others, but from the intensity in his voice alone. Still, she let herself hesitate a beat longer, testing, pushing, wondering if he’d show any cracks in that carefully held restraint.

Aaron simply lifted a brow. “Sweetheart.”

Her breath hitched. That was all it took.

Slowly, she placed her hand in his. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and firm, sending a quiet thrill through her system. No force, no rush. Just a casual retreat as he turned, leading her out of the spa with steady, purposeful strides.

But his grip? Solid.

And when she glanced up at him, searching for any lingering jealousy, any tells—

The small smirk playing at the corner of his lips told her she wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

The evening settled around them in a hush of warmth, the ocean breeze carrying the scent of salt and sun-drenched sand. The restaurant was tucked away near the water, intimate and dimly lit, the low hum of conversation blending with the gentle crash of waves in the distance. It was the kind of place meant for romance, for easy conversation over candlelight and stolen glances between sips of wine.

And yet, Aaron had barely touched his glass.

He sat across from her, fingers lazily tracing the rim of his drink, his expression calm—almost too calm. He listened as she spoke, nodded at the right moments, even let a small chuckle slip when she teased him about how much he’d needed this trip.

But his eyes? They never left her.

Not once.

The air between them held an unspoken weight, something simmering beneath the surface, hidden in the easy glide of his thumb over the stem of his glass, in the way his gaze lingered just a little too long on the delicate curve of her collarbone, the smooth line of her neck.

She felt it. The restraint. The quiet, charged patience.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the most thrilling part.

She played along, acting as if nothing was amiss, twirling the stem of her own glass between her fingers as she took a slow sip. The dress she’d chosen was silky, draping over her curves in a way that left just enough to the imagination, but not much more. Every time she shifted, crossing and uncrossing her legs, she caught the subtle flick of Aaron’s gaze, the way his fingers momentarily stilled against his drink before he resumed that infuriatingly composed façade.

She smirked against the rim of her glass. Two can play this game.

"So," she mused, tilting her head, "you’ve been suspiciously quiet all evening."

Aaron leaned back, exhaling a low hum as he stretched his arm along the back of the booth. The motion pulled his shirt taut across his chest, the top two buttons still undone, teasing a glimpse of golden skin beneath.

“Have I?” His voice was smooth, deliberate.

She nodded. “You have.”

He let the silence stretch, the corners of his lips twitching like he was amused by her observation. Then, finally—

“I’m just taking it all in.”

That should’ve been an innocent statement. It wasn’t.

The way he said it—the quiet rasp, the slow drag of his eyes from her lips to her bare shoulders, to the deep curve of her dress—sent a shiver down her spine.

Her pulse fluttered, but she refused to let him see it. Instead, she smiled, reaching across the table to trace a light fingertip over the back of his hand. "Good," she murmured. "You deserve to relax."

Aaron’s fingers twitched, just slightly. But still, he remained composed, letting her touch him, letting her think she was in control.

Then, without warning, he flipped his palm, catching her wrist in one smooth motion. Not tight. Not rough. Just firm.

His thumb stroked slow, lazy circles against her pulse point, feeling the way it quickened beneath his touch. His voice, low and quiet, barely reached across the table.

"I’m relaxed, sweetheart. Are you?"

Her breath hitched.

Before she could answer, their waiter arrived, breaking the moment like a snap of tension in the air. Aaron let her wrist go as if nothing had happened, flashing the waiter that easy, polite smile of his, ordering without a hint of the quiet storm brewing beneath his skin.

And just like that, the game continued.

Dinner ended with lingering glances and the kind of silence that said more than words ever could.

The beach stretched out before them, dark and endless, the moon casting a soft silver glow over the rolling waves. They walked side by side, sand warm beneath their feet, the quiet night wrapping around them like a secret.

She sighed, tilting her head up to the sky. “I forgot how much I love places like this.”

Aaron hummed in agreement. “Peaceful, isn’t it?”

She nodded, glancing at him. “Mhm. You seem...calmer now.”

He smiled, small and knowing. “Do I?”

She swallowed. Something about the way he said that sent a thrill through her.

Aaron suddenly stopped, turning to face her fully. The gentle rush of the tide filled the space between them, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the weight of the silence.

His fingers lifted, trailing the strap of her dress where it rested on her shoulder. A featherlight touch. Barely there.

His voice dipped. “You’ve been having fun today, haven’t you?”

She blinked, heart stuttering. “What do you mean?”

His fingers ghosted over her skin, tracing down her bare arm, slow and unhurried. “You know exactly what I mean.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came. Because suddenly, she was the one feeling warm. She was the one feeling watched, exposed, standing under the weight of his gaze as if he could see right through her.

Aaron stepped in closer, until their bodies almost touched. Until she had to tip her head back just to keep looking into those sharp, unreadable eyes.

