Unknown baddie

ELIJAH ‘SMOKE’ MOORE FICS:

I Put A Spell On You Part One

I Put A Spell On You Part Two

I Put A Spell On You Part Three

The Blackline Part One

The Blackline Part Two

The Blackline Part Three

The Blackline Part Four

The Blackline Part Five

The Blackline Part Six

The Blackline Part Seven

The Blackline Part Eight

The Blackline Part Nine

The Blackline Part Ten

It Should Have Been You Part One

Courtyard Bliss (Smoke x Violet)

Camera Off Part One

Camera Off Part Two

Stay Where I Left You

ELIAS ‘STACK’ MOORE FICS:

Route 666 Part One

Route 666 Part Two

Route 666 Part Three

Sanctified Heat Part One

Sanctified Heat Part Two

Sanctified Heat Part Three

Sanctified Heat Part Four

Sanctified Heat Part Five

Sanctified Heat Part Six

Sanctified Heat Part Seven

Veils of Restraint

I Need You *one-shot*

Headcannon: FIELD BITCHES?!

His Brother's P*ssy

Georgia Peach

Mirabel

ANNIE X ELIJAH MOORE FICS (ft. ELIAS MOORE AND OTHER CHARACTERS):

The Hoodoo Apprentice Part One

The Hoodoo Apprentice Part Two

The Hoodoo Apprentice Part Three

The Hoodoo Apprentice Part Four

Wrought In Honey & Flame (Amelia's Backstory)

The Hoodoo Apprentice Part Five (5.1)

The Hoodoo Apprentice Part Five (5.2)

The Hoodoo Apprentice Part Six

The Hoodoo Apprentice Part Seven

Headcannon: Annie and Smoke in the ancestral plane

Headcannon: Just Before Midnight

Always Calling Me

Shave ‘Em Dry Part One

Tuckin' Tail

Deep Like This

SMOKESTACK TWINS X READER/OC:

Velvet Heat & Country Sin Part One

Velvet Heat & Country Sin Part Two

Velvet Heat & Country Sin Part Three

Velvet Heat & Country Sine Part Four

Group Meeting

Through The Walls

Headcannon: 2 am With Daddies Smoke and Stack

Evening had blanketed the luxurious ranch, the sky shifted from gold to a deep violet and the vast land responded in its own quiet language. Katydids, field crickets, and cicadas woke. The pond gave off a soft shimmer. Somewhere near the tree line, the horses flicked their tails and moved closer to the barn, sensing that night had come. 

Annie Moore stepped onto the spacious porch and paused, letting the air wrap around her. It had weight to it here. Southern heat. Fragrance. Memory. Evening on their land carried Smoke’s signature from the dark wood siding of the house to the line of lanterns he installed along the porch rail for her. They glowed like small fire spirits guiding her back every time she wandered too far. 

The luxury ranch stretched wide and private, a pocket of the world carved out just for the two of them. Acres of pasture rolled away into the distance. A creek curved through the back woods like a hidden vein. Dear, and other forest animals stepped carefully near the pond at dusk, lowering their heads as if paying silent respect to whatever lived in the stillness. Smoke always said the land was alive. Annie believed him. It breathed around her and it listened. 

The dogs had already begun their evening patrol. Bramble trotted along the fence line, a hulking shadow with eyes that missed nothing. Jet lingered closer to the porch, pacing until he was certain everything was as it should be. Annie watched him settle, then glanced towards the barn where a warm light glowed through the half-open doors. Smoke was still inside, finishing whatever he needed to finish before he put the day down. 

The barn always pulled Annie’s attention. Its cedar beams held the scent of hay and leather, and the stable lamps casted a soft amber wash over the stalls. Midnight, Smoke’s stallion, turned his head at the sound of footsteps, ears pricking forward. Honey drop—mild-tempered and curious—leaned out of her stall as if expecting Annie to come in and stroke her muzzle. Flint and River shifted in the straw, the gentle scrape of hooves echoing in the quiet. 

But tonight, Annie didn’t walk towards the barn. She stood on the porch, watching the last of the sun sink behind the ridge, the ranch house behind her. A house Smoke designed to feel lived-in and intimate instead of ostentatious. Dark wood floors. Soft lamps. Deep ruggs that cushioned her steps. A fireplace that never quite lost its ember scent. It was the kind of home that asked nothing of them except honestly. 

Inside, the living room held a peaceful quiet. The broad stone fireplace flickered, casting shadows along the walls. Smoke’s favorite armchair sat angled towards the fire, his book still open on the table beside it. The kitchen beyond it glowed with under-cabinet lights, a soft golden wash over marble counters and shiny appliances. Pots hung neatly above the island. Fresh herbs and spices waited in jars and a heavy-duty wooden cutting board sat on the kitchen island like Annie planned to cook later. 

Their bedroom sat on the second floor towards the back of the house where night always felt thickest and the quiet didn’t break unless they broke it. Their bed was low and wide, dressed in black linen sheets. The balcony door was cracked open, letting in a faint breeze that carried the scent of pine and distant earth. Annie could see the faint outline of the pond from where she stood, moonlight reflecting on its service. Smoke built this place for peace. Annie turned it into home. The ranch held both desire and a soft domesticity. 

Annie eased further down the porch steps. Smoke’s silhouette moved inside the barn, tall and broad, presence unmistakable even from afar. She watched him for a long moment, the easy strength in the way he lifted the feed bag. The quiet confidence in how he moved through a space that obeyed him. Her pulse answered him from across the field. 

It always did. 

Everything on this land—every horse, every breeze, every grain of dust that’s suspended in golden light—knew them. Knew their history. Knew the magnetic pull between their bodies. Knew the way Smoke’s voice softened only for her. Knew the way Annie curved towards him before he even touched her. 

Annie stepped back inside, the door closing behind her with a soft click, sealing her into the low-lit peace of their home. Shadows deepened along the hallway walls as she moved towards the kitchen. 

It greeted her with open arms. 

Wide counters of dark stone. A double farmhouse sink. Tall-backed leather stools lining the island. Everything smelling faintly of fresh herbs and wood polish. 

Annie reached for the small alcove tucked between the pantry and the far wall. Smoke had designed it specifically for their wine, built into chilled shelving that displayed bottles like artifacts. Their vineyard was a passion project, a piece of their legacy, and the pride of the collection sat at eye level: 

Boudreaux & Moore Reserve. 

A full-bodied Southern red blend cultivated from Delta soil that runs deep with memory, mineral, and heat. Grown under long Mississippi suns and cooled by river wind at dusk. The wine carries both structure and soul. 

It’s a wine of contrast. 

Dark but luminous. Refined but untamed. 

Each vintage is produced in limited quantity, hand-harvested and aged with patience, never rushed. The result is a red that doesn’t simply sit on the palate, it settles in, lingers, and speaks back. 

Annie smiled as her fingers brushed the label. 

A proprietary blend, typically composed of Cabernet Sauvignon for backbone, tannin, and depth. Syrah for spice, smoke, and body. And Petit Verdot for color, structure, and a subtle wild edge. The exact ratios shift slightly with each harvest, guided by instinct, climate, and taste rather than rigid formula. 

In the glass, Boudreaux & Moore Reserve pours a deep garnet-black, almost opaque at its center, with a slow-moving viscosity that clings to the bowl. At the rim, a faint crimson halo catches the light. A quiet reminder that beneath its darkness, there is warmth. 

The bottle is heavy, dark glass—nearly black. The label sits against it like a quiet statement. Matte black textured paper embossed in aged gold foil. At the center, a grapevine rises from the bottom of the label, its roots thick and grounded. As it climbs, the vine begins to unravel into soft curls of smoke, fading into the upper design. Hidden within the border, nearly invisible unless studied closely, are fine-lined details: 

Subtle Rootwork-inspired patterns.

Coordinates of the vineyard.

A faint, almost ghostlike glow etched into the vine lines.

At the bottom edge, a single line reads: 

“From soil to spirit” 

Two forces. Two histories. Two fires learning how to burn in harmony.

Annie pulled a bottle free, the glass cool in her hand. The cork released with a soft pop. The scent rose immediately. 

Black cherry. 

Warm spice.

A hint of dark plum and oak. 

Thick and sultry on the tongue. 

A wine that unfolded slowly. A wine with weight. 

She poured herself a glass, the rich color catching the kitchen light and glowed like garnet. Annie carried it through the living room and took her usual seat on the corner of the sectional. The place where she could see the kitchen. The hallway. The porch. The world felt anchored from here. And on nights like this, she liked to sit and listen for the sound of Smoke coming home. 

The first sign was the creak of the porch. Then, the door opened. The unmistakable sound of his boots. Smoke always stopped at the threshold. Always respected the house she poured herself into. He braced one hand against the wall as he untugged the heel of the first cowboy boot. Then the second. When he stepped inside fully, the air shifted. 

Smoke filled the doorway in a way that made the room feel smaller, hotter, more aware of itself. The barn’s heat clung to him. The scent of cedar, horse, sweat, and something unmistakably him drifted forward with each step.  

His body was everything Annie loved. Broad shoulders, thick muscles. Arms carved from heavy work and heavy habits. A chest framed by a white tank that clung to him, damp in places from the work he’d done in the barn. Deep, brown skin kissed bronze at the high points. Neck glistening faintly. Jaw shadowed. Lips soft and plush but set in a stoic, focused way he carried when he had been working. 

He wore denim. Well-worn. Low on his hips. Dark where sweat and dirt had touched. Faded where his thighs stretched the fabric. The sight of him alone could bring a flush to her. 

Her man. Her husband. Her impossible softness wrapped inside a body built for strength. 

Smoke didn’t glance her way at first, he headed straight to the sink. He turned on the faucet and ran his hands under the water, rubbing away dust and the lingering feel of leather reins. He lathered his hands good twice, his back flexed with each motion. Shoulders rising and settling. The tank stretching across muscle she had memorized with her palms. 

Annie sipped her wine slowly, enjoying the view. Enjoying the warmth pooling in her belly. Enjoying the simple luxury of watching her husband move through the space they built together. 

Smoke reached for some paper towels, dried his hands, tossed it in the trash, and only then did he look her way. 

His eyes softened. Just enough for her to feel it. The quiet between them grew charged. Familiar. 

Annie lifted her glass again, just to give her hands something to do while she admired him. Smoke leaned his hip against the counter and studied her in that way he did when he knew she had something on her mind. 

Annie smiled. Knowing. 

Smoke crossed the room with the steady confidence that always made Annie’s breath hitch. His steps were unhurried. They came from a man who never needed to announce himself. Smoke stopped in front of her, casting a shadow over her body. Annie lounged along the sectional like she had been poured onto it, her mint green abaya dress draped in soft folds, one shoulder exposed, the fabric slipping just enough to reveal a hint of collarbone and the gleam of her gold jewelry. The dress hid the fullness of her curves in a way that somehow made her look even more decadent. Smoke’s eyes swept over her, slow and appreciative, as if confirming she was exactly as he remembered from the moment he left her that morning. 

Smoke leaned down. Not with haste. Not with hunger alone. With ownership and affection wound together. His fingers slid beneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. Annie didn’t lift her eyes right away. She slowly dragged her gaze up, blinking slow. 

Smoke kissed her hard. A deep, claiming kiss that pulled a soft sound from her throat. His mouth moved against hers with certainty. His tongue stroked slow at first, then deeper when she opened for him. The kiss wasn’t rushed. The warm grunt he let slip vibrated against her lips. His hand held her chin in place while he tasted her and when he finally broke the kiss, he didn’t pull far. Smoke dragged his mouth along her cheek, down to the spot beneath her jaw where her pulse fluttered. His lips found her neck, and he pressed a lingering kiss there breathing her in before finally straightening.

Annie let her fingers graze her lower lip, still tasting him. Smoke watched the gesture as if it were a private performance meant for him alone. 

He moved to his armchair beside the fireplace. The chair was wide, dark, softened by years of use and shaped to the weight of his body. Smoke sat heavily, spreading his legs without thinking, denim stretching over thick thighs. The white tank still clung to his chest, darkened slightly from sweat. He reached for the cedar humidor on the table beside him. His thick fingers moved with practiced ease as he opened the lid, selected a cigar, and held it between his fingers. 

Smoke clipped the tip with a quick, clean motion. The cutter clicked with a sound Annie always found strangely intimate. Smoke lifted the cigar to his nose, inhaled its scent, and closed his eyes briefly as if taking measure of the moment. He struck a match instead of using his lighter. He preferred the flame. Preferred the control. The match flared, casting a warm glow across his knuckles as he brought it to the cigar’s end. He rotated the cigar slowly, coaxing the tobacco to life. The ember bloomed red. Smoke drew the flame towards him with a soft pull, then shook the match out with a flick. 

He settled back, one arm draped over the armrest, the other holding the cigar with lazy dominance. Legs wide. Chest rising and falling calmly as he released the first slow stream of smoke. 

His eyes never left Annie. 

She sipped her wine under that gaze, letting the glass tilt languidly towards her lips. The red glow sat against her glossy lips before she drank, savoring the richness. Smoke’s eyes followed the movement, the swallow of her throat, the way her fingers curled the stem of the glass. 

“You get into anything today?” Smoke asked, voice low and unhurried. It was a simple question, but the tone curled around her like a hand sliding up her thigh. 

“Work,” Annie said, keeping her voice steady even though the air between them felt too thick with tension, “Checked on the vineyard. Tasted a new bach they barreling.” 

Smoke nodded slowly, pulling once more from his cigar. The ember brightened and the smoke drives in a smooth ribbon from his lips. 

“That why you glowing like that?” 

Annie smiled into her wine. She tucked one leg beneath her and shifted, letting the abaya slide higher over her thigh. Smoke’s eyes dropped, subtle, then lifted to meet her eyes again. 

“Maybe I just missed my husband,” Annie said.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. He took another pull from the cigar, exhaled a cloud that curled into the air, and tilted his head slightly as he watched her.

“Did you?”

“Mm-hm,” Annie let the sound linger, “Watching you smoking that cigar ain’t helping.” 

Smoke smirked, the expression slow. He tapped ash into the tray, leaned deeper into his seat, and kept her in his unwavering gaze. 

“You keep looking at me like that,” he said, “And I’m not gon’ let you finish that wine.” 

Annie’s lips parted just slightly, “Maybe that’s the point.” 

Smoke’s exhaled turned into a quiet laugh, low and rough, “Woman…you know exactly what you doin’.” 

Annie sipped again, never looking away from him, “And you like it.” 

Smoke didn’t bother hiding his agreement. His eyes dropped once more to her exposed shoulder, the shine of her gold, the soft curve of her thigh under the mint green fabric. When he looked up again, his gaze was darker. Focused. Heavy with every intention she had been hoping he’d catch. 

“I always like you,” he said. 

And the way he said it made Annie’s pulse thud beneath her skin. 

She held his gaze, “You gon’ stare at me all night or you gon’ say something?” 

Smoke let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh.

“Ain’t my fault you sittin’ over there lookin’ like God took his time.” 

Annie smiled, bringing the glass to her lips to mask her blush, “you been sayin’ that since we were young.”

“And I meant it then,” Smoke replied, eyes steady on hers, “but it hit different now,” he pulled from the cigar again, exhaling a slow curl of smoke, “you know you fine, right? Don’t roll them eyes. I’m tellin’ you the truth.”

 Annie angled her body towards him, the wine catching a faint shimmer across her mouth, “you only sayin’ all that cause you want somethin’,” she teased. 

“I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s real.” smoke nodded once, like he was stamping the words in place, “ain’t nobody on this earth I’d rather come home to than you.”

Annie felt that. 

“Long day?” 

“Long week,” he answered, rubbing his thumb along the side of the cigar, “Business. Barn was hot as hell. Midnight tryin’ to act up again. Flint damn near stepped on my foot,” Smoke shook his head but there was warmth in it, “but then I walk in here, and you sittin’ all pretty in green waitin’ on me? Day start lookin’ better.” 

Annie lowered her glass, “I wasn’t waitin’.” 

“Yes you were,” Smoke’s voice dipped, easy and assured, “you always wait for me, woman. Even when you pretendin’ you ain’t.” 

Annie held his gaze for a long moment. Their history lingered in the quiet between them. Years of learning each other, years of wanting each other in ways neither had language for until they found it together. 

“You miss me?” Annie asked softly.

Smoke’s eyes softened, “Yeah, baby,” he didn’t blink, “I did.”

Annie breathed in, “I missed you too.” 

Smoke leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, “C’mere then.” 

Annie gave a small hum of amusement, “You already kissed me, Smoke.”

“Didn’t say that was enough,” Smoke tapped aah gently into the tray, “I said, C’mere.” 

Annie didn’t make a move. She sipped instead, teasing him with the angle of her throat.

“Maybe I’m comfortable.” 

Smoke studied her like she was the only thing in the room worth knowing. 

“You comfortable,” he said quietly, “‘cause you know I’ll come get you if I want you bad enough. And I do.” 

Annie’s smile deepened, lazy and sexy, “then come get me.”

Smoke held her eyes for a beat longer, hunger simmering beneath the look. 

“You keep talkin’ with that voice of yours,” he warned, voice low, “And I’m a forget about this cigar.” 

Annie rested her head back against the cushion, the gold at her throat catching the firelight, “maybe I want you to.” 

Smoke’s mouth curved slow into a dimpled smirk, “You gon’ get me in trouble.”

“That why you love me.” 

Smoke nodded once, “one of the reasons.” 

The tension was a familiar pull that lived in the air of their home. 

“How long you been thinkin’ ‘bout me today?” Smoke asked.

Annie set her glass down gently, “Since before the sun came up.”

Smoke’s lips parted just slightly, appreciation moving through his expression like a quiet current.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” 

Annie tilted her head, “How long you been thinkin’ about me?”

Some didn’t look away, “all damn day, baby.” 

Their eyes held. 

Smoke let the last ribbon of cigar smoke drift from his full lips before resting the cigar in the ashtray. He took one slow breath, eyes still on Annie as if he were deciding whether to stay in his chair or go where his body already decided to go. 

Then, he rose. 

The chair creaked under his weight as he stood, broad shoulders, denim pulling tight over his thighs. Annie watched him, wine glass loose in her hand, her eyes warm with a softness she didn’t offer to anyone else. 

Smoke crossed the room and sank into the sectional beside her. The cushion dipped beneath his weight, pulling her closer. Smoke reached for her ankles with gentle yet work-worn hands, the contrast of tenderness and size making her breath slow in her chest. Smoke lifted her feet onto his lap, settling them over his crotch. 

His brow lifted, “when you get these done?” 

Annie smiled, sliding her toes against his thigh, “today.”

Smoke took her left foot in both his hands, thumbs tracing her arch. The neon yellow polish gleamed against her deep, dark skin, bright as summer lemons. Clean lines. Smooth cuticles. A shine you could see from across the room. As if the color was made for her. Smoke turned her foot slightly, admiring it the way he admired her dresses, her hair, her jewelry—quietly but with real appreciation. 

“They pretty, baby,” he said, his voice having a rough edge to it but the admiration softened it, “bright as hell, but pretty.” 

“That’s Crystal’s work,” Annie replied, brushing her dress over her knee, “she came over this afternoon.”

Smoke nodded slowly, “she know what she doin’. These nice,” he shifted his thumb, brushing the pad along the underside of her toes, “I like this color on you.”

“You say that everytime I try something bold.” Annie teased.

“That’s ’cause you make everything look bold,” his eyes flicked up to meet hers, “you know how good you look right now?”

Annie let her smile widen, “you sayin’ that ‘cause I’m relaxin’ or ‘cause my feet in your lap?” 

Smoke leaned back against the couch, legs spreading a little wider under her claves, “I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s true. Dress hangin’ off your shoulder. Skin all glowy. This bright yellow against that beautiful skin. You sittin’ up here lookin’ like you know I can’t stop watchin’ you.” 

Annie tilted her head, “You can’t.” 

Smoke chucked under his breath, deep and low, the sound rolling through his chest, “No. I can’t.” 

Annie moved her toes again, gently pressing into the denim crease at his thigh, “you like them that much, huh?”

“I do,” Smoke’s voice dropped, “I like all of you tonight.” 

Annie felt that in her belly, “You tryna butter me up, Smoke?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head once, “I’m tellin’ you what I see. You sittin’ pretty in that dress. New nails. Drinkin’ wine. You know damn well you fine.” 

Annie lifted her glass to her lips, “you act like you ain’t seen me dressed up before.” 

“I have,” he continued rubbing slow circles into her arch, his hands big and warm around her foot, “You look rested. Soft. Like your day treated you good.” 

“It did”

“That right?” Smoke angled her foot in his palm, studying it again, “Crystal do your hands too?”

Annie held up her left hand, letting him see the matching neon manicure.

“She sure did.”

Smoke’s eyes warmed, a slight grin tugging his mouth, revealing slight dimples, “Lemme see.” 

Annie reached out, offering him her fingers. Smoke held her hand with the same tenderness he gave her feet, his thumb moving across the bright polish like he was testing the texture.

“You somethin’ else,” Smoke said, “Come in here lookin’ like this and think I’m just gon’ sit way over there.” 

Annie smirked, “would you prefer I toned it down, Mr. Moore?”

“Hell nah,” Smoke released kissed her nails before releasing her hand slowly, letting his fingers trail along her wrist, “I want you loud if you wanna be loud. Soft if you wanna be soft. Neon yellow if that’s what you feelin’. Long as you keep bringin’ it home to me.” 

Annie let her head rest against the cushion, a warmth spreading through her chest, “you really like them.” She tried to hide her blush behind her wine glass. 

Annie l loved to hear Smoke gush about her. She eats it all up. Words of affirmation being one of her love languages. And it made it all the more better coming from her husband that didn’t do much talking in the first place. 

Smoke nodded, “I like anything you choose for yourself. And I like watchin’ you show it off,” Smoke’s gaze dipped to her exposed thigh, “You know I’m weak for you.”

Annie wet her already glossy lips, “you tryna tell me somethin’, Smoke?”

“Just speakin’ on what’s true,” he said quietly, fingers gliding over her skin.

Annie took another slow sip of wine while Smoke watched her, thumb tracing idle patterns along her calf. The heat between them spread slowly. Intentionally. Like something the walls of the ranch recognized and leaned toward. 

“Come sit closer,” Smoke said, voice thin with affection and something deeper. Hungrier. 

Annie shifted, sliding her hips gently towards him, and Smoke’s hands guided her feet even closer across his lap. His touch never left her skin. The movement opened the dress along her thighs, a soft spill of fabric that revealed more of her skin. Smoke adjusted himself, one hand cupping her heel, the other gliding up the sole of her foot with slow, practiced pressure. His touch was firm yet tender like a massage that unraveled her piece by piece. 

“Mm,” Smoke hummed, thumbs working into her arch, “Look at my pretty girl takin’ care of herself.” 

Annie’s breath dipped. She felt the praise settle into her chest the way his hands always settled into her hips when he held her from behind—steady, grounding, warm. Smoke continued working his fingers into the curve of her foot, his gaze pinned on her face with quiet hunger. 

“You somethin’ special, Annie. Every damn time I look at you, I see somethin’ new to love on.” 

Her pulse fluttered. Annie was far from shy, especially not with him, but the way he said it did something to her. She let her toes trace the worn denim that stretched over his thighs, enjoying the way his jaw flexed just slightly at the contact. 

Smoke’s voice dropped lower, a tone reserved only for her, “Lookin’ like my peace and my troubles at the same time.” 

Annie smiled, her expression flirty, “If I’m trouble, you raised me into it, Papa.” 

Smoke’s thumbs slows their circles. His eyes traveled from her toes, up her calf, over the slip of her dress, and finally to her mouth. Annie felt her breath catch. Smoke’s stillness always meant something. Did something. 

His voice found her again, threaded with command and affection.

“You been wearin’ your plug like Papa want you to?” 

The question didn’t land gently. It landed with power. 

Annie’s whole body tightened. It wasn’t from fear. The air around them turned molten. Annie felt the change low in her stomach, an ache that came when he stepped fully into that role she asked for. Wanted. Craved. Her lips parted on a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her toes curled against his thigh. Her thighs squeezed together as if trying to contain something that didn’t want containing. 

Smoke saw it immediately. He always did. His eyes sharpened, darkened, but the warmth never left them. His was not a man guessing. This was a man who knew his wife’s body better than she did. 

“Mm-hmm,” he said softly, thumb striking her ankle, “there it is.”

Annie swallowed, her voice when it came, was quiet but steady, “why you askin’ me that right now?”

“‘Cause you sittin’ here lookin’ ready for me. Everytime you look at me like that, I think about how you feel when you got it in for me. How you melt when I check,” Smoke leaned in slightly, eyes locked on hers, “How you open.” 

The last word brushed over her mind like a hand cupping her pussy.

Annie’s heartbeat quickened. It was impossible to hide from a man who watched her this closely. The wine she’d been sipping settled warm in her chest, but the heat building now came from a different place entirely. 

Smoke’s hand slipped higher along her calf, strong fingers tracing the softest line, “Answer me, baby.” 

Annie breathed out slowly, lips parting. She lifted her eyes to his, letting him see everything she wasn’t saying yet. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I been wearin’ it.” 

Smoke’s grip on her calf tightened.

“Good girl.” 

The words didn’t explode between them, they settled. They sank. They found the spot inside her that only he ever touched. Annie felt warmth bloom. Her back softened into the sectional, her thighs eased open as if her body made the decision before her mind could catch up. 

Smoke saw it. Smoke felt it. Smoke owned that shift. 

“That’s my woman,” he whispered, pulling her foot higher into his lap, his thumb stroking the inside of her ankle, “knew somethin’ was different when I walked in. You been holdin’ it in for me.” 

Her breath trembled, “Maybe.” 

Smoke’s smile was dangerous and deeply loving, “ain’t no fuckin’ maybe ‘bout you tonight.” 

He brought her foot to his mouth and kissed the inside of her ankle, arousal blooming where his lips touched her skin.

“Now, tell Papa what you need.” 

Annie’s breath eased out of her in one steady stream. His thumb kept slow circles against her skin, patient, gentle, a quiet reassurance that she could speak freely. That Papa is there to hear what his baby girl had to say. To tell him what she needed. To speak freely. 

Annie lifted her gaze to him—soft, open, certain. 

“I’m ready,” she said.

Smoke stilled. He wasn’t tense or surprised, just fully present. His gaze settled on her face, reading her with the same care he used on her body. 

Annie’a voice came low, “I wanna take you fully now,” Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the sectional, “I’m not scared anymore, baby. I want all of you…and I want it deeper…”

Smoke’s voice softened in a way she only ever heard in moments like this, “You sure, Annie?” 

She nodded, the movement small but strong, “I’m sure.” 

“You know we ain’t gotta rush,” Smoke said, still rubbing her arch with the softest pressure, “we can stay where we at. Keep usin’ that size plug ‘til you good. Ain’t no timeline on this.” 

Annie’s chest warmed. His patience was never performative. It was real. Lived in love. And that patience made her want him even more.

“I thought about that,” Annie said, shifting slightly, the dress slipping more along her thigh, “but I been sittin’ with it. Workin’ up to it. Trainin’ good like you told me to. I want you tonight. I’m ready for more.” 

Smoke’s gaze deepened. Heavier, weighted with affection and desire woven together. He kept massaging her foot like he didn’t want his hands to leave her skin while she spoke this truth into the space.

“You prepped before you put it in?” Smoke asked, a question with care. 

“Yeah,” Annie’s voice held no hesitation, “I did everything I was supposed to,” she paused, letting the truth settle between them, “I prepped right. Took my time. And once I felt good, I put the plug in. Been wearin’ it for you since.” 

Smoke’s jaw flexed with smoldering appreciation. 

“You did all that for me, baby?” 

“For us, Papa.” She corrected softly. 

Smoke leaned in a little, his eyes locked onto hers, “Come here, baby.” 

Annie didn’t need to be told twice. She slid closer, her claves still cradled in his lap, her body drawn into his gravity. Smoke let one hand rest over her knee, stroking the skin with his thumb.

“You tellin’ me you fully ready to take your man like that,” he said, his voice low but hitting her like thunder before rain, “and you ain’t scared, not even a little?” 

“I’m not scared no more. I trust you,” she placed her hand on his thigh, her palm warm over denim, “I want you deep in me. However you wanna take me.” 

Smoke looked at her the way a man looks at something precious he plans to handle with care and hunger alike. 

“Aight,” he whispered, “if wifey ready…I’m right here.” Smoke placed a kiss against her knee, “Now, you sure you want Papa, to take you all the way, tonight? ‘Cause you know what that mean, right?” 

Annie’s answer was barely above a whisper but full, her eyes doe-like with desire, “yes…take me all the way, Smoke.” 

His shoulders lowered on a deep exhale, like her words settled something in him too. That tension between them thickened, sweet and heavy. 

“Then we gon’ do it right. Together.” 

Smoke reached for her. His palm slid behind her thigh, guiding her from the cushion to his lap in one smooth pull. Annie went willingly, her knee brushing his hip as she swung a leg over him. She settled onto him with a soft whimper, her thighs bracketing his, her warm, wet pussy pressed close enough that he could feel it throb like a heartbeat through the thin fabric of her abaya. 

Smoke took her wine glass gently from her hand, never breaking eye contact, and sat it on the table beside them. His hands returned immediately—both of them—sliding over the curve of her backside. He dragged his palms down her hips, over the full softness of her waist, up her back where the dress clung to her plush curves. Smoke explored her like she was familiar and new at the same time. 

Annie’s breathing changed. Smoke’s touch always did that to her. He held her gaze with that steady, unblinking intensity he only used on her. 

“If we doin’ this tonight,” he said, voice low and stern, “you gon’ listen to me. All the way through.” 

Annie’s hands slid up his shoulders, her fingers sinking into the warm muscle. His grip moved over her backside again, kneading, dragging, pressing. Annie could feel the strength in every stroke, the ownership wrapped in tenderness. 

Smoke’s thumb brushed the small of her back, “you gon’ follow my instructions,” he continued, “ain’t no rushin’. Aim no tensing up. You hear me?” 

Annie nodded.

Smoke’s hand wrapped around the base of her waist, pulling her more into him, “Nah. I need you to say it, Annie.” 

Annie’s lips parted, breath warming his cheek, “I hear you, Papa.” 

Smoke’s gaze dipped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes, “I need you relaxed. I need you trustin’ me. I need you lettin’ go when I tell you to let go, understand?” 

“Yes, Sir.” She whispered. 

Smoke’s hands cupped her ass fully now, fingers spreading and kneading, claiming the weight of her, “and you gon’ tell me if somethin’ don’t feel right. You don’t hold that in. You speak up. That’s how we do this. That’s how we stay good.” 

“I will,” she said, voice steady and a little breathless, “I promise.” 

Smoke’s approval was quiet but unmistakable, “good.”

His hands trailed lower. Smoke hooked his thumbs under the hem of her dress and slowly lifted the fabric. Annie raised her hips for him, letting the mint-green cloth glide up her further, revealing warm skin inch by inch. 

When the dress rose high enough, Smoke paused. 

No panties. 

His breath eased out of him, slow and thick. His fingers dragged over her bare ass, tracing the round curves of her cheeks. He squeezed as much as he could, juggling her ass like they were two heavy ass cushions of flesh. 

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking up to meet hers, “you came to sit in my lap like this?” 

Annie licked her lips, “Yeah.”

Smoke dragged his hands over her again, appreciating her, memorizing her, “you knew what Papa needed. Been a long day for me. Knew I needed to come home to this.” 

Her hips tilted, giving him more of her to explore. Smoke’s grip tightened again, steady and grounding. 

“I ain’t mad at it,” he said, his hand smoothing over her ass once more, “but you gon’ let me take my time with you.”

Annie nodded again, whisper-soft, “I will.”

Smoke lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her eyes to stay on his, “say it strong, baby.” 

“I’ll let you take your time, papa. Because it’s yours,” she said, voice firmer now. 

Smoke bit his bottom lip, eyes holding something hot and devoted, “that’s my woman.” 

His thumb drifted dangerously close to the place she wanted him to touch. The place she wore the plug snug between the plentiful flesh of her ass.

Annie shivered. 

Smoke’s thumb grazed it. He smiled, slow and knowing. 

“Damn,” he whispered against her neck, “You open for me, ain’t you?” 

Smoke kissed her again, his tongue sliding against hers with a thirst that had waited all day to be quenched. Between those kisses, his lips brushed hers as he whispered to her. His voice came low, the tone of it curling into her stomach and spreading heat through her entire body. 

“I need you tonight,” Smoke breathed, kissing her again, lips catching hers, “need to feel that ass take me deep.” 

Annie’s fingers tightened at the back of his neck. Smoke kissed her until she sighed into him, her thighs opening just a little more over his. Smoke spread her ass cheeks, the cool air hitting her plugged ass, making her clench. He popped her cheek one at at time before dragging his hands from the top curve of her ass down to the back of her thighs, finger tips barely brushing the outline of her pussy lips spread over his big bulge. 

“You hear me?” Smoke’s mouth brushed her lower lip as he spoke, “Been thinkin’ ‘bout you all fuckin’ day. Thinkin’ ‘bout how you gon’ feel when I put this dick in your mouth,” he flicked his tongue against her lips, “In Papa’s pussy,” his fingers teased her outer lips just a little, “Now I get to open that ass up how I want to? Mm…”

Another kiss claimed her mouth before she could answer. Smoke palmed the back of her head, pressing their mouths together until she felt her pulse responding to the rhythm he set. 

“I’m proud of you,” Smoke whispered against her mouth, brushing her lip with the softest sweep of his thumb, “real proud. You tellin’ me you ready for more…baby, you don’t know what that do to me. But I’m a show you.” 

Annie kissed him back with the same hunger building inside her, her hips grinding, body answering him in small, involuntary movements. 

He kissed her harder. 

“You gon’ let Papa dig in that ass?” He whispered into her mouth, words warm and thick between their lips, “ain’t no runnin’. Ain’t no teasing. You gon’ open these cheeks up for me like you know how.” 

Annie whimpered softly into the kiss, her fingers tightening in his thick, coils. Smoke swallowed the sound, kissing her until she melted full into his lap. One hand kept squeezing one cheek while the other grazed the plug with his thumb. He guided her hips closer with lazy strength until she was pressed fully against the swell of him. 

“That’s it,” Smoke whispered, lips brushing hers, “yeah, you ready for this. I can tell. Bet you drippin’ pussy juice in my lap.” Smoke popped her ass, “you trust me,” he whispered, resting his forehead to hers for a brief second, “I got you. All night.” 

Smoke yanked Annie closer by the hips, then his hands went to her waist and without a struggle he lifted and slammed her thick body flush against his throbbing crotch until she could feel the rigid outline of that thick dick pressing insistently against her wet pussy. His rough hands clamped down on her plump ass cheeks, kneading the soft flesh with heavy squeezes that made her asshole twitch in anticipation. Smoke dragged his calloused palms over her bare skin in desperate strokes, fingers dipping into the crack of her ass and teasing the puckered rim of her tight little hole, sending shivers straight to her dripping pussy. 

He molded his full lips to hers in a sloppy, devouring kiss, his thick, pink tongue thrusting and spearing deep into her saliva-heavy mouth, tangling with her sweet-tasting tongue in a raw hunger that had been building all fucking day. Between those messy kisses, Smoke’s lips grazed hers as he growled low, the gravelly rumble vibrating down to her pussy and igniting a filthy ache in her guts like he was digging in her already. 

“Need that tight butt tonight,” Smoke rasped, sealing his lips over hers again, starting soft and teasing before plunging his tongue back in to fuck her mouth with it, “Needa bury this fat dick in down to my nuts.” 

Annie’s nails dug into the back of his neck, scraping his skin as Smoke devoured her mouth with so much sloppiness she moaned with a broken sound into him, her thick thighs spreading wider over his lap, soaked pussy lips parting to grind against the bulge straining his jeans.

“You hear me, woman?” Smoke’s teeth nipped at her lower lip, tugging it before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue, “Been jerkin’ off in the office today thinkin’ ‘bout you. ‘Bout how this greedy little ass gon’ swallow my dick when I stretch it wide open and pound every fuckin’ inch inside.” 

The kiss grew sloppier, saliva mixing as their tongues slid and sucked with filthy intent. Smoke’s hand crept lower on her ass, thick fingers tracing the deep cleft where her cheeks met, brushing right over the sensitive ring of her asshole. Their lips mashed together until her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Syncing with the oils of his dick against her. 

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you,” Smoke spoke hotly against her lips, his thumb smearing the spit across her mouth in a dirty caress, “real proud of my dirty girl. You tellin’ me you ready to take my whole dick up ya ass…fuck…that make me wanna wrack you right now.” 

Annie’s breath hitched sharp when his fingers dipped lower, stroking the full globes of her ass cheeks, then sliding between them to circle her tight, pucker with deliberate pressure. Applying force against the plug. Smoke dragged his fingertips over the jeweled end, feeling it clench and quiver under his touch while his other palm cupped her ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. Annie kissed him back, her hips bucking, her asshole fluttering as slick arousal leaked from her pussy. 

“Tonight, you givin’ me that ass completely,” he growled into her mouth, the words thick and dripping with lust between their slick lips, “you gon’ spread those cheeks and let me ram my dick in, take it like the filthy anal slut you are.” 

Annie whimpered into the kiss, a needy, broken sound that made her fingers yank his hair, pulling him closer. Smoke swallowed her whine, kissing her until her body went limp and pliant in his lap, fully surrendered. His hand kept groping her ass, fingers probing and massaging the tight entrance, the touch firm, coaxing, owning every inch. He rocked her hips down with lazy but unyielding force until her ass was clapping right on him, the fabric barrier doing nothing to hide how badly he wanted to split her open. 

“That’s my girl,” Smoke breathed, lips dragging over hers in teasing nips, “you fuckin’ ready for this. I can feel that ass beggin’ for Papa’s dick.” 

Smoke scooped Annie up in his strong arms, carrying her effortlessly to their kind-sized bed, the mattress dipping under their combined weight as he laid her out on her back like a feast ready to be devoured. Her legs dangled off the edge at first, but Smoke wasted no time, grabbing her ankles and hoisting them up, spreading her thighs wide apart until her knees bent towards her chest, exposing every inch of her glistening pussy to his hungry gaze. The jeweled base of the anal plug peeked out from between her plump ass cheeks, the toy stretching her tight ring just enough to prepare her for what was coming. 

“Damn, baby girl,” Smoke uttered, his voice thick with approval as he knelt between her splayed legs, his rough hands sliding up the backs of her thighs in long, caressing strokes. His palms glided over her soft skin, thumbs pressing into the sensitive hollows behind her knees, then lower, tracing the curves where her hamstrings met her ass, “such a good lil’ slut for Papa, wearin’ that plug all day like I told you. Keep that asshole nice and open so I can slam this big dick inside you. Makin’ me so fuckin’ proud, Annie.”

Annie shivered under his touch, her phat pussy lips swollen and parted, revealing the slick pink folds beneath her big clit throbbing visibly like a fat pearl begging for attention. The plug’s presence made her ass clench around it involuntarily, sending jolts of pleasure up her spine that made her pussy drip even more, a trail of arousal leaking down towards the toy. Smoke’s fingers dug in a bit firmer on her thighs, massaging the muscles as he leaned in closer, his breath ticklish against her inner thighs.

“Hold them titties together for me, baby. Squeeze ‘em tight…push ‘em up so I can watch ‘em bounce while I eat this juicy pussy.” 

Annie obeyed instantly, her hands cupping her full breasts, pressing them together until the soft flesh bulged between her fingers, nipples hardening into stiff peaks that poked towards the ceiling. She arched her back slightly, offering herself up as Smoke’s eyes darkened with lust. 

He dove in without hesitation, his mouth latching onto her phat pussy with a wet slurp, sucking her thick outer lips into his mouth one side at a time. His tongue lolled out sloppy and broad, lapping at the puffy folds, dragging from her dripping entrance up to her big clit, which he engulfed fully, sucking hard enough to make it swell even larger against his lips. 

“Mmm, fuck, this fat clit perfect,” Smoke groaned against her, vibrations buzzing through her core as he released it with a pop, only to suck it back in, his cheeks hollowing as he nursed on the sensitive nub like it was candy. 

Smoke’s hands kept caressing the backs of her thighs, holding her spread wide while his face buried deeper, nose grinding against her the outer, meaty flesh of her pussy as he sucked her entire folds into his mouth. Tongue thrusting in messy circles, Smoke slurped at her inner folds, pulling them between his lips with gentle tugs before flattening his tongue to lap up her juices, damn near swallowing them down with obscene gulps. The anal plug shifted slightly with each of her squirms, the fullness in her ass amplifying every suck and lick, making her hips buck up towards his mouth. 

His sucks grew sloppier, saliva mixing with her mess to create a filthy sheen over her crotch, dripping down to coat the plug’s base. Smoke focused on her big clit again wrapping his lips around it and humming low, the suction pulling it taut as his tongue flicked rapidly over the tip. 

“That’s it, good girl, take Papa’s mouth. Make you cum so fuckin’ hard before I fuck that ass raw.” 

Annie’s fingers tightened on her titties, mashing them together harder as moans spilled from her lips, her body trembling under the relentless assault of his tongue and lips, every caress on her thighs grounding her in the building ecstasy. 

Smoke’s mouth stayed locked on Annie’s, gushy, phat pussy, his plush lips slurping greedily at the swollen folds, tongue plunging deep into her dripping hole before dragging up to batter her big clit with wet, insistent laps. Saliva and her juices smeared across his chin, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath her ass, the anal plug’s base glistening from the overflow like a precious jewel. Smoke sucked her puffy lips into his mouth again and again, tugging them before releasing with a filthy smack. His fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs to keep her spread wide and immobile under his assault. 

Annie’s hands released their tight squeeze on her big titties, instead starting to jiggling them for him, bouncing the heavy melons up and down in rhythmic shakes that made them slap softly against each other. The motion lifted her chest higher, her stiff nipples tracing circles in the air but it also blocked Smoke’s view of her face completely. Those massive tits heaving like pillows obscuring everything above her stomach, leaving him fixated on the feast between her legs.

“Mmmph—ahhh!” Annie moaned, her voice breathy and high-pitched, the sound breaking into a series of whimpers as his tongue swirled around her clit. She arched her back and rolled her hips, pushing her pussy harder against his face, her ass clenching around the plug with each jiggle of her breasts and quiver of her thighs.

“Yesss, Papa…eat that pussy…ohhhh, fuucckkk, yesss…”

Smoke pulled back just enough to speak, his breath ragged against her slick skin, lips brushing her throbbing clit as he groaned, “Papa eatin’ this pussy good, baby? I know, you makin’ such a mess in my mouth, baby,”  He dove right back in, sucking her big court between his lips with a loud, vacuum-like slurp, his tongue flicking the underside rapidly while humming vibrations through it.” 

“Oh GOD—mmm, yesss, Papa! I love it when you suck on my pussy like that…ahh-ahhh-ahhhhh!” Annie’s moans escalated, turning into staccato gasps that matched the bobbing of her titties, fingers pinching her nipples now to heighten the jiggle, sending sparks straight to her core. Her hips rolled without her control, grinding her phat pussy against his mouth, the wet sounds of his slurping filling th bedroom like obscene music. 

“Pussy so phat,” smoke muttered between sucks, his voice muffled as he latched onto her outer lips, pulling one side fully into his mouth and nursing on it with sloppy pulls, his teeth grazing the tender flesh. He released it with a pop, then switched to the other, his thumbs stroking firmer along the backs of her thighs, feeling the flesh quiver under his touch. 

“So fuckin, thick and juicy, baby girl.” 

Annie’s response came in a drawn-out whine, her body trembling as she kept jiggling her big titties faster, the slaps growing louder, “mmmm, yessss…ohhhh, Papa, don’t stop…haaah—yes, eat it, eat my pussy deep…nngh!” A sharp cry escaped her when his tongue thrusted inside her gushy hole, fucking in and out with quick, messy stabs, lapping up the fresh gush of wetness that coated his face.

“Pussy so wet,” Smoke praised, his words vibrating against her as he flattened his tongue to lap broad stroking from her entrance up to her clit, back and forth, swallowing down the mix of spit and fresh cream with a deep, guttural groan. Smoke couldn’t see yer spaced-out face or rolled-back eyes, but the way her thighs tensed in his grip told him everything—her body’s betrayal of how close she was teetering, “Drippin’ all over Papa’s face like a good fuckin’ slut.” 

Annie bucked harder, the moans fracturing into desperate pants, “Ah! Ah! Ah-ah-ah—mmph! Yessss, Papa, I love your tongue…suck it…suck my clit…ohhhhh fuuuuck!” Her titties bounced wildly now, nearly smacking her chin with each heave, the anal plug shifting inside her and increasing the building pressure in her gut. 

Smoke chuckled low against her folds, the sound rumbling through her core before he sucked her entire pussy up into his mouth again, cheeks hollowing as he nursed hungrily, “I’m suckin’ this pussy good, huh? Papa gotta get you right before I wreck that plugged-up ass,” his tongue delved deep once more, circling her walls before going back to sealing those big lips around her protruding clit, pulling and flicking in tandem—lips, tongue—determined to push her over the edge with his relentless sloppy feast. 

His mouth never left Annie’s phat, wet pussy. His lips sealed tight with every suck, drawing out her juices with relentless pulls that made her thighs quake in his grip. No words escaped him now. Just the wet, filthy sounds of his whole mouthpiece working her over and over, broad and flat licks dragging from her drippy hole up to that big clit in slow, sloppy laps that coated everything in a sheen of saliva and cream. Lapped again and again, strokes wide and unhurried, pressing firmly against her swollen lips and aching clit, flattening the flesh to drag his heavy tongue slickly, releasing to expose how throbbing and soaked she is. 

Annie’a ass clenched tight around the plug, the base pressing deeper with each involuntary squeeze, sending jolts of pleasure through her core that mingled with the heat building from his mouth. She felt pinned in place, her body locked under his hold, but she couldn’t help cocking her hips to the side in a desperate twist, trying to angle for more friction—yet Smoke adjusted instantly, his hands sliding up to grip her inner thighs and yank them wider, keeping her splayed as his tongue chased her movement, lapping at the shifted folds without mercy. 

Annie froze there after that, body going still except for the tremors ripping through her, neon yellow painted toes curling hard in the air, her toes cramping up as waves of pleasure locked her muscles, “ohhhh…mmmph—ahhhhh—ahhhh!” Her moans spilled out in breathy bursts, high an needy, fracturing into whimpers each time his tongue and lips swept broad across her pussy, the sloppy wetness echoing in the bedroom. Her big titties still heaved from earlier jiggles, now settling into a subtle bounce with every hitch in her breath, nipples peaked and aching from neglect. 

Smoke’s chin glistened with her mess, dripping steadily as he shifted to her inner walls, tongue probing shallow to taste the fresh slickness. Then, the slurping started—loud, greedy, noises as he dragged his thick lips before hollowing his cheeks again, pulling those lips towards him, sucking while his tongue flicked rapid against her entrance, drawing out strings of wetness. He paused only to spread her fully, his thumbs hooking into her folds and peeling them apart wide, exposing the pretty pink glistening to the cool air. 

Smoke stared for a beat, eyes locked on her big clit standing swollen and proud, the thick inner lips framing it like petals heavy with dew, quivering under his gaze. The sight made his dick twitch against the bed and his nut sack tighten. Smoke kept her pried open with those strong fingers and dove back in to slurp, the sound filthy and amplified as his mouth engulfed her clit and lips together, sucking with wet pull that made her hips jerk despite her stillness. 

“Nngh—yes, oh fuuuck…mmm, haaah!” Annie cried out, her voice cracking into a series of sharp gasps, toes curling tighter until the neon yellow polish gleamed under the strain, her ass clenching the plug in rhythmic pulses that pushed her closer to the edge. Annie bit her lip, stifling a longer moan that bubbled up, “Mmmph—ahh-ahh—sssss, fuck, Smoke!” Her body arched just enough to feed more of her pussy into his slurping mouth, “mmm, yeah…take it, papa,” she gasped out, voice thick with that NOLA drawl, all husky and drawn long on the vowels. 

“Mhm, goo girl, feed Papa his pussy,” Smoke growled against her, the words vibrating right into her core, his Mississippi tongue rolling deep and rough like gravel under tires. He didn’t stop, tongue lashing out to lick broad over her pussy, tasting the fresh gush she gave him, “There you go, give it to me—gimme that phat pussy, baby. Yeah, push it out on my fuckin’ tongue, lemme suck this sweet pussy dry,” his voice stayed low and constant, filthy praises spilling between slurps as he sealed his thick lips around her clit while his tongue probed the edges of her inner lips, lapping up every drop that leaked out. 

Annie’s ass squeezed the plug tighter with each suck, the fullness increasing the ache low in her belly, big titties bouncing lightly as her chest heaved. Annie bucked and rode his face, hips higher, grinding that phat pussy all in his mouth, smearing her wetness across his nose and chin, “Papa…ohhhh, Papa…I’m cummin’…I’m cummin’, Papa!” Annie cried, the words breaking into a drawn out ‘yessss’ that twisted with her southern lilt, high and desperate. Her thighs clamped around Smoke’s head for a second before he forced them back open, but she didn’t stop, “I’m cummin’, yessss, Papa, don’t stop—I’m cummin’ in yo’ mouth!” 

Smoke hummed approval right into her, the vibration shooting straight through her clit as he kept slurping and twirling the thick tongue in tight circles around the swollen nub while his big lips tugged at her inner lips, stretching them gently before releasing with a wet pop, “keep feedin’ me, baby, that’s my goo pussy—gimmie all that nut, flood papa’s mouth wit’ it,” Smoke urged, words muffled but insistent, his breath heavy against her as he licked faster, sucked her clit, slurped her up. He spread her even wider, fingers slipping closer to her entrance to hold everything open, diving in to slurp directly at the source, tongue thrusting shallow to scoop out her release. 

Annie’s moans turned into a chant, body arching and twitching off the bed as her orgasm ripped through her, pussing clenching and pulsing against his tongue, “Cummin’…Papa…cummin’ so hard—yessss, oh lawd, yes!” She wailed, that NOLA twang making the plea sound even sweeter, her hips jerking erratically to shove more into his relentless mouth. Waves crashed over her, juices squirting in hot spurts that he caught and swallowed with eager gulps, his free hand sliding up to pinch one of her hard nipples, rolling it between his fingers, “Papa—Smoke—Daddy—” her toes curled so tight the neon yellow nails damn near dug into her soles, ass gripping the plug like it was anchoring her through the storm. 

Smoke’s lips vibrated with another filthy mutter, “Mmm, yeah, got more fa’ me? Gimmie every drop from this fat lil’ pussy, baby. You tastin’ so damn good, keep givin’ it up,” his dick throbbed heavy against the bed, but he stayed buried in her, slurping and licking until her cries softened into whimpers, her body slumping back, spent but still twitching under his hold. 

Smoke eased off Annie’s clit with one last lingering suck, his full lips shiny from the feast, breath coming in no pants as he pulled back just enough to survey the mess he’d made of her. Annie’s pretty pussy glistened under the dim light, inner lips puffy and twitchy from his attention, juices streaked across her thighs and dripping down towards the plug nestled in her ass. Smoke pressed soft pecks all over her, trailing kisses along the outer lips, then up to the sensitive crease where her thigh met pussy, each one light and tender like he was worshiping the aftermath. 

“Damn, baby. You did so good cummin’ in Papa’s mouth,” he spoke against her skin, voice low and gravelly with that Mississippi rumble, soft lops brushing her clit in a final gentle kiss that made her twitch, “Flooded me just right…taste like heaven, all sweet and thick. My good girl givin’ it all up like that.”  

Annie let out a breathy chuckle, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, big titties shifting with the sound. She reached down to stroke his cheek, fingers tracing the wetness she’d smeared there, “mmm, yo’ mouth amazin’,” she drawled, soft and sated, vowels stretching lazy like warm honey, “you got me shakin’ still—lawd, wha you do to me. Ate me up.”

Smoke grinned up at her, eyes dark with hunger, then started crawling up her body slow, muscles flexing under his skin as he dragged his chest along her belly. His big dick hung heavy between his legs, brushing her thigh and leaving a trail of pre-cum, but he ignored it for now, focused on her face. When he reached her, he captured her mouth in a deep kiss, tongue sliding in to share her taste—salty and musky. Annie moaned into it, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer, their tongues tangling wet and unhurried, her legs hooking loose around his hips. 

While they kissed, Smoke’s hand snaked down between her thighs again, fingers finding the base of the butt plug where it stretched her tight ring. He stroked around it gentle, circling the flared end with his thumb, feeling the way her ass clenched and relaxed under the pressure. The toy was slick from her release, and he pressed lightly, twisting it just a fraction to make it shift inside her, teasing the nerves without pulling it out. 

“That feel good, don’t it?” Smoke whispered against her lips, breaking the kiss to nip at her bottom one, voice thick with lust and that sexy, country boy flare. His fingers kept stroking, rubbing firm circles over the plug’s base, dripping to trace the puckered skin around it. 

Annie shivered, nodding as she nipped back, her breath hitching, “y-yeah, Papa…feels so good,” she whispered, hips lifting a little to chase the touch. 

“Mhm, this how I’m a get up in that ass…nice and slow,” Smoke continued, voice dropping to a filthy rumble as he twisted the plug again, easing it in a shallow push-pull that made her hole flutter, “slow stroke it, baby…open you up real gentle ‘til you beggin’ for more dick,” his thumb pressed firmer, stroking the length of the toy where it met her skin, mimicking the motion he promised, while his other fingers splayed over her pussy to keep her spread, still sensitive from his mouth. 

Annie gasped into his mouth, kissing him harder, tongue flicking against his as the sensation built low in her gut again, “ohhhh, Papa…”

“Ease this ass open for Papa to fit in it, right?” Smoke growled, eyes locking on hers as he worked the plug deeper with a slow twist, feeling her muscles yield bit by bit. His dick throbbed against her thigh, leaking more as he imagined sliding in there, but he kept the pace deliberate, stroking and pressing until her breaths came quicker, body arching to take more, “Yeah, that’s it—loosen up for me, let me stretch this tight lil’ hole wide.” 

Smoke broke their kiss with a wet pop, his lips trailing fire down her jaw, nipping at the curve of her neck before dipping lower. He dragged his mouth along her collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of her skin, then zeroed in on her big titties heaving with each breath. Those heavy things rose and fell, dark nipples peaked and begging surrounded by wide areolas that begged for his attention.

Smoke latched onto one nipple first, sucking hard with a low grunt rumbling from his chest, teeth grazing the stiff bud as his tongue swirled around it in tight circles. Annie arched up, a sharp gasp escaping her as he pulled more of her breast into his mouth, devouring it like he was starved. His free hand kept working the butt plug, stroking and twisting it slow while the other reached up to grab a thick handful of her titty flesh, squeezing firm because it was his to own. 

“Mmmph,” he hummed against her skin, vibration shooting straight to her nipple as he switched sides, licking a broad stripe across the underside of her other breast before sucking that nipple deep too. Smoke grabbed both now, big hands sinking into the soft, overflowing handfuls, using them like handlebars to pull her closer, kneading and rolling the weight in his palms. His fingers dug in just enough to leave faint marks, thumbs flicking over the wet peaks he left behind. 

Grunting low, Smoke slapped her titties together with a meaty smack, watching them jiggle and bounce before burning his face right in the deep valley between them. He rubbed his cheeks against the warm, pillowy skin, inhaling her scent—warm skin, vanilla, and a trace of amber—nuzzling deep like a man possessed. Because that’s what Annie does to him. His stubble scraped lightly, adding a rough edge while he kept groaning, the sound vibrating through her chest.

Annie bit down on her lower lip, eyes half-lidded as she watched him feast, her body twisting under the onslaught. One hand threaded into his hair, holding him there, while her hips bucked faintly against the press of his fingers on her plugged ass, “you love these big ass titties, Papa?” She purred, voice thick, breathy, teasing, “they not too big for you to handle?” 

Smoke met her gaze, a wicked grin splitting his face as he gave her breasts another squeeze, thumbs circling her nipples, “Hell nah, baby. These titties perfect for me.” Smoke growled back, accent heavy like gravel under boots before diving in again to suck one into his mouth with a hungry slurp.

Smoke shifted his weight, swinging one strapping thigh over her hips to straddle her chest, his massive frame looming like a shadow above her sprawled form on the bed. Those broad shoulders and corded arms flexed as he positioned himself, knees digging into the mattress on either side of her ribs, his heavy balls settling warm and full against her breast bone. Annie’s eyes locked on his fat dick, that long, girthy shaft pulsing with veins snaking along its length, the head flushed dark and leaking a steady bead of pre-cum. 

He gripped the base of his dick, guiding it down into the deep cleft between her big titties, the soft sweat-glistened flesh yielding around him like a custom-made sheath. Her skin was slick from their sweat, a sheen of perspiration making everything glide smooth as he pressed her breasts together with his rough hands, trapping his dick in that plush valley. The fist thrust forward was slow, hips rocking to slide that veiny thickness up through the tunnel of her cleavage, the tip emerging just shy of her chin while his balls dragged heavy across her sternum.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Smoke groaned, voice low, that drawl thickening every word, heavy-lidded eyes boring down into hers as he started pumping steadily. Each glide smeared his pre-cum along her, mixing with her sweat to create a slippery friction that had him grunting deep in his throat. Smoke squeezed her titties harder, fingers sinking into the overflowing flesh, using them to tighten the grip around his dick as he fucked forward, the head of his dick popping out at the top of each stroke. 

Annie tilted her head up, lips parting as she poked her tongue out, catching the tip on the next upward thrust. She flicked it quick an teasing, lapping at the skit where more pre-cum welled up, her tongue swirling around the broad crown in lazy circles that made his hips stutter.

“Mmm, damn, Papa,” Annie moaned against him, voice husky and breathless, “pre-cum taste so good, just how I like it slidin’ on my tongue, mmm,” Annie sucked the tip briefly when it crested again, hollowing her cheeks before releasing the swollen head with a wet pop, then flicked her tongue side to side across the sensitive underside, tracing a vein that throbbed. 

“Mmm, titties swallowing my dick whole,” Smoke rumbled, staring down at her with raw hunger, his thumbs pressing into the sides of her breasts to mold them firmer around him. His thrusts deepened, slick sounds of skin on skin filling the bedroom—Schlick, Schlick— as his balls slapped lightly against her chest with every push, “you do soft, baby…mmm…big fuckin’ titties feel good on this fuckin’ dick, girl…got ‘em huggin’ me tight, makin’ this dick look small around all this titty-meat,” his voice dropped nastier, words tumbling out between heavy breathes, “takin’ Papa’s fat dick between these big ol’ titties—you must want me to paint ‘em up, mark you with my nut.” 

Smoke kept the pace building, hips rolling in a steady grind, one hand releasing her breast to brace on the headboard above her for leverage, letting him drive forward harder. Annie held one titty while Smoke’s other hand stayed clamped on the other, kneading it rough as he watched his shaft disappear an reappear, glistening more with each pass. Annie worked that tongue overtime—swirling broad locks around the frenulum to make him hiss, then darting out to trace the ridge before sucking greedily at his slit. 

“Keep fuckin’ these titties, Smoke…love feelin’ that big dick between ‘em gettin’ ready to bust.” 

Smoke let go of the headboard and tangled his hand in her coarse hair, holding her steady as he angled his thrusts to feed her more of the tip, his balls tightening against her skin with the building pressure. 

“That’s right, use that tongue, suck on that tip, nasty girl. Big titties got Daddy’s dick achin’ to nut but I ain’t done wit’ ya’ ass yet. Gon’ make you beg for it in that phat pussy next,” Smoke growled the words, pace quickening, the bed creaking under their weight as he lost himself in the sight of his wife beneath him, tongue lashing and breasts bouncing with every forceful glide. 

“You want this dick down your throat, baby?” Smoke rasped, voice rough and thick, hips stilling as he held her gaze, one hand loosening its grip on her breast to cup her jaw tight. 

Annie’s eyes lit up, her tongue darting out for one last teasing lick along the underside before she nodded eagerly, breath coming in hot pants, “want it stretchin’ my throat,” Annie purred back in that sultry twang, her voice husky. 

Smoke dragged his teeth across his bottom lip while smirking slightly, sliding his big dick free from between her titties. He eased off her chest, thick, toned thighs flexing as he swung a leg over and stood beside the bed, towering over her like a wall of muscle. He reached down, strong hands hooking under her arms to help her up, pulling her body upright with effortless strength. Annie scrambled into position quick, turning to drop onto all fours on the bed’s edge, knees sinking into the sheets, ass up high with that plug still nestled deep in her puckered hole. Her big titties hung heavy beneath her, swaying as she arched her back, facing him with her mouth open and waiting.

She reached out first, one hand wrapping around his heavy balls, fingers kneading the warm, wrinkled sac gently at first, then squeezing just enough to make him hiss. Her other hand braced on his muscular thigh for balance as she leaned in, lips wide to engulf the fat head of his dick. Annie sucked him in deep right away, cheeks sunken as she took half his length in one go, tongue pressing flat against the underside to stroke along the pulling vein. Slurps filled the air—wet, obscene sounds as she bobbed forward, throat relaxing to swallow more, gagging softly when the girth hit the back of her mouth but pushing on anyway. 

Smoke groaned low, his hand coming down to tangle in her hair, guiding her without forcing it, “Fuck, damn, baby. Suck that dick like that, baby. Throat takin’ me so fuckin’ good, all sloppy and wet for Papa.” 

He leaned over her slightly, his free hand cracking down on her big ass cheek with a sharp pop, the flesh jiggling under the impact, leaving a faint, purplish bruise on her dark skin. The plug shifted a little inside her from the smack, making her whimper around his dick. 

Annie pulled back with a gasp, strings of spit connecting her lips to his tip, then drove back in deeper, her head twisting side to side to tongue every inch she could reach. She swirled her tongue around the head on the upstroke, flicking the slit to coax out more pre-cum, then slurping him down again, making bubbles of spit froth at the corners of her mouth. They dripped down her chin in thick rivulets, rolling over her neck and splattering onto her swinging titties, making them shine slick as they smacked together with each forceful suck—thwack, thwack—nipples stiff and slick with saliva.

“Gahdamn, woman, you suckin’ the soul outta me,” Smoke grunted, biting his lower lip hard enough to leave teeth marks, hips bucking shallow into her mouth as she worked him. 

His big dick was iron-hard now, veins bulging against her tongue, twitching every time she sunk those cheeks to suck tight or grazed her teeth lightly along the shaft. Smoke popped that big ass butt again, harder this time, the slap echoing as her cheeks rippled. Annie moaned around him, the sound muffled by needy, her hand tugging his balls former to pull him closer. 

“That’s it, grab them nuts—work for that fuckin’ nut. Damn, this dick deep in your throat. You my nasty lil’ throat slut, ain’t you? Fuck, feelin’ too good, baby—gon’ have you chokin’ on every inch ‘fore i flip you on your back and wreck that plugged-up ass.” 

Smoke kept the dirty words flowing, voice gravelly between grunts, body tensing as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. Annie ramped it up, sucking with wet pulls—slurp, gag, slurp—her tongue lashing relentlessly, spit bubbling and dripping everywhere. Smoke’s groans turned ragged, his grip tightening in her hair, biting back a curse as her mouth pushed him right to the edge, that tight, hot suction making his knees damn near buckle. 

Smoke’s eyes locked on Annie’s face, mesmerized by the way her full lips stretched wide around his thick dick, slicing down inch by inch until her nose brushed against his trimmed pubes. He couldn’t wrap his head around how fucking incredible it felt every damn time, even after all these years with his wife. Her mouth was a goddamn vice, hot and wet, pulling him in like she was starving for it. Smoke bit down on his lower lip again, harder this time, a sharp sting cutting through the haze of pleasure as his hips twitched forward. 

His hand moved from her hair to stroke along her cheek, almost tenderly, while his other palm came down with a firm smack on her ass. The flesh wobbled under the impact. It drew a muffled hum from her throat that shot straight up his dick. 

“Fuck, suckin’ me so deep—ain’t no way this my wife doin’ this shit to me every night,” Smoke groaned, voice thick and ragged and laced with awe and raw lust.

Annie pushed forward, relaxing her throat completely now, taking him all the way to the base in one determined swallow. Her gag reflex fluttered but held, her esophagus clenching around the fat head of his dick as she held him there, nose buried against his pubes, inhaling his scent. Spit bubbled at the corners of her mouth, overflowing in thick streams that trailed down her chin. Her titties swayed with subtle rocks. 

“Just like that…just like that, hold that dick in your throat,” Smoke rasped, his fingers tightening in her hair, guiding her to stay put for a beat longer before she pulled back gasping for air. He popped her ass again, the slap ringing out sharp, leaving a warm handprint blooming on her dark skin, “That’s my woman…suck your dick like it’s the only thing you need. This your dick, baby, all yours to choke on.” 

Annie eased off with a wet pop, coughing lightly but grinning up at him through watery eyes, her tongue flicking out to lap at the underside of his dick while she caught her breath. Strings of saliva connected her lips to his glistening dick and she dove right back in, sucking him down to the base once more, holding it there with a deep, throaty gag that made his nalls draw up tight. Her other hand squeezed his sac, the heavy orbs rolling in her palm, urging him closer to the brink. 

“Good girl, throat deep like that—swallow every fuckin’ inch for your man. You my nasty lil’ throat queen, ain’t ya? Tryna drain this dick with that good neck, makin’ Papa lose his damn mind,” Smoke praised her filthy, woods tumbling out between gritted teeth as he watching her work, coils swaying as her head bobbed and her neck worked, “yeah, baby, gag on it, show me how much you love chokin’ on this meat. That’s it, hold it…hold it right there, I know you feel this dick throbbin’ in your throat.” 

Annie’s moans vibrated around him, her pussy clenching around nothing but the plug as she deepthroated him again, holding steady until her lungs burned, tears pricking her eyes from the effort. She pulled back slow this time, slurping loudly along the length, tongue pressing flat to trace every bulging vein before plunging down once more. The ache building between her legs from how turned on she was just from his reactions. 

“Gahdamn, woman, you too good at this. Pretty wife with that magic mouth,” Smoke growled, stroking her hair soothingly even as he smacked her ass harder, the sound echoing like a drumbeat, “suck it deeper, baby, make them bubbles, let that spit run all over them big titties. This dick yours, yeah? Own it, throat-fuck yourself on it ‘til I bust,” his groans deepened, body tensing as Annie ramped up the suction, holding him buried to the hilt, her throat convulsing in tight pulls that had him biting his lip damn near bloody, eyes never leaving the sight of her eating his dick up. 

From her vantage point on all fours, her gaze flicked up to his face—his chiseled jaw clenched tight, sweat beading on his deep brown skin, those intense dark brown eyes half-lidded and locked in her like she was the only thing that existed in his world. His massive chest healed with each ragged breath, muscles rippling under his thick frame, abs contracting as he fought to hold back just a second longer. Annie could feel the heat radiating off his body, his highs tensing like coiled springs, the scent of his musk in the air mixing with the tang of her own pussy in the air. 

His hips bucked shallowly, fucking her throat in short, desperate thrusts. His dick was rock-hard inside her, veins bulging like ropes under the skin, the shaft swelling even thicker as the base of his dick pressed flush against her lips. Annie moaned around him, making his balls tighten up against her chin—heavy, full orbs drawing up close to his body, churning with the load he’d been building.

“FUCK,” Smoke grunted, the word rumbling from his chest like thunder, Mississippi drawl turning it into a drawn out ‘fuuuuck’. His free hand slapped her ass again, his focus shattering as pleasure overtook him. 

His groans grew louder, animalistic, hips jerking forward as he chased the edge, “baby,” he rasped, biting his lip so hard she saw the white flash of his teeth against his soul patch, “shiit…you got me right there,” Annie’s pussy spasmed, dripping down her thighs from how turned on she was by his undoing—seeing her big, strong husband lose control because of her mouth, her throat, her everything. 

His dick pulsed harder now, the head flaring wide in her throat, stretching her even more. Annie felt his balls contract fully, pulling up tight as the first wave hit him, “I’m a give your beautiful lass what you workin’ so damn hard for, o-okay?” Smoke groaned, his voice breaking on the last word, eyes squeezing shut for a beat before snapping back to her face, watching her take it all. 

Then, he exploded. His entire body went rigid, thighs quaking as a deep, guttural ‘fuuckkkk, baby’ tore from his throat. The first rope of cum shot straight down her gullet, hot and thick, forcing her to swallow convulsively around him. From her view, his dick jerked violently in her mouth, twitching up and down, the shaft rippling as it pumped out load after load. Annie pulled back just enough to catch the next blasts on her tongue, eyes wide as she saw the veins throb visibly, the head swelling purple-red before unleashing creamy-white jets that splattered against the roof of her mouth, overflowing her lips in sticky strands. His balls pulsed with each release, contracting and relaxing, emptying themselves as cum bubbles out around her sucking lips, dripping down her chin onto her seating titties. He was so fucking hard still, even as he came—unyielding steel in her grip, only softening a fraction as the orgasm wracked him. 

“Shit…mmm, yeah, swallow it all, baby,” Smoke panted, body shuddering, sweat trickling down his temples, his shoulders slumping forward slightly as the tension bled out. 

She looks up, seeing the blissed-out haze in his eyes, his chest rising and falling in heavy waves, a satisfied grin cracking his face as he thumbed a stray drop from her lip and pushed it back into her mouth. 

“Gahdamn, woman…you sucked me dry.” 

As he pulled back, he felt the blood rushing right back in, swelling him to full mast again. Smoke stared down at her, sprawled on the bed with cum smeared on her chin and those big, doe eyes sparkling up at him. 

“Gahdamn,” Smoke muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. Technically, he knew why. His fine ass wife—Annelora Solange Boudreaux–Moore—or Annie as he called her, had that effect on him. A simple smile from her full lips, that NOLA drawl whispering his name, and BOOM, his dick was ready to go again, like it had a mind of its own. 

Smoke leaned down, capturing her mouth in a deep, appreciative kiss, his tongue sweeping in to taste the remnants of himself on her. His lips pressed firm against hers, sucking gently on her bottom lip before diving back in, swirling around her tongue. Annie moaned into it, her body arching up towards him, and he could feel the heat from her pussy radiating up, making his balls tighten anew. That kiss hit straight in the pussy, a jolt of need making her clench. 

Smoke broke the kiss with a low growl, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her lips, “mmm, that’s my girl.” 

With a firm grip of her hips, Smoke flipped her onto her back, the bed creaking under his weight as he dragged her body towards the edge, her legs dangling off. Annie let out a bubbly giggle, her big titties jiggling with the motion, that playful spark in her eyes making his dick twitch. 

“What you laughin’ at, woman?” Smoke teased, his voice a deep baritone as he looked over her, one hand pinning her thigh down while the other stroked his hardening length, “I’m ‘bout to make love to this phat pussy and wipe that smile off your face. Turn it into cries.“

Annie’s laughter softened into a husky chuckle, her voice dripping with sass as she bit her lip, gazing up at him, “you say it like that ain’t what I want, Smoke,” her words were a challenge, her pussy aching for him, the plug in her ass causing her to shift her hips, sending sparks through her.

Smoke’s smirk turned primal. His dark eyes flashed with hunger. He grabbed her ankles, strong hands wrapping around them like vices, and folded her in half with effortless power. Her knees bent towards her ears, those heavy titties squishing up against her chin, nipples hard and brushing her skin with every breath. Her feet kicked up in the air for a moment before he planted his own wide stance on the floor, ass hanging just over the edge of the bed. Smoke used his thick, muscled arms to hold her there, pinning her thighs to her sides, his broad chest pressing down to keep her locked in place. Annie gasped at the stretch, her flexibility tested but loving the way his strength dominated her, making her feel small and owned. 

Smoke lined up his thick dick at her wet hole, the fat tip nudging her swollen folds apart. Annie was dripping, phat pussy lips puffy and slick, that big clit peeking out at him. With a slow thrust, Smoke sank that big dick up in her, inch by veiny inch stretching her wide. 

“Mhm? Pussy wet as fuck, baby,” Smoke grunted, his voice breaking into a satisfied hum as he bottomed out, balls slapping against her ass where the plug base peeked out. The sensation of her tightness, combined with the pressure from th plug made his dick pulse inside her. Annie whimpered, her hands clutching at his forearms, nails digging into his skin as he filled her completely. 

“Oh, Smoke…yes, Papa,” she breathed in, eyes fluttering half-shut from the fullness. 

Smoke didn’t waste time easing in. He started pumping her with deep, powerful strokes, his hips snapping forward to drive his dick balls-deep each time, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the bedroom. His strength kept her folded tight, her ass lifting slightly off the bed with every plunge of that thick dick. Smoke watched her face, loving how her giggles turned to moans, her mouth falling open in those sweet cries he promised. 

“That’s it, baby girl,” Smoke leaned in closer, his breath against her ear, “take this fuckin’ dick like you know. Pussy squeezin’ me so good—fuck, you feel that?” 

Each pump built the rhythm, his thick shaft dragging along her inner walls, hitting that spot that made her toes curl. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temple as his muscles flexed, abs contracting with the force of his drives. Annie’s titties bounced with the motion, pressing against her chin, her big clit grinding against his pubic bone on every hilt.

“Harder, Smoke…please,” Annie begged, her voice a needy whine, body trembling under his control. 

Smoke obliged, grunting with effort as he picked up the pace, pounding into her relentlessly, the bed frame rattling against the wall. 

“Gon’ fuck you ‘til you can’t walk straight, Annie. My nasty wife creamin’ all over this daddy dick.” 

His free hand slipped between them, thumb circling her clit in firm rubs, amplifying the pleasure until her cries filled the air just like he wanted. 

Annie’s eyes darted wildly, flicking from his intense face-sweat-slicked brows furrowed in concentration, those dark eyes locked on hers like he was claiming her soul—to the mesmerizing sight of his fat, slightly curved dick disappearing into her folds and emerging shiny with her cream. Annie watched it stretch her wide, the way her clit throbbed against his base on each drive, her juices painting his length in a glossy sheen that dripped down to coat his heavy sack.

“Ohhh, fuck, Smoke,” Annie gasped, voice hitching with the force of it, her neon yellow toes flexing in the air as her folded body rocked under him. Annie whimpered, her big titties heaving against her chin with each powerful stroke, nipples peaked, “yes, Papa…tear it up,” she moaned, her drawl thick and needy, eyes glazing over as she felt another wave of slickness coat him, painting his dick white even more. Her hands clawed at the sheets now while Smoke’s feee hand gripped her hip, fingers digging into her soft flesh to pull her onto him harder, his grunts mixing with the obscene squelch of her wetness. 

“Fuck, baby, you takin’ it so good. Gon’ make you cum all over this fuckin’ dick,” Smoke growled, snapping forward again, the head of his dick kissing the bottom of her pussy with a bruising force. Her cries sharpened, breath hitching in time with his thrusts. 

Smoke’s strong hands clamped around Annie’s ankles, yanking her legs high and wide, hoisting her hips clean off the bed in one fluid motion. Her ass covered there, suspended in his grip. Smoke didn’t ease up—hell nah—his thick, veiny dick plunged straight back into her creamy pussy, driving deep and relentless, the head battering her A-spot with ever unyielding stroke. The bed creaked under the force, his hips pistoning like a machine, balls swinging heavy to clap against her cheeks with sharp, echoing slaps that turned her skin a deeper shade of mahogany. 

Her big titties bounced wildly now, smacking together and swaying side to side. Annie’s face twisted into that perfect fucked-out glaze, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, mouth slack as drool pooled at the corner of her full lips, deep, dark skin sheenjng with sweat. Every inch of her looked utterly claimed, sexy as fuck while Papa Smoke wrecked her good. Annie was stupid on it, mind blanking out from the nonstop stretch and fill, her phat lips sucking him in greedily, cream frothing at the base where the joined, trickling down to soak the plug.