His thumb skimmed over her wrist again, deliberate. “You wanted my attention, sweetheart?” His lips barely brushed her ear, the deep rasp of his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"You’ve got it."

She exhaled shakily, stomach tightening.

Aaron smiled against her skin, pressing the softest kiss to the pulse point beneath her jaw.

Then, as if he hadn’t just set every nerve in her body on fire, he pulled away, reaching for her hand. “Come on,” he murmured, his tone deceptively casual. “Let’s head back.”

And the worst part?

The most thrilling part?

She knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

The walk back to the hotel was quiet. Not uncomfortable. Not tense. Just quiet in a way that made every step feel heavier, every breath feel deeper.

The resort wasn’t far—just a few minutes up the beach—but the air between them stretched thick and charged, the weight of what was coming pressing against her skin like the humidity of the night.

Aaron’s hand remained wrapped around hers, warm and steady, his thumb grazing slow circles against her pulse. A small, absentminded touch.

Or maybe not so absentminded at all.

Because every time his thumb passed over her skin, she felt the edge of restraint in it—the simmering patience of a man who already knew how the night would end.

She swallowed, sneaking a glance up at him as they stepped onto the resort’s pathway. His expression was unreadable, the golden glow of the hotel lights catching the sharp cut of his jaw, the depth of his eyes. He looked like he always did—calm, collected, devastatingly handsome.

But there was something beneath it.

Something slow-burning.

Something dangerously intentional.

The elevator ride was silent.

They stood side by side, facing forward, the air between them thick with anticipation. She could feel his presence like a current, his body close enough that the heat of him pressed against her skin.

And then—ding.

Their floor.

Aaron placed a hand at the small of her back as they stepped out, his palm warm, guiding. The hall was quiet, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean. The moonlight spilled across the sleek tiles, casting long shadows.

Her heartbeat picked up when they reached their door.

She expected him to unlock it quickly, to step aside and let her enter first like he usually did. But instead, he took his time.

Slipped the key card in slow.

Pushed the door open even slower.

And when he finally stepped aside, allowing her to pass, his eyes never left her.

The second she crossed the threshold, the shift was undeniable.

Everything felt sharper. The air. The silence. The way his presence filled the space behind her before the door even clicked shut.

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she stepped further inside. “I’m gonna hop in the shower,” she murmured, reaching for the hair tie around her wrist. “Need to rinse off all that sea air.”

Aaron hummed, low and approving. “Go ahead.”

She could still feel him watching as she disappeared into the bathroom.

The water was hot, nearly scalding, but she welcomed the burn. It grounded her, settled her for a moment—gave her a sliver of space to breathe.

Because the moment she stepped back out there?

She knew.

She knew.

And that knowing sent a slow, delicious shiver down her spine.

Steam curled around her as she stepped out of the shower, her skin warm and dewy. She reached for a towel, patting herself down before moving through the rest of her nightly routine—moisturiser, body oil, a little perfume at her pulse points.

And then, just as she reached for her nightwear—

A hand closed around her wrist.

Her breath caught.

Aaron stood behind her. Close. Warm. A wall of heat against her back.

She hadn’t even heard him move.

“You won’t be needing that.” His voice was low. Certain.

A slow exhale left her lips. “Aaron.”

He hummed, his free hand smoothing up the curve of her waist, his fingers splaying across the softness of her belly. He pressed in, his front flush against her back, the thin towel around her body the only thing keeping them apart.

“You had your fun today,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “Now it’s my turn.”

She shivered.

His fingers found the knot of her towel, tugging it loose with ease. The fabric slipped down, pooling at her feet, leaving her bare beneath him.

And then—

The cool kiss of steel against her wrists.

Her breath hitched, her body going still.

Aaron’s lips curled against her shoulder, his nose skimming the damp skin of her neck as he brought the cuffs around her wrists, binding them together with a slow, deliberate click.

The second they locked in place, a soft, sharp gasp left her lips.

Aaron smirked. “Oh, sweetheart.”

His fingers traced up her spine, slow and unhurried.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear.

“You knew this was coming.”

The night air was warm, thick with salt and that ever-present feeling of exposure as he took her over to the balcony.

She barely had time to process the feeling before Aaron was on her—his front pressing into her back, his large hands spreading over her waist, branding her with heat.

He was everywhere. Surrounding her. Caging her in.

Her bound wrists rested against the railing, her fingers gripping the cool metal for purchase. It wasn’t enough.

Nothing ever was when it came to him.

“Aaron…” her voice was a whisper, but he caught it, catching the breath from her lips before she could even finish saying his name.

“Shh.” His voice was smooth, deliberate—like a promise whispered against her skin. His lips skimmed the back of her neck, his beard scratching against the delicate skin there. “You didn’t hesitate to put on a show earlier. Don’t start acting shy on me now.”

She tensed, instinctively trying to shrink away, but he didn’t let her.