“Fuck yeah, take this dick, girl,” Smoke rasped, sweat dripping from his brow into her heaving chest as he hammered away, the wet squelch of her pussy louder than her gasps. His muscles flexed, biceps bulging as he held her aloft, using her body like his personal fuck toy, each thrust snapping her breath away and making her walls spasm around his girth, “so damn wet, gripping me tight, gon’ make you paint daddy whole dick and balls, fuck, this pussy goo—ahhhhh, fuuuck.” 

Annie’s voice came out shaky, trembling, breaking as another wave built fast and fierce, “Papa…I’m gon’ squirt,” Annie warned, the words slurring through gritted teeth, her body tensing in his hold, thighs quivering against his palms while her pussy clenched harder, ready to unleash.

“Don’t tell me, do the shit, push it out on this dick, baby. Go on, push f’me. That’s my gushy pussy, right? I earned that. Push it…uhuh…give Papa that wet and gushy, girl.” 

His words hit her like a spark to dry tinder, Annie’s body obeying before her mind could catch up. She bore down hard, muscles clenching in her belly and thighs, forcing the tension to uncoil from deep within. A sharp, electric jolt ripped through her pelvis first, her pussy contracting in fierce spasms around his plunging shaft, the plug in her ass adding pressure that made everything feel impossibly full and stretched. 

Then, she broke. Annie’s release hit like a floodgate shattering. Clear fluid gushed out from her in forceful spurts, soaking his dick and balls, spraying across his abdomen and dripping down to the sheets below. Her hips bucked in his hold, the sensation a wild mix of relief and exploding all at once. Every nerve lit up, dark thighs trembling uncontrollably. A high, keening moan echoed. 

Smoke didn’t stop. Fuck no. He powered through it, hips snapping forward harder, wet slaps turning even louder as her squirt lubed him up more, making his entry slicker an deeper. 

“That’s it, baby, flood this dick,” Smoke growled, his eyes locked on the mess she made, his own arousal spiking at the sight of her losing control. He angled his thrusts to rub against that spot inside her, prolonging the hush, drawing out more sprays that splashed against his skin while her body shook and quivered. Annie’s mind went hazy, the pleasure bordering on too much, wall fluttering erratically as aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her limp and gasping. 

Smoke eased his throbbing dick free from Annie’s drenched folds with a slick pop, pussy twitching from aftershocks, a trail of her squirt and his pre-cum linking them for a beat before snapping. Smoke leaned over her, lips crashing into hers in a deep, hungry, tongue kiss. Their mouths widened, tongues sliding and tangling with the taste of their own release lingering between them. 

Annie’s hand slid down instinctively, fingers wrapping around his soaked dick. She stroked him slow, feeling the veins pulse under her palm, the head still flared and leaking as she pumped from base to tip, thumb circling the ridge to tease out more of that clear bead. Her other arm looped around his neck to pull him closer, big tits pressing flat against his chest.

Smoke broke the kiss first, nipping at her lower lip, voice rough and satisfied, “Damn, you wet me up, woman.” 

Annie grinned against his mouth, “you always know where to put that dick to make me squirt.” 

Smoke chuckled low, sitting back to take her in. His hands hooked under her knees, spreading her thighs wide, exposing everything—the glossy sheen coating her inner thighs, her puffy pussy lips parted and glistening, and lower, that shiny plug nestled snug between her round cheeks, the base winking up at him. Smoke stared, hunger sharpening his gaze, one hand trailing up her calf to admire how the neon yellow on her toes gleamed in the light. 

“You ready for this, baby?” Smoke whispered, voice dropping thicker, eyes flicking to hers, “Ready for this dick deep in this tight ass? Gon’ fill you up back here, stretch you just right.” 

Annie nodded, biting her lip, her body still humming from the high, ass clenching around the plug in anticipation, “Yeah, Papa…I’m ready. Been waitin’ for it.” 

Smoke grabbed on of her ankles then, lifting it high, his lips brushing feather-like kisses along the arch, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of her skin. He worked his way up, peppering soft presses from her heel to the ball of her foot, sucking gently on her big toe for a second, making her shiver, “Papa’s here, baby,” he soothed, eyes locked on hers, warm but commanding, “Gon’ take it slow, let you get used to me slidin’ in. Breathe for me, okay? You take it so good already with that plug. Now, you gon’ feel me own that hole. 

Smoke’s fingers gripped the base of the plug, twisting it gently as he pulled, the flared end popping free from Annie’s tight ring with a wet, audible suck. Her asshole winked open for a second, a dribble of lube seeping out before it clenched back down, leaving her hole quivering and empty. Annie, gasped, hips bucking slightly, the sudden void making her clench her fists in the sheets.

“Fuck, that felt good comin’ out,” she said, voice husky, eyes heavy-lidded as she watched him. 

Smoke sat the plug aside on the nightstand with a clink, then he reached for the drawer, pulling out a fresh bottle of lube—thick, clear gel that warmer on contact—and a small towel to wide his hands. His dick bobbed heavy between his legs, slick from her pussy, veins thick and prominent, the head swollen and leaking steadily now. 

“Gon’ make this ass mine proper,” Smoke grunted low, squirting a generous dollop into his palm and slathering it over his shaft, stroking himself a few times to coat every inch, the lube making obscene squelching sounds as if mixed with her remnants.

Annie licked her lips, gaze dripping to his dick, then up to his face, “wait, baby…put on that cock ring first. Want you throbbin’ even harder when you slide in.” 

Smoke paused, a smirk tugging at his mouth, and leaned over to the bedside table, fishing out the ring from the clutter of toys and condoms. It was a thick, silicone band, jet black and stretchy, about an inch wide with a subtle ridge rubbing along the inner edge for extra grip. The top part had a smaller loop designed to circle the base of his balls, keeping everything snug and restricted, while the main ring hugged the root of his dick tight. He handed it to her, settling back on his knees, “Go ‘head, baby. Stretch it over me.” 

Annie sat up a bit, her big tits swaying as she took it, warming the silicone between her fingers. She looped the ball ring first. Sliding it down behind his sack, the material snapping lightly against his skin as it settled, pulling his heavy balls forward and low, making them hang fuller, more prominent. Then, she worked the main band over the head of his dick, easing it down the length until it locked around the base like a vice, compressing the spongy tissue just enough to trap the blood, his shaft swelling even girthier kn response. The ridge dug in faintly, a constant pressure that made the veins bulge out more, his dick looking even longer. 

Smoke hissed through his teeth as it settled, the tightness sensing a jolt to his core, a deep building ache that made his dick twitch and pulse harder, precum oozing in a thicker bead from his slit. 

“Shit, grippin’ me good,” Smoke rumbled. Flexing his hips to feel the pull and the way it restricted the flow and amped up every sensation. Like his entire length was on edge, ready to burst but held back. His balls felt heavier too, tugged forward, sensitive to the slightest brush of air. Smoke gave it an experimental stroke, the lube slicking over the ring, and groaned at how the pressure made his top hypersensitive, every glide feeling intensified. 

Annie admired her work, tracing a nail along the stretched band, watching his dick jump, “looks so fuckin’ big like that. Gon’ feel you stretch me wide, Daddy.” 

Satisfied, Smoke moved then, strong hands gripping Annie’s hips and flipping her with ease onto her back at the bed’s edge. He dragged her son until her ass hung off, cheeks spreading naturally over the mattress drop, exposing her puckered hole fully. 

“Legs up baby. Knees to your chest,” Smoke commanded, voice firm but laced with that affectionate drawl. 

Annie obeyed quickly, hooking her arms under her thighs and pulling them high, folding herself open like a present, her phat pussy lips parting above her ass, clit peeking swollen and dark while that asshole winked invitingly below.

Smoke stepped between her spread thighs, one foot on the floor for leverage, the other knee on the bed, towering over her like that. His lubed dick in hand, he pressed the blunt tip right against her rim, rubbing slow circles, smearing the gel around her entrance, feeling the heat of her hole kiss back. The ring at his base made every nudge feel sharper, his head budging insistent but not pushing in yet, just teasing, dipping shallow to let her relax around the pressure. 

“Breathe deep for me, baby. Feel that tip right there? That’s where I’m goin’. Deep as you can take.” 

Annie’s breath hitched sharp, a low whine escaping her throat as that thick tip forced her open. It burned at first, a deep, insistent stretch that made her asshole flutter an clench, trying to push him out even as her body craved more. But the lube smoothed it, turning the ache into a throbbing heat that radiated up her spine, her pussy clenching empty above in sympathy, juices trickling down to mix with the slick at her hole. Fullness bloomed inside her, pressure building like she was being split ski and thorough, every vein on his shaft dragging against her inner ridges as he sank deeper.

“Ooh, Smoke…it’s so big…stretchin’ me so wide,” her voice was thick with need, body trembling under the intensity, nerves firing wild as pleasure edged in, making her clit pulse untouched. 

For Snoke, it was pure fuckin’ heaven. The way her ass gripped him like a hot, velvet fist, tighter than her pussy ever could, sucking at his length with every careful thrust forward. The cock ring bit in at his base, amplifying everything, trapping the blood so his shaft swelled even harder inside her, every ridge and vein hypersensitive to the clench of her walls. Smoke groaned deep, the restriction making his balls draw up tight, aching with the need to bury himself balls deep. 

“Good girl, Annie…that’s my baby, takin’ Papa’s dick so good,” Smoke rumbled, eyes locked on where they joined, mesmerized by the sight of her hole devouring him. Smoke pushed another inch, feeling her yield.

The faded into a delicious fullness that made her hips twitch, wanting him all in, her ass quivering around the invading thickness. Pressure built low in her belly, pussy lips swelling further, clit throbbing as if jealous of the attention below. 

“Suckin’ me in, ain’t you? Fuck, this ass is grippin’ so tight,” Snoke growled, his hands sliding to her cheeks, spreading her wider to watch himself disappear, the sensation like fire coiling in his gut. 

Snoke rocked forward again, easing past the halfway mark, her walls rippling around him, drawing him deeper with involuntary spasms. Sweat beaded on his brow, muscles in his arms flexing as he held back, savoring the drag, the way she fluttered and fought to take him. 

“Yesss, let Papa open this ass up…you doin’ so good, baby.” 

Annie's eyes watered a bit but it was from the overwhelming rush, her body arching as much as the position allowed. Waves of pleasure rolled through her, the fullness pressing against spots inside that makes her gasp and whimper. 

“Deeper, please…feels like you rearrangin’ me,” Annie panted, voice husky, loving the way he filled her completely, every nerve alight. 

Smoke chuckled, thrusting shallow now to loosen her up, the motion sending jolts up his spine, his dick throbbing, “Gon’ fuck you ‘til you screamin’ my name. You look so beautiful like this, all opened up for me, takin’ it like a champ,” Another inch sank in, her hole stretching taut around his girth and he praised her more, words filthy and tender mixed, “There you go, my good girl…Papa’s gon’ make this hole his forever.” 

Smoke folded her up tight, knees to chest, big tits squished between them as her ass lifted higher, that stretched hole fully impaled in his dick. With a deep breath, Smoke pulled back slow, the slick drag of her ass clinging to every inch, lube squelching wet as he withdrew to the tip, her ring fluttering reluctant around the ridge of his crown. Then, he drove in again, bottoming out with a firm slap of his hips to her cheeks, the ring tapping rhythmically against her skin with each thrust, a lewd smack echoing in the bedroom. 

Annie’s ass clenched with each pass, creating a suction that tugged at his skin, making his dick throb harder. His balls tightened with the buildup, the restriction amplifying every sensation until his abs clenched, thighs burning from pleasure coiled low and fierce in his gut, urging him to go harder but holding back to savor the slide. 

Smoke looked down at Annie, his big titty wife all folded and vulnerable, lips parted in a constant moan, pussy glistening above. She looked so damn sexy like that, fucked open and taking him deep, her asshole stretched wide around his girth, the sight making his dick twitch inside her.

“Papa in that ass, baby?” Smoke rasped, voice thick, pulling out slow again, watching her hole try to follow before he sank back in, lube slurping softly around them.

Annie gasped, body shuddering with the fullness, the deep strokes hitting nerves that made her toes flex, “y-yess, Papa…all in my ass,” Annie whimpered.

“Papa making that ass feel good, huh?” Another slow pull-out, then plunge, Smoke’s body buzzing, muscles flexing as he held her folded, the sensation of her tightness making his pulse race.

“Oh, fuck, yes…feels so full, so good stretchin’ me,” Annie panted, her big tits bouncing slightly with each stroke, pussy dripping onto his balls below, the pressure building inside her like a storm. 

The way she bit her lip had Smoke locked on her face, picking up the pace just a fraction, the wet sounds growing louder, “you like big dick in your butt, don’t you?” Smoke pressed, voice dropping low and commanding, hips rolling to bury himself fully, the glide of her insides stroking him perfect. 

“Mmm, love it, Smoke…love that big dick fillin’ my butt,” Annie confessed breathlessly. 

Smoke eased out just enough to reposition. He locked eyes with her, voice dropping to that commanding growl, “hold your ankles, baby. Grip ‘em tight for me.” 

Her hands reached down to wrap around her ankles, pulling her legs wide and back, filing herself deeper. Her phat pussy lips parted more. Smoke leaned back on his knees, hands on her thighs for leverage, admiring how she looked splayed out, big tits heaving.

“Now, Papa ‘bout to go faster. Gon’ fuck this ass open real good, okay? You gotta keep these legs open, Annie. That’s the only way I’m a fuck this ass how you want it, understand? You gotta do as you told to get what you want, baby. Say, yes sir.” 

“Y-yes, Sir,” Annie spoke breathlessly. 

Smoke’s hips snapped forward harder, pace building, each plunge pulling her rim taut around his shaft, the lube letting him slide in and out with obscene slaps, balls swinging to tap her cheeks. The cock ring smacked against her skin louder, that big dick pistoning full length, from tip to base, her insides rippling in protest and pleasure, gripping him like a vice that loosened just enough with every drive. 

One hand shot up to grab a handful of her big titty, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, kneading rough as he pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it firm. His other hand dipped lower, thumb circling her big, phat clit, stroking over it in a firm circle, the nub hard and pulsing under his touch. Annie bucked at the contact, a fresh gush of wetness coating his fingers, her ass clenching down on his dick in response. 

When his thumb pulled back, a thick, slimy trail of her arousal stretched her clit to his skin, glistening in the light, pussy absolutely soaked, juices trailing down to mix with the lube around his base. Smoke’s eyes heated at the sight, his thrusts picking up speed, pounding deeper.

“Damn, baby, you so fuckin’ wet,” his thumb dipped back to swipe through her slick again before returning to rub her clit steady, “yeah, you feelin’ good.” 

The dual assault in her ass and clit sent shocks through her, “yes, Papa…feels fuckin’ amazin’ stretchin’ and fuckin’ me so deep with that big ass dick,” Annie’s walls spasmed around him. 

Smoke’s rhythm shifted, his body coiling like a predator ready to unleash. Smoke released her ankle grip with a firm pat on her thigh, but she kept them hooked tight, legs splayed obscenely, her plush frame pinned open for him. Rising up, Smoke planted his fists on either side of her hips, knuckles digging into the mattress, toes curling for balance as he shifted into that push-up stance, his massive, muscled frame hovering dominant over her softer curves—broad shoulders, flexing, abs rippling under sweat-slicked skin, that thick dick still buried deep in her ass, twitching with anticipation.

“Papa, gonna power through this tight ass. Take every inch of this dick,” Smoke’s hips drew back smooth, pulling halfway out with a slick drag that made her rim flutter,,5$3! He dropped forward, powerful thrusts slamming his full length back in, balls slapping heavy against her ass with a stinging smack. 

The sensation exploded for Annie, that relentless drive hitting deeper, sending jolts up her spine. She was stuck, body locked in place under his bulk, the air punched from her lungs. No words formed, just a fractured gasp escaping her lips, her mouth falling open in silent shock as the pleasure bordered on overwhelm, ass clenching futilely around his big dick.

Smoke didn’t let up, hips pistoning smooth and forceful, each drop of his body driving that thick ass dick deep. His bulky strength pinned her without even touching, the sheer power of his thrusts rocking her tits wildly.

“Breathe through it, Annie,” Smoke rasped, voice steady despite the strain in his clenched jaw, eyes never leaving her face, watching every twitch, every helpless quiver, “you takin’ this dick so good, baby. Feel that burn turn sweet? Yeah, let it build, baby. Papa’s got you…making this ass mine, fill you up ‘til you can’t think straight. All you gon’ do is let me fuck this ass? This my tight–fuckin’–ass, baby? Who this ass belong to—”

“You! Fuuuuck—ssss—Smoke!—nnghhhhh—ahh-ah-ah—”

All she could manage were shards of sound—tiny, broken moans fracturing into whimpers, incoherent hums vibrating from her throat as he fucked her silent, plush body yielding under his torture. The friction built fire in her belly, walls spasming erratically, milking him as he powered on, taking her ass. 

“All quiet and took,” Smoke continued, breath ragged, hips snapping faster, the head of his dick battering her depths, “Just feel it. Moan for Daddy if you can, but I know you deep in it now, thick ass built for this dick—Gon’ make you cum from this alone, watch you bust all over me,” his muscles bulged with the effort, sweat beading down his chest, but Smoke held steady, dominating her completely, turning her into a vessel of raw, wordless ecstasy. 

Smoke sank deeper into her, that tight grip of her ass pulling him under like quicksand, every slide in and out blurring the edges of his control. Smoke grunted low. Lost in the slick drag and the way she yielded and fought back all at once, “fuck, Annie,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice a rough drawl this with pleasure, “this ass got me hooked…grippin’ my dick up tight, baby, you take big dick in the ass just how I knew you would…fuck, look at this shit…” 

Below him, Annie’s body betrayed her in the best way, her pussy clenching on empty air, untouched but alive with fire. The pressure built in her core, a tidal wave she couldn’t hold, her clit pulsing hard without a single brush. Annie couldn’t wrap her head around it—him buried only in her ass, pounding steady, and here she was, teetering on the edge of release, juices gathering hot and insistent. Her thighs trembled in her own hook, neon yellow toes curling into the soles of her feet as the first warning spasms hit. 

Smoke caught the shift in her eyes, that wide, desperate gleam and adjusted quick, hands sliding up to brace firm on the backs of her thighs, prsssing them wider, folding her deeper into herself. His hips kept rolling, powerful and relentless, slamming that full length home with each thrust, the cock ring bumping her, teasing without mercy. The bed creaked under them, his bulky frame driving down, muscles bunching in his arms and chest as he held her open, fucking her tight ass with a precision that bordered on savage—deep strokes that stretched her rim wide, filled her to bursting. 

Eyes locked tight on hers, dark and fierce, Smoke wasn’t messing around, reading every flicker on her face like a map to her breaking point, “what’s that look, baby?” He rasped, breath uneven, hips snapping forward again, balls tapping with each descent all heavy and sticky with lube and her juices, “you feelin’ it coming? Tell Big Daddy what’s got you shakin’ like that…”

Annie’s mouth worked but the words tangled, coming out in fractured bursts, “S-S-Smoke, oh, God, I’m—gonna…I’m gonna…s-s-squirt,” her voice a high, breathless whine, barely audible over the slick sounds of him claiming her. Annie arched as much as she could under his weight, pussy lips quivering, the convulsion turning to a flood she couldn’t stop, her whole body tensing like a bowstring. 

Smoke grinned feral through his clenched jaw, thumbs digging into her soft flesh to hold her steady, “yeah? From this dick in your ass? That’s my girl—let it go, Annie. Squirt all over me, soak me wit’ all that pussy juice while I tear this up,” his thrusts picked up, relentless, the head of his dick grinding her depths, pushing her right over as her warning disabled into a sharp cry, her release hitting hard and sudden. 

Smoke’s voice dropped low and commanding, cutting through the haze of her building storm like a lifeline, his words wrapping around her as tight as his grip on her thighs, “That’s my good girl, squirt all over me, you holdin’ that cum in my pussy now push it out, let it out on me, girl, I’m a keep fucking this ass, I know that,” Smoke drove in harder, the thick base of his dick stretching her rim with every plunge, the ring at his root grinding against her, sparking those empty clenches into overdrive. 

Annie’s body shattered under the pressure, her pussy contracting wild and fierce, the first hot gush erupting from her in a forceful spray that arced up, splattering his abs and the sheets below, “Ooooooo, FUCK, Smoke! Oh lawwdddd—I’m squirtin’!” Annie cried out, voice cracking high in that lilt, juices pulsing out in rhythmic bursts, drenching her thighs and his heavy balls slapping against her. Smoke was glossed up with all that liquid that shot from her pussy. Annie had droplets of it rolling over her dark skin. 

Smoke watched it all, eyes burning into hers, “Hell yeah, look at you go, baby…my dirty lil’ squirter soakin’ everything like a good wife s’ppose to. Keep cummin’, baby, I know you got more in that phat pussy,” his muscles flexed, holding her folded and exposed, letting her ride the peak while he claimed her ass, the wet slaps echoing louder over her gasps. 

Then, with a forceful pull, Smoke eased his throbbing length free from her ass, the sudden emptiness hitting her like a shockwave, her ring fluttering open, greedy and denied, sending a fresh surge through her pussy. Another jet shot out, stronger this time, spraying across his chest as she bucked, the sensation of him withdrawing amplifying the aftershocks, her walls spasming hard on nothing. 

“Shit—S-Smoke, pullin’ outta me like t-that…more’s comin’! Fuuuucckkkk,” Annie whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily, the flood unrelenting. 

Quick as lightning, Smoke’s hand cracked down on her ass cheek, a sharp pop that stung hot and made her yelp, the flesh jiggling under the impact, “stay still, girl—Daddy gon’ clean you up,” Smoke growled, the dominance in his Mississippi drawl thick as cold grits, bending his broad frame forward without missing a beat. His mouth descended on her drenched pussy, tongue diving in flat and broad, lapping up the mess with hungry, slurping strokes that dragged from her pussy hole to her swollen clit. 

Smoke sucked her folds into his mouth, tongue swirling through the slick release, tasting her sharp and sweet cleaning every inch with flicks and probes, “Mmm, fuck, you taste like heaven after a squirt,” Smoke muttered against her pussy lips, the vibrations shooting through her sensitive flesh as he delved deeper, nose bumping her clit while his lips puckered at her entrance, sealing around her hole, drawing out more creamy wetness with greedy pulls that made her eyes cross. Annie’s hands flew to his head, fingers gripping coarse curls, thighs quivering. 

Smoke’s tongue pulled away from her soaked pussy with a final, greedy suck, leaving her glistening and twitching in the aftermath. Without a word, his eyes locked on hers. Smoke shifted his hips forward, the fat head of his dick pressing against her still-gaping ass. He pushed in slow at first, the thick shaft sliding through her slick ring, stretching her wide again as she gasped, her body yielding to the familiar burn. Inch by inch, he sank deep, burning himself balls deep. 

One hand planted firm on the back of her thigh, keeping her ass elevated and open for him. His other hand snaked between them, thumb finding her swollen clit, rubbing firm circles over the hard nub. Smoke didn’t ease in. Once seated fully, he started thrusting sharp and relentless, hips snapping forward to drive his full length into her ass with punishing force, pulling out his enough to slam back in, the wet smack of skin on skin filling the bedroom. 

Her big tits bounced wildly across her chest. The bed rocked under them, frame knocking hard against the wall as his pace turned savage, muscles in his arms and back bulging. 

“Yes, Papa, push that big dick in me—YES! Feels so good, mmm, yes, you fuck all my holes so fuckin’ good—make that dick cum, YES!” 

Smoke stayed silent now. Only grunts escaped his lips—deep, guttural sounds that vibrated through his chest as he pounded her ass without mercy. His thumb pressed harder on her clit, feeling her pulse throb under his touch. Skin sweat-slicked and hot to the touch as he chased his release, the pressure building in his balls, heavy and full, ready to unload deep inside of her. Her praises fueled the fire as her tits jiggled erratically, body trembling on the edge of another peak from the dual assault.

“Mmm, that big dick throbbin’ inside…you fuck me better than any man, love how you make my ass grip that big dick…”

“Don’t stop, Smoke—balls slapping my ass got me leakin’ everywhere. You my king, poundin’ this ass right, Daddy!” 

“Fuck, baby, I can feel you swellin’…give it to me…shoot that nut deep…that’s my man…my dick…I’m yours to fuck…yes…nnghhh…oh, Smoke, yes—”

Smoke’s thrusts turned even more ferocious. That dick was throbbing like iron inside Annie, heavy with a load he was about to bust. Smoke grabbed her thighs roughly, forcing her legs up higher, her knees hooked up near her ears like earmuffs, holding her in half and exposing every inch of her. Her pussy lips parted obscenely as he drilled into her ass with savage, piston-like strokes, the head of his dick battering deep, stretching her ring to its limit with each punishing plunge. 

Annie’s body quivered uncontrollably, the pressure building on her stomach until it shattered, her orgasm ripping through her like lightning, pussy leaking a fresh gush of slick cum down her crack, soaking his balls as they slapped against her. Annie moaned loud and broken, whimpers spilling from her lips in a frantic song, big titties mashed against her knees.

A deep growl rumbled from Smoke’s throat, his eyes locking onto hers wildly, “Baby, babe, I’m a fuckin’ nut in this ass—I’m’bout to fill this ass up, fuuuck—say my fuckin’ name, say who fuckin’ you like this.” 

Annie’s voice cracked through the haze of pleasure, “Elijah, fuck, Elijah, yes—you fuckin your wife like this. Can’t nobody fuck me like you do, Papa…”

Erik fucking his roomate PART ONE

Erik fucking his roomate PART TWO

The Reader is secretly in love with Erik

Erik having sex with his girl on her period

Reader telling Erik "I wanna have your baby please."

Erik fucking the Reader in the mirror and telling her, "Where you going? Take this dick!"

Erik secretly buying his girl stuff from her wishlist

The reader face-riding Erik and Erik holding the reader’s hips down and overstimulating her/ Erik telling the reader “lemme dig in that pussy one time”

Erik making eye contact with the reader while fingering her on his lap and the reader can’t take it

Erik being all soft and comforting to the reader while on a flight. She’s afraid of heights.

Erik begging plus size reader to sit that phat pussy on his face while he talks all nasty about her generous curves.

Reader avoiding Erik because he got rough with her after play fighting/having intense rough sex.

Reader attempting to break up with Erik.

Reader being intimate with Erik for the first time after being in an abusive relationship.

Reader playing hard to get with Erik.

Erik is the student and reader is the professor.

Erik giving his daughter the talk about her first period because her mom (reader) is away on a business trip

Erik’s groomsmen are panicking because his fiancé is at the door when the room is full of strippers

Reader working in retail dealing with a rude customer and Erik is a regular who steps in to put the customer in their place.

Readers long time crush, Erik Stevens, knocks on her door dressed as a pizza delivery stripper and he doesn’t realize he has the wrong address until it’s too late.

Thigh riding Erik.

Erik shaves the Reader.

Erik telling you how pretty that pussy is.

Erik helping the reader with morning sickness.

Erik getting the readers hair wet after she spent all day in the salon getting it done and she flips out on him.

Reader riding the fuck out of Erik’s dick. 

Erik and Reader having a one night stand that WASN’T supposed to happen.

Erik being the reader’s bully when they were kids but that changed when he sees her in later years.

Erik and reader having sex for the first time since their baby

Erik and reader broke down in the middle of nowhere

The reader finding out she is pregnant so she tries to leave but Erik finds out anyway.

Erik finding out that T’Challa or M’baku being the readers first.

Drive in movie date with Erik.

Erik walking in on the reader masturbating and she tries to cover herself with embarrassment

The reader is nervous to bring Erik to meet her family because she takes care of her mom and a sibling with special needs.

Y/N having her cochlear implants turned on and hearing Erik’s voice for the first time.

Erik is a sub and Reader is a dom PART ONE

Erik is a sub and Reader is a dom PART TWO

Erik dating a girl with an old soul.

Reader saying in the middle of an argument, “I mean, look at me! why would Erik Stevens want to be with me?!”

Fun/humor sex with Erik. 

Reader/ OC trying to keep her orgasms on the inside because she doesn’t like how she sounds.

Erik Jill Scott Imagine

The reader is a best selling author and her book is about all her past lovers (Erik is one of them)

The Reader is a virgin and Erik gives her oral turning her out/Erik dry humping The Reader playfully

Erik and Reader are best friends and Reader is the best freaky love PART ONE

Erik and Reader are best friends and Reader is the best freaky love PART TWO

Erik cuddling with Reader while she is on her period/having sex with Reader while she is on her period.

Reader is a high school art teacher and she is fucking Mr. Killmonger who is a history teacher.

Reader and Erik’s honeymoon.

M’Baku and Erik have the pleasure of sharing a woman

Reader and Erik take a bae-cation after Reader has her baby. She is having breast pains from breastfeeding so Erik suggests soothing her.

Erik nurturing reader after she found a lump in her breast.

Erik and his girl have a threesome with OC

The Reader and Erik’s friends are trying to set them both up on a blind date but the catch is…they’re already dating.

Erik and Reader have a 16 year old daughter who starts being disrespectful towards them PART ONE

Erik and Reader have a 16 year old daughter who starts being disrespectful towards them PART TWO

Erik and Reader haven't had sex in a while because of Reader's insecurities

Erik is into a lot of verbal talk during sex but his girl is too shy and embarrassed to do it so she moans instead.

Erik and Reader are in a Dom/Sub relationship where everyone knows, the Reader is being bratty and Erik punishes her in front of their friends but Reader has a Voyeurism kink and that was her plan.

Erik always rubbing the readers belly, because she loves it more than she does.

Erik fucking plus size OC and he is obsessed with how wet her pussy is/ Erik fucking plus size OC in college and she wants to do it with the lights off.

Erik asking plus size Reader out on a date for the first time.

The Reader getting jealous because their baby girl favors Erik more than her.

Erik calls Reader while she's at work and he hears one of her male coworkers in the background.

Dominant Erik sees his ex gf at a pool party

Erik teaching his daughter to love her dark skin.

How would Erik react to his girl twerking in front of his face to annoy him ?

It's Erik's birthday and his girl suprises him

Assassin Erik and his girl London make up for lost time

Massage Therapist Erik

Supermarket run with the kids and a guy starts talking to you and making you laugh. Your husband, Erik, finds out about it.

Erik reminiscing on the time he had some good wet pussy from a plus size baddie. Based off of Cardi B saying how fat girls have the best pussy.

Erik walks in on his homeboys sister stepping out of the shower and she is embarrassed/ has a huge crush on him PART ONE

Erik walks in on his homeboys sister stepping out of the shower and she is embarrassed/ has a huge crush on him PART TWO

Erik convinces his girl he can make her cum multiple times ONE

Erik convinces his girl he can make her cum multiple times TWO

Erik has a foot fetish

Erik's girl gets drunk and starts flirting with other men. Erik has to teach her a lesson

Erik deep-throating his girl

OC is shy and a virgin and Erik makes her his sub

The Reader is nervous to tell Erik she is bi ONE

The Reader is nervous to tell Erik she is bi TWO

Nasty College Erik

one

two

three

four

five

Crazy Erik Series

one

two

three

four

five

Office Bae Erik Series

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

Rapper Erik Series

one

two

three

four

Daddy Dom Erik and His Princess

one

two

three

Sugar Daddy Erik Series

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

Pornstar Erik Series

one

two

three

Incubus Erik Series

one

two

three

Couples Getaway/Breakaway Series

one

two

three

flashback one

four

five

flashback two

six

headcannon

seven

eight

nine

ten

Fae and Vampire Erik Series

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

Species: Prototype Series:

one

Mirror Mirror Series:

one

two

three

prequel

four

Neighbors to Lovers Series:

one

two

three

four

HBCU Confession Series:

one

two

three

four

A Night Forgotten Series:

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

Say My Name Series:

one

two

three

four

five

six

Kinktober/Spooky SZN Fics:

Gamer Erik humiliates his girl (SpookySZN)

The Dancer In The Window (Halloween Smut Challenge)

Halloween Roleplay with Erik

Species: Prototype (Alien Erik)

Rise Of The Lycan (Lycan Erik)

Soulmate (Werewolf Erik Imprinting)

When The Wolfbane Blooms (Red Riding Hood Inspired)

Don't Look Under The Bed ONE

Don't Look Under The Bed TWO

The Obsession I Created

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 (XXX) | Chapter 3 |

Parings: Dom!Smoke | Dom!Stack | Bratty Sub!OC | Smoke x Stack x OC | Smoke x OC | Stack x OC

Warnings: 18+ | Time Travel (1930's to 2025) | Sub x Dom Dynamic | Possessiveness | Jealousy |

His Beloved

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 (XXX) |

Parings: Dom!Smoke | Dom!Stack | Bratty Sub!OC | Smoke x Stack x OC | Smoke x OC | Stack x OC

Warnings: 18+ | Arranged Marriage | Vampires | Sub x Dom Dynamic |

One Shots

Don’t Talk To Me (XXX)

Parings: Dom!Smoke | Smoke x Reader | Bratty Sub!Reader

Warnings: 18+ | Sub x Dom Dynamic | Toxic Relationship | Possessiveness | Jealousy | Overstimulation

Please Forgive Me (XXX)

Part 1 | Part 2

Parings: Dom!Smoke | Smoke x Reader | Sub!Reader

Warnings: 18+ | Religious Kink | Sub x Dom Dynamic | ROUGH Sex | BDSM | Overstimulation | Spanking | Orgasm Denial

Please, Baby? (XXX)

Parings: Dom!Smoke | Smoke x Reader | Sub!Reader

The speaker thumped against the cluttered dresser, vibrations humming through every inch of Aaliyah’s room. Loose clothes were everywhere. A carry-on half-zipped. Shoes tossed across the rug. Outfits draped over the desk chair and mirror. It was chaos—but a cute, girly chaos. Sanaa was behind her, hands working fast. Her nails clicked against the comb as she gathered Aaliyah’s curls into a soft, high updo. She left a few spirals loose to kiss the sides of her face and neck, swooping the edges into delicate baby hairs with her pinky and a bit of edge control.

Baby we tried to fight it…we all been there some days…thought i needed something else and acted like I was okay…we just had to work it out…and baby, I needed space…ain’t nobody ‘round here on your level you’re so far away…

Aaliyah hit the high notes like she meant ‘em, holding her phone like a mic, eyes closed. Sanaa laughed behind her, doing backup vocals while pinning the last piece into place.

“Girl, you not gon’ be able to sing once you out with Jordan tonight,” Sanaa teased, “He gon’ have you losing your breath.”

“Please.” Aaliyah smiled but tried to play it cool, “He better act like he got some sense tonight. Or I’ll just Uber home and call it a day.”

Sanaa raised her brows in the mirror, “And have Erik spazz out?” 

“Exactly why I need to look good,” Aaliyah said, twirling a curl around her finger, “If I’m gonna have to fight for my date, I wanna at least be fine doin’ it.”

“You so STUPID!” 

The girls laughed again as Sanaa fluffed the final piece into place. The style was soft, romantic, and full of volume—her curls pinned up just right, with a few framing tendrils that made her look ethereal.

“You cute as hell,” Sanaa said, stepping back to admire her work, “Like…damn near ethereal. Floatin’.”

“Okay, floatin’!” Aaliyah grinned, turning her head side to side in the mirror, “All I need is that lil’ lip tint—what’s the name of it? The peach one.”

Sanaa nodded, already walking toward the door, “Yeah, hold on. It’s in my room—I’ll grab it.”

The music kept playing. Aaliyah kept dancing in the mirror. Sanaa opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Her body still warm from the energy in the room, hair swaying across her upper back, jeans riding low on her waist. That shirt of hers still hugging her curves, still rising a little too high when she moved.

She was humming the lyrics under her breath—

Like you…like you…like you, ooh…

Not knowing that just a few steps down the hall…Erik was about to stop fighting it. And he was about to show her exactly what he meant when he said she was a problem.

Sanaa didn’t mean to take her time, but she did.

She bent over slow when she reached for that tiny-ass lip tint. Erik was nowhere in sight. She assumed he was still in his room, probably back on that game again or scrolling through something that didn’t include her. But it didn’t stop her from glancing toward his cracked door as she passed. Didn’t stop her from swinging her hips just a little harder, letting that tantalizing denim ride low. She grabbed the tint, popped the cap, and started to slick it on in the hall. Thought maybe she’d linger long enough to catch his shadow in the doorway. But nothing.

Not until her phone buzzed.

She glanced down.

A text from Erik.

Then the photo dropped in.

Her heart stuttered. Fingers froze. Lips parted mid-swipe. The pic loaded slow—not because of Wi-Fi, but because the universe knew what it was doing. Knew how to make her squirm. He was laid back on his bed. Dark sheets beneath him. His thick thighs stretched out, sweatpants loose but not loose enough. The fabric clung like it knew it had a job—to hug that dick and show out. And baby…it showed out.

Sanaa’s breath caught.

That print was loud. The outline of him long and thick, stretching down the left side, pushing heavy through the fabric like it was trying to make contact. You could see the whole thing, even the way the tip curved a little toward his hip. A thick, high rise of heat — full, unmistakably real. That kind of print that made your mouth water and your knees forget how to function.

And he knew what he was doing.

Because the waistband was tugged down just low enough to show the soft trail of hair leading there. That little line that had her thighs pressing together every damn time he walked around shirtless.

The next text slid in.

Erik: You sure you can handle this dick, slut?

No emoji. No cute follow-up. Just that.

Sanaa blinked. Felt heat crawl up her chest. Her thighs clenched and her pussy pulsed, fast and hot like it was answering for her before her brain could catch up.

Another text.

Erik: I know you think you grown…but you keep testing me. You want daddy to stretch that lil pussy out, huh?

She swallowed hard. Backed into the wall. Still staring at the screen like it was hypnotic. Like the print itself had a grip on her. 

Then he sent another. This one a close-up. A zoomed crop of just the bulge. You could see the ridge of the head now. Thick and proud, fighting through the fabric like it needed air. She could imagine exactly what it would feel like, dragging over her lips. The weight of it. The warmth. The slight curve. The way his dick would hit her deep, then deeper, making her gasp before she even realized he was all the way in. She squeezed her thighs again. Pressed the gloss tube against her lips just to keep from letting out a sound.

Another text.

Erik: You gon’ let me fuck that attitude off your face? Or you still wanna play?

She didn’t type back. Didn’t trust herself. Her fingers hovered. She thought about sending a cute reply. A selfie. A smart-ass remark.

But she couldn’t stop staring.

Another ping.

Erik: Slide them jeans off. Right now. Take a pic of them panties you tryna keep dry.

Another beat.

Erik: Matter fact…pull em to the side. Let me see what I’m finna ruin.

Sanaa’s whole body prickled. The heat between her legs surged so fast it scared her. Her panties already damp, already clinging. And she knew if she took them off, that wetness would leave a trail down her thighs. Her hand shook as she reached for her waistband. Phone still in the other. Her reflection in the mirror looked flushed, guilty, wrecked. And all she’d done was read his texts. All she’d done was look at the print of that dick.

Erik sent one more.

Erik: You takin too long, Bri. Want me to come get it for you?

She hesitated. Not long. Just long enough to decide she was gonna be bad about it. Sanaa stood there in the hallway, one hip leaned against the wall, phone in her hand like it weighed too much. Her other hand dipped slow, smooth, hooking into the waist of her jeans and easing them down over her hips. Not all the way. Just enough. She let the denim bunch at the top of her thighs, soft curves spilling above the waistband, brown skin glowing under the hallway light. Her panties were black —thin, silky, clinging to her fat pussy like they knew how good she looked. The outline was obscene. The damp spot even worse. That pretty little pussy already soaked, lips full and pressed up tight behind the fabric, looking like it was begging for attention.

But she didn’t pull ‘em to the side. Didn’t spread shit. Didn’t give him what he wanted. She snapped the pic like that. Jeans mid-thigh. Panties stretched tight. A flash of her hand at her stomach, holding the phone down at an angle that showed everything but what he was asking for.

Still teasing. Still playing. And that was the point.

She hit send, pulled her jeans back up slow, let them hug her again like nothing happened, and walked her ass back into Aaliyah’s room. The door creaked open and Aaliyah was in the bathroom already, face close to the mirror, blending out her contour like she was late for a photo shoot. She had her robe tied loose, lashes half-on, and was already rambling like her best friend wasn’t spiraling inside.

“Ugh, I shoulda told Jordan ten minutes later,” she complained, “He always pullin up early like I don’t need a full beat.”

Sanaa gave a tight smile, “You look fine.”

Aaliyah scoffed, “Bitch, duh. But I wanna look good. Like, ‘can I suck your dick in the car before we get there’ good.”

Sanaa let out a short breath through her nose, pacing slowly toward the edge of the bed. She sat down, careful, like if she moved too fast, her body might give her away. Because she was nervous now. Heart tapping faster. Mouth dry. Stomach aching in that weird, fluttery way, like something was lowkey crawling behind her navel. Because Jordan pulling up meant Aaliyah would be leaving. And if Aaliyah left…she’d be alone in the apartment.

With him.

With Erik.

With that dick print still burned into her screen.

With that last text still hanging in the air.

Her phone buzzed again. She snatched it quick, face tilted away from the bathroom, thumb opening the thread before she could change her mind.

Erik: That lil’ drip don’t scare me, Bri.

Shit look perfect. Fat ass pussy lookin like it need to be ate through the fabric.

She felt her breath catch. Spine straightening. Another one came through right after.

Erik: You got all that pussy sittin up pretty and you still playin like I won’t put you on ya back and feed. I’ma lick it till you cry, slut. Then fuck you so deep you forget your name.

Her legs crossed tight. She folded over just a little, pretending to reach for something in her bag. In truth, she just needed to breathe. She could feel the heat rising again, thick between her thighs. Her panties clinging worse than before. Every word from him sending sparks through her chest, straight down her belly.

She whimpered under her breath.

Low. Soft.

Her thighs squeezed again.

Aaliyah’s voice floated from the bathroom, still talking shit about Jordan’s playlist and how he always played the same Gunna song on repeat. Sanaa barely heard her. She was staring at her screen like it had her under a spell. Her lips parted, breathing shaky, one hand pressed flat against her stomach like she could hold it all in. But she couldn’t. She wanted him bad. Bad enough her whole body was pulsing for it.

Sanaa felt her phone buzz again.

Another text.

She knew it was him before she even looked. Her hands were already shaking. The ache between her legs had gone from something soft to something deep. Her whole body felt wired, charged, too aware of the man just a few steps away behind that bedroom door. Erik wasn’t teasing anymore. He was taunting now. And she was the one who started it. She sat on the edge of the bed while Aaliyah kept rambling from the bathroom about lashes and lip combos. Sanaa barely heard a word. All she could focus on was that little arrow in the corner of her screen.

Incoming video from Erik. She tapped it. And baby…that shit opened like a floodgate. 

Erik was in his room. Lights low. The TV in the background still glowing, 2K music humming faint under it, but all the attention was on him. He stood in front of his full-length mirror, one hand holding the phone low, filming himself from the perfect angle. His tank was lifted halfway up with his other hand, exposing his hard stomach, deep-cut abs flexed, muscles twitching every time he moved. Locs hanging in his face, jaw tight like he was trying not to say what he was really thinking.

Then he gripped it.

Right through the fabric of his grey joggers, his hand wrapped around that thick ass dick like it belonged on display. Slow. Purposeful. He tugged at the base, squeezing through the material, and it only made that dick print bolder. It rose up heavy. You could see the whole length, thick from the root, wide and mean, curving slightly as it swelled against the soft cotton. The shape of it clear as day. That type of dick that made you question if you were even built for it. The kind that pushed back. That moved when he touched it. It jumped once in his pants when he flexed, and she gasped. Couldn’t stop herself. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes low in the mirror. Then he looked into the camera, and that’s when it hit her in the chest.

That stare.

Dark. Calm. Possessive.

Like he could see right through her. He said nothing in the video. Didn’t have to. Because that look said it all. Look said: You wanna play, baby girl? Bet. He kept rubbing that dick through his pants, slow strokes that showed just how long and heavy he was. The camera dipped a little lower — not too much, just enough to catch the way the fabric stretched tight over the tip, swollen and pulsing, like it was trying to punch through.

And then the video ended. Just like that.

Sanaa was trembling.

A mess.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, like the heat in her panties had become unbearable. Her pussy was slick, no, wet. That good wet. Sticky. Her thighs pressed together in a panic and it only made it worse. She wanted to squirm. To grind. To touch. But Aaliyah was still in the bathroom. Still talking. Still moments from walking out and leaving Sanaa completely alone.

With him.

Another message popped through.

Erik:Yeah you still playin’. Drippin for me already, huh? But you not ready. Not for this dick. Not for what I’ma do when I get my hands on that lil pussy.

She whimpered again. This time, too loud.

Aaliyah paused, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Sanaa choked out, clearing her throat, “Just… stomach cramp.”

“Mmm. Prolly hungry. You be forgetting to eat.”

Sanaa didn’t answer. Her head was down. Hair falling around her face as she clutched her phone to her chest, her other hand pressing down hard against her stomach, trying to soothe the ache that wasn’t from hunger. She needed to get it together. Fast. Because Erik wasn’t letting up.

Aaliyah spun once in front of her mirror, lips glossy, curls pinned up in a soft, coiled halo. Her shoulders were bare, dusted in cocoa shimmer, the neckline of her sweater dress dipping just enough to be flirty but still dinner-appropriate.

“Okay, okay,” she said, turning to Sanaa. “Be honest. Is it givin’?”

Sanaa looked her up and down from the bed, chin in her hand, “It’s givin’,” she nodded, “Soft serve caramel dream. You good.”

Aaliyah grinned, “Thank you, bitch.”

Then—

Knock knock.

They both froze.

“Oh God,” Aaliyah muttered, grabbing her compact, “That’s him.”

Another knock, this one firmer.

Then Erik’s deep voice called from down the hall: “I got it.”

Aaliyah’s eyes widened in alarm, “No, no. Sanaa—go with him! Make sure he don’t try nothin’. You know how he is!”

Sanaa stood, already feeling the heat crawl up the back of her neck, “Ain’t my job to babysit—”

“Sanaa,” Aaliyah whined, eyes pleading.

She rolled her eyes, but her feet were already moving. Each step down the hallway made her skin feel tighter, her chest heavier. And there he was, already unlocking the front door, joggers slung low on his hips, body radiating that heavy, hot quiet he always wore when he didn’t like something.

That door creaked open like a challenge. Then came him.

Jordan. 

Tall. 6’1”, maybe 6’2”. Warm bronze skin, lined-up fade with neat braids tied back. Sharp cheekbones, a watch that said money but humble. Button-up and slacks. Smooth smile with a dimple just beneath his left cheek.

Sanaa clocked all of it in one sweep.

He stepped forward, “Hey,” he greeted, voice low, polite, Then he turned to Erik, “You must be Erik. Jordan Taylor.”

He extended a hand. Erik stared at it like it was a dare. Then took it. Not a shake. A squeeze. Sanaa saw the subtle flex of Erik’s forearm. How Jordan held it, calm, not backing down. The silence between them was louder than the knock had been.

Erik’s voice came like gravel, “You pick her up, you bring her back. Same way.”

Jordan gave a single nod, “Of course. Got her the whole night.”

Erik’s jaw ticked, “You better.”

Jordan looked at her, expression shifting softer, “You must be Sanaa?”

She tilted her head, smiling just enough, “Guilty.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said with ease.

And then Aaliyah appeared. The effect was instant. Jordan’s whole face softened. Eyes swept over her like he forgot how to blink.

“Damn,” he exhaled, “You look…”

Aaliyah laughed, touched his arm, “You too.”

They left out together, light on their feet. Jordan’s hand brushed Aaliyah’s lower back as she stepped ahead of him, laughing at something he said under his breath. She looked like she knew she was the main character. Like the city lights outside were hers to walk into.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence settled.

Sanaa stood near the arm of the couch, phone still in hand, pulse tickin’ too fast in her neck. The soft glow from the lamp cast long shadows on the floor, but Erik stood out like a damn silhouette. Still in that tank top. Still barefoot. Still brooding. He was by the window now. Arms crossed over that thick chest, jaw set. His locs hung just enough to shadow his eyes, but she didn’t need to see ’em to feel it. That look was already on her. Slowly, he turned. His stare dragged over her like it had weight. And Sanaa—she didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just held it. Her lips parted. Barely. But nothing came out. The tension between them was sharp. Thick. Like it could be pulled apart and tied around her throat.

Erik’s eyes dropped once. To her mouth. Then lower. Then back up. Still not a word. And just when she thought he might speak—might finally say some slick shit to push her over—he turned.

Walked off without a glance.

Broad back disappearing down the hallway. Heavy steps. Calm like a storm moving in. Sanaa just stood there, breath shallow, thighs pressed tight, heart knocking.

Then her phone buzzed. And she knew—he wasn’t done

Erik:  I’ma fuck my name into that pussy.

Erik’s door was shut.

That alone made her nerves scream.

Sanaa walked past it slow, barefoot on the hardwood, every step deliberate like the apartment might hear her thinking too loud. The living room felt different now. Too quiet. Too charged. Like the air itself was waiting on something to pop off. She didn’t look at his door when she passed it. Didn’t dare. But her body felt it anyway. The heat coming from behind that wood. The weight of him on the other side, knowing she was there. Knowing she was alone now.

She slipped into her room and shut the door softly behind her.

Click.

The sound landed heavy.

She leaned back against it for a second, eyes closed, chest rising and falling too fast. Her phone was in her hand, screen dark. No texts. No commands. No permission. And that almost made it worse. She peeled her clothes off slow. Jeans first, sliding them down her hips, stepping out of them like she had all the time in the world. Her panties were already damp, clinging in that needy way she hated and loved at the same time. She left them on. On purpose.

She pulled on an oversized tee. Old. Soft. A vintage rock band shirt that used to belong to somebody else, sleeves stretched, hem falling mid-thigh. It slipped off one shoulder when she moved, exposing smooth brown skin and the strap of her bra. The fabric brushed against her nipples every time she breathed and they were already tight, already sensitive, already betraying her. She sat on the edge of the bed and bounced her knee, restless. Hands fidgeting. Fingers digging into her thigh, then her stomach, then her chest like she didn’t know where to put them.

Her body felt loud. Her pussy felt louder.

A deep ache sat between her legs, low and constant, not sharp but heavy. Like something was pressing from the inside out. Like she was full of anticipation instead of anything solid. Her thighs pressed together without her telling them to, the slick heat between them making her suck in a breath through her teeth.

She’d been waiting for this. That truth settled in her chest and didn’t move.

Waiting since the first time she caught him watching her from across the room. Waiting since the first time his voice dropped when he said her name. Waiting through every almost-touch, every too-long stare, every moment she pretended she wasn’t thinking about how he’d feel on top of her. Inside her. Over her. Making her behave.

This was her moment. And she was scared as hell.

Not scared of him. Scared of herself. Of how bad she wanted to walk down that hall, open his door, and offer herself up just like he said. Knees soft. Head tilted. Mouth ready.

She stood up. Her heart thudded hard, heavy, like it was trying to talk her out of it and failing. She smoothed the shirt down, pushed her shoulders back, lifted her chin. Took a breath that didn’t steady her at all.

Then she walked to her bedroom door. Her hand wrapped around the knob. Warm. Slightly slick.

She opened it.

And he was right there.

Close.

Too close.

Sanaa gasped before she could stop herself. The sound caught in her throat, sharp and soft all at once. Her body reacted faster than her mind. Chest jumping. Thighs tightening. That ache flaring hot and needy. Erik stood in the hallway like he’d been waiting the whole time. Locs loose around his face. His presence filled the space between them instantly, heavy and undeniable. His eyes dropped to her shoulder, the way the shirt slipped, the bare skin offered up without her meaning to.

Then his gaze lifted. Locked on hers. Her breath shook. She didn’t step back.

The door behind her was still open. Her room exposed. Her bed visible over her shoulder. Everything about her right there for him to take in. And the silence between them was thick enough to choke on.

She swallowed.

He didn’t touch her. Not yet. But the way he moved toward her felt like contact all the same.

Erik stepped in close. One step. Another. Measured. Intentional. His shoulders filled the narrow space and the quiet hum of the hall seemed to fade under the weight of him. She backed up without thinking, breath catching low in her chest, until her spine met the cool wall.

He kept walking.

Not rushing. Not crowding her clumsily. Just closing in at a pace that said he already knew she wasn’t going anywhere. His eyes locked on hers the entire time, that low heat building the longer neither of them spoke.

Sanaa felt her pulse throb at the base of her throat. Erik lifted his arms, planted his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head, and that simple motion swallowed the rest of the hallway. The muscles in his forearms flexed. His scent curled into the tiny pocket of space between them. She could feel the warmth coming off his chest even though they weren’t touching.

A small, stunned breath slipped out of her.

He didn’t move closer. He didn’t lean all the way in. He didn’t even let his body graze hers. He just stood there, caging her in, staring down at her like he was deciding what to do with a temptation he had tried too long to ignore. The silence stretched tight. Heat wound through her ribs. Sanaa lifted her chin a little, eyes meeting his with the same guarded intensity he came in with, but it didn’t hold. Not against the way he looked at her. Not against the quiet storm rolling behind his eyes. Her composure began to soften. The edges of it loosened. Her lips parted. Her gaze slipped from his eyes to his mouth, then back up again.

Erik saw every shift. Every flicker.

His chest rose slow, fell slow, like he was working to keep himself steady. The lights overhead cast a warm glow over his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the tightness around his eyes where control sat heavy. His height boxed her in. His presence pressed against her without a single point of contact. Sanaa’s breath quickened. Not frantic. Just…aware. Aware of him. Aware of the heat rising low in her stomach. Aware of the subtle ache forming before he ever laid a finger on her. Her back stayed flat against the wall. Her thighs eased together for no reason except the way he looked at her.

His eyes dipped. Slow. Deliberate. Down her face, over her lips, then back to her gaze like he wanted to see if she’d break.

She did. Just a little.

Her lashes lowered in a slow blink. Her breathing deepened. Her lips stayed parted. Her heartbeat pulsed all through her, tightening, waiting, wanting something she wasn’t going to say first. Erik shifted his weight slightly forward, and the change in proximity alone sent a warm rush down her spine. He still didn’t touch her. But his presence filled her senses so completely that her body reacted as if he had. Her throat bobbed in a swallow. Her voice didn’t come. The air felt thick, too charged to cut through with anything foolish like a word.

He stayed like that, looking down at her while the tension built between their bodies. That subtle, slow pull that crept from silence to desire. Her fingers curled against the wall. Her breath brushed the front of his shirt. Her pulse fluttered wild beneath her skin. And Erik let the stare hold. So heavy. So intense. So slow that it pulled her deeper into it, inch by inch. Her face shifted again, the last bit of resistance slipping. Desire sat openly in her eyes now, warm and unguarded. Her gaze traced his lips again before settling back on him. Her chest lifted in a small inhale that pressed her body closer to the invisible line between them.

Erik’s jaw tensed. That was all he let himself show. But it was enough for her to feel it. The air tightened. Their breath mingled. A quiet, electric charge coiled in the center of that hallway like something ready to strike if one of them leaned even an inch closer. She didn’t touch him. He didn’t touch her. But the need sat thick in the space between their mouths, almost tangible. Almost warm enough to feel.

Erik didn’t push his body into hers. He didn’t lift a hand. He didn’t rush a single inch. But he dipped his head, lowering it until his locs brushed the side of her cheek like a dark curtain falling around them.

Sanaa’s breath stuttered.

He exhaled slow. Warm. Steady. The kind of breath that felt like it traveled straight through her skin. Her knees threatened to give just from the heat of it. Her pulse fluttered wildly against the wall behind her spine.

Then, right against her ear, low enough to curl her toes, he confessed.

“I want you.”

Not loud. Not soft. But certain, like gravity.

Sanaa shut her eyes because her body reacted before she could stop it. A shiver climbed her back, small and sharp, as if those three words reached places he hadn’t even touched.

He waited for that reaction. Savored it. Then his voice brushed her again, deeper now, “But you already knew that, huh?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her lips parted, but the sound didn’t come. Her chest rose in a trembling breath, the silence itself exposing everything she thought she was hiding.

Erik angled his head a little, eyes on her like he could see straight through her, “You ain’t even gotta say it,” he said, voice thick with heat, “Cuz you want me too. That’s why you teasing me so much, right?”

Sanaa’s teeth caught the corner of her lip. Slow. Soft. Almost like a plea disguised as hesitation. Her gaze lifted, locking with his, and the look she gave him was the closest thing to surrender without a single word spoken.

He leaned in until their faces were almost touching, breath mingling, both of them pulled tight into the moment, “Worked so hard to break me,” he spoke low, voice steady and low as his eyes dragged over her mouth, “And it worked.”

Her stomach tightened.

He dipped closer, bringing his lips to the point where she could feel the warmth of them without contact. Her breath caught with a soft, shaky sound as he continued, “Because now…” The words ghosted her mouth. His breath slid across her lips, light enough to set off sparks under her skin, “…now I’ma show you what happens when you provoke me, lil miss ‘I want my best friend’s older brother to fuck me.’”

Sanaa’s expression changed instantly. Desire pulled her features soft and dreamy. Lips parted. Eyes low, heavy-lidded, almost dazed. Like he’d taken her legs out from under her without even touching her.

She still didn’t speak. Her silence told on her.

Erik watched that look spread over her, studied it like he wanted to memorize every shift. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if considering her, “Now…” he said quietly, “what to do about that…”

His gaze dropped down her body, slow enough to make her breathing quicken, then back up. He lifted his hand a fraction, not touching her, just bringing it close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin. His voice deepened, “These scars?” His free hand rose between them, palm turned slightly so she could see the patterns carved into his skin, “Each one for a kill.”

Her breath hitched hard, chest lifting in a trembling inhale.

“You sure you wanna go there with me?” he asked, tone steady as a pulse, “Cuz I don’t fuck like them lil niggas you prolly used to.” He bent a little closer. Close enough that her lips grazed his breath again, “That jackhammer shit?” His eyes lowered to her mouth, “Nah.” His voice dropped to something dark. Something dangerous. Something that wrapped around her spine and pulled her forward without touch, “I’ma leave my dick print in your guts for the rest of your fuckin life, girl.”

Her inhale broke. Quiet. Sharp. Her lips parted wider. Her knees pressed together. Her body trembled with a reaction she couldn’t hide. And she still didn’t speak. But she didn’t need to. He could feel her answer in the heat between them. Erik let a soft chuckle slip out of him, low in his chest, dangerous in that quiet way men sound when they know they have you trembling. It carved into the tight space between them and hit Sanaa right in her stomach. His single dimple dipped into his cheek, that little flash of softness wrapped around something entirely unsoft. He licked his lips once, a slow sweep of his tongue across the bottom one, gold slugs glinting under the hallway light.

Then he spoke, “You ever heard of a grind, baby girl?” His voice rolled over her skin like warm smoke, “Ever seen it? I’m sure you have…girl like you prolly got a whole bookmark saved on your Twitter…”

Her reaction was instant. Immediate. Almost physical in a way that made her embarrassed to breathe. A pulse throbbed between her thighs so sharp she nearly whimpered. Heat flooded her underwear so fast she felt it soak straight through the cotton, sticky and warm against her skin. Her nipples tightened under her tank, pushing hard against the fabric, so sensitive they tingled at the slightest shift in air between them. Goosebumps rose along her arms and belly, a shiver rolling up her spine like a slow electric climb.

And all he did was talk.

Erik watched the way she reacted, watched the tension in her throat, the small way she pulled in a breath she couldn’t hide. He leaned closer, his words dropping lower, “I fuck to make you feel me,” he said, that deep timbre sinking into her bones, “And I don’t rush it. I ain’t chasing a nut. I’m aiming to make you melt, baby.”

Her thighs pressed tight together.

“That’s what a grown man do.”

Sanaa’s lips parted again, barely a sound leaving her. Her breath shook. Her chest rose and fell in soft, uneven pulls like she couldn’t catch herself. Erik lifted his hand slowly, so slow she felt each inch of anticipation travel up her nerves. He didn’t grab her. He didn’t grip. He used a single knuckle and stroked her cheek with a touch so careful it sent a hot, aching wave straight through her middle.

He bit his bottom lip as he looked at her, “You so damn pretty, Nae Nae.”

The nickname hit deeper because of the way he said it. Low. Possessive. Like she had no idea what she was doing to him.

“Had a nigga shook when you walked out with them lil ass shorts on.” His eyes darkened, “I was like mmm…fuuuck. This Sanaa? Lil shy, quiet, hiding in the corner Sanaa?” His gaze swept down her body, slow enough to make her stomach clench again. He took in every curve, every shift in her breathing, the way her nipples pressed hard against her top, the way she couldn’t keep her thighs still anymore. His voice dropped to something that touched her like a hand, “Thoughts ran through my mind…” He took one breath. Let it sit, “Like damn. I know she taste real good.”

Her knees almost buckled.

“I’d slurp her up. Dip my tongue in that pretty pink puss…”

A soft sound escaped her throat, almost too faint to hear, but he caught it. Her eyes went dreamy, unfocused, pupils blown wide. Her lips stayed parted. Her chest trembled.

She was ruined.

Standing there with her back against the wall, sweating under the intensity of him, panties soaked through, nipples hard enough to ache, breath coming in shallow, shaky pulls because she had never been this turned on without a single touch.

And he knew it.

“You like the way I’m talkin’ to you, lil baby?” His voice was dark silk, slow and dragging, dipped in something slick that made her toes curl in her shoes. Sanaa nodded, slow and dazed, like her body answered before her brain could catch up. Erik tsk’d. A low sound of disappointment that made her shiver, “Uh-uh,” he said, tilting his head slightly, eyes burning into hers, “Open your mouth. Don’t act mute now.”

It took effort to speak. Her lips parted around a tiny whisper, “Yes.”

He smiled at that. Not a kind smile. Not a gentle one. The kind that showed he had her exactly where he wanted her. The kind that made her thighs clench harder and her panties feel wetter than she even thought possible. The fabric was sticking now, warm and soaked and clinging between her legs like she’d already been touched.

“Why you want me so bad?” he asked, licking his bottom lip slow, “Tired of the same old sorry ass dick?”

Her mouth fell open slightly, eyes heavy-lidded. He saw the answer before she gave it, but he wanted to hear it anyway.

“You wanna see what I can do to that pretty pussy?”

Sanaa shifted where she stood. Her hips rocked forward a little, like her body needed to move, needed to do something about the ache pooling in her core. She bit her lip, then nodded once—then again, slower, “Yes.”

Erik’s voice dipped lower, rougher now, dragging the words out like he wanted her to feel each one between her legs, “Want me to open you up?”

Sanaa’s breath hitched. Her back arched slightly, nipples hard as diamonds beneath her shirt, brushing against the fabric with every breath she took.

“You ain’t scared it’s gon’ be too much?”

She tilted her head the tiniest bit, tongue resting in the corner of her mouth, her expression hazy and thick with heat. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze dropped, then lifted back to his, “Mmm mmm.”

His eyebrow arched, “What’s mmm mmm?” he asked, smile deepening with a hint of threat, “I don’t know what that is. Words.”

Sanaa blinked slow, eyes low, lips wet, “No, daddy.”

The silence thickened around them.

Erik’s jaw twitched. He bit down on his bottom lip, those gold slugs gleaming just behind it, nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled through his nose. Her calling him that—soft, sweet, no hesitation—sent a pulse straight to his dick. He hadn’t even touched her yet and she was dripping, trembling, mouth half-open like she’d been fucked already.

“Oh,” he said, voice rough and low, “Shit…so you ain’t scared then?”

Sanaa’s lips parted again, breath fogging between them, chest rising, “No, daddy.”

The way she said it? Soft but certain. Sticky sweet like syrup down the back of his throat. Her pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-swollen, and the front of her panties now damn near ruined—wet enough she’d have to peel them off. Erik pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and bit down on his lip again, hard this time, fighting the urge to devour her right then and there. She was ready. He could see it in the glassy look in her eyes. He could smell it between them. Could feel it in the heat she was radiating off her skin like steam rising from a kettle.

And she still hadn’t even been touched. Not once.

All this?

Just from his voice.

Erik’s fingers hooked in the hem of her shirt. Slow. Intentional. He lifted it just high enough to expose the waistband of her panties—soft cotton, soaked straight through in the center. His eyes lingered. He didn’t touch her yet, not really. Just looked. Took his time like a man admiring something he already knew he was about to own.

“Look at you,” he said under his breath, “Got this lil’ pussy cryin’. She know who it belong to.”

Sanaa’s breath caught. Her thighs squeezed together, trying to ease the ache, but it only made it worse. She could feel how wet she was, the heat slick and obscene against her skin. Erik noticed—of course he did.

“Uh uh,” he said, nudging her thighs apart with just the press of his knee between hers, “Don’t hide that shit. Lemme see what I did.”

Her breath shuddered. She didn’t move away. Didn’t resist. She let him part her legs, just slightly, standing in front of him like a girl about to be unwrapped.

He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear, voice thick with dark promise, “I’m gon’ stretch you, Sanaa. Real slow. Real deep. Make sure this tight lil’ pussy remember me.”

She whimpered. Actually whimpered. It spilled out unplanned, soft and sweet, like her body responded before she could stop it.

Erik grinned against her jaw, grazing her skin with the tips of his teeth. “Yeah,” he drawled, “you gone learn tonight.”

Then he stepped back just a little—enough to look down her body, enough to see her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her shirt. He ran his thumb over one slowly, watching the way her lips parted like it shocked her, how her hips tilted like her pussy was clenching again.

“You this sensitive?” he asked, low and amused, “Wait til’ I taste this pussy. You gon’ melt when I do.”

Sanaa nodded, lips glossy, voice barely a whisper, “Please…”

He smirked, eyes still locked on her, “Please what?”

She swallowed, “T-Touch me…”

Erik’s head tilted, tongue dragging slow across his bottom lip, “Where you want me to touch you, baby?”

Sanaa’s lips quivered. Her body leaned into his like she couldn’t hold herself upright anymore.

“My pussy,” she whispered, followed by a soft whine.

“Mmm.” He let out a low hum, eyes never leaving hers, “Say it louder. I need to know you mean that shit.”

She hesitated, only for a second. Then she looked him dead in the eye and said it again—this time stronger. Hungrier.

“Touch my pussy, daddy.”

His hand was on her before she finished the word. One broad palm slid down the front of her panties, cupping her through the soaked fabric. Warm. Heavy. Possessive. His fingers pressed in—just enough to feel the heat, the pulse, the mess she’d made. He groaned low in his throat.

“Goddamn, girl…you wet like I already been in it.”

Sanaa’s eyes fluttered. Her knees weakened.

He slid a finger beneath the waistband, dipped in slow and deep until he touched her bare. Wet, slick, hot. His finger slid through the mess she’d made, knuckle deep, and her mouth dropped open in a silent cry.

“There it go,” Erik rasped, “Told you I was gon’ open you up.”

Sanaa whimpered again, thighs shaking, her body trying to close around his hand, but he held her still. His finger worked deeper, curved just right, and her back arched, hands gripping his forearms like she needed to hold onto something solid.

“You feel that?” he said, voice thick, “That stretch?”

She nodded fast, moaning through clenched teeth.

“Don’t run,” he warned, voice a deep growl, “I’m not even two fingers in yet. I’m just warmin’ you up.”

Sanaa was panting now. Sweating. Dripping, “Erik…”

He kissed her neck. Then sucked it. Let his teeth graze her skin as he slid another finger inside.

She gasped—loud this time.

He smiled, “There she go.”

Her body jerked. She was clenching around his fingers, wetness coating his palm now, and Erik just kept working them in slow, deep strokes. Not fast. Not rushed. Just pressure and rhythm and filth.

“You said teach you how to take it, right?”

She nodded, desperate, whimpering.

“Say it again,” he growled in her ear, thumb now circling her clit slow.

“Teach me, daddy,” she cried, voice shaking. “Please—show me how to take it.”

“Oh I’ma show your greedy ass. And you bet not forget a single stroke.” He pulled his fingers out, soaked and shining, then brought them to her lips, “Taste what I do to you.”

She didn’t even hesitate. Mouth opened. Tongue out. She sucked his fingers clean while moaning, eyes rolling back just a little from the taste. And Erik? Erik’s dick jumped hard in his sweats.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice low as hell, “You mine now.”

Sanaa whimpered.

Erik’s dick brushed her belly through his joggers, thick and heavy, and her breath hitched on impact. She felt it—hot through the cotton, thick enough to make her blink slow and look down. The print was obscene. Long, fat, curving toward his hip with the kind of weight that made her thighs tense again. Her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth like instinct, lips parting on a shaky breath. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Erik saw the way she looked. The way her gaze dropped and stayed there. His voice was all heat, low and pleased.

“Go ‘head, miss greedy. Rub me.”

Sanaa’s hand moved on its own. Slow. Careful. She brought it down between them and pressed her palm against the thick ridge stretching his joggers.

The heat met her first.

It was warm through the fabric—almost hot—and stiff as hell. Thick. Her fingers trembled when they brushed the full weight of it. Not just long but wide, heavy, meaty in a way she wasn’t used to. It curved slightly to the left, and she could feel the exact shape of it pressing into her palm even through the joggers. Her whole hand didn’t wrap around it at first. She had to adjust her grip, slide her palm across the length of it and back again.

“Shit…” she moaned. 

She hadn’t meant to say it. But it slipped out anyway, whispered under her breath as her fingers stroked over the bulge again. She applied more pressure. Felt it throb in response. The whole thing jumped against her hand and she froze for a second, thighs clenching, her pussy clenching too. Sanaa stared, mesmerized. Watching the way her fingers moved over the thick ridge, seeing the way it swelled, how the head of it sat high and proud against the front of his joggers. That tip had a little dent where the fabric gave in, already damp from the precum leaking steady beneath. She gave a slow stroke up, then back down, palm flat. Then she did it again—this time wrapping her fingers just a little, rubbing it like she was warming it up. The way it twitched told her everything. That dick was alive. Pulsing in her grip. Hard as hell and still growing.

“This dick big as fuck…” she whispered, eyes wide, lips parted.

Erik grinned, head tilting just enough to let her see the glint of gold across his teeth, “Uh-huh,” he said, deep and smug, chest rising slow, “And that’s before I even pull it out.”

Sanaa didn’t say anything at first. She just kept rubbing. Her thumb traced the vein she could feel through the fabric. Her fingers closed tighter, sliding down toward the base. He was thick all the way through. No taper. No mercy. The feel of him in her hand was almost too much. Her panties, already soaked, felt wetter now. Sticky against her folds. Every slow drag of her hand across him made her clench tighter, made her want more. Her body reacted on instinct, hips shifting, breath catching.

She wanted to see it. Needed to.

She let her fingers linger low, pressing just under the head. The wet spot was bigger now. She felt it with her thumb and let out a soft breath.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

Her thighs were trembling.

Erik watched her, eyes dark with amusement, “That wetness yours or mine?”

She blinked. Looked up at him with that same dazed heat in her eyes.

“Both,” she said, almost too quiet.

That made him smile harder. He reached down and gripped the waistband of his joggers, “You wanna see what you been rubbing on?”

Sanaa nodded, hand still holding him.

“Say it,” he said, “Ask for it like a good girl.” 

She hesitated only a second, then licked her lips, “Lemme see your dick, daddy.” She damn near begged, slightly tugging downward on his length. 

He dragged his pants down slow. Not all the way—just low enough to free the monster she’d been teasing.

And there it was.

It dropped out, heavy and thick, no underwear in the way. The shaft curved up slightly, thick at the base, even thicker near the middle, and the head was fat and flushed dark with blood. A glistening bead sat right at the tip.

Sanaa’s breath caught in her throat.

It was the kind of dick that made you pause. Not just long—long and pretty, veins rising along the sides like a roadmap for the way he was about to rearrange her guts.

She stared. Couldn’t look away.

“You still greedy?” Erik asked, voice thick. Brow arched. Lips slightly parted and gold slugs peaking. 

Sanaa nodded slowly. Her hand moved again, fingers wrapping around him bare this time. The difference was insane. She felt the skin glide under her palm. The heat of it. The throb. She gave one slow stroke down and felt the weight pull. Another stroke up. Her thumb swiped the leaking tip. His whole body flexed.

“You sure?” he asked again, eyes steady on hers, “Cuz once I put this dick in you, you not gon’ be the same.”

Sanaa moaned, low and desperate, “I don’t wanna be the same…”

Erik grinned, “Say less.”

She stood in front of him like she was made to fit there—head tilted slightly, lips parted just enough, chest rising slow like she was bracing for something that already had her trembling. Erik brought his hand up and wrapped it around the side of her neck. Not rough, not choking, but heavy. Possessive. His palm was warm against her throat, thumb resting right beneath her jaw, fingers spread behind her ear, holding her still. Sanaa’s breath caught when he leaned in close. His face inches from hers. So close she could feel the heat of his breath, the slow drag of it over her mouth. His nose brushed hers—once, then again—and she let her eyes flutter closed.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

His lips hovered over hers, soft but never touching. The anticipation made her knees weak, “Breathe,” he whispered.

She did. Shaky and shallow.

Their mouths finally touched—barely. A soft graze. A tease. Sanaa’s lips parted with a soft gasp. Her body leaned into him more, but he still didn’t kiss her. He held her there, right on the edge, the tension sharp enough to snap. Then—slow as sin—he stuck his tongue out and dragged it across her lips. Just once. Just enough to make her moan. The sound came from her gut. A low, feminine ache slipping past her throat like her body couldn’t keep it in.

Erik chuckled low. The sound rumbled between them. His thumb lifted slightly, tilting her chin, “Open.”

That one word held weight. It rolled off his tongue like a command dressed in velvet.

And she obeyed.

Her lips parted, her mouth soft and waiting. She didn’t even blink. She just gave herself to it—whatever this was. The gravity between them. The way it pulled. Erik’s lips met hers in full this time. Hot and slow. Tongue first, pushing past the seam of her lips, tasting her, pulling her under.

Sanaa melted.

Her mouth opened wider to meet his. Their tongues met in the middle—slick and slow, sliding over each other like silk. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like he was determined to make her feel every second of it. Their lips smacked softly in the quiet room. No rush. No desperation. Just heat. Slow grind. Deep pulls of breath between them. Sanaa’s hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. Her head tilted to the side, and Erik followed her movement, adjusting the angle like they were dancing.

Because that’s what it felt like.

A dance.

Their mouths moved like partners—tilting, swaying, deepening. Every time they came up for air, they went right back in. Lips brushing, then sealing. Tongues swiping, teasing, pressing. His hand never left her throat. His thumb stroked slow under her chin while his other hand slid down her waist and pulled her closer. Her body molded against him now. She kissed him like she’d been waiting years for it. Like it was already a memory and a prophecy at the same time. He tasted like warmth. Like power and salt and something a little dangerous. Sanaa moaned again, louder this time. Erik swallowed it. Kissed her harder. He deepened the kiss, sucked her bottom lip, then dragged his tongue along it again. Her knees buckled, and he caught her with a firm hand around her waist.

“Uh uh,” he whispered into her mouth, “I got you.”

He kissed her again before she could answer. Tongue diving, then pulling back, then diving again. He kissed her like he was mapping her, like her mouth had secrets only he could read.

And she let him.

Every soft moan, every tremble, every breath she took—she gave it to him. Their foreheads touched for a moment when they finally broke the kiss, breath mingling, lips still brushing.

Neither of them spoke. The kiss said it all. Sanaa couldn’t breathe right.