Aaron’s grip tightened, one hand sliding up to wrap around her throat, the other reaching forward—playing, toying with the jewellery of her nipple piercings, the cool metal teasing the sensitive buds.

She gasped.

The night air swept over her exposed skin, heightening every sensation. The contrast—the cool breeze, the hard steel, the scorching heat of Aaron pressed against her—was intoxicating.

“I should make you count,” he murmured against her ear, voice thick with possession. “Make you say every name. Every pair of eyes that were on you today.”

His fingers rolled her peaked nipple, tugging at the delicate hoop, and her body jolted in response.

His chuckle was dark. Amused.

“I should make you say them while I remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His grip on her throat flexed, fingers pressing just enough to steal a fraction of her breath. She moaned, body melting, legs trembling.

Then—

He thrust into her.

A sharp, devastating stretch that stole every thought from her head.

Her cry was caught by the wind, lost to the crash of the ocean below, but Aaron felt it—the way her body tightened, the way her hands gripped the railing for dear life.

His fingers spread over her hips, possessive, unyielding, guiding her movements against him. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the night, raw and filthy, underscored by her breathless moans.

He set the pace—deep, claiming thrusts that left no part of her untouched, no inch unexplored.

She could barely breathe, barely think—only feel.

“Aaron…”

She tried to speak, but the words never formed.

She was too lost.

Too consumed.

And he knew it.

His hand slid up, tangled into the thick curls at the base of her scalp. He gave a sharp, commanding tug, pulling her head back, forcing her mouth open in a wordless cry.

Aaron smirked against her temple. “Say it.”

She whimpered, overwhelmed, teetering on the edge.

His other hand slipped lower, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that matched his strokes.

Her entire body shook.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His voice was honeyed sin, coaxing and cruel all at once. “Scream a little louder for me.”

Her nails clawed at the railing, her body tightening around him, the pleasure unbearable, inescapable—

A sharp gasp.

A trembling, broken cry of his name.

And then—

She shattered.

Pleasure wracked through her in waves, her body convulsing, trapped between the steel railing and Aaron’s unrelenting grip.

He groaned, feeling the way she pulsed around him, his movements turning desperate, erratic—chasing his own release, claiming her in every sense of the word.

With a final, punishing thrust, he spilled into her, burying himself deep, letting her body milk every last drop of him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Just panting. Trembling. Coming down from the high.

Then—

Aaron leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Mine.”

Her body was still trembling, a delicious, lingering ache settling deep in her bones.

The cool metal railing bit into her skin, a stark contrast to the molten heat still pulsing between her thighs.

Aaron had yet to move.

Still pressed against her back, still buried inside her, still holding her as if he wasn’t ready to let go.

His breath was ragged, warm against the shell of her ear. Then, slowly, he dragged his lips down the side of her neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses over the sensitive skin.

The shift in his touch sent a different kind of shiver down her spine.

Gentler. Softer.

As if he were grounding her.

Or maybe grounding himself.

His hands, once so possessive and demanding, now traced over her skin with reverence. Up her sides, over the curve of her waist, smoothing down her thighs.

Then—

A soft click.

The cuffs unlatched, and she barely had the strength to lower her arms. The moment her wrists were free, Aaron caught them, massaging the marks left behind by the steel.

He brought them to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the delicate skin before folding her into his embrace.

She melted into him without hesitation.

Neither of them spoke at first.

There was no need.

The sounds of the ocean filled the silence, the night air wrapping around them like a whispered lullaby.

But then—

“You okay?” His voice was low, rough with the last remnants of pleasure, but laced with something else now. Something softer.

She nodded against his chest, sighing when his fingers traced slow, soothing circles against her lower back.

Aaron hummed, satisfied, but still not letting go.

He never did.

Eventually, he eased her back inside, walking her toward the bathroom. The warm glow of the vanity lights flickered on, and he wasted no time in reaching for a washcloth.

She watched him in the mirror as he wet it with warm water, his brows furrowed in focus, the last remnants of his possessive storm now replaced with tender care.

When he turned back to her, his gaze softened.

“Spread your legs for me.”

The words should have been filthy.

But the way he said them—gentle, coaxing—was anything but.

She did as he asked, exhaling softly when the warm cloth met her skin, when he took his time cleaning her up with delicate, careful strokes.

Once he was satisfied, he kissed the inside of her thigh, then rose to his feet.

“You still sore anywhere?”

She shook her head, but Aaron wasn’t convinced. His hands skimmed over her shoulders, her waist, her hips, massaging any places that had taken the brunt of his grip.

When she let out an involuntary sigh, he smirked.

“I’ll run us a bath.”

Minutes later, she was sinking into the warm water, Aaron settled behind her, his arms wrapped securely around her waist.

She let herself relax, let her body go weightless against his.

His lips found her shoulder, pressing a slow, lingering kiss.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @theogbadbitch @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.