Her lips were still parted, swollen from the kiss. Her chest heaved in soft, shallow bursts. She tried to steady herself, tried to blink the haze away, but her body betrayed her. Her thighs clenched tight. Her hands trembled. Her knees? Useless. She was trying to keep it together, but the pressure between her legs was unbearable now. It throbbed—hot, slick, begging. He hadn’t even fucked her yet, and her pussy already felt like she’d been touched, like she’d been worked over and left wet and needy for more. She took a step back, hoping it would help her catch herself, but that only brought her closer to the wall—and Erik? He followed. Didn’t even give her space to speak. He saw her trying to breathe through it. Saw her lips twitching like she wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. His gaze dipped to her chest, watching the rise and fall. Then back to her lips. His jaw ticked.

That was all the warning she got.

Suddenly, Erik’s arms were around her, solid and sure. He picked her up like she weighed nothing—gripped her thick thighs and hoisted her clean off the ground.

All muscle. All power.

He handled her like his arms were made for it. Like he’d been waiting for the moment he could lift her, press her against something, and kiss her breath away again. Sanaa gasped, arms wrapping around his shoulders on instinct. Her legs spread and clung around his waist, locking behind him.

“Erik—”

She barely got the name out before his mouth crashed back into hers.

This kiss wasn’t gentle.

This one was hungry.

Messy.

Hot.

Lips sliding, tongues dancing, breath stealing. He kissed her like he was feeding off her. Like he needed the taste of her just to breathe. Her back slammed gently against the door to her bedroom. The sudden jolt made her moan against his mouth. He gripped her tighter. One hand under her thigh, the other sliding up her back to hold the back of her head as he kissed her deeper. Tongues tangled. Lips smacked. She was losing track of where her body ended and his began. Her pussy pulsed hard behind her panties, slick and ready, soaking through the fabric and no doubt pressing into the front of his joggers. She was riding that line between need and madness now, whimpering into his mouth, clinging to him like she couldn’t get close enough.

His voice broke through the kiss in pieces, heavy against her lips, “You tryna hold it together?” he asked, his mouth brushing hers, breath hot.

Sanaa nodded against him, then shook her head, then nodded again. She didn’t know. Her brain was gone. He kissed her again. A deep, slow drag of tongue that made her stomach flip and her toes curl behind his back.

“Nah,” he breathed, “Don’t fight it. Let that shit go.”

He grinded against her as he said it. Slow. Thick. Letting her feel every inch of that heavy dick pressed against the throb between her legs. She moaned into his mouth again—louder this time. And her legs tightened around him like a vice. She tried to hold back, tried to stay quiet, but it was impossible. He kissed her again and again and again, each time deeper, messier, wetter. Their mouths didn’t separate for more than a second. They kissed like they were possessed. Like they’d been starving and just found their first meal. The door behind her rattled. Her bedroom. She reached back blindly and fumbled for the handle. Erik chuckled against her lips, still kissing her, still grinding that dick against her soaked core through their clothes.

“Go ‘head,” he said, dragging his lips down her jaw, “Open that door and show me where I’m ‘bout to fuck your lil’ ass up.”

Sanaa’s fingers shook as they found the handle.

Click.

The door swung open behind her. And Erik walked them in. Still holding her. Still kissing her like he owned every breath in her lungs.

He didn’t slam it.

He cracked it. Left it open just enough. Like he wanted the night to hear what was about to happen. Like he needed the air to move around them, carry the scent of her arousal into the walls. Sanaa’s back hit the bed soft as he laid her down. His hands lingered, holding her there for a second, palms wide on her thighs like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. Her chest rose, lips still parted from all the kissing, her body twitching beneath him like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

She was breathless. Eyes glassy. Skin hot.

“Damn…” she whispered, blinking slow.

Erik stood over her, tall and dark in the shadows of her room, chest rising as he took in the sight of her laid out like that—hair fanned against the pillow, shirt tugged up just enough to show a strip of brown stomach, panties sticking to her soaked pussy like a second skin. He licked his bottom lip and shook his head once. Then he stepped between her legs.

She opened for him without thinking.

He reached down and grabbed her calves, both hands gripping firm, thumbs brushing over the curve of her legs. Then his hands slid lower—one to her ankle, the other to her foot. He lifted her legs gently. Set one foot on his chest. The other he held in his hand, thumbing the arch slow while watching her.

Then he kissed her ankle.

Once.

Then again.

And on the third kiss, he looked up at her and spoke.

“Why you play in your pussy and not ask for help?”

The question hit like a thud in her chest.

Sanaa’s breath caught. Her legs twitched in his hands. She gave a soft smile, trying to hide the way her thighs clenched.

“How would you have helped?” she asked, voice low, teasing.

Erik leaned forward, bending her legs back as he closed the space between them. His mouth hovered near hers, but he didn’t kiss her yet. Just spoke it, real slow, voice dragging like it was made to melt her.

“I would’ve instructed you on how to stroke it…what toy to use…how to make yourself cum.” His lips brushed hers on the last word, then trailed down to her jaw, “And when you were done?” he whispered, “I would’ve cleaned up the mess with my tongue.”

Sanaa whimpered, mouth falling open. Her hips lifted slightly, grinding up without her even meaning to. She was soaked now. Drenched. Her panties clung to her like a wet towel and Erik could feel it—smell it. It had him rock hard, that big fat dick of his pressing heavy against the damp cotton at her center. He leaned down between her legs, thick thighs spreading wide around his hips as he kissed her again. Deeper this time. Messier. His body settled against hers. That heavy dick dragging up against her slit, the pressure making her moan into his mouth.

Sanaa arched up into it.

She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him in, her hands sliding everywhere. Over his arms—thick, veiny, strong. Over his chest—broad and warm beneath his fitted tee. Up the back of his neck—fingers slipping under his locs, rubbing slow at the base of his scalp.

“I love your body,” she said, soft and slow like a confession.

Erik pulled back just enough to look down at her.

That look he gave? Made her clit jump.

He cocked his head slightly, smiling like he knew he had her trembling and couldn’t wait to make it worse.

“What you love about it, baby girl?”

Sanaa sat up, chest pressed to his, legs still parted wide around his hips. Her hands traced the dip between his pecs, then slid across his chest—her nails soft against his shirt, then down to his waist. She reached beneath the fabric and slowly lifted it up, revealing the warm brown muscle beneath, the ridges of his abs, the sharp taper of his V-line. She pulled the tank over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Then she touched him again.

This time with both hands, tracing the scars that ran across his torso and arms. Her fingers moved gentle over them, no hesitation. She looked up at him the whole time—eyes low-lidded, mouth parted, her voice still that sexy hush that wrapped around him like velvet.

“I love the way you move,” she said, “How strong you are. How your arms feel when you carry me.” Her palm slid across his shoulder, then down his side, “I love your scars…they feel like stories.”

Erik swallowed, jaw flexing.

Then she leaned up and kissed one of the scars near his ribs. Her lips lingered, “And I like how dangerous you are.” Her eyes rose to meet his again. Slow. Steady. Full of something that made his dick twitch between her legs, “You don’t talk much. But I can feel it…all that heat underneath.”

Erik’s breath caught in his throat.

Sanaa tilted her head, voice even softer now. Sultry. Laced in that siren energy that made men forget who they were, “You’re the kind of man who ruins a woman right. That’s why I wanted you. Why I touched myself thinking about it. Why I waited for you to make the first move.” She leaned in close, lips brushing his, “You feel like danger,” she whispered, “And I wanna feel all of it.”

Erik’s hand wrapped around the side of her neck again. Gripped it firm, thumb brushing her jaw. He kissed her. Hard this time. Hungry again. Their bodies pressed close. That thick dick grinding right against her clit through the soaked barrier of her panties. Her back arched, moaning into his mouth.

Erik pulled back for just a second. His voice dropped, “You sure, princess?”

Sanaa smiled. And said the only word he needed to hear, “Fuck yes.”

Erik kissed her like he was claiming breath from her lungs, then finally pulled back just enough to look down at her. Sanaa lay beneath him on the bed, chest rising, lips wet, eyes heavy with that quiet hunger that made him lose focus. He placed one palm flat on her stomach. Warm. Firm. Commanding.

“Take this off,” he said quietly.

But he did it for her. 

His fingers hooked into the hem of her shirt. He didn’t yank it. He didn’t rush. He lifted it slow, letting the fabric drag over her skin, letting the cool air kiss each inch that he revealed. Her stomach tensed. Her nipples hardened before he even reached them. The shirt rose up to her ribs. He leaned in and kissed the exposed skin there, soft at first, then deeper. His mouth trailed across her side, right beneath her breast. She gasped as he nipped lightly, then soothed the spot with his tongue.

He lifted the shirt higher. Her breasts spilled free.

Erik froze.

His eyes darkened, scanning every curve, every soft rise, every warm brown inch of her. He touched one breast with his fingertips, tracing the slope from the top down to her nipple. The touch was light but it woke something deep in her belly.

He brought his mouth down.

He sucked her nipple slow, drawing it between his lips. His tongue circled it. Pressure first, then a gentle pull. It made Sanaa arch, a tight breath escaping her throat. Her hands gripped his arms, fingers digging, nails dragging. Erik switched to the other nipple. He teased it with the tip of his tongue, then sucked harder. Sanaa whimpered, her thighs rubbing together, trying to calm the throb between them. He peeled the shirt off the rest of the way and tossed it aside. Then he looked at her body fully. Stretched on her bed. Glowing. Breathing fast. Ready for whatever he wanted. He slid down her body and kissed her collarbone. Then her shoulder. Then the soft spot where her neck met her shoulder. His lips lingered there, sucking gently until her breath hitched. His mouth lowered again, kissing down the center of her chest. He kissed under her breasts, along the edge of her ribs. Then he moved to her stomach. He kissed the top of it. Then the center. Then lower. His lips were warm and full against her skin. The glide of his mouth made her toes curl.

He dipped his tongue into her navel.

Slow. Deliberate.

Sanaa moaned. A soft little sound she couldn’t hold back. Her fingers slid into his locs, gripping the thick, twisted cords, rubbing his scalp as he continued moving downward. Erik kissed the soft flesh just above her panties. His breath brushed the damp cotton, and she shivered. He kissed the left hip. Then the right. Then the inside of her left thigh. He didn’t just kiss her thighs. He worshiped them with his mouth. He opened her legs wider and kissed slowly, all the way down to her knee, then back up, tracing the line of her inner thigh with the flat of his tongue. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably. He looked up at her, saw her chest rising sharp and quick, saw her lip caught between her teeth.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I see how bad you want it.”

He kissed the right thigh the same way. Long, wet, dragging kisses that made her hips jump. Her hands tightened in his locs. She tugged at the roots. Scraped his scalp lightly with her nails. He groaned into her skin. When he lifted his head, his mouth was inches from her center. He pressed his face there, right against her pussy through the fabric.

And inhaled.

Deep.

Slow.

Like he wanted her scent in his lungs. Sanaa let out a broken sound, her hips rising into his face, needing more contact.

“Smell so damn sweet,” he said against her. His warm breath spread through the soaked cotton, “you been wet long enough. Marinated long enough,” He chuckled softly. 

She moaned again, fingers tightening in his hair.

Erik hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties, “Lift your hips.”

She obeyed instantly.

He pulled the panties down slow. Painfully slow. The fabric peeled away from her pussy, sticking slightly from how wet she was, stretching, then snapping free.

He froze.

The panties stayed between his fingers, hanging useless, because he could not look away from what he saw. Her pussy glistened in the low light. Warm brown lips full and soft. Slightly parted from how swollen she was. Her inner lips peeked out, darker, slick with clear arousal. A drop fell as he watched. Another followed behind it, sliding down toward the curve of her ass.

He raised his brows, “Goddamn.”

His voice was low. Rough. Real.

Her pussy looked tender and inviting. Puffy with heat. Shiny and wet. Beautiful in a way that pulled his breath straight from him.

He looked up at her before he spoke, “You this wet for me?”

Sanaa nodded, eyes glossy. He let the panties fall to the floor. Erik slid his hands under the backs of her thighs and lifted them, opening her wider, exposing everything.

He stared.

Then he spoke it, “This the prettiest pussy I ever seen.” His voice dropped lower, almost like he was confessing something he couldn’t hold, “Plush. Warm. Look at how it’s glistenin.” He ran one finger along her outer lips, barely touching, watching the wetness coat his skin, “You stayin wet like this for me…” He shook his head. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ drip like this.”

He pressed two fingers to her entrance. Her pussy opened for him.

Slow.

Welcoming.

Sanaa gasped.

Erik licked his lips, “Yeah,” he whispered, “You perfect. A nigga could lose his mind between these legs.” He lowered his head until his mouth hovered right above her center, “Spread yourself for me, baby,” he said, “Lemme see you open.”

Sanaa’s hands trembled as she reached down and parted herself.

Erik inhaled again.

Then his tongue slowly descended.

Erik lowered his head and let the tip of his tongue barely touch her. One flick. Right over the top of her clit. Not a lick, not a suck. Just a flick. A warm, precise, taunting stroke that sent a sharp jolt through her hips. Sanaa gasped, thighs twitching. Her back arched off the bed just enough to chase more contact, but Erik pulled back.

Just like that.

He bit his lip and sat back on his heels, eyes glued to her pussy like it was his favorite thing he’d ever seen.

And honestly? It might’ve been.

That drip…

It slid from her again. Clear. Slow. A warm, sweet string of arousal that leaked from her swollen folds and shined in the low light like melted sugar. He reached up, scrubbed a hand down his beard, jaw tight, eyes heavy. His lips parted slightly, tongue peeking out to taste the last of her off his mouth.

Then he exhaled, real low, “Shit.”

His voice had that Oakland weight to it now—gritty, smooth, full of bass and control. He leaned in just enough to speak against her slick lips, breath hot and filthy.

“How you touch this pretty pussy?”

Sanaa didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to.

Her hands moved down between her thighs, slow and deliberate. French-tipped nails—soft pink, perfectly shaped—grazed her inner thighs first. Then she reached lower and spread herself open again.

Her fingers were glossy within seconds.

She slid two over her clit in slow, small circles, eyes never leaving Erik’s. Her head tilted slightly to the side, mouth open just enough to breathe. She rested on her elbows, legs bent, toes curled. Her body moved with the rhythm of her own fingers. Gentle rolls of her hips, each one drawing a soft sound from her throat.

“You watching?” she whispered, voice sticky with heat.

Erik’s jaw clenched. His eyes stayed on her hand. The way her fingers moved, the way she pulled her folds apart, then spread the wetness down and circled again for a slicker glide. It was a performance, but not for applause.

It was for him. All for him.

“Mmm,” he growled low, “That’s it. Rub on that clit, greedy girl.”

Sanaa moaned.

She tilted her hips again, her fingers stroking tighter circles now, teasing the peak, pressing into it like she needed to cum from just that. Her thighs trembled slightly. Her breaths came quicker.

“There you go…” Erik said, voice full of grit, “Make that pussy feel good.”

Her brows pinched like she was already close. Her other hand came up to cup her breast, pinching the nipple, lips parting in a breathy moan.

“Look at you…” he said, licking his lips slow, “This what you do when you think about me?”

She nodded, eyes hazy, locked on his like she was drunk off lust. Her fingers never stopped moving.

“Yeah, you be playin in that pussy, huh?” Erik grinned, watching her squirm, “All quiet in the house, rubbin on that clit thinkin’ bout this dick?”

“Uh huh,” she moaned, rolling her hips again.

He leaned in slightly, close enough to feel the heat off her, “Show me more,” he said, “Spread that mess. Let me see how wet you stay.”

Sanaa’s fingers dipped down, slid through her folds, then up again. The shine on her hand was ridiculous.

“Good girl,” Erik praised, voice heavier now, “Good girllll…yeah, that’s it.”

His eyes dropped back down to her center, lips parted. He dragged a hand over his mouth again like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His tongue peeked out and ran across the edge of his lip.

“Goddamn.”

She was dripping. Actively. Wetness gliding over her fingers. Gliding over her folds. Thick, warm, glistening. Her pussy looked edible. Fat, warm brown lips parting just enough to reveal the deeper blush of her inner folds. Everything was glossy. Her clit was peeking, swollen, begging for more pressure. Her fingers spread her open again, and Erik let out a groan from deep in his chest.

“You got the prettiest fuckin pussy I ever seen.” He shook his head again, breathing heavy, “I’m talkin’…this shit got character.” He reached out and pressed two fingers gently against her thigh, steadying himself like he needed to ground his body before he lost it, “Pussy got memory. I can tell.”

Sanaa’s breathing turned shaky, her lips parting again as she kept rubbing soft and slow.

“You tryna make me eat it or what?” he asked, voice all gravel and temptation.

She nodded, biting her lip.

He smirked, “Nah,” he said, “You ain’t askin’ right. What I tell you ‘bout that?”

Sanaa locked eyes with him, still rubbing, voice barely there, “Eat it, Daddy.”

Erik’s face changed.

Sanaa’s fingers were still glistening when she pulled them from between her thighs. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air now—sweet and warm, dripping with heat, the kind of wet that left streaks on her inner thighs and sticky glimmers on her skin.

Erik didn’t even have to ask.

She raised her hand to his mouth, still leaned back on her elbows, hair falling over her shoulder in that silk-pressed curtain that framed her face just right. Her lips parted, teeth catching the corner of her bottom lip. That quiet freak energy wrapped around her like perfume. No theatrics. Just power.

She held her fingers out to him. Shiny. Wet. Deliberate.

“Come get it,” she whispered.

Erik leaned forward, gaze locked on hers. His mouth opened slow. He pulled two of her fingers between his lips and sucked.

Slow. Wet. Intentional.

His tongue glided between the pads of her fingers, tasting the mess she made for him. He moaned low—barely audible but heavy with need—and closed his eyes for a second like it was better than anything he’d ever had on his tongue.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath when her fingers slipped free.

Sanaa just smiled. Bit her lip again. Her legs spread wider. She lay back, still propped up on her elbows, legs bent at the knees. Her pussy glistened like a flower blooming in sunlight—folds soft and full, parted just enough to show off the glossy blush of her inner lips. It looked kissed already. Sticky and warm. Nectar pooling and dripping down.

Erik slid down the bed and settled between her legs.

He didn’t dive in. He had a routine. A rhythm. A way he did this that couldn’t be rushed. He didn’t eat pussy like a boy still trying to impress. He ate it like he knew the power of it—how to control it, how to command it, how to unlock the kind of orgasm that rewired a woman’s brain.

He started with kisses.

Not just kisses—ticklish kisses. Featherlight. Barely there. The first one landed just above her clit. Not on it. The next? Just to the side. Then another on her inner thigh. Then right at the curve of her folds. His lips moved like he was tracing the shape of her pussy with his mouth. Each kiss sent sharp little sparks dancing down her thighs, curling into her toes.

Sanaa gasped. Then whimpered. Her thighs jerked, “Baby…” she moaned.

Erik smirked against her skin. He kissed her clit next. Not a suck. Not even pressure. Just a warm, slow peck.

Then another.

Sanaa’s stomach clenched. Her elbows dug into the mattress, trying to keep her grounded.

Then came the licks.

His tongue flattened and dragged upward, slow and wide, collecting every drop of wetness from the bottom of her slit to the tip of her clit. He tasted her like he’d been waiting months. The sound of his tongue sliding through her folds was filthy.

And she was soaked. Dripping wet. It didn’t matter how much he licked—there was more. Every time his tongue made contact, a new stream coated her lips. It was like her pussy was responding to him directly. Like it knew he was worthy and wanted to give him everything. Her folds opened more under his tongue. Swollen. Shiny. Beautiful. Like butterfly wings slick with nectar.

He pulled back for a second just to look. Licked his lips slow, “Fuck…”

Then he leaned in again. He parted her with his thumbs, exposing the soft pink flesh beneath. Then he sucked.

Soft. Deliberate. Right on the clit.

Sanaa’s entire body twitched. Her hips tilted off the bed like she was trying to get more of it—trying to grind into his face.

“Unh…” she moaned, voice all air and ache.

Erik held her thighs steady. Gave another slow, wet suck.

“You like that?” he asked, voice low and gritty, “When I suck you like that?”

Sanaa’s lips curled into a half smile. She bit her bottom lip again, chest heaving, legs trembling, “Yes, daddy,” she said, soft and sexy, hips tilting toward his mouth.

He chuckled deep, “I could suck all this wet off you and it’ll just come right back, huh?”

Sanaa nodded. Licked her lips. Her voice was like silk, “Cuz you make my pussy so wet,” she whispered, “It’s crazy…”

Erik sucked again. Softer this time. Slower. The sound of it echoed in the room—wet, filthy, perfect.

“Ain’t gotta worry if this dick gon’ slide in,” he said against her clit, “You already know it is.”

“Mhm…” she breathed, hips rocking gentle now. Her hands gripped the sheets, fingers twitching.

He kissed her again. Licked again. Sucked again.

Real slow. Real patient.

He was edging her. Dragging her to the edge then pulling back. Letting her drip. Letting her cream. Letting her feel every bit of it until her thighs were shaking and her voice was catching in her throat.

He wasn’t in a rush. He was about to teach her what it really meant to be eaten.

Sanaa didn’t know how long he’d been eating her. It could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time melted the second Erik laid his mouth on her pussy. And now she was shaking. Soft moans spilling from her lips like her breath couldn’t keep up. Her body was right there—right on the edge—but Erik refused to let her go over.

He kept switching it up.

One moment, he was sucking—slow, wet, focused right on the hood of her clit. Soft pulls that sent heat zipping down her thighs, into her spine. Then he’d pause. Lick along her folds like he was just tasting for fun, dragging his tongue flat from bottom to top, barely touching that swollen center. Then he’d pull back and let her feel that absence. That ache. That almost.

Sanaa was trembling.

Her thighs kept clenching. Her hips couldn’t stay still. Her clit was throbbing—tight and swollen and begging for pressure. But Erik wasn’t giving in.

She whimpered. Rolled her hips again. Tried to catch his mouth. He pulled back and looked up at her, lips glossy, beard wet. His locs brushed her thighs as he shook his head slightly, “Ain’t had it like this before,” he said, voice low, gravel thick in his throat, “Look at the way you feedin’ this pussy to me.”

Sanaa moaned again—long, high-pitched, helpless.

Erik’s voice dipped even deeper, teasing and demanding all at once, “Grab me by the hair and feed me then… since you wanna be so fuckin’ greedy.”

Sanaa’s hands dove into his hair like it was instinct. Both palms spread across his scalp, fingers gripping thick locs and pulling him into her pussy with a desperation she couldn’t hide. She tilted her hips just right, parting her thighs wider, shifting her center until her clit was perfectly seated against his mouth.

Erik groaned into her.

Then he licked. Not just a flick. Not a tease. He dragged his tongue up her slit in one long, firm stroke, then did it again—steady pressure, no breaks, no games. His hands grabbed her thighs and held them in place while he worked. Mouth open, tongue flattened, licking her from the inside out.

Sanaa gasped.

Then she started to ride.

Little movements at first. Hips lifting, rocking slow against the line of his tongue. Erik let her. He kept his mouth open, his tongue steady, letting her rub that clit wherever she needed.

And when she started grinding harder?

He slurped. Wet. Loud. Nasty. He wrapped his lips around her clit mid-grind and sucked—long and low and slow.

Sanaa cried out. Her back arched. Her thighs shook.

“Keep eating my pussy…” she whimpered, voice high and broken. Needy. Desperate. 

Erik sucked again, messier this time. His beard was soaked. His jaw flexed with every pull of her slick folds into his mouth.

Sanaa whimpered again. Then whispered, “Couldn’t wait for you to put those lips on me…”

Her voice was soft. Shaky. Full of that quiet ache that only came when a woman was losing control. Erik groaned against her. The vibration made her hips jerk. Made her legs try to close around his head.

He held her open. Firm. Kept licking. Kept sucking.Kept pulling those breathy moans right out of her chest like he was making music from her body. Sanaa’s head fell back. Her moans didn’t stop now. They were continuous. Light and airy, one after the next, like she couldn’t catch her breath between the waves.

Her toes curled. Her fingers twisted in his locs.

And then she felt it.

That creaming feeling.

It didn’t crash into her like an orgasm. It crept.

A slow roll of warmth that started deep inside and spread outward. Her pussy started leaking thicker. Wetter. The glide against his lips turned slippery and heavy. Her clit swelled even more, and the pressure built like a drumbeat in her lower belly. Her pussy fluttered. She felt herself cream.

Slow. Steady. Warm and thick, coating his mouth, his tongue, her own thighs.

She was still being edged. Still held on the brink. But her body didn’t care. It started giving him everything anyway.

Erik pulled back just an inch. Just enough to let the mess drip down. Then he looked up at her again, eyes half-lidded, full of heat, “You feel that?” he asked, licking his lips slow, “You creamin’ for me, greedy girl?”

Sanaa moaned so loud it turned into a broken whimper. She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks from the intensity, “I need it…” she whispered. “Please.”

Erik’s lips curved into a slow, filthy smile. Then he lowered his mouth again, “Say less, lil’ mama.” 

Sanaa’s body was trembling.

She had one fist tangled in Erik’s locs, the other gripping the sheet beside her like her life depended on it. Her thighs wouldn’t stay still—kept flexing, twitching, trying to close around his head. But he had her. One thick arm slung across her lower stomach, holding her down. The other? He slid his fingers in. Slow. Two of them. Her pussy swallowed him easy, wetness dragging down his knuckles before he even got halfway. That first push had her moaning—soft and high, like it caught her off guard.

But then he curled them.

Just right.

His fingertips pressed deep against her front wall, slow, measured strokes that dragged across her most sensitive spot like he knew exactly where to touch. The angle. The pressure. The rhythm.

Sanaa choked on a moan. Her back arched. Her breath stuttered. Her thighs started shaking harder. Erik smirked against her skin. He licked her clit once. Then again. Then again.

And then sucked.

All while his fingers pumped—slow, deep, curling every time he pulled back, like he wanted to draw her orgasm out by hand. The sound between her legs was filthy.

Wet. Sloppy. Creamy.

Every stroke made that mess louder. Slick fingers gliding in and out, dragging her cream with them, strings of it clinging between his knuckles and her folds. Her pussy pulsed around his fingers like it was begging to be filled.

“Yeah,” Erik rasped, licking her clit again, “You hear that shit?”

Sanaa moaned—long and cracked, like her breath gave out halfway through.

“You fuckin’ creamy, baby,” he whispered against her, “Drippin all on my hand.”

He sucked her clit again—slower this time. Then he curled his fingers harder.

Sanaa yelped.

The sound shot out of her throat, then dissolved into a breathy moan. Her eyes rolled, mouth falling open, lips slick with spit. She was losing it. She tried to speak. Tried to say his name. But all that came out were broken little whimpers and gasps. She bit her lip hard. Tried to focus. But she couldn’t. Not when his fingers were stroking that spot like a rhythm, a pattern, a pressure designed to ruin her. Not when his mouth was glued to her clit, tongue flicking in circles, then flattening, then sucking her swollen bud while his fingers fucked her. Not when her pussy was making a mess all over his hand, his mouth, the bed beneath her.

She whimpered.

Erik chuckled, tongue teasing again, “Aww,” he cooed, “My baby can’t talk?”

Sanaa shook her head, tears in the corners of her eyes. He kept going. Fingers pumping, curling. Tongue licking.

Then his voice dropped into something darker, “Say you want it.”

She tried. Her lips moved. No sound.

Erik kissed her clit, then pressed deep with his fingers, “Uh uh…say it with your pussy then.”

Her body responded.

Hard.

She clenched so tight around his fingers it made his breath catch. Cream poured out around them, sticky and wet, dripping down her crack, smearing across his palm.

Erik groaned into her, “Shit, baby…this pussy talk better than your mouth.”

She squealed. Eyes crossing. Legs jerking. She was gone. Sanaa was right there. Right there. Her clit pulsed under his tongue. Her pussy clenched around his fingers like it was starving for release. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking, her stomach was tight, her moans were high and strained, leaking out one after the next like she was breaking apart breath by breath.

And Erik knew it.

He felt it in the grip of her body. He felt it in the thick cream sliding down his hand, in the way her pussy clutched and fluttered, trying to force the nut out without permission. He pulled his mouth from her clit, let his breath run hot over it instead. His fingers didn’t stop moving—but they slowed. Deep curls now. Pressure. Precision. Just enough to make her lose her damn mind without pushing her over the edge.

“Open your mouth,” Erik said, voice low and sharp, “Tell me what you want.”

Sanaa whimpered. Eyes glossy, face twisted in agony. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She was shaking her head, trying to breathe, trying to speak—but her body was wrecked.

“You been wantin’ this, right?” he continued, fingers still stroking,  “Been rubbin that pretty pussy thinkin’ about this tongue? This dick?”

Her lip trembled. Tears welled up and slipped down the sides of her face.

Erik kissed her clit again. Once. Real soft. Then he growled, “Open that mouth and say it.”

Sanaa’s breath hitched. Her hips jerked. She grabbed the sheets with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, trying to hold back the sob bubbling in her throat. But it was too much. Too much heat. Too much pressure. Too much edging. Erik saw her body start to seize, felt her cunt tighten hard around his fingers.

He stopped. Froze. And gave her a warning.

“You push that nut out,” he said, deep and deliberate, “I’ma spank that ass.”

Sanaa whimpered again. A high-pitched sound full of pain and need. She clenched everything—legs, pussy, jaw—trying to fight it.

But she was desperate. So fucking close. She dropped her hand from her mouth and finally begged.

“Please,” she cried, voice cracking. “Please let me cum—please, Erik—Daddy—I need it—oh my God—I need it so bad—please don’t stop—please, I’ll be good—I’ll say whatever you want—just please…”

It came out all at once. Pathetic. Broken. Slurred through moans and sobs. Tears rolled down her cheeks now. Her mouth stayed open, shaking with every breath. She didn’t care how she sounded. She didn’t care how she looked.

She was begging for real.

Erik exhaled through his nose and leaned over her, voice low, close, thick with control, “Damn, mamas…” His fingers started moving again. Deeper. Slower. Curling right into that soft, soaked spot that had her clenching all over again, “I’m diggin in this pussy good, huh?”

Sanaa cried out—high and breathy. He slid back between her legs, kissed her clit softly while his fingers stroked slow and deep.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered, tongue flicking her clit just enough to make her back arch, “Keep your legs open. Let me give you what you want.”

Her legs parted wider. Her hips tilted up. Her breath caught. And then—

“Cum for me,” Erik said.

And her whole body snapped. Her back arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry. Pussy clenching so hard around his fingers it pushed cream out in waves. Her thighs trembled. Her clit pulsed beneath his tongue. Her moans were messy, unfiltered—one long stream of 

“ohmygodohmygodohmygod—Daddy—yes—fuck—yes—”

She came like her body couldn’t hold it anymore.

Hard. Deep. Shaking. Her cream coated his fingers. Her pussy pulsed around them, wetness gushing, soaking his palm, the sheets, her thighs. And Erik just kept licking. Slow. Gentle. While she fell apart beneath him.

It was still happening. She was still cumming. Still shaking. Still losing herself in wave after wave of heat, pressure, release. Sanaa curled in on herself without meaning to—knees drawn in, arms folding across her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. But her body betrayed her. Her thighs trembled. Her feet flexed, pointed, curled again. Her back arched slightly, then trembled as it fell. Her hands opened and closed against the sheets. Her lip was quivering, bitten raw, and her eyes were squeezed shut like she was trying to survive something—or remember it forever. Her moans had quieted. But her body was still screaming.

Erik didn’t say a word. He just looked at her.

Looked at the way her legs twitched every time her pussy fluttered. Looked at the way her nipples stayed peaked, trembling with the rise and fall of her breath. Looked at the tears streaking down her temples, the wild scatter of her silk press, her thighs still glossy with cream, her lips parted but speechless. She looked ruined. Pretty. Small. Shaken. Like she had just been unlocked from the inside and didn’t know how to settle back into herself. Her pussy still clenched around nothing—fluttering open and closed, still messy with his saliva and her wetness, folds gleaming and tender.

Erik sat back on his heels. Silent. Watching. Breathing steady. His dick was still hard. Thick and dark and curved up in his joggers like it was ready to take what his mouth had primed. But he didn’t move. Didn’t even touch himself. He wanted to watch. He wanted to see what it looked like when his baby girl broke. When all that wet and all that want came to the surface and shattered her. And he loved the way she tried to hide her face in the crook of her elbow.

He reached forward and gently pulled her arm down, “Let me see you.”

She opened her eyes slowly. Glassy. Glowing.

“Breathe,” he said.

She did. Barely. And Erik just watched her come back to earth. One breath at a time. He picked her up like she weighed nothing. All that thick softness trembling in his hands, limp and light now that her body had been emptied out. Erik sat down at the edge of the bed and brought her with him, settling her in his lap, straddling him. Her legs draped over his thighs. Her bare, glossy pussy rested right against the thick ridge of his dick still straining inside his joggers. Sanaa’s arms hung loose around his shoulders. Her head leaned forward. She was still dazed. Still trying to breathe. Her heart fluttered against his chest.

He kissed her. Soft, slow pecks to her lips. One. Another. Then another, right at the corner of her mouth. Big hands glided up and down her sides, from her waist to her thighs to her ass, grounding her. Stroking her like she was still coming down from a high—and she was. Her skin was warm, flushed. Her mouth slightly parted. Her lashes fluttered low like she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Catch your breath,” he said low, Another kiss, “Good girl…”

She inhaled like her lungs just started working again. Her eyes blinked open. Her mouth twitched into a hazy, breathy smile. Erik’s hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb stroking softly under her cheek.

“Wasn’t prepared for that, huh?” he said with that slick, knowing tone, “I know it.”

Sanaa whimpered in response. A soft sound. Embarrassed. Wrecked. She shook her head just a little, but her body stayed slumped against his chest. Erik looked at her like he had every right to. Like she was his. Like he just unlocked something he knew nobody else had ever touched. He slid his thumb over her bottom lip and dragged it slow.

“What I tell you ‘bout all that tough talk?” he asked.

Sanaa didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her eyes were still low. Lips swollen. Chest rising and falling slow. Erik tilted her chin up just enough to make her look at him.

“Hmm?”

She blinked. Then finally, her lips curled, “…I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ else.”

He chuckled, low and deep, “Yeah, aight.”

Then he kissed her again. But this one lingered—open mouth, warm tongue, his hand on the back of her head, holding her close. And when she moaned into his mouth, it was soft. Grateful. Weak. Like she was thanking him without saying a word. He could feel her heat. The wet between her legs pressed right up against him. Bare pussy soft and creamy on the thick print of his dick through those joggers, still hard, still untouched.

But Erik didn’t move. Didn’t thrust. Didn’t grind. He just held her in his lap and let her feel it. Let her sit right on it. One big hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb sliding slow along her nape. The other stroked down her spine, all the way to the small of her back. He kissed her again. Not wild. Not greedy. Just lips brushing hers, lazy pecks, like he had nowhere to be but here.

Sanaa let out the quietest sigh.

Her body was still trembling a little. Her muscles tender. She was too soft, too sensitive. Her clit still tingled. She didn’t know if she could take more, but she wanted it—wanted him. She wanted to feel the weight of him inside her. But he didn’t move. And now the ache was growing again. She shifted in his lap. Just a little. Just enough to feel that pressure tease her slit. That thick ridge nudging her folds through the fabric. It made her pulse deep in her core. Her lashes fluttered. Her arms tightened faintly around his shoulders.

Erik smirked, “You tryna get it started again?” His voice was smooth, rich. Teasing.

Sanaa shook her head once—but it was a lie. The kind of soft, guilty lie that showed all over her face. She glanced down, like she couldn’t meet his eyes. Her lip was caught between her teeth again. Her thighs squeezed just slightly around him, embarrassed. Because she was dripping. Again. Wet all over his clothes. The mess between her legs was so obvious. Sticky, warm. And he hadn’t even fucked her yet.

He stroked her waist with both hands now. Then leaned in, nose brushing hers, “You just came, pretty girl,” he whispered, his lips hovering, “Body still shakin’…pussy still twitchin’…”

Sanaa let out the smallest whimper.

He kissed the corner of her mouth again. His hands slid down to her hips. Held her there. Right above his dick. But didn’t let her grind. He just held her still.

“You want more, huh?”

She stayed quiet.

He tilted her head with his thumb under her chin.

“I said…you want more?”

Her eyes met his.

They were so soft. Glazed. Her lips parted. Her voice was the quietest it had ever been.

“…yes.”

Erik grinned. That smug, deep grin like she just gave him the world. But he still didn’t move.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning in slow, lips brushing her cheek, “You was talkin’ all that big girl shit earlier. Got real quiet now.”

Sanaa let her head fall forward to hide against his neck. She nodded against him, lips pressed to his skin.

“Say it then,” he said, voice dropping. “Say what you want.”

She shook her head again, giggling soft in that breathless, bashful way. Too embarrassed to say it out loud.

He gripped her ass tighter.

“Open that pretty mouth and ask for it, baby.”

She lifted her face. Looked him dead in the eye, still shy, “I want it,” she whispered, “I want you.”

Erik leaned in closer, lips grazing hers. His hands slid up her back, fingertips teasing her skin, “You want this dick, huh?” he rasped.

Sanaa nodded. But that wasn’t enough.

He pulled back just enough to see her mouth move, “I wanna hear you say it. Say it like a good girl.”

She swallowed. Her voice was like syrup now. Sweet, needy, “Please, Erik…I want your dick.”

He kissed her once. Deep. Then pulled back and whispered against her lips.

“Good girl.”

By the time Erik pushed her back onto the bed, Sanaa was already shaking.

Not from fear. From need.

From the way his hands handled her like he’d been starving and she was the first real meal he’d seen in years. He slid her down the mattress until her ass was right at the edge, thighs spread wide. Her pussy was open and slick, lips swollen and shining, already overstimulated from what he’d done to her minutes before.

She had already came once. Twice. Lost count. 

Hard.

Her body still buzzing from it. Legs weak. Core trembling. That aftershock warmth still rolling through her like heat trapped under skin.

And Erik wasn’t satisfied.

He dropped to his knees slow, deliberate, big body lowering between her legs like it belonged there. His hands grabbed her thighs, thick fingers digging in, scars catching the light as he spread her wider. He leaned in close, breath hot against her pussy, close enough that she could feel him smile without seeing it.

“Aww, this lil pussy still jumpin? You that fuckin needy, huh?” Voice low, lips wet, tongue already sliding again like he ain’t give a fuck about her being overstimulated, “I just made you nut, and you still twitchin like you ain’t had enough.”

His tongue flattened out and dragged up her slit, slow and heavy, from bottom to top, collecting everything she had to give. Sanaa cried out, hips jumping forward on instinct.

He caught her.

Strong hands pinned her thighs back, folding her open even more, holding her exactly where he wanted her. His mouth went right back to work, tongue circling her clit, slow at first, then tighter, firmer, like he was drawing patterns just to see how loud he could make her.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, fingers tangling in his locs.

He groaned into her pussy, the sound vibrating through her, making her thighs shake harder. He sucked her clit into his mouth, lips closing around it, tongue flicking fast now, mean and precise. Like he was mad at it. Like he was taking something out on her. 

“You thought I was gon’ let shit slide?” he said against her, voice muffled, nasty, “After you had me hard like that? After you teased me? Like I wasn’t gon’ get you?”

She tried to pull away, the sensation too much, her body begging for mercy even while her pussy clenched around nothing.

He followed her. Stayed right there.

Kept his mouth locked on her, tongue deep, lips slick, sucking and slurping like he was trying to drain her. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her just enough to keep her right where he wanted her, sliding her closer to the edge when she tried to scoot back.

“Nope,” he said, calm as hell,  “Where you goin?”

She sobbed, back arching, legs trembling in his grip. Her pussy throbbed, oversensitive, aching, begging for another release even though her body was still humming from the last one.

“I’m tryin’—I’m tryna take it, I swear I am…” she cried. 

“That’s fear talkin’. Pussy know better.” He tongued her like she owed him rent, “You started this. Now take what’s comin’.”

His tongue moved lower, dipping into her, licking her wet, greedy pussy like he was tasting her for the first time and the last time all at once. He ate her like he hadn’t had pussy in years, like he was trying to make up for lost time, mouth messy, sounds obscene, saliva mixing with her slick until everything was wet and loud.

Sanaa screamed.

Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling hard, but he didn’t budge. Didn’t flinch. Just tightened his grip on her thighs and kept going, scarred arms flexing as he held her open and helpless beneath his mouth.

“Still fuckin cryin. Still needy. That lil pussy talkin like she want another one. So I’ma give it to her.” he said, voice low and filthy. 

Her pussy clenched hard, body betraying her again, another wave building too fast, too strong.

“Please,” she whimpered, barely a word. “Please…”

He smiled against her.

“That’s it,” he said, “Say it like that.”

Then he went back in, tongue ruthless, mouth full of her, sucking, licking, slurping like he was trying to pull her soul through her pussy. Her legs locked around his shoulders as she came again, harder this time, body going tight then loose, a broken sound tearing out of her chest.

He dragged it once through her slick, deliberate, tasting her again like he wanted to remind her whose mouth this was. Sanaa gasped, a sharp sound tearing out of her chest as her hips lifted off the bed without permission.

Then he found her clit.

And that’s when she damn near lost her mind.

His tongue flicked over it precise. Not sloppy. Not rushed. Strong. Controlled. Each stroke intentional, like he knew exactly how much pressure to use to make her unravel. He hit it again. Same spot. Same rhythm. Then switched it up just enough to keep her from getting used to it.

“Ooh, fuuuuck,” she cried, voice cracking, eyes squeezing shut.

He groaned low, mouth never leaving her. His tongue moved with gusto now, fast flicks followed by slow, heavy presses. He circled her clit tight, then flattened his tongue over it and dragged it back and forth with purpose, like he was trying to rub the sound out of her. Her legs shook hard in his grip, muscles trembling like they were about to give out.

“Ain’t even fuckin yet and you breakin. You sure you built for this?”

He sucked her clit into his mouth for half a second, just enough to make her yelp, then went right back to flicking it, tongue snapping over that little bundle of nerves with strength that made her whole body jolt. Sanaa sobbed, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, chest heaving. “I can’t take it,” she whined, hips rocking desperately into his mouth.

He didn’t let her move. His scarred arms locked her in place, palms pressing her thighs back, holding her open like this was exactly where she belonged. Every time she tried to squirm away, he followed her without missing a beat, tongue staying right on her clit like it was magnetized.

“Nowhere to go,” he told her calmly, “You stay right here and feel this.”

His tongue worked her relentlessly. Flick. Flick. Slow press. Flick again. He switched the rhythm just when she thought she was about to explode, teasing her on purpose, keeping her right on the edge. The sensation was sharp and overwhelming, her clit pulsing under his mouth, begging for release even while it burned from how sensitive she was.

She cried openly now, soft broken sounds spilling out of her as her body shook beneath him. “Please,” she gasped. “Please, Erik.”

He groaned deep in his chest and went in harder, tongue moving faster, stronger, flicking her clit with deliberate strokes that made her vision blur. He licked her like he was angry at the time he’d gone without, like he was reclaiming something he’d already decided was his.

Her pussy clenched hard. Her back arched. Her cry turned loud as another orgasm ripped through her, body locking up, thighs shaking uncontrollably in his grip. Erik stayed right there, tongue still working her through it, not letting up until she was completely undone, sobbing and shaking at the edge of the bed.

She was still breathless.

Her whole body vibrating from the way he tore her up with that mouth. Sanaa had never been ate like that. Like he meant it. Like he was on a mission to take her apart and leave nothing behind but trembles and whimpers.

But it was what she saw next that really fucked her up.

Erik stood tall at the edge of the bed, his body carved like sin. Muscles tight. Scarred. Every inch of him looked like something designed to be feared and fucked. Deep ridges of healed wounds cut across his chest and abs, trailing down in chaotic beauty. His skin was rich—dark, smooth, gold-toned in places where the light caught him, that brown so pure it made her mouth water.

And then he slid those damn sweats down.

Sanaa sat up fast, breath catching in her throat.

That dick…It was stupid.

Thick and long, heavy, the kind of dick that made you stop and blink just to make sure your eyes weren’t lying. The base was wide, sitting on a smooth trim of dark curls—low cut, clean, just enough left to make it masculine. A faint scent of his skin, sweat, and that deep musk from his body hit her nose and made her clench all over again. The shaft was darker than the rest of him, with veins running up the sides, thick and raised, pulsing. He was hard. Rock hard. And the tip?

Sanaa damn near whimpered.

The head was plush, flushed deep burgundy, almost swollen from how hard he was. A thick drop of precum sat right at the tip, glistening, heavy, already threatening to spill down. That shit looked edible. Glossy. Beautiful. It curved just a little to the left, mean and perfect, the kind of dick you dreamed about but didn’t believe existed in real life. She was at eye level now. Kneeling on the bed, lips parted, dizzy from everything. Dizzy from the taste of herself still on her tongue. Dizzy from the fact that this dick—that dick—was hers now. 

Erik grinned down at her, lazy and cocky, his voice low, “Yeah?” he said, eyes locked on her, “You like this dick?”

Sanaa nodded, couldn’t even lie. Her mouth was already watering. He gripped the base with one hand and slapped the tip against his abs once, then let it drop—heavy—like the weight of it alone made the air shift.

“Bigger in person, huh?” he smirked.

Her thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

“You want it?” he asked, “Come talk to it. Put it where it belong.”

She crawled closer, hands shaking, one rising to touch the thick base of him, fingers wrapping around but not quite meeting. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.

He tilted his head, “Open that pretty mouth.”

She obeyed. Tongue out. He tapped the tip against her tongue once. Precum smeared on her lips, salty and warm, and her eyes fluttered.

“Good girl,” he said low, “You ready to learn?”

She nodded again, whimpering now.

“I’ma teach you how I like it sucked,” he said. “Take your time on my shit, girl. Slow.”

She wrapped her lips around the head, careful. The warmth of him filled her mouth, the size of it pushing her jaw wide already. Her tongue circled the crown, teasing the slit where he was still leaking. She moaned, loved how he tasted—clean, masculine, deep. She sucked slow, hollowing her cheeks, eyes fluttering shut as she took more in.

He groaned above her. A deep, rumbling sound from his chest, “Yeah… just like that,” he whispered, “There you go, baby. Suck it slow. Feel all of it.”

She eased down further, struggling a little with the stretch, but her hand stroked the base where her mouth couldn’t reach. Her spit dripped down the shaft already. She pulled off, let the head pop free with a wet sound, then licked up the underside, tongue tracing that vein like she was memorizing it.

Erik’s hand came down, gripped her head firm, “You want me to fuck your throat?” he asked, breath ragged, “Slow?”

She whimpered, nodding fast.

“You take this whole dick, I’ma lose my mind, Bri. I swear.”

She opened wide again, let him guide her back down, slower this time. Her lips stretched, jaw aching in the best way. He let her take control for a moment, let her find her rhythm—messy, wet, devoted—before he rocked his hips once, just a little, and her moan vibrated around him.

“Damn,” he hissed, “You tryna make me nut already?”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy, spit dripping from her chin. His dick slid out, covered in it.

He slapped it against her tongue again, “Keep goin’,” he growled, “I’m not done teachin’ you yet.”

She was takin’ her time with it.

Lips wrapped slow around the thick head of his dick, tongue moving like she was scared to miss a spot. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered open, big and glossy, locked right on his. She blinked up at him soft, all that pretty need showing in her face like she was trying to be good for him. Real good. Erik groaned low, hand resting heavy on her head, letting her work.

Her lips popped off with a soft wet sound, a string of spit following before she wiped it away with her fingertips. She was breathing hard now. Mouth shiny. Face flushed. Then, like she was remembering something—something nasty—she whispered.

“Wait…”

He raised a brow, watching her crawl back toward the edge of the bed where her phone sat. The movement alone had his dick twitching again. She was down on her knees, just smooth brown skin, thighs glistening, and that pretty little pussy still wet and shining from how he ate her. Tits swaying softly with every breath, nipples tight. Hair hanging over one shoulder. That body? That body looked criminal. Like he should be arrested for the way he was about to fuck her face. She grabbed the phone and crawled back, slow and deliberate, hips swaying just enough to drive him out his mind. When she reached him, she sat on her knees again, looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

Her lip caught between her teeth. Her voice was sugar, “Can you record me?”

His head tilted, smile curling slow, eyes darker now, “You want me to put you on camera?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.

Sanaa gave a breathy little laugh, nervous and nasty at the same time. Her tongue slid across her top lip, catching the taste of him still there. She looked like a dream in heat. Like a dirty little angel.

“I like it,” she said, eyes still on his, “More so when I don’t notice but…yeah.” Her lashes fluttered. “Please?”

Erik chuckled low, thick fingers reaching for her phone, “You somethin else,” he muttered, unlocking the camera, switching it to video. His dick stood tall and heavy between them, wet with her spit, “Aight then, freak.”

She smiled. Bit her lip again. He hit record. And she sank right back down.

“Yeah…” Erik said, voice low behind the camera, steady. “That’s it. Go slow. Take your time on daddy’s dick.”

Sanaa did exactly that. Mouth open, tongue out, she let the head of his dick slide back in like it was routine. She moaned soft, slurping up the precum leaking heavy from the tip like it was honey made just for her.

“That’s my girl,” Erik praised, his voice rich, close, like velvet on the speakers. “There you go. Keep suckin just like that. Pretty lips stretched all over me.”

She bobbed her head, spit coating the shaft. Her hand stroked what she couldn’t swallow yet. She was tryin. Workin her jaw, cheeks hollowed, tongue swirling. The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and addictive.

“You look so damn good like this,” he said, angling the camera low to catch her face and the way she handled him, “Got my whole shit in your mouth like you ain’t just cry all over my tongue five minutes ago.”

She moaned around him. He caught it on film.

“Yeah, let ‘em hear how messy you get. That’s right. Let that spit fall. Don’t clean shit up.”

She pulled off slow, letting the head pop out with another loud, nasty sound. Her chin was wet, lips puffy. She looked straight at the camera and licked the tip once—soft, seductive. Then whispered, “This mine now, huh?”

Erik’s voice dropped, “Yours to suck, mine to own.”

“Keep goin’, Bri,” he growled, bringing the phone closer. “Show me how nasty you really are.”

And she did. Eyes up, lips wide, throat relaxing. She slid deeper this time, slow and skilled, sucking him like she wanted to stay there all night. Steady. Watching. Capturing every drip, every moan, every choke of spit sliding down her chin while she sucked him like her life depended on it. Erik had the phone angled just right. One hand holding the camera low, catching the sloppy view of her full lips wrapped around that fat dick, the other dragging slow through her silk press. Fingers gliding through the sleek strands like he owned every inch of her—because right now, he did. She was on her knees between his thighs, head bobbing, spit dripping from her mouth, tears clinging to her lashes, that back arched, lifting that ass high off the bed. Sanaa was deep in it. Gagging sweet, eyes watery but focused, trying to take him slow like he asked. Hair swaying with the motion of her head bobbing. Gold hoops swinging pretty. Her hand stroked what her throat couldn’t swallow yet, and she moaned real soft around him when his thumb grazed her jaw.

“Yeah…” Erik said low, voice thick with that gritty Oakland bass. “That’s how you fuckin’ eat it, nasty girl.”

She whimpered around the shaft, tongue flexing as she sucked deeper, the stretch of it making her jaw ache. And he felt all of it.

“That pressure good, huh?” he asked, tilting the camera down more, “You like suckin this big-ass dick.”

She pulled back, gasping, chin glossy. Then went right back down on it without hesitation, slower this time, more focused.

His voice dropped another octave, “Don’t run, baby. Take all that shit. I want it nice and wet—make that shit glisten for me.” His thumb swiped her cheek, then tapped her jaw, “Look in the camera,” he said calmly, “Show everybody how you behave when this dick come out.”

She peeked up with those big, glossy doe eyes, lashes wet, pupils blown. And he grinned—that slow, evil grin that meant trouble.

“Good girl,” he said, breath thick, “That’s what the fuck I’m talkin about. Pretty lil’ slut just made for head.”

She moaned again and he caught it all. The sound, the suck, the spit. His hand stayed in her hair, palm warm against her scalp, holding her in place. He wasn’t forcing shit. He didn’t need to. She wanted this. Needed it. She was putting in real work, tongue swirling, throat flexing, mouth loud and messy.

“Keep suckin, baby. You doin good. Real good.”

He licked his lips. “Make love to that dick. I want it slow.”

She pulled off with a pop, lips red and glistening, panting through her nose.

And that’s when he hit her with it.

“Who dick you suckin’ on, slut?”

Sanaa blinked slow, pupils glassy, spit still clinging to her lips. She bit her bottom one, smiling like she wasn’t two seconds from choking on him.

Then whispered, “Killmonger’s big dick.”

Erik groaned low. Damn near laughed through it, “Aww, shit. That’s right.” He palmed the back of her head, guiding her back toward the tip, his voice deep and filthy, “Now shut up and show that camera how you love daddy’s dick.”

Erik’s palm slid to the back of her head, heavy and sure.

Not rough. Not rushed.

Commanding.

“Keep still,” he said, voice low, calm, that Oakland grit threaded through every syllable, “Let me do the work.”

Sanaa whimpered around him, lips already stretched, jaw aching sweet as he guided her down slow. His dick filled her mouth inch by inch, thick and warm, veins pressing against her tongue. She gagged softly when he pushed a little deeper, breath catching, eyes squeezing shut.

“Nah,” he said quietly, watching her, “Eyes open.”

She forced them open, tears clinging to her lashes, staring up at him while he eased his hips forward again. Slow thrust. Controlled. Deliberate. He wasn’t chasing nothing. He was taking. Her hands lifted on instinct, fingers twitching toward his thighs.

He caught it immediately, “Hands in your lap,” he ordered. “Don’t touch shit.”

Her hands dropped, trembling, palms pressing into her thighs like she was trying to ground herself. That made his chest tighten. Made his jaw clench.

“Good,” he said. “That’s better.”

He rocked his hips again, shallow thrusts at first, letting her mouth adjust, letting her tongue learn the shape of him while he stayed right at the back of her throat. She gagged again, wet and broken, spit spilling down the corners of her mouth and onto her chin.

“That’s it,” he said, eyes dark, watching her struggle in the prettiest way, “Take it. Don’t fight it.” His breathing changed. Deepened. Chest rising slower but heavier now. He rolled his hips back and then forward again, just enough to make her choke, just enough to make her moan around him, “Look at that,” he said, tone slick, satisfied. “On your knees like this. Mouth full. Can’t even grab on for help.”

He pulled out slowly, the length of him sliding past her lips inch by inch until the head popped free with a wet sound. He didn’t give her a second to recover.

He slapped his dick against her lips once.

Twice.

The head smacked wet and loud against her mouth, leaving her lips glossy, swollen, stained with spit and precum.

“Open,” he said.

She did.

He tapped it against her tongue, smearing that slick heat across her mouth while she breathed hard through her nose.

“Yeah,” he continued, voice thick now, “This what you wanted. Got you on your knees suckin daddy dick?” His eyes dropped to where his scars cut across his chest and stomach, down to the way his dick rested heavy between them. He watched the contrast like it did something to him. Taut muscle. Old wounds. Thick, leaking dick. Her mouth waiting, “Pretty as hell like this,” he said, jaw flexing, “All quiet. All obedient.”

He slid back in, deeper this time. Slower. His palm stayed firm on her head, fingers spreading through her hair, keeping her right where he wanted her while he fucked her mouth with controlled strokes. Each thrust was measured. Each pullback intentional. He wasn’t losing control. He was enjoying it. She gagged hard this time, throat flexing around him, eyes watering bad. A broken sound came out of her chest and he felt it wrap around him.

“Shh,” he said softly. “Breathe through it. You doin good.” His hips kept moving, shallow to deep, slow to slower, the kind of pace that made her body melt even while it overwhelmed her. Spit ran freely now, coating him, dripping down onto her shirt, “Damn,” he breathed, biting his lip, “You feel that? That’s your mouth workin exactly how I like.” He pulled out again, slapped his dick against her lips once more, then let it rest there, heavy and slick, “Stay right there,” he said, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “You ain’t done yet.”

Erik pulled back just enough to look at her.

Really look.

Her mouth was wrecked. Lips swollen and shiny. Chin slick. Eyes glassy and obedient, breathing heavy through her nose like she’d been holding herself together on willpower alone. He liked that look on her. Liked that he put it there.

“Stick your tongue out,” he said.

Not loud. Not rushed. Calm like he knew she’d listen.

Sanaa did it immediately. Tongue extended, trembling just a little, glossy with spit. Pretty. Pink. Waiting.

He slapped his dick against it.

Once.

The weight of it made her gasp. The head pressed flat against her tongue, warm and leaking, precum smearing across it. He did it again. Slower this time. Let it rest there for a second so she could feel how heavy he was. How real.

“Yeah,” he said low. “Just like that.” He slapped it again, firmer, the sound wet and obscene, watching her tongue flatten under the weight of him, “Open wider.”

She did. Jaw dropping, tongue still out, eyes flicking up to his face like she wanted approval. His hand slid to the back of her neck. Fingers spread. Grip solid.

“Now show me,” he said, “Show me you want my nut.”

He guided her forward and she took him back in, lips closing around the head, tongue working immediately, slow and focused just like he told her. She sucked like she had something to prove. Drew him in inch by inch, throat relaxing, mouth warm and slick, spit coating him thick.

Erik groaned. Not a word. A sound. Low. From his chest. Like he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.

“That’s it,” he said, breath heavier now. “Yeah. Fuck. Just like that.”

He started moving his hips. Slow at first. Shallow thrusts, letting her mouth adjust to the rhythm. His hand stayed firm on her neck, guiding, controlling the pace. She moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight through his body.

“Mm,” he sounded, eyes narrowing, “You feel how you pullin it outta me?”

She did. She knew.

Her mouth got sloppier. Wetter. She pulled back just enough to drag her tongue along the underside, then swallowed him again, deeper this time. Her throat flexed around him and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he said, hips stuttering for half a second before he steadied himself, “You doin that on purpose.”

She was. She bobbed slow, steady, eyes locked on him, hands still obedient in her lap. She let him thrust now, matching his movement, letting him slide in and out of her mouth while she kept her tongue working the head every time he pushed back in. His breathing got rougher. Chest rising faster. His free hand clenched at his side, fingers flexing like he was holding himself back from grabbing her hair harder.

“Yeah…that’s it,” he said, voice thick, strained now. “You draggin that shit outta me.”

She moaned again, tears slipping free now, not from pain but from how full her mouth felt. How deep he was. How badly she wanted to finish him.

“Keep suckin, slut. You look real cute when you don’t think—just choke.” He grinned down at her, “That’s all you good for right now.” He thrust a little deeper, a little slower, savoring it. The sounds she made were obscene. Wet. Desperate. Perfect, “That’s my nut you workin for,” he said quietly, “Don’t rush. I wanna feel every second.”

And the way his hips kept moving, the way his voice shook just a little now, told her she was doing exactly what he wanted. The kind that made his thighs tighten and his voice start slipping into that ragged, desperate edge even he couldn’t hide. His grip stayed locked at the back of her neck, not pushing, just holding—anchoring himself in the wet heat of her mouth while she kept sucking like she needed it. Slow strokes. Controlled thrusts. But his body was rolling now. Sanaa had her tongue working that underside with purpose, lips locked tight, cheeks hollowed every time he pulled back. And when he slid back in, deeper, letting her throat hug the head, her moan vibrated so deep around him it made his stomach jump. Erik’s eyes fluttered. He bit down on his bottom lip hard. Head tipped back. Shoulders flexing. His whole body rippled, abs twitching under the tight strain of control he was seconds from losing.

“Fuck…stay right there. Don’t move. Don’t fuckin play wit’ me now.” His voice hit her like weight, low and feral.

She didn’t. Wouldn’t.

Her pace stayed nasty and obedient. Sloppy and sweet. And when his knees started to tremble, she knew it. Felt it. That thick dick was swelling even more in her mouth, leaking like crazy now—salty and heavy on her tongue.

“Fuckin’ mouth feel too damn good…” he choked out, hips stuttering, voice low and wrecked.

He looked down at her, head still back, eyes wild. Sweat beading at his temples. Veins thick in his arms.

Then he groaned.

Loud. Raw.

“Shit—Bri…” And with a slow thrust, balls snug to her chin, he lost it. “Empty my fuckin balls…” he gritted through clenched teeth, breath snatching, “Empty my balls, slut…suck it outta me.” His hips rocked into her mouth, slow but deep, dick  jerking on her tongue with each pulse of release. Cum spilled thick, hot, flooding the back of her throat. She moaned around him, not pulling back, not flinching—swallowed every drop, “Take it,” Erik groaned, voice shaking. “Take all that shit…yeah…”

His hand held her there, not to force her but to feel it—feel her throat working while she drained him. She stayed there while he spilled. Stayed there while his thighs flexed, chest heaved, abs clenched with every twitch of pleasure rolling through him. Only when he finally pulled out, slow and spent, did he look down fully and let his eyes take her in.

Face wet. Mouth open. Breathing hard. She licked her lips. And he grinned. Still high off the nut. Still watching her like she was a dream with a mouth built for destruction.

“Damn,” he panted, voice rough, “You really mine now.”

The room smelled like sweat, skin, and lust. Warm light poured in from the hallway but didn’t dare interrupt what was happening here. Erik was already on top of her. Big. Heavy. Muscles bulging. Veins flexed in his arms as he pinned his fists to the mattress and hovered above her. Locs hanging down, shadowing his sharp-ass jaw, that gold in his mouth catching a glint when he licked across his bottom lip.

Sanaa was already open before he ever put it in her.

That was the part that shook her the most.

She lay back on the bed, silk-pressed hair spread smooth beneath her head, gold hoops warm against her neck, chest rising fast. Her skin glowed. Brown. Soft. That deep, rich tone that caught the light like polished wood. Her pussy was slick enough to feel the air hit it when her thighs parted. Wet enough to shine. Tight enough to throb. Erik kneeled between her legs, towering, solid, body made to fold bitches up. Scars ridged over his chest and arms, catching the light as he flexed. His locs brushed his shoulders. Gold canines flashed when he smirked, slow and dangerous. That big, thick dick sat heavy in his hand, already hard, already leaking just a little. Veins thick along the shaft. Heavy head. Fat. He dragged the head of it through her slick, slow. Let it slide between her lips without pushing in. Just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Mm,” he said low, “That pussy talkin’.”

Sanaa whimpered, hips lifting without permission. She reached down, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow like she needed something to hold onto. Her toes curled, thighs trembling.

“Hold your ankles,” Erik told her.

She did it instantly. Hands slid down her legs. Ankles in her grip. Wide open. Exposed. Vulnerable and ready. Her mouth fell open as she breathed, chest heaving.

They locked eyes.

Erik leaned forward just a little, dick still rubbing through her slick. He tapped her pussy with it once. Twice. A wet, teasing slap that made her gasp. Kissed her lips sloppy like he was sucking the breath out of her.

“You ready to get fucked?” he asked, voice calm but heavy with promise.

Her fingers circled her clit faster,  “Yeah,” she breathed, “Yeah.”

“I’m ready to fuck you, I know that,” he said, rubbing the head of his dick right at her entrance, letting it press there without going in, “Tired of playin’. ‘Bout to dig you out, girl. Give you what you always wanted.”

Her whole body buzzed. Like static. Like she was plugged into something too strong. Her pussy clenched around nothing, slick dripping down, soaking the sheets beneath her. Erik angled his hips, lined himself up, and pushed the head in just a little.

Just enough.

Sanaa’s eyes rolled. A broken sound fell from her lips. Her toes curled so hard they damn near cramped.

“Shh,” he said, watching her face closely, “Breathe. Let that pussy relax. You want it. I feel you.”

He pushed again. Slow. Inch by inch. That fat head stretching her open, slow and deep, her tight walls gripping him like. She was holdin’ that dick like it owed her somethin She gasped, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, staring straight at him.

“Oh my—” Her voice cracked into a moan.

“That’s it,” Erik said, jaw tight, teeth flashing as he watched her swallow him, “That’s how you take a big dick. Slow. Let it open you.”

Her fingers rubbed her clit harder now, breath shaky, little sounds slipping out of her with every inch he sank in. Her pussy was tight. Tight as hell. Hot. Wet. Pulling him in like it needed him.

“Damn,” he groaned, “You tight as fuck. Grippin’ me like you been waitin’ your whole life.”

He paused halfway in. Just sat there. Let her feel it. Let her body adjust around him. Let her pussy throb and flutter and leak. Sanaa was shaking. Legs still wide. Ankles in the air. Eyes locked on his like she didn’t wanna miss a second of this. Her lips parted. Chest heaving. Sweat starting to gather at her temples.

“Move,” she breathed, barely louder than air.

Erik tilted his head, smirk deepening, “Nah. Sit wit’ it. Feel that stretch. Feel what you been askin’ for.”

He rolled his hips just a little. Enough to make her gasp again. Enough to make her pussy clamp down.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, toes curling again. “It’s so big.”

“Yeah,” he said, finally pushing deeper. Slow. Controlled. Taking his time sinking all the way in until his hips met her thighs. Until she was full. Stuffed. Opened up around him, “That’s daddy dick,” he said quietly, “Ain’t rushin’. Ain’t slippin’ out. Just sittin’ where it belong.”

She cried out then. A real sound. Raw. Her body arched, fingers still working her clit as her pussy clenched hard around him, creamy and dripping.

Erik stayed still, buried deep, watching her face twist with pleasure and shock and need, “Now,” he said, voice low and steady, “Now I’ma fuck you.”

The first stroke took her breath. Not fast. Not rough. Just deep. Erik dragged out of her slow, dick thick and heavy, every ridge of his shaft pulling against her walls like he was scraping the memory of anybody else out. Her pussy clung to him, creamy and tight, pulsing around that slow exit like it. That pussy kept catchin’ his dick on the way out, holdin’ him right at the base.Sanaa’s mouth fell open, lips parted in shock. Her hips tried to lift with him, like her body was chasing what was leaving. He stopped right at the tip. Let it rest there. Slick and twitching.

Then he slid it back in.

One long, smooth push. Deep. Full. Her pussy stretched again, swallowed him whole. That grip got tighter every time he pulled out, like her pussy was beggin’ to stay full. A messy whimper slipped from her throat, back arching, legs trembling as she held her ankles just like he told her to.

“Right there?” he said, voice deep and calm like a threat, “Here?” He pulled back again. Slow. Let her feel the drag. That stretch. That pressure. All that thickness working her from the inside out. Then pushed back in. Another slow grind. Deep. Deep, “How you like it?”

Sanaa’s answer was a cry—broken and high, her voice cracked open from the inside. Her hands barely held onto her legs now. Ankles shaking in her grip. Titties bouncing soft under the rhythm he set.

“You feel all that?” he said, lips barely moving, eyes locked on her face, “Feel how I’m fuckin’ this lil’ pussy?” He moved again. Same speed. Same power. That controlled thrust that kissed her spot and punched a gasp out her lungs at the same time. Her eyes rolled. Sweat broke out across her chest. Her thighs quivered, “Say it,” he growled, hips rocking, “Say what you need. Talk to me.”

Sanaa was breathless, voice caught in her throat, fingers slipping from her thighs just long enough for Erik to grip the backs of her knees and press them toward her chest, folding her even deeper. Pussy opened up wider. Gripped tighter.

“Push it in,” she whispered, eyes glossy, “Please—”

Erik laughed. Low. Nasty.

He pulled back again. Dick dragging slow, thick veins rubbing all along her walls. Cream shining on him when he looked down. Then he rocked back in deep, pelvis kissing hers, thighs clapping soft.

“That what you want? Want this dick pushin’ up in you? Stretchin’ this tight lil’ thing out?”

She nodded fast, mouth open, whining now. Body shaking under him.

“Want this dick slidin’ up in you? Stuffin’ this tight lil’ pussy full?”

Sanaa’s back arched, head tipped back, mouth open. “Nnngh—f-fuck…”

She moaned loud, fingers clawing at his back, trying to grind, but he pinned her with his weight.

“Stop movin’. That’s mine now. You feel that pulse in your stomach? That’s your pussy holdin’ me in. I can feel it… beatin’ on this dick.”

She bit her lip, head rolling, helpless.

He bent down just enough for his chest to brush her tits, still rolling his hips, smooth and deep, “Yeah, you like that,” he said into her ear, “You been actin’ like you ain’t ready, like I’m too much…but this pussy takin’ it. All of it. She know who she belong to.”

He straightened up again, gold shining in his mouth as he licked his lips. He was breathing harder now, sweat sliding down the middle of his chest, scars flexing across his arms. Still in control. Still feeding her slow, powerful strokes that rocked her whole body, that made the bed creak and her hands claw at the sheets.

“You makin’ a mess,” he grunted, “Drippin’ all on me. Fuckin’ cream just pourin’.”

Sanaa could barely speak. Her face said everything. Eyes low, mouth open, a whimper riding each stroke. Her body was begging. Pussy wetter, messier. Squeezing tighter every time he pulled back.

“You gon’ cum like this?” Erik said, voice dark, “I can feel it. She twitchin’. That creamy lil’ explosion waitin’ for me.” Another thrust. Then another. Each one dragging her closer, “You ready?” he whispered, “Ready to let that pretty pussy bust all over me?”

And the way her body shook said yes before she could even speak it.

Sanaa let out a broken sound, halfway between a whine and a moan, fingers twitching uselessly in the air. Her clit throbbed. Her pussy fluttered hard around him like it was begging to be let loose.

Erik reached down and took her ankles again, firm hands wrapping around them. He lifted her legs and rested them on his shoulders, one smooth motion. Her small feet dangled against his broad back, toes curling as he leaned forward and tilted her hips just right.

That angle hit different.

So deep it made her gasp sharp, eyes flying open.

“Fuck,” she breathed, staring down between their bodies, watching his dick disappear into her. Watching her own slick stretch around him. Cream shining. Messy. Open.

Erik started moving again.

Not wild. Not sloppy. Just a quicker pace. Steady. Relentless. Each thrust deep and sure, dragging through her slow on the pull back, then pressing right back in where she needed it most.

“There,” he said, voice low and steady. “Right there. You feel that shit?”

Her answer was a soft cry, lip caught between her teeth as she nodded, eyes locked on where he was fucking her. She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t believe how full she looked. How much of him was inside her. How her body took it.

“I know you feel it,” he went on, breath heavier now, “This dick sittin’ all up in you. Spread open. Got you laid out lookin’ real fuckin’ good.”

The bed creaked under the rhythm of his hips. The wet sound between them got louder. Slicker. Every thrust pushing air out her lungs. Her titties bounced with the motion, nipples tight and aching. Sweat rolled down her chest and between them. Sanaa’s hands fisted in the sheets. Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled again, feet flexing against his shoulders.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, voice shaking. “Oh my—”

“That pressure hittin’ you right?” Erik asked, thrusting again, a little harder now, “Got you starin’ down at it like you can’t believe what it doin’ to you.” He leaned in closer, chest hovering over her legs, dick still sliding deep and slow-fast, that perfect in-between pace that made her whole body buzz, “Pussy just openin’ up for me,” he said, “Squeezin’ when I pull back. Clutchin’ when I push in. You feel how deep that shit go?”

She whimpered, eyes glossy, jaw slack. Her body rocked with every stroke, ass lifting just a little off the bed when he sank all the way in.

“I see you,” he said, “I see that look on your face. That ‘I ain’t never felt no shit like this’ look.”

Her lip trembled as she bit it again, trying not to make too much noise, failing every time he hit that spot that made her pussy jump.

“You not cumming yet,” Erik told her, voice like gravel soaked in heat. “I’m holdin’ you right here. Letting this dick sit. Letting you feel what it mean to get fucked for real.”

He kept that pace. Deep. Measured. Consistent. Filling her over and over until her thoughts blurred and all she could focus on was the way he felt inside her. Sanaa stared down at their bodies moving together, chest rising fast, eyes wide with disbelief.

She had never imagined it would feel like this.

And Erik could tell.

He smiled slow as he fucked her, knowing exactly what he was doing to her.

He felt it change in her.

That moment when her body stopped fighting the feeling and started chasing it. Erik pulled out slow just enough to make her gasp, then hooked an arm under her thighs and dragged her closer to the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked as he stood tall between her legs, feet planted wide. One big hand came up to cradle the back of her neck, fingers spread, firm but steady, keeping her bent just right.

Her head tipped forward. Chin slightly tucked. Chest lifted. Legs wide open and shaking.

“Stay right here,” he told her quietly.

Then he pushed back in. Harder this time. All hips. All intention.

He fucked her standing up, deep strokes snapping into her with purpose. Every thrust dug into her pussy like he was carving his name in it. The sound changed immediately. Wet. Heavy. Nasty. Her ass slid just a little on the sheets with every drive of his hips. The bed thumped softly against the wall. Her breath came out in sharp, broken moans she didn’t even try to hold back. Erik leaned forward, hand still at her neck, thumb pressing just enough to keep her right where he wanted her. His other hand grabbed her thigh, spreading her wider, giving himself more room to work her.

“This how you get fucked,” he said low, voice tight now, “Ain’t none of that playin’ shit no more.”

Her body responded instantly. Pussy gripping him harder. Cream slicking up his shaft, making each thrust glide smoother, deeper. He could feel how tight she still was even after taking him. How every stroke made her clench. Sanaa dragged a hand down his chest, fingers splayed over raised scars, nails dragging slow across his abs like she needed something solid to hold onto. Her brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as sound after sound spilled out of her. No words now. Just moans. Real ones. Loud and shameless.

Her toes curled. Thighs shook. Her head pressed back into his hand as her whole body rocked with his rhythm.

Erik watched her fall apart.

Watched the way her lips parted. The way her chest rose and fell fast. The way her pussy sucked him in every time he pulled back and begged him back when he pushed in.

“I know,” he said, eyes locked on hers, pace picking up, “I know what this dick doin’. I know I’m stretchin’ you deep. Breakin’ you in right. I know baby girl.” 

She moaned louder, hand sliding down his stomach, gripping his hips now, nails biting into his skin as her body tried to meet every thrust.

“Yeah?” he groaned, “I know. I feel you squeezin’ me. Tryna pull me deeper.”

He fucked her good. No rush. No wasted movement. Just deep, clean strokes that made her body jolt and her pussy throb around him. Sweat dripped down his chest, spotted her skin. His breathing got heavier, chest flexing with every thrust.

Sanaa couldn’t think.

Couldn’t compare this to anything she’d ever had because nothing came close. This wasn’t just sex. This was control. Weight. Pressure. The kind of dick that made your legs weak and your mind go quiet. Her moans filled the room now. Pretty and broken. Her body answering him before her thoughts ever could.

“You ain’t used to this,” he said, “That’s why you actin’ out. Why you so fuckin’ loud right now. This dick hittin’ different, huh?”

Her mouth trembled beneath his grip. She tried to moan but it came out shaky, broken—just a mess of sound, face twisting as her pussy pulsed again, creamy and loud between them. Wet. So wet. Erik pulled back just an inch, then slid right back in slow—deep. Her body jolted. She clawed at his abs, nails dragging across scarred skin, searching for something to hold on to.

“I said look at me,” he growled, giving her jaw a squeeze, “You takin’ it so good. But you gon’ remember this stroke.” He rolled his hips again. Slow grind. All of him inside. Her moans hitched. “Yeah,” he whispered, kissing the side of her mouth, still fucking her slow and deep, “That’s it. Let me see what a good girl sound like when she get ruined.”

And she did. All moans now. Loud, messy, undone. Pussy soaked. Face caught somewhere between disbelief and addiction. She didn’t even know how to ask him to stop—because she didn’t want him to.

“Uh uh,” he said low, hips rolling again, pulling out slow just to sink back in, “Ain’t no escape in this room. Just me givin’ you some shit you don’t know how to handle yet.”

Sanaa’s head was tipped back, mouth open, eyes unfocused. She couldn’t even make words—just breathy gasps, little “uhh—uhh—ohh” sounds, tears caught in the corners of her eyes. That dick was fat. And it felt like it reached every inch inside her. Like he was claiming shit. Bruising pleasure into her walls. He dropped one fist and palmed her throat, not squeezing, just holdin’ it while he fucked her slower, deeper. His thumb under her chin to make her look at him.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head like she was pathetic for what she’d become under him, “Pretty lil’ thing. Can’t even talk. Can’t even move. All that mouth you had… now I’m in it, huh? In that sweet, warm, squeezin’ ass pussy?” He leaned in, lips brushing her cheek as he fucked her slow, but hard. Real strokes. Deep dips. His abs flexed. That sweat from his chest dripped onto her titties, slid down between them, “Gon’ make a mess all over me,” he whispered against her ear, “I feel that pussy twitchin’. You ‘bout to squirt? Cream? Gimme that shit then. Let it go. Gimme all that sweet lil’ mess.”

Sanaa tried to hold it, tried to breathe, but her body had other plans. Her pussy clenched up on him, hard. That creamy wet exploded like a rush. Her whole body shook. Back arched. Toes curled. She screamed loud. A long, dragged out moan that had her damn near crying, “Daaaaddy—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, biting his bottom lip hard as her cream gushed around him. “There she go. So fuckin’ messy. That’s mine. All that shit belong to me.”

He didn’t stop. Kept stroking. Controlled. Deep. Purposeful. Watching the way her body seized up with every thrust. The way her face crumbled, lips parted, eyes crossed just a little. She was spent. Fucked dumb. But he wasn’t done.

She had been asking for it. The teasing. The walking past him in them little ass shorts with no bra. The smart-ass grin, the way she bent over slow like she ain’t know he was behind her. Like he wasn’t built to catch that shit. Built to correct it.

Now she was where she needed to be.

Bent at the edge of the bed, back dipped low in a deep arch, slim thick body laid out perfect. Espresso brown skin already kissed up with sweat, glowing under the low lamp light. Long silk press damp and clinging to her spine, gold hoops swinging every time she breathed too hard. Her hands gripped the sheets in front of her like she was bracing for impact, thighs twitching already from anticipation. She wasn’t saying much now. Just soft little whimpers, little gasps, trying to hold still while Erik stood behind her, letting that heavy dick drag over her soaked lips like a warning.

He was tall, solid, strong in a way that made everything feel smaller around him. That skin of his golden brown, gleamed with sweat across scarred shoulders and cut arms, every muscle flexing in slow control. His locs hung wild, swaying with each breath he took, some brushing against his cheek as he rolled his hips forward just enough to tease her slit. His jaw was locked. Dimples barely showing under the shadow of his beard, lips full and parted, watching her with heat in his eyes. That look he got when he was done playing.

The room was thick with it. That wet, nasty tension. The kind that made you sweat before the fuck even started. The sound of her breathing came in soft stutters, then caught sharp when he eased the tip of his dick in, slow, just enough to make her feel the width. That first little push pulled a moan straight out her chest—high-pitched, pretty, needy.

“Nnnnnhhh—”

Her thighs shook. Her hips twitched. He gripped them firm and kept her still.

His dick slid in deeper, inch by inch, slow and controlled. Thick, veined, heavy with heat. Her pussy welcomed it, parted soft and creamy, sucking him in greedy. The sound was nasty—wet, slick, obscene. Skin to skin contact filled the room in low slaps as he sank into that tightness. She gasped loud when he bottomed out, pussy clenching, juice spilling out and down his dick, running slick down to his balls.

“Ahhh—fuck—”

Her back dipped harder, ass bouncing from the force, body trembling as he held still, buried deep. Letting her feel the weight. Letting her feel how deep it went. The pressure in her belly was immediate, hot and thick like she’d been split open from the inside. She whined again, softer this time, body trying to pull back but his grip stayed firm. Erik leaned over her, chest hovering over her back, heat rolling off his body. Sweat dripped from his skin to hers, mixing where their bodies touched. His lips brushed her shoulder as he sucked a slow breath through his nose. His locs swayed forward, brushing her neck. She could hear his breath now—heavy, steady, that deep male grunt rising in his chest as he pulled back halfway and pushed in again, slow but harder. Purposeful.

“Unhhh—”

Her moan cracked open in her throat as he started moving. Deep strokes. Slow drag out, then all the way back in, hips snapping against her ass with a sharp clap. The bounce of her cheeks echoed through the room, flesh meeting flesh, wetness coating everything. Her pussy clenched again—tight, messy, too responsive—and that just made him go harder.

She cried out again, hands bunching the sheets, gasping loud as her body rocked forward with every thrust.

“Ahhh—ahh—nnnnn—”

Erik’s hand slid from her hip to the front of her throat. Not choking. Just holding. Making her feel how deep he was, how controlled he was, how owned she was. He bent his head, kissed her jaw, bit it slow, sucked on her skin until she shivered and clenched even tighter around him. His other hand slid up, grabbed a handful of titty, squeezing her soft brown flesh, palm wet with sweat and cream.

Then he popped her ass—sharp, loud.

She squealed, whole body jumping as he slammed into her deeper. The pressure started building before she even realized he was changing pace. His thrusts stayed deep, thick strokes dragging through all that creamy wet, but there was something in the way he paused—right there, buried inside her. Like he was deciding how bad he was about to break her down.

Then his voice cut through the slick sound of skin and sex, “Sit up.”

Just like that. Blunt. Firm. No softness in it. That deep, calm tone that left no room for hesitation. Sanaa’s breath caught in her throat, and she pushed up slow on shaky arms, her back still arched, ass still high. Her long hair stuck to her shoulder and chest now, damp from sweat, sticking to the curve of her breasts. She tried to breathe, but that dick was still buried so deep, all she could do was pant.

“Sit…up,” he repeated, voice tighter now, hand gripping her hip, “Arch that back. Stay just like that.”

She obeyed, gasping when he rolled his hips again, slow at first, the weight of him grinding right into her from behind. She whimpered when his hand slid up her back, gripped the nape of her neck.

Then came the next command, low and rough behind her, “Look back at me.”

She turned her head, eyes fluttering open through the haze, lips trembling as she looked over her shoulder. And there he was. Erik. Sweaty, scarred-up motherfucker with that big dick sitting inside her.. His locs swung loose around his face, clinging to the thick muscle of his shoulders. Sweat ran in slow trails down his chest, catching the shine in the light. His lips were parted, that sharp jaw clenched tight. And his eyes—locked on hers, low and dangerous. Sanaa whimpered, her face twisting as another slow, hard stroke made her body jolt forward. That dick dragged against her walls so deep and thick it felt like it was curving inside her, making her pussy clench down again, hard. She couldn’t hold it.

“Mmmf—ahh—fuck… Erik…”

He smirked, then popped her ass again—sharper this time. The clap echoed through the room, “Don’t run now, lil’ slut. You wanted this, right?”

And then he started fucking her for real.

Hips snapping forward with purpose, Erik drove into her with hard, grinding thrusts, dick drilling through wet, creamy heat like it owned her insides. The sound was filthy—wet slaps, heavy balls smacking against her clit, the sharp clap of flesh to flesh every time her cheeks bounced back on him. Her pussy gushed around him, creamy and hot, dripping down to the bed, mess soaking everything under them.

“Ahh—ahh—uhhh—f-fuck—”

She was breaking, voice stuttering, face twisted up, brows tight, lips trembling as she tried to keep her eyes on him. He grabbed her jaw from behind, fingers strong and possessive on her face, turning her chin even more so she had no choice but to stare at him while he kept pounding.

“Keep them eyes on me,” he growled, voice deep and close, his lips at her cheek now, “You feel this dick? That’s what you get for playin’ in my face. Now you gon’ learn.”

She cried out again, soft and desperate. Her body trembled with every stroke, thighs shaking, nails digging into the mattress. Her tits bounced with every hit, back dimples flexing. Erik’s hips moved fast now, but still controlled—like he knew exactly how deep to go to make her lose her mind. His thrusts hit that swollen spot inside her over and over, his thick dick pushing against her walls so deep her whole pussy fluttered in response.

“Unghhh…Daddy—please—”

He grunted low, rough, grinding in deeper.

“Nasty lil’ thing,” he said right in her ear, voice ragged now, his breath hot on her neck, “All that attitude. All that mouth. Now you over here whimperin’, creamin’ all over me like a good lil’ slut.”

She gasped, crying out again, that pleasure bubbling high and fast inside her. Erik didn’t let up. He kept her head turned, kept his body crashing into hers, all muscle, all grit, sweat dripping onto her back with every stroke. Both of them breathing heavy, biting their lips, eyes locked.

Sanaa stayed right where he put her—back arched, hands down, head still turned, mouth parted on a whimper. That dick had her wide open. Her whole body felt like it was on fire now, tingling from the inside out. She could feel every part of him—every thick inch, every slow drag, every deep slam that pushed up into places she ain’t even know could feel that good. Her thighs were shaking, hips twitching with every thrust. But Erik wasn’t letting her go nowhere.

He had her by the shoulders now, those strong-ass hands gripping tight, thumbs pressed into the back of her traps, arms flexed as he used his whole body to pull her back into each stroke. Feet planted. Muscles locked in. That perfect stroke rhythm starting to build again—steady, brutal, unrelenting.

No words now.

Just dick.

Just that thick, wet clap of his hips smacking against her ass over and over, the sound getting nastier, wetter, louder with every bounce of her cheeks. Just his grunts—low, throaty, deep in his chest. And that smug-ass “mhmm,” that came out when he bottomed out so hard she let out a full cry.

“Auhhh—uhh—daddy—fuck—”

Her voice broke every time he hit it. Her pussy clamped down again, tight and fluttering around him, slick coating his dick in warm cream that spilled with every deep thrust. The pressure inside her was swelling fast, like her body was trying to catch up to what he was doing to it—like her nerves were sparking all over. That dick was heavy. Thick as hell. Every push sent heat rolling through her belly, made her gasp, made her grab the sheets like she could anchor herself against it. He gripped her harder. Pulled her back harder. Snapped his hips forward and made that ass bounce harder.

Her titties swung with every stroke, sweat rolling down her chest, her back, between her thighs. Her whole body was shaking now, nerves on fire, pussy so wet it sounded like he was fucking straight into a bowl of honey. The slick was everywhere—coating him, dripping to the bed, making a mess of her thighs and the back of her knees.

And Erik was loving it.

Didn’t say a word. Just kept watching her. Kept them eyes on her like he was memorizing how she looked with his dick buried in her. Lips slightly parted. Jaw clenched. Locs stuck to his shoulders and jaw, swaying with every hard stroke.

“Unnnh…mmmh…uh-huh…”

Those cocky-ass grunts and hums kept falling out of his mouth, like her pussy was answering a question he ain’t even ask. That deep, wet squeeze her body gave every time he drove in. The flutter when he slowed up. The shiver in her legs when he picked the pace back up and pounded harder. Sanaa tried to reach back, tried to brace herself on his thigh, but he wasn’t having that. He let go of one shoulder, grabbed her wrist and planted her hand back down. Grabbed her hip again and took her right back into that stroke. Deep. Fast. Wet.

“Auhh—uhhh—uhhhhnnnn…”

She was gasping now, moaning with every single thrust. Her pussy started convulsing again, leaking more, pulling at him like it didn’t want him out. That heat between her legs turned molten, had her legs trembling under him, had her thighs slick and trembling.

Still pounding. Still controlling. Still dickin’ her down like she was built to take all of him and only him.

“D-don’t stop… I need it like that…" "Right there, oh my god…keep fuckin’ me, just like that…” “You feel how deep you in? I’m so full… I can’t take it—no, wait—I want it…” “Talk to me while you fuck me like this…tell me it’s yours…” “This dick feel so good, daddy…you tryna make me lose my mind?” “You fuckin’ me dumb…I swear I’m finna—oh my god—Erik…” “Look what you do to me…look at how I’m shaking…you proud of that?” “Don’t slow down—uh-uh, no—keep goin’, fuck me open…” “I want all of it…don’t hold back…tear it up.” “Mmmf…I’ll take all that dick, just keep giving it to me…make me remember.”

Sanaa was begging. Nonstop.

Voice all breathy and broken, words spilling out between moans like she couldn’t help it. Like she needed to be fucked. Needed to be filled. Saying anything, everything—just to keep him deep inside her.

“I’ll be g-good…I swear…” “I won’t run no more…you can do whatever you want…” “I’m listening, I’m listening…I promise I’m listening…” “Please, I’m tryna be good for you…ain’t I being good?” “You got me, daddy…you got all of me, I swear…” “I won’t move, I’ll stay right here…just keep fuckin’ me…”

She started begging while throwing it back, Erik talking her through it. 

“I’ll be good…I swear…I just—I need it—”

“Then take it. Show me how bad you want it.”

“I’m tryna be good…tryna take it all—”

“You doin’ good. Now stay right there and keep archin’ that pretty back.”

“You fuckin’ me so good, I can’t think straight—”

“Good. That’s the goal. I don’t want no thoughts in that head. Just me.”

Her back dipped low, arms trembling where she gripped the edge of the bed, face buried in the pillow. Erik had her locked in — one hand braced heavy on her lower back, the other gripping her hip, pulling her into each stroke. He wasn’t slamming into her. Nah. He was drilling her. Real slow. Real deep. Like he was laying pipe in her soul. She was throwin’ it back in broken stutters, thighs shaking, sweat sliding down her spine. Cream slicked his dick, thick and wet, strings of it gluing to the base. He could hear it every time he sank back in. That nasty, obscene squelch that made his jaw clench.

“You close?” he asked, voice low and dark behind her.

She nodded fast, whining. Couldn’t get words out. Just gasps and soft cries.

Erik leaned in, hips still grinding, still pushing all the way in. Then he slid two fingers into her mouth. Right between her lips. Like a pacifier, “Suck,” he said, “Be my good girl.”

And she did. Moaning around his fingers. Eyes rolling. Drool sliding down her chin as her body locked up. Her orgasm hit like a fucking car crash. Sanaa’s eyes crossed, jaw slackening around his fingers. Her legs gave out beneath her, back bowing as her body seized—pussy gripping and milking his dick. She screamed around his hand, whimpering and twitching, hips caught in the middle of the thrust.

“There you go,” Erik grunted, “That’s it. Cum on this dick just like that.”

Her cream spilled down his shaft in a thick, hot wave, soaking her thighs and the sheets beneath her. Erik didn’t slow. He fucked her through it, holding her mouth open with his fingers, thumb stroking her bottom lip. She sucked like she needed it to breathe. Eyes wet. Breath hitched. Body quivering.

“You feel that?” he growled, stroking deep again. “You still cumming, baby. Let it out.”

Her moans were high and muffled, body twitching as he stayed buried inside her. Still fucking her. Still making her feel everything. No breaks. No mercy.

“You want daddy to stop?” he asked again, pulling her head back by the hair, “Or you want more?”

She tried to answer, but all that came out was a choked moan around his fingers.

“Mmhm. Thought so.”

He pulled his fingers from her mouth slow, strings of spit still clinging to them, and dragged the wet trail across her ass. Sanaa was trembling, cheeks flushed, pussy still leaking from the last orgasm. But Erik gripped her waist again, pulled her back against him, and slid all the way in.

“Mmm…this lil’ pussy still wet for me?” he growled low behind her.

She whimpered, back arching. She tried to move — he pinned her down.

“Nah, keep still. I’m bout to fill you up.” His voice dropped, heavy and slow like a threat, “You feel that?” This me. All this dick. Stuffin’ this tight lil’ pussy.”

He started stroking again, deeper now, slow and punishing, his balls slapping against her soaked folds. Sanaa was crying into the sheets — moaning, choking, cumming all over again. And Erik was chasing his nut now.

“I’m gon’ breed this pussy.Drop this nut so fuckin’ deep, you’ll feel it in your stomach.” His hand slid up her back, gripped the nape of her neck, pushed her face down into the bed, “You hear me, baby? I’m the only one who get to fuck you like this.” He thrust harder now, hips slamming, the sound filthy. The sound of skin, of heat, of him claiming her. Possessive. Focused. Mean with it, “This slutty lil’ pussy… so good. Good pussy. My pussy. So fuckin’ tight I can barely breathe.”

Sanaa was gone. Babbling. Creaming again. Arching back into him even as her legs shook. And Erik—he was right at the edge. He grabbed both her hips, held her in place, and pushed all the way in — balls deep — and held it.

“Fuck…fuuuck—there it go—”

He groaned hard through clenched teeth as he nutted. Thick, hot, flooding her. Long spurts. Over and over. His dick twitched inside her as he emptied himself so deep, so full, he knew she’d be leakin’ when he pulled out.

“Mmm…there you go. Take all this nut, just like I taught you.” He leaned down, pressed his chest to her back, lips brushing her ear, This the only dick you know, baby. The best dick you ever had. And the last dick you gon’ ever get.”

Erik finally pulled out, slow and heavy, his dick slick with her cream and his nut. Sanaa whimpered at the emptiness, her thighs twitching. A thick stream of cum dripped from her used pussy, pooling between her legs—then more spilled when she arched slightly and pushed it out, her body still fluttering.

He watched it, eyes dark.

Then he leaned over her back, one hand spreading her ass, the other braced beside her head. His lips brushed her ear.

“Say my name.”

She swallowed a moan, still dazed, still open.

“Killmonger…” she breathed.

Sanaa woke before her alarm.

The soft rustle of sheets followed her as she turned over, arm sliding across the mattress toward the sunlight bleeding through her curtains. It was quiet. The kind of weekend quiet that felt like it should last forever. No buzzing phones, no class lectures playing from her laptop, no Aaliyah shuffling through the hallway on speakerphone. Just stillness.

Saturday.

She blinked once, twice, then stretched—arms over her head, spine long, body arching like a cat. A low hum left her throat as her legs slid out from under the blanket, her skin still warm from sleep. She reached for her phone and tapped the screen. Almost seven. Just enough time to get through her morning routine and make that early Pilates class. Her feet met the floor with a soft thud. The hallway was dim as she padded to the bathroom, adjusting the spaghetti strap of her tank. The apartment was still. The bathroom light hummed on as she shut the door behind her. She glanced at herself in the mirror. She pulled off her bonnet. A tangle of curls framed her face, sleep still clinging to the corners of her eyes. She leaned in close and got started.

Face wash first, her fingertips moving in slow, upward circles. Then the rinse. Cold water splashed against her skin and made her blink hard, gasping softly as she reached for the towel. She patted dry, then began layering serums and moisturizers with the kind of careful rhythm she’d built into muscle memory. Next came brushing her teeth. She moved slow again, taking her time, watching herself in the mirror as she tilted her head this way and that. The girl staring back at her looked soft. Full lips. Sloped cheekbones. Golden undertones warming her brown skin. Thick brows arched with just enough attitude to betray her quiet energy.

She reached for the edge brush.

Her curls had dried into soft, full coils overnight, just how she liked. She misted her edges, smoothed product along her hairline, and worked the brush with practiced ease, swooping delicate curls into clean shapes. With both hands, she raked her curls into a sleek low bun at the nape of her neck, secured it, and smoothed down any flyaways. She was just slipping her gold studded earrings  in when she heard it.

A knock. Firm. Quiet.

Her eyes lifted to the door. She opened it slowly.

And Erik was standing there.

No shirt.

Loose linen pants hanging low on his hips, slung so low she could see the deep cut of his v-line beneath the shadows of his abs. He was broad. Built like power. Shoulders cut and thick, chest heavy with solid muscle, dark brown skin smooth in places and rough in others —the raised texture of healed keloid scars that mapped his torso like battle lines. A small black crown sat inked over his heart, half-hidden by shadows. His locs were tucked under a large satin bonnet.

And his eyes were on hers.

“Almost done?” His voice was still thick from sleep, deep and low like gravel.

Sanaa blinked once. Swallowed. Her hand stayed on the doorknob. Her eyes slipped down before she could stop them—tracing the ink spiraling down his right arm, blackwork patterns cut clean across his bicep and deltoid, Adinkra symbols coiled inside sharp lines. The panther head hidden there, barely visible, but watching. She followed it down to the taper of his forearm, where the ink ended and the scars began.

And then she looked back up.

He hadn’t moved. Still watching her.

She nodded, soft, “Yeah. All yours.”

Her voice didn’t sound like hers. She stepped out slowly. Tried not to let her arm brush against him. Failed. Erik stayed still, only stepping aside enough to let her through. She caught the scent of his skin in the space between them—like sandalwood, leather, and something warm and faintly sharp, like cloves. He smelled expensive. Like whatever he put on his skin was picked out by hand. Like he could afford to smell that good without even trying.

And it didn’t help that he looked like that.

Even half-asleep, he was still fine. Too fine.

The kind of fine you don’t acknowledge in daylight because if you do, it becomes real. The kind of fine that made Sanaa want to look back once more just to see the way the muscles in his back flexed when he walked.

But she didn’t. She kept moving. Quiet. Still calm. She made it back to her room and shut the door gently. Only when it clicked closed did she let out the breath she’d been holding.

And smiled.

Because she knew damn well she wasn’t thinking about Pilates anymore.

Not with that in the hallway. Not with Erik Stevens, shirtless and half-awake, filling the apartment with that quiet weight of his.

She sat on the edge of her bed and pressed her thighs together. Tried to calm her nerves before she said fuck the whole class and stayed home on purpose.

Not too long after, Aaliyah breezed in like she owned the place, already dressed for class in a tight hot pink crop top and matching leggings that hugged her every curve. Her curls were piled high on her head, and her water bottle clanked as she tossed her gym bag onto Sanaa’s bed.

“That rum punch last night? Nah. Took me out,” she said with a groan, rubbing her eyes dramatically as she yawned, “Swear I woke up at three a.m. with cottonmouth like I just crossed the Sahara.”

Sanaa let out a soft laugh but didn’t turn. She was at her full-length mirror, adjusting the hem of her workout top and brushing invisible lint from her hips. The sunlight streaking through the curtains kissed the gold in her skin. Her bun sat low and sleek, every edge swooped to perfection, gold necklace gleaming against her neck. She did one last once-over, turning to the side and lifting her arm just enough to check how her sports bra shaped her chest.

“I slept like a baby,” Sanaa said, smoothing her hands down the front of her leggings.

Liar.

She hadn’t slept that good. Not with Erik in the next room. Not after seeing what she saw. 

Your fine ass big brother got me distracted in the worst way. 

But Aaliyah didn’t catch it. She was mid-rant, flopping backward onto the bed, legs in the air as she started digging through her purse.

“I still need to pack. This damn fellowship got me stressed. Jordan keep blowing up my DMs like I ain’t tell him I was done with his ass. Like…boy, you had all semester to get it right.” 

Sanaa smirked and tuned her out just a little. Because from her spot at the mirror, angled just so, she had a clear view into the hallway. And Erik was at the sink. Brushing his teeth. The linen pants hung just as low. The flex of his back, those shoulders…he moved slow and deliberate, brushing with one hand while the other rested on the counter. His bonnet still covered his locs, but the rest of him? All that thick, built muscle, the curve of his waist tapering into a v-cut you couldn’t unsee once you’d seen it? Right there.

And Sanaa was drinking in every inch of him like she was the one still tasting that rum punch. He bent forward, cupped his hands under the faucet, and rinsed. Then stood tall again, dragging a towel slowly over his face and neck. Sanaa’s thighs pressed together without her realizing. He didn’t even know he looked that good in the morning. Or maybe he did. That was the problem. He probably did know. And he carried it like he didn’t need to say a word. The kind of man who could ruin your whole day before breakfast just by walking past.

And that’s exactly what he did next.

He stepped out of the bathroom. Still shirtless. Still smelling like cologne and sleep. His eyes lifted and locked on hers.

And didn’t move.

Aaliyah didn’t notice. She sat up on the bed, flapping her mouth like it was any other day.

“Good morning, big bro!” she chirped, finally clocking him.

Erik gave her a nod, voice low, “Mornin’, Lil’ sis.” 

Then he reached up, peeled off the satin bonnet, and shook his locs loose. They fell around his face and shoulders, thick and dark.

Sanaa’s throat dried.

She kept still, but her eyes stayed locked on him through the mirror. He glanced at her one last time—something sharp behind that gaze, something quiet and knowing—then started down the hall.

“Where you headed?” Aaliyah called after him.

He paused, turned slightly, “Bout to hit the gym. Get this retwist.”

Sanaa’s eyes dropped to the crown inked over his heart, still visible when he turned. A small black symbol sitting just above the scar tissue. She shouldn’t be staring. But she was.

“Oh perfect!” Aaliyah said, springing off the bed like she’d had the idea of the year, “Can you drop us off at Pilates? Take your fancy-ass truck since we ain’t Lyfting.”

He sucked his teeth like he wasn’t even surprised, “Ared.” That Oakland tone slid right through the hallway, “Let me get my shit on,” Erik said, “I’ll take y’all.”

And then he was gone.

His voice, his walk, the weight of him, still hanging in the air like heat. Sanaa kept her face calm, fingers adjusting the strap on her shoulder as if she hadn’t just watched the man’s entire body with her eyes wide open.

“You good, sis?” Aaliyah asked, applying lip balm. 

Sanaa nodded slowly, “Yeah.”

But the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth told a different story.

The kitchen smelled like coconut water and ripe mango. Aaliyah leaned against the counter, smacking on a slice of pineapple while Sanaa moved soft behind her, digging through the fridge for the bag of strawberries she bought earlier that week. The morning light filled the space in streaks, golden and warm, and the girls moved around each other like they’d done a hundred times before.

“No way I’m workin’ out on an empty stomach,” Aaliyah said, popping another piece of pineapple into her mouth, “I almost fainted last week tryna be cute.”

“Because you drank tequila the night before,” Sanaa reminded, grabbing two bottles of water and sliding one over to her.

“And you was right there with me,” Aaliyah shot back, laughing.

Sanaa didn’t argue. Just smiled and perched herself on the edge of the counter, bare ankles crossed, a single strawberry pinched between her fingers. She wore her usual class fit—black leggings with that subtle sheen, a fitted workout tank. Clean, casual, soft but fine.

The air shifted before they even heard him. A quiet sort of shift. Like gravity leaned in.

Erik stepped into the kitchen.

Gym-ready. And fine as hell.

Black compression tee stretched across his chest like it had to fight to stay in place. His arms were too thick for the sleeves, the fabric hugging every line of muscle down to his triceps. He wore black athletic shorts, just long enough to hang low, but high enough to show the way his thighs curved thick and solid. His locs were pulled back now, jaw still sharp. Sanaa tried to act normal. She reached for another strawberry.

Erik opened the cabinet, grabbed a shaker bottle, and started scooping his pre-workout into it. His movements were quiet, smooth, like this wasn’t anything but a regular ass morning. Then came the Maca root capsules. He didn’t say a word while he took ‘em.

“Y’all ready?” he asked finally, voice low.

“Just about,” Aaliyah said, already headed to the living room to grab her sneakers.

As soon as she disappeared, Sanaa stayed right where she was.

Lingering.

Watching him.

Her eyes dropped to his arm, tracing the lines of his tattoo. The blackwork sleeve looked even more intense in daylight. Angular, geometric, wrapped around his muscle like it was carved there, not just inked. The pattern shifted slightly every time he moved, symbols tucked inside sharp lines, and somewhere near the curve of his bicep, that hidden panther head stared back.

Sanaa let her voice come quiet. Smooth.

“That sleeve look like it hurt.”

Erik’s brow lifted just a little, not even looking at her at first. He closed the shaker bottle, gave it two hard shakes, then glanced her way as he drank.

“I got scars all over my body,” he said simply, “A tattoo is light work.”

That made her pause. Her eyes slipped lower.

“…All over?”

It came out soft. Curious. More than curiosity though. There was a question under it she didn’t ask out loud.

Erik tilted his head just slightly.

Didn’t move at first.

Then he leaned a little to the side, just enough to glance down the hall—checked the corner near the entryway where Aaliyah’s voice was now muffled, singing along to something as she laced up her sneakers.

And then he looked back at Sanaa.

Down at her.

That quiet, heavy stare that made the kitchen feel too hot all of a sudden. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t have to.

“Watch how you talk to me.”

His words dropped low, quiet enough for her ears only. Her breath caught before she could help it. Her fingers went still on the strawberry.

And Erik? He turned back to the counter, as if nothing had passed between them. As if he hadn’t just pressed something invisible into the space between them. Sanaa slid off the counter slowly. Her heart was beating too fast for no reason. She could still feel the weight of his eyes even after he stopped looking. She grabbed her water bottle and walked out of the kitchen. Strawberry still in hand. Still sweet on her tongue.

And her thighs still tight.

Sanaa crouched near the entryway bench, one knee bent, fingers tugging at the laces of her black Adidas. She tried to focus. Tried to keep her hands steady. Tried not to let the way he said it echo so loud in her body.

Watch how you talk to me.

It wasn’t what he said. It was how.

That tone—deep, low, firm as concrete—had grabbed her by the spine. Pinned her in place. It wasn’t loud or flashy, but it didn’t need to be. It hit something raw. The look in his eyes? That slow tilt of his head, the way he scanned for Aaliyah, then set his gaze right back on her and didn’t blink?

That shit was dangerous.

It stirred something in her.

Heat. Low in her belly. A flutter, tight and trembling, pulsing like a warning. Her pussy clenched like it heard him. Like it understood better than her brain did. She crossed her legs at the ankle to calm it down.

Erik appeared in the hallway then. Black gym bag slung over one broad shoulder, his stride easy and slow like he was built from discipline. His shirt hugged his chest just enough to hint at what was underneath, and his shorts rode low again, teasing the cut of his hips.

But it was the way he looked at her.

Just her.

No words. Just that steady stare as he passed. It didn’t feel like checking in. It felt like checking her. Tension slid across the room behind him like smoke.

Aaliyah was already heading toward the door, tapping her phone, distracted,  “Let’s goooo. I booked the late spot so we got like fifteen minutes.”

Sanaa stood. Wiped her palms on her leggings. They filed out together,  Erik in front, the girls trailing behind. The air outside was brisk, cool on the skin but not enough to cut the heat still sitting on Sanaa’s chest. She could smell him again. Clean, sharp, masculine. They made it to the garage. His truck gleamed in the dim lighting—that murdered-out black, big body style. Clean as hell. You could tell he took care of it.

Aaliyah reached for the back door.

Sanaa didn’t hesitate.

She opened the front passenger door like it was the most natural thing in the world, and slid in, smooth and calm, like she belonged there.

She felt Erik glance over.

Didn’t look back.

Just clipped her seatbelt and let her body settle in.

He got in, started the engine with one hand, the other gripping the wheel. That one hand was thick, veined, scarred—strong enough to pull your whole life apart if he wanted. He didn’t speak. Neither did she. Aaliyah started talking from the back seat, something about class playlists, and whether she should switch to that yoga sculpt hybrid next week, but it was white noise to Sanaa. She could feel the weight of him next to her. Could feel her thighs pressed together, tight and clenched again, because her body wouldn’t stop remembering the sound of that voice and what it did to her.

Watch how you talk to me.

He drove with that slow, controlled rhythm—the kind of man who never jerked the wheel, never had to speed, because he knew wherever he was headed, he was getting there on his time. And Sanaa sat there quiet, soft, her hands folded in her lap like she wasn’t secretly unraveling beside him. They pulled up outside the Pilates studio. Glass windows, pastel signage, girls in leggings milling around with matcha cups and slicked-back ponytails.

Aaliyah popped her door open fast.

“Alright Bri, let’s get snatched.”

She hopped out and disappeared into the flow of women near the entrance.

Sanaa didn’t move.

She stayed turned slightly toward Erik, fingers resting lightly on her thigh.

“Hey…” she said softly. Almost too soft.

He looked over. Her voice barely above a whisper. Sweet. Like she hadn’t meant to ask that. Or maybe she did. Like she didn’t want to press where it hurt.

“I didn’t mean anything by that earlier,” she said, “Didn’t mean to be…outta pocket.”

She glanced at him, then looked down at her lap.

Erik didn’t answer right away. His hand stayed on the wheel. His jaw set. And then he looked at her—deep, low, deliberate.

“It’s cool, Nae Nae.”  he said.

Then came the faintest curl of his mouth. Not a smile. Not all the way. Just enough to show the dimple on his left side. Just enough to knock the breath out her lungs.

But the tension didn’t ease.

Not even close.

It was still heavy. Still thick between them. Still pressing on every part of her body that remembered how it felt when he stepped too close. When his voice dropped. When her pussy quivered just from the tone of him. Sanaa licked her lips, gave a little nod, and stepped out. But her heart was still pounding when the door shut behind her.

And Erik watched her walk away. Slow. Calm. Still not saying a word. Just gripping the wheel a little tighter. Like he was trying real hard not to circle the block.

Erik drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting heavy on his thigh. The windows were cracked just enough to let the cool in. His music wasn’t on, just the hum of the engine and the soft sound of city life sliding by as he moved through the streets. A stoplight hit red and his foot eased onto the brake, smooth, practiced.

And still—his jaw stayed locked.

His mind was on her.

“All over?”

The way she said it had been soft. Breathless. But it wasn’t innocent. Not really. There was heat tucked inside that voice. A little curiosity, yeah. But also a kind of quiet boldness that damn near made his dick jump. That “I know what I’m doing” edge. And coming from her? From Nae Nae? Erik let out a low breath, his chest rumbling with a sound that could’ve been a scoff. Could’ve been a laugh. He wasn’t even sure. Wasn’t the first time a woman asked him if the scars went deep. If they trailed lower. If they were still raised and textured down below his waistline. Plenty had. He remembered the usual questions. The slick attempts to act like they weren’t asking what they were really asking.

But this? This one hit different.

Because it came from her.

That quiet lil thing. The one who used to stutter when she said his name. The one who used to peek at him from behind her notebook when she thought he wasn’t lookin’. But now? Now she looked him dead in the eye and asked if his body was scarred everywhere. With that tilt in her head. That damn strawberry still in her hand. With her eyes tracing his tattoos like she was tryin’ to memorize the pattern with her mouth.

Erik chuckled low to himself. No teeth. Just that breathless half-laugh.

He shook his head once.

Yeah. He was in fuckin’ trouble.

Big trouble.

Because he knew what he looked like when he came out the bathroom. He knew the effect he had. Knew his body could start shit without him saying a word. But he hadn’t expected her to play back.

And she was playing.

Even if she didn’t say much, he could feel it. The way she lingered. The way she looked at him in that mirror. The way she slid into the front seat like she knew he wasn’t about to tell her to move. She didn’t ask for permission. Didn’t ask if it was cool. Just slipped in like the seat already belonged to her. He could still feel the ghost of her sitting there beside him. The press of her presence. The soft, sweet smell of whatever she put on her skin—coconut, vanilla, maybe something warmer underneath.

His fingers flexed on the wheel.

Because that voice? That mouth?

She wasn’t teasing him loud. Wasn’t doing the most. But she didn’t have to. That quiet boldness? The restraint? That was the shit that got him. And now? Now he couldn’t get her out of his head. The tension in the kitchen. The way her lips parted after he told her to watch her mouth. The way her body responded. Like she felt it. Deep. Like her thighs squeezed up and she got wet off his voice alone. Erik reached down and adjusted himself through his shorts, jaw flexing.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

Because if she said one more thing like that? Looked at him like that again?

He wasn’t gon’ be able to play cool. Wasn’t gon’ be able to just walk off. And the next time she asked about his scars? He just might show her.

Erik didn’t work out to look good.

He worked out to keep control.

By the time he hit the gym floor, his mind was already locked in. Focused. Every part of him operating like a machine programmed to burn through tension, sweat out impulse, and carve discipline where heat threatened to take over.

Especially today.

The weight of that morning still sat heavy in his chest. In his body. That voice. That question.

“All over?”

He was still carrying it.

The gym was quiet, early enough that only a few others were scattered across machines. Concrete walls, matte-black equipment, mirrors that stretched along the sides. Industrial. Minimal. Nothing fancy. Just metal, iron, rubber, and grind. He dropped his bag near the squat rack and rolled his shoulders back. Locs tied higher into a messy bun now, neck still damp with a sheen of sweat, his sleeveless hoodie already clinging to him at the chest. He slid it off slowly and draped it on the bench. The room caught the full sight of him. Tattooed, gleaming under the low light. Veins raised and pulsing down to his forearms. His chest thick, scars layered across skin like stories he never told. 

He chalked his hands. Cracked his knuckles.

Squats first.

Heavy. Five sets. Slow tempo.

He loaded the bar like ritual. Let the weight settle across his shoulders and locked it in tight. When he dipped into that first squat, he went deep—controlled—thighs parallel, ass damn near brushing the ground before he powered back up. Muscles tensed and released, glutes flexed, hamstrings tight.

Again.

And again.

Until the sweat slid down his back in slow rivers and his lungs pulled deeper with every rep. He wasn’t training for show. He trained like his life had once depended on it.

Because it had.

Deadlifts next.

Bar on the floor. Back flat. Core tight.

He hooked his grip and pulled. The bar left the ground like it owed him something. All legs and hips and back. Every repetition burned like penance, and he took it. Let it sting.

He wanted it to hurt.

He needed something else to ache more than the tension throbbing behind his shorts. Because he could still see the way she looked up at him when he said it. Could still feel the pull in his gut when he told her to watch how she talked.

And she liked it. He knew she did.

Erik dropped the bar hard, metal clanging, echoing through the space.

Bench press.

No spot. Just him.

He loaded three plates, laid back on the bench, set his feet flat. The bar came down slow to his chest. Heavy. Thick tension across his pecs, over his scars. Then the push. A clean, smooth press—controlled, steady, breathing through it with clenched teeth. By the third set, his arms were trembling. Sweat beading across his forehead, chest glistening, his jaw set like stone. But he didn’t stop. Not until his triceps locked and his shoulders begged for rest.

Pull-ups. Supersets. Cables. Abs.

Erik didn’t count minutes.

He worked until the rest of the world fell away. Until all he could feel was the burn. Until he could barely think about her. But not even that worked. When he stood at the mirror between sets, shirt off, sweat pouring, chest rising hard—he saw himself. And still thought about her. How her mouth parted. How her lashes lowered. How her fingers traced his tattoos like she was looking for something more than ink. He took one more pull of water from his bottle. Neck stretched, Adam’s apple bobbing. Then exhaled slow. He needed to calm the fuck down. Because if she looked at him like that again?

Erik already knew. He wasn’t gon’ walk away next time. He was gon’ show her. Every reason why that question wasn’t one she should be asking. Not unless she was ready to see for herself.

Why they nickname him Killmonger. 

The Pilates studio sat on the corner of a gentrified block, tucked between a minimalist juice bar and a boutique candle shop that always smelled like palo santo and privilege. But inside?

It felt like home.

Warm lighting glowed low overhead, sunlight pooling through the tall windows like honey. The floors were blonde wood, smooth and polished, with black reformer machines spaced in clean rows. A wall-length mirror reflected the class back at themselves: tight cores, glistening skin, slick buns and twisted coils pulled high. The scent in the air was soft—eucalyptus, fresh linen, and a whisper of sweat.

And it was all us.

Black women stretched and flexed in unison, their breath synced, moving to the rhythm of low, moody R&B playing from overhead speakers. Sade’s voice floated through the room, mingling with soft exhalations and creaking springs. The instructor, Tasha, stood at the front of the room in dusty rose leggings and a cropped sports bra, her voice a calm, grounded rhythm.

“Engage your core. Pull your bellybutton toward your spine. That’s it. Good. Stay with it.”

Sanaa was in the third row, mat centered. Hands gripping the reformer straps. Ankles trembling as she pushed and pulled, legs extended, glutes tight, abs shaking. Her breath came out steady, her lashes lowered in focus. But her mind? It wasn’t in the studio anymore. It was back in that bathroom. In that kitchen. In that truck.

It was with him.

Erik.

E.

The sound of his voice. That low, controlled rasp.

The way he looked at her when he said, “Watch how you talk to me.”

Her thighs clenched tighter on instinct.

“Keep your breath slow,” Tasha called out gently, “Don’t hold it, y’all.”

Sanaa inhaled sharp through her nose. Exhaled through parted lips. But her rhythm had slipped. Her knees wobbled. She adjusted, swallowing hard. Aaliyah was beside her, killing it as usual, brows knit in focus, edges still laid despite the sweat on her temples. Her bra top lifted with every inhale, her abs cutting deeper every time she pressed back.

Sanaa tried to stay with it. Tried to match pace.

But Erik’s face wouldn’t leave her.

The look in his eyes. The heaviness of his body. The scars across his chest. That tattoos. The way his biceps bulged under that black tee. The soft swing of his locs when he pulled his bonnet off. The way his voice curved around her name without even saying it.

Her pussy pulsed.

Right there. Mid-leg lift.

She dropped her gaze, focused on her core again, tried to shake it off.

This is not the time.

Get it together.

Focus.

But it was useless.

Because the more she tried not to think about him, the worse it got. She imagined his hands on her hips instead of the reformer straps. His breath on her neck instead of the studio fan. His body pressed behind her, his voice in her ear, telling her to stay still. Take it. Sanaa let her head dip for a moment, sweat trailing down the back of her neck. Her fingers curled tight around the straps, the reformer sliding with a soft creak beneath her.

She wanted him.

Bad.

Not just wanted—ached for him.

Every slow thrust of the machine made her think about how he’d move if he had her like that. The controlled rhythm of his hips. That same focus. That same quiet, deep intensity. She’d seen it when he drove. Bet he had it when he worked out. When he looked at her like she was next.

“Final ten seconds,” Tasha announced, counting them down.

Sanaa dug her heels in, pushed through, body trembling with effort. Her face stayed calm. But inside she was a mess of wet heat, messy thoughts, and one name on repeat.

Erik.

She didn’t know how much longer she could play cool. Because the burn in her thighs had nothing to do with the workout anymore. And everything to do with the man who told her to watch her mouth—and made her want to say even more.

To challenge him.  To see how far he’d go. 

After class, their bodies felt like soft clay—warm, stretched, molded from sweat and strain. They strolled two doors down to the little juice bar with the green tile walls and chalkboard menus. The place smelled like fresh ginger and mango pulp, buzzing with quiet conversation and blender motors. Ceiling fans hummed above their heads as they stood at the counter, reading off ingredients like it was scripture.

“Let me get the pineapple-mint with sea moss and ginger, no agave,” Aaliyah told the barista, pulling her phone from her crossbody, “Extra ice.”

Sanaa leaned in beside her, scanning the menu, still a little breathless from class, “I’ll do the papaya mango. Add flax. And oat milk.”

They dropped onto a bench near the window, sweatshirts tied around their waists, leggings clinging to their thighs. Sanaa unscrewed the top of her water bottle, sipping slow, trying to get her pulse down.

But Erik still sat heavy on her mind.

The grip of his voice. That look. She couldn’t shake it. She stirred her straw absentmindedly in her smoothie, lips slightly pursed.

“You quiet,” Aaliyah said, eyeing her, “Still thinkin’ ‘bout Pilates or somethin’ else?”

Sanaa gave her a look but didn’t answer.

Aaliyah snorted, “Anyway—you got a date this weekend, girl. Don’t go ghost!” 

Sanaa rolled her eyes with a soft smile, “I’m not—whatever. Shut up.”

“I’m just sayin’.” Aaliyah snatched Sanaa’s phone up and made her to her Bluesky. She swiped into her DMs and pulled up a picture, “Did you even look at his page? Girl he’s cute. Here.”

She turned the phone so Sanaa could see.

Nathan Blake.

27. Financial tech. Grew up in Bowie, lives in Adams Morgan.

Tall, light brown skin, low cut ceasar, thick beard, straight teeth. Clean fit. The kind of smile that knew it was photogenic. His latest pic showed him in a brown turtleneck and slacks at some rooftop brunch, a gold watch peeking out from under his sleeve. Confident but not too cocky.

Sanaa tilted her head, “He cute.”

“I know.” Aaliyah nodded, sipping her smoothie, “And tall. Got a decent job, can dress, so…”

Sanaa raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?”

“Swear on it,” Aaliyah said, “And he wanna take you to a real dinner. Like actual silverware and glass wine kinda date.”

Sanaa smiled behind her straw, “That might be a first.”

“Exactly. Might be different,” Aaliyah said, lifting her smoothie like a toast, “Might be the one.”

Sanaa clinked her cup against hers. But her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Because as fine as Nathan Blake was—clean, polished, emotionally available maybe—she was still thinking about someone else. Someone with scars and ink and a voice that lived in her body like it belonged there. Someone who drove with one hand on the wheel and looked at her like he knew everything. Someone with locs. Gold slugs. She took another sip. Let the sweetness sit on her tongue. But there was only one flavor she wanted right now.

And his name wasn’t Nathan.

Steam curled off Erik’s skin, slow and thick, trailing down the ridges of his back and shoulders as the hot water pounded over him.

Locs tied back. Head low.

The shower tiles were slick with heat and the smell of cedar soap. His body gleamed, dark and drenched, carved from every inch of discipline. Broad chest rising slow. Abs tight and cut deep, scars tracing the terrain like maps no one dared to read. Water ran through the tattoos on his right arm, the blackwork sleeve looking like it pulsed with life under the wet sheen. His muscles flexed as he rolled his neck, letting the water hit the base of his spine.

He didn’t rush. He never did.

Even when his mind was a little too busy.

Even when he kept replaying her face.

That voice.

That mouth.

After he rinsed clean, he stepped out slow. Grabbed a towel. Dried his chest, arms, and face before moving to the mirror.

His phone buzzed.

Aaliyah: You done? Can you come scoop us? We still at the juice spot.

Erik ran a palm down his face.

Erik: On my way.

He moved in rhythm. Hoodie over his tank. Joggers low. Cologne under the jawline. Watch. Chain. Wallet. Keys. Bag. No extra. By the time he pulled up to the curb near the juice bar, the sun had softened. That late afternoon gold hit just right. Windows down. Music low—a little Thundercat in the background, something bass-heavy and slow.

And then he saw them.

Aaliyah came first, laughing, hair piled high, her smoothie nearly empty as she yanked the door open and slid into the back.

Sanaa followed behind her.

Slower.

Sweaty. Glistening.

Her skin caught that sun like she was dipped in syrup. Espresso brown and glowing, sheen on her chest, edges still laid. She had her hoodie slung loose over one shoulder, the strap of her sports bra peeking out. Leggings hugging every curve. She opened the passenger side and slid in. Quiet. Calm. Looked at him for half a second.

And smiled.

Not big. Not flirtatious. Just soft. Knowing.

Then dipped her straw into her smoothie and sipped.

Erik didn’t say a word at first.

He just looked once.

Quick.

Then back to the road.

“Workout good?” he asked, voice even.

“Fire,” Aaliyah said, still animated in the back seat, “Pilates always gets me right.”

Sanaa nodded, legs crossed neatly in the front, “Yeah. Tasha had us doing slow holds today.”

Erik hummed low, “That’s that real burn.”

“Mmhmm.” Sanaa sipped again.

Then her phone buzzed. She peeked at Aaliyah. Grinned.

“Look who texting to confirm,” she sang, “Mr. Nathan Blake himself.”

Aaliyah poked her tongue out like Megan.

Erik didn’t react. Not out loud. But his grip on the wheel changed just a little. Hand shifted lower. Fingers flexed once. Sanaa showed Aaliyah the text.

“Oh he said he’ll pick you up?” Aaliyah laughed, “Not just meet you there? Girl, you might’ve found one with sense.”

“He seems nice,” Sanaa said lightly, not looking at either of them, “We’ll see.”

Erik didn’t speak.

Just kept driving.

But he was listening.

Real close.

Clocking the name. The tone. The little lilt in her voice when she said he seems nice. Like she was trying to stay neutral. Like she wasn’t sure.

He didn’t know why that irritated him.

But it did.

They pulled up outside the brownstone. Aaliyah unbuckled quick, already talking about her plans for the night. She pushed the door open and hopped out.

Sanaa lingered for just a beat longer.

Unbuckled. Reached for her smoothie. Opened the door slow.

Erik glanced at her once.

Her legs slid out. Her hand touched the frame.

And then she was gone.

No words.

Just a glance back over her shoulder before she followed Aaliyah up the steps.

Erik watched her ass all the way to the door.

Then exhaled. Deep.

Put the truck in drive.

And pulled off.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t call. Didn’t double back.

But his jaw stayed tight all the way to his retwist appointment.

The bell above the loc salon door gave a soft jingle as Erik stepped in, ducking his head slightly out of habit.

Inside was warm and low-lit, with sunlight filtering through gauzy amber curtains and the slow burn of incense riding the air. The scent was layered—lemongrass, castor oil, patchouli, and something faintly smoky, like cloves soaked in rum. The sound system played old-school Lovers Rock on low, the bass thick enough to feel in the bones but soft enough not to distract from the vibe.

The space was small but alive. Plants hung from ceiling hooks, vines trailing along the walls. Handwoven baskets sat under the windows. A painted portrait of Haile Selassie watched from behind the counter, framed in carved wood.

And in the center of it all stood Miss Marva.

Tall. Regal. Trinidadian to the bone.

Her locs were thick, silver-threaded, and so long they coiled like ropes around her bare feet. Dressed in a long linen tunic and deep green headwrap, gold bangles stacked up her arms, she carried the presence of someone who knew herself.

She looked up from her chair and smiled wide.

“Well well. Look who come crawlin’ back. Soldier Boy.”

Erik cracked a grin, stepped forward, “Had to come home.”

“Home is right. I was bout to file a missing client report.” She gave him a playful once-over, “Tinkin’ maybe you let some new gyal put her hands in yuh crown. You still my one dread, yes? Don’t be out here givin’ these pickney gyals free scalp massages.”

He shook his head slow, pulling off his hoodie, revealing the full length of his locs tied into a loose bun, “Ain’t nobody else touchin’ my shit but you.” 

Marva smirked, nodding approvingly, “Good. Else I’d haffi fight. Come bend yuh big Iron Back down so I can reach these roots, nah?”

She motioned for him to sit in the deep leather chair beneath the tall mirror, draped with a black cape already waiting for him. He sat, relaxed, his shoulders settling, legs stretched long in front of him. Miss Marva stepped behind him and pulled the tie from his bun, letting his locs tumble free down his back. She moved through them with practiced ease, parting, lifting, checking the roots with gentle but thorough fingers.

“Not bad, Erik,” she said, “Long time since your last retwist but you been takin’ care of it. No buildup. No breakage.”

He nodded, “Try to keep it clean.”

“And you did. Proud of yuh.” Her voice softened, “Your crown still strong, Big Man.”

Just then, a low, familiar voice rumbled from the back room.

“Who in here disrespectin’ the schedule?”

Erik glanced up to see Uncle Lennox step out, Miss Marva’s husband. A shorter, stockier man with salt-and-pepper dreads tied back and reading glasses hanging from his shirt collar. He wore a threadbare Bob Marley tee and house slippers.

The two men dapped each other up with a grin.

“Wha go on, soldier?”

“Coolin’,” Erik replied,“You?”

Lennox gave him a knowing look,“Can’t complain. Can’t retire neither.” He winked at Marva. “She don’t let me.”

“Yuh right I don’t,” she said, not even looking back. “Go fix up your station. He need a line-up when I done.”

They got to work.

First came the wash.

Miss Marva leaned him back into the ceramic basin. The water ran warm over his scalp, her fingers massaging deep, moving slow and sure. She used a handmade herbal shampoo—no heavy perfumes, just clean, plant-based lather that smelled like mint, basil, and a hint of ginger.

Erik exhaled as her fingers worked over his scalp.

Everything else faded. His shoulders softened. That tightness behind his temples melted away as the water poured and she washed with care.

“This ain’t just a service,” she said softly. “It’s a ritual.”

He didn’t speak. Just closed his eyes and let it be.

Then came the retwist.

She parted clean. Tight. Precise.

No heavy gels. Just rose water, aloe, and a little oil blend she made herself. Her hands moved with rhythm, tight enough to last, gentle enough to respect the roots. Every twist was neat. Uniform. She paused a few times to show him in the mirror.

“You see dis?” she said. “Still strong. Still thick. Still growin’. You doin’ good.”

Erik nodded, pleased. “Appreciate you.”

When she was done, she tied his locs back and stepped aside so Lennox could take over.

Lennox lined him up clean.

Clippers buzzed low. He faded the temples, touched up the nape. Razor along the edges. Gentle flicks and pressure.

“Still sharp,” Lennox said, nodding. “Don’t even look like you been stressin’.”

Erik didn’t answer that.

Because if Sanaa crossed his mind one more time, the stress was gon’ show all over again.

When the last hair was dusted, and the cape was off, Erik stood and looked in the mirror. His locs laid tight and fresh. The line-up crisp. The energy? Balanced.

He slipped his hoodie back on, thick fingers fishing out his wallet.

“How much?”

Marva waved her hand. “Yuh know the price.”

He handed her more than that.

Five folded bills. Quiet.

She raised a brow. “You always do dis.”

“You always deserve it.”

She smiled, lips pressed tight. “You a good man. Even when you brooding.”

He smirked.

“Tryin’.”

“Keep tryin’. But don’t let no woman twist you up worse than I twist yuh hair, hear?”

Erik chuckled low. He was just about to pull his hoodie over his fresh retwist when Miss Marva raised a hand, stopping him mid-motion.

“Wait, Big Man. Don’t run off so fast.”

She walked behind the counter, humming to herself— something old and melodic, maybe Dennis Brown—while her bangles clinked soft against each other. She bent down, opened a narrow drawer, and pulled out a tiny tin wrapped in banana leaf and twine.

Turned back to him with a little grin.

“Got a likkle somethin’ for yuh. Fresh batch.”

Erik arched a brow, “What’s this?”

“Lamb’s Bread.” She passed it to him gently, like a blessing, “Bright. Sticky. Pure from yard. Not that overbred nonsense. This the real ting. Rasta-grade.”

He opened the tin, leaned in, and let the scent hit him. It was pungent and sweet, with that citrusy, almost grassy sharpness that made his eyelids flutter low. Bright green buds, soft orange hairs. Sticky like resin between the fingers.

Miss Marva nodded at his expression, “Good, eh?”

He smirked, “Smell like clarity.”

“Exactly.” She stepped back and looked at him full on, “You carry too much weight in your chest, Mr. Silent Type. Let dis ease it.”

He slid the tin into his hoodie pocket with care, “Appreciate you.”

“And Erik?” she said, tone dipping low with meaning, “Don’t just burn it to burn. Let it center yuh. It open the mind. Calm the spirit. You understand?”

“Yes ma’am. I do,” he said quietly.

Lennox appeared in the doorway, still holding his clippers, “Aye, Marva givin’ out the righteous goods again?”

“She give it to who need it,” she shot back, not missing a beat, “And this one need it.”

Erik dapped him up once more, “I’m out. Tell y’all thank you again.”

“Always,” Lennox said, “Hold it steady, soldier.”

As Erik stepped outside, the scent of lemongrass and incense still clinging to his clothes. The tin tapped softly in his pocket, warm against his thigh. He slid into his truck, rolled his shoulders, and pulled his hood up over his fresh retwist.

But his mind wasn’t on the road yet.

It was still turning.

Still wound tight around the sound of her voice. The soft scent of coconut lotion and sweat. The way Sanaa looked in the passenger seat like she was born for it.

He didn’t light the Lamb’s Bread right then.

But he knew he would.

Maybe tonight.

When the house got too quiet. When that voice came back again. And he needed something to slow him down…before he did something reckless. That one woman that could make his crown feel heavy without ever laying a hand on it.

The sun had dipped low by the time Erik got back to the brownstone. Sky burnt gold at the edges. The kind of evening that made the city feel slow, thick with warmth and the hum of Saturday night getting ready to unfold. He parked, climbed the steps quiet, and unlocked the door slow and sure.

Soon as he stepped in, he could hear it.

Music floating from somewhere deeper in the apartment —soft, smooth, something with bass and intention. Sounded like Cleo Sol. One of those moody-ass tracks women played when they were mid-convo, curled up, talking just low enough to keep secrets.

He let the door close behind him.

The apartment smelled lived-in. Sage from earlier in the week, a whiff of edge control, and something sweet and tropical drifting from the diffuser Aaliyah always kept running. He dropped his gym bag by the coat rack and made a line straight for the kitchen. Pulled open the fridge and stood there for a second, letting the cold hit his chest. He spotted what he came for immediately—his leftover oxtail tucked behind a carton of oat milk. Rice and peas pressed firm against one side of the to-go container, cabbage still slick with flavor, and a few sweet plantains in the corner.

He smirked.

He pulled the container out, popped it open, and slid the plate into the microwave. While it heated, he turned and walked down the hall, socked feet making no noise on the hardwood. His room was dim, blinds still drawn. Cool air moved low through the space, curtains rustling like whispers. He opened the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out his rolling tray. Black tin. Clean grinder. A slim pack of organic papers tucked inside. He moved slow, unbothered, mechanical.

That’s when he heard it.

Giggling. Light.

Two voices.

Aaliyah and Sanaa, talking low in the other room. He couldn’t make out the words, just enough to know it was something private. A tone only women shared when they were talking about something sweet. Something interesting. He caught Sanaa’s laugh, soft and quick. Then the way Aaliyah said something like, “Girl, stop—” all fake scandal and excitement.

Erik’s jaw flexed.

He didn’t pause. Just walked back to the kitchen. The microwave beeped. Steam curling up through the door. He grabbed the plate, hot under his fingers, and sat down at the dining table in his usual spot—the one facing the hallway. Steam rolled off the oxtail, slick with gravy, bones peeking through tender meat. The rice was still fluffy, the cabbage soft. The plantain glistened like caramel around the edges.

Erik ate slow. Clean. No rush. Every bite grounded him. But behind his calm chewing, his mind turned.

What were they giggling about?

Was it that damn date again?

He didn’t know why that bothered him so much.

Didn’t even know the man.

But he knew Sanaa’s laugh.

Knew it too well now.

Knew what it sounded like when she meant it.

And he damn sure noticed that her voice had changed just now.

Softer. Warmer.

Like she was thinking about something she shouldn’t say out loud.

Erik scooped another forkful of rice, chewing slow, tongue running over his molars. His rolling tray sat on the table beside him. Waiting.

He’d eat first.

Then get into that Lamb’s Bread.

Erik rinsed his plate, wiped down the counter, and threw his paper towel in the bin with a lazy flick. Everything in him was calm on the outside—clean, smooth, low-energy.

But his mind? Still loud.

He scratched the back of his neck, muscles stretching tight under his hoodie, then headed down the hall to the bathroom. The door was cracked, light still on. He knocked once—old habit—then stepped in. Heat clung to the walls. Fresh steam fogged the top corner of the mirror. The scent hit him first—sweet, heady, fruity. Some kind of mango-something body wash mixed with scented edge gel, a touch of coconut oil, and whatever the hell kind of gloss was staining the sink. Hair products were scattered like breadcrumbs. Curl cream left open. Toothpaste cap missing. Foundation smudges on the counter. A lace edge scarf crumpled on the towel rack.

He scuffed quietly under his breath, “Damn.”

Still, he stepped in, shut the door behind him, and moved toward the toilet.

And that’s when he saw it. He Bright purple. Sitting pretty on the shower shelf.

A vibrator.

Still wet. Still glistening from the water droplets running down the tiles behind it. Next to it? A tiny bottle. Scented lube. The kind you don’t just pick up on accident.

His body froze for half a second.

Then he blinked hard and looked away.

Walked up to the toilet. Took a breath.

But his eyes kept drifting.

Back to that damn toy. The shape. The angle it was sitting. The fact that it had been used. Very recently.

His jaw tightened.

He did what he came to do. Hand braced on the wall, other gripping the base. But his mind wasn’t in the room anymore.

He could see it now.

Sanaa.

Hips propped in the steam. Back arched. Mouth parted. One hand steadying herself on the fogged-up tiles while the other—

Shit.

He grunted low, covered up, and turned to the sink fast, trying to get his mind back in line.

Water ran cold as he washed his hands. His shoulders still tense. His head ducked low. He stared at his reflection.

Told himself:

Shake that shit off, E.

Don’t get caught up.

It’s been a minute. So what?

This wasn’t supposed to get in his head. She wasn’t supposed to be in his head.

But she was.

That little purple thing?

It fucked him up.

Because now he knew what she liked. Knew she touched herself. Knew how recent. How wet. He dried his hands slow, tossing the towel to the side, and cut the light off with more force than needed.

Back in the hallway, he took a breath. Deep. Chest rising, eyes closing for a second longer than usual. His body was heating up. Not from anger. Not from frustration.

From restraint.

And restraint only worked for so long.

Erik was just stepping out of the hallway when he heard it—

Aaliyah’s voice echoing from the balcony, loud and playful, full of that extra energy she always had when her homegirls were feelin’ themselves.

“Hold on—WAIT. Damn, girl, give it to me again, leg out, chin up—yes ma’am!”

He raised a brow, rolling tray still waiting on the dining table. Curiosity pulled him toward the glass door. He moved quiet, socked feet brushing wood, and stopped just short of the threshold.

Then he saw her.

And it hit like a punch to the chest.

Sanaa.

Out on the balcony in the evening light, leaning back on a velvet chaise like she owned it. One leg crossed high over the other, her skin smooth and deep like brown sugar, thighs shining in the glow of dusk. That dress? Tight. Serpentine. Fitted like it had been made just for her body—soft curves, cinched waist, lace trim brushing the tops of her thighs. Her feet were slid into black Louboutins, glossy and dangerous, red bottoms flashing like sirens. Her curls were out, a fresh wash-n-go parted to the side, coils soft and defined, bouncing with every movement.

And her face?

Done.

Red lips. Lashes curled. Eyes smoky, low-lidded and locked into the lens like she knew what she was doing. She was made for the camera. And she looked dangerous.

Aaliyah was crouched in front of her with Sanaa’s phone held up like it was her full-time job.

“Hold still! Yesss, lean into it like that. That’s it. One more—hold it.”

Erik leaned in the doorway, arms folded, expression unreadable.

But his eyes?

They never left Sanaa.

He scanned everything. The way her dress hugged her thighs. The slight sheen on her legs. The bounce in her curls. The way the heels made her calves flex. The matte pop of her red lips. She looked…edible.

Sexy.

And she wasn’t dressed like that to sit on the damn balcony.

She was going somewhere.

His jaw tightened.

“Move back, you in my damn frame,” Aaliyah fussed without even turning, “You messin’ up the symmetry.”

She nudged him without looking—her elbow catching his side. Erik blinked and cracked the faintest grin. Then, with that big-hand calm, he mushed her head lightly, playful.

“Watch out,” he said, stepping back with a low chuckle.

Aaliyah groaned, “Ugh, you annoying.”

But he only moved far enough to give her a clear shot.

Didn’t take his eyes off her.

And Sanaa saw him.

Eyes locked from where she sat, lips parted just slightly, chin dipped low. There was something in her gaze—heat, challenge, softness. She didn’t look away. Didn’t break the moment.

That look said she knew.

Knew what she was doing. Knew what she looked like. Knew who was watching. And Erik stood there, still and slow-burning, every inch of him coiled tight beneath the surface.

The knock came sharp. Confident.

Three taps.

Erik barely looked up from where he stood near the kitchen, arms folded, back against the counter. The balcony light was still bleeding into the room. The memory of Sanaa in that damn dress still thick in his mind.

“E,” Aaliyah called from down the hall, grabbing a pair of earrings off the dresser, “Can you get the door real quick?”

He didn’t answer. Just pushed off the counter, slow.

His footsteps echoed through the brownstone as he moved to the front, cool and unbothered on the outside, but every step wound tighter.

He opened the door.

Nathan.

Tall. Light brown skin. Button-up shirt open at the collar, gold chain peeking through. Clean fade. Clean nails. Clean shoes. The kind of man who knew he looked good and carried it soft, easy.

Nathan took one look at Erik and paused—just half a second—but Erik clocked it.

That sizing up. The subtle flick of the eyes. The unspoken who the fuck is this hanging in the air.

Nathan gave a nod, stepping inside, “Peace. Uh…is Sanaa here?”

Before Erik could say anything, footsteps echoed behind them. Aaliyah came first, grinning, slipping her hoops in as she walked.

And then—

Sanaa.

She moved down the hall like time slowed just for her. Dress hugging her hips, heels clicking, curls bouncing. A glow across her skin that looked like candlelight kissed her collarbones. Her perfume drifted with her—sweet, musky, warm.

Nathan’s jaw damn near unhinged.

His eyes dragged down her body, shameless. Start at her face, down the arch of her neck, the swell of her chest, the lace-trimmed hem riding up her thigh. He blinked hard like he had to reset.

“Wow,” he breathed, “You look…beautiful.”

Sanaa smiled softly, “Thank you.”

Aaliyah looked between them like she was watching the season finale of her favorite show. Wide-eyed. Hands clasped in front of her mouth like don’t say nothing, just watch.

Erik shifted.

Didn’t say shit.

Just stood there with that still posture, arms folded again, expression locked down. Watching. Always watching.

Nathan stepped back toward the open door, the gentleman in him kicking in.

“Let me get that for you,” he said, holding it wide.

But his eyes stayed glued to Sanaa. His pupils blown, locked on her with a look that said if he could, he’d peel that dress off with his teeth.

Sanaa walked forward slowly.

Her heels clicked past the threshold. Her shoulder brushed Erik’s as she passed.

At the door, she turned back to Aaliyah, “I’ll see you later.” Then turned her eyes to Erik, “See you later, Erik.” 

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t flirtatious.

But it was intentional.

Like a spark dropped on dry wood.

Erik’s eyes flicked up to meet hers.

His voice was low. Even.

“Later.”

Then the door closed.

And he stood there, jaw tight, heart ticking slow behind his ribs.

The restaurant was nestled in a quiet corner of Georgetown—dimly lit, stone façade, all sleek wood paneling and warm lighting inside. No sign out front, just a carved emblem on the glass and the soft hiss of the hostess welcoming guests in that low-toned, reverent kind of voice reserved for places that didn’t need to advertise.

Velvet + Pearl.

Asian fusion. Bougie, but soulful. Every detail thoughtful.

Sanaa had never been, but the second she walked in, she understood why Nathan picked it.

Their table was set in a semi-private alcove, bamboo screens casting soft shadows over their corner. The music was moody—a mix of lo-fi jazz and neo-soul, barely above a murmur. The scent of lemongrass and grilled ginger floated through the space. Waitstaff moved like dancers, all black uniforms and clean hands, plates arriving with edible flowers and artistic drizzles.

Nathan had offered her the inside seat first.

Held her chair. Let her order first. Didn’t talk over her once.

And that—as small as it was—left an impression.

The wine was chilled. The sushi course came first, followed by honey-soy glazed short ribs, miso-marinated Chilean sea bass, and a black garlic fried rice that Sanaa swore she’d dream about later.

But the food, while incredible, wasn’t what had her leaning in.

It was the conversation.

Nathan sat across from her, arms rested on the table, his voice warm and easy.

“So tell me,” he said, halfway through their second glass, “what made you wanna study psych?”

Sanaa lifted her glass, rolled the stem between her fingers for a second before answering.

“I’ve always paid attention to how people move,” she said softly, “What they say. What they don’t say. How silence talks. I come from a place where mental health is treated like a luxury. Especially for us. Especially for women. And kids.”

Nathan nodded, his eyes holding hers with real interest.

“I’m pre-med,” she continued, “with a psych focus. Hoping to specialize in clinical therapy. I want to open a practice one day. Back home.”

“Back home where?”

“Oakland.”

He smiled, “That makes sense. You got that West Coast calm to you.”

She didn’t smile back, but her expression softened, “It’s in me. Even when I’m tired of it.”

“You don’t seem tired,” Nathan said, “You seem… focused. Collected.”

“I have to be.”

Her tone didn’t invite pity. Just truth.

Nathan sipped his wine, sat back a little, “So what made you say yes? To tonight.”

Sanaa didn’t answer right away. Her fingers tapped once against her glass, her eyes drifting slightly toward the candle on the table. The flame danced low. Steady.

“I wasn’t really looking for anything,” she said honestly, “Not dating. Not entertaining. Not hoping.”

“And now?”

“Now?” Her lips curved just a little, “I’m here. And I’m enjoying myself.”

Nathan nodded, “I’m glad you came.”

He was charming. Polished. Polite. He didn’t try to dominate the conversation or fill the silence with ego. He asked thoughtful questions. Laughed when he should. Complimented her without making it feel transactional.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said, smiling, “You’re…I don’t know. You listen.”

Sanaa tilted her head, “Most people talk too much.”

“Not me,” he promised.

“I’ll let time tell.”

That made him laugh, low and rich.

Sanaa wasn’t trying to flirt hard. She didn’t lean forward unnecessarily, didn’t play with her hair or smile on cue. But her presence had weight. And Nathan felt it.And though she sat calmly, engaged, holding her wine with the grace of someone raised on quiet control—there was still a flicker in her chest. A beat skipping now and then.

Because a part of her was aware. That someone else might be thinking about her right now.

Someone who’d opened the door.

Watched her in that dress.

Said “later” like it meant more than see-you-soon.

She shook the thought off. Sipped.

The wine had settled warm in Sanaa’s chest by now — dry, bright, a little floral. Her glass rested loosely between her fingers, her body eased into the curve of the booth, legs crossed under the table. She wasn’t tipsy. Not quite. But she was comfortable.

And Nathan was still unfolding.

It was his turn to talk now.

His voice was smooth but grounded. A little deeper than it had been earlier. Less performative. The kind of voice a man slips into when he’s trying not to say too much, but still wants to be understood.

“I work in fintech,” he said, “I started as a developer, now I lead a team. We’re building out this app that helps Black-owned small businesses track generational wealth. Budgeting, investment education, legacy planning…All that.”

Sanaa nodded slowly, sipping her wine, “That’s dope.”

He gave a humble smile, “Trying, you know? My dad passed without a will. My mom had to fight for everything. I was twenty-three and clueless. So now I’m making sure folks don’t go through the same thing.”

He took a sip of his own, then leaned back.

“But outside of that?” He grinned, “I’m simple. I go to the gym, ride my bike on the weekends, I like my playlists loud and my whiskey dark. I’ve been on a whole journaling kick lately too.”

Sanaa’s brow lifted slightly, “You journal?”

Nathan chuckled, “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not. That’s rare.”

“I like how it makes me check in with myself. Like… alright, what’s real today? What’s performative? What’s ego? What’s fear?”

Sanaa tilted her head, the candlelight playing across her cheekbones, “That kind of self-awareness’s gonna scare the wrong people.”

He smiled at her, “I’m not looking for the wrong people.”

She let that sit between them.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t flirt back.

Just sipped her wine and watched him.

Quiet. Observant. Calm.

The kind of silence that made men wonder if they were being studied.

Because they were.

“I think more men should journal,” she said finally, “And go to therapy. Be soft somewhere.”

Nathan nodded, “That’s real.”

“You can only protect what you’ve processed.”

Their eyes met. She said it so matter-of-fact, so gently, but it landed. He looked at her a little differently after that.

She glanced down at her glass, and then back up, catching his stare.

“I like that,” he said, “You speak slow, but it cuts.”

Sanaa shrugged, voice soft, “I don’t like wasting words.”

The waiter arrived with the dessert menu. Nathan waved it off gently, placing his hand flat on the table.

“You full?”

Sanaa nodded once, “Yeah. But thank you. This was really nice.”

Nathan smiled at her again—warm, intentional, “Can’t lie. I’m glad you finally let me take you out.”

Sanaa’s lashes lowered. “I was tired of the same old thing. And I wasn’t in the mood to be disappointed.”

“You think I would’ve disappointed you?”

“I didn’t know. But I’m glad I came.”

Nathan leaned in slightly, not in a rush, not demanding. Just existing in her space with a quiet want.

“You ever surprise yourself?”

“All the time,” she said.

And in that moment, she meant it.Because she was surprised. By how much she liked him. By how much this felt easy. By how seen she felt 

But it still wasn’t the same.

Not heat. Not tension. Not that ache.

But it was good. It was promising.

It was peace.

And Sanaa wasn’t the type to throw peace away.

The city moved slow around them, headlights glowing soft through the windshield, reflections sliding across Sanaa’s skin like passing thoughts. She sat quiet in the passenger seat of Nathan’s car, curled slightly toward the window, her heels slipped off now, one hand resting gently on her bare thigh.

The ride home was calm.

The kind of quiet that comes when the evening’s gone well—no awkward pauses, no missteps. Just soft music playing low, a soulful instrumental track humming through the speakers. Nathan’s hand rested casually on the wheel, his posture relaxed.

Everything about him was…easy.

And still, her mind kept slipping sideways.

Back to Erik.

No matter how many times she tried to shake it.

She blinked slow, watching the blur of lights outside as the city gave way to familiar blocks. Her thoughts drifted through the night like vapor—wine, conversation, the restaurant’s golden lighting, Nathan’s smile, his compliments. He was sweet. Thoughtful. Smart. He asked good questions and didn’t talk too much. He made her feel like her words mattered.

And yet…

Her thoughts kept looping back to that look in Erik’s eyes. The way he watched her on the balcony. The brush of his body when she passed. That one word—later—still echoing low in her chest like a drumbeat.

She sighed lightly, legs shifting.

Maybe I’m tripping, she thought.

Maybe I’m wishing for something that’s not gon’ happen.

Maybe it’s just…proximity. A crush. That teenage thing that never went away.

But even then…that didn’t explain the way her whole body remembered him. Didn’t explain the pulse she felt when she walked past him in that dress. Didn’t explain the way her thighs clenched when he told her to watch her mouth.

She looked down at her lap and smoothed her dress.

Nathan turned to glance at her, catching the small movement. “You okay?”

She looked up and nodded, soft smile, “Yeah. Just had a long day. Wine has me sleepy.”

“Understandable,” he said, “You’ve been holding it down all night.”

She smiled again, this time a little more genuine, “It was a good night.”

“I agree.”

They pulled up to the brownstone. Nathan eased into a park spot just down the street. Killed the engine.

The quiet got thicker.

He walked her up the steps without hesitation. Gentleman to the core. His hand hovered low behind her back as they reached the door. Not touching. But there. When they stopped, he turned to face her. His eyes were soft, but there was something underneath. An expectation. A moment hanging between them, delicate and loaded.

Sanaa clocked it immediately.

The slight lean forward. The way his head tilted just slightly. The pause.

He’s hoping for a kiss.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t make it awkward.

She leaned in first. Kissed him on the cheek. Her lips soft, warm, intentional. Then she hugged him—slow, arms around his neck, just long enough to feel sincere.

When she pulled back, her voice stayed low, “I had a great time.”

Nathan smiled, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but no disappointment, “Me too.”

“I’d definitely do it again.”

That got a grin, “Good. I’d like that.”

She gave one last smile, then stepped back and opened the door, her curls catching in the breeze. She could feel his eyes still on her as she slipped inside.

But the second the door clicked shut?

Her smile faded.

Not because the night was bad.

But because it wasn’t him.

The sound of her keys dropping into the ceramic dish near the entry table echoed faintly through the brownstone’s quiet. The whole place felt still, settled—lamplight casting warm shadows on the walls, the faint hum of the fridge filling in the silence.

Sanaa sighed, sliding out of her heels with a little hiss, her toes grateful for release. She carried them in one hand, padding across the hardwood in slow, quiet steps. The house had that nighttime hush, the kind where every small movement seemed louder than it should be. She made her way down the hallway, toward the one door she couldn’t wait to crack open—Aaliyah’s. Sanaa smiled to herself, already anticipating the squeal, the questions, the *“Tell me everything,” from her best friend. She turned the knob gently, easing the door open with her nails pressed against the wood.

“Li…”

But the room was dark.

Aaliyah was curled up under her sheets, knocked out, bonnet on, one AirPod halfway falling out of her ear.

Out cold.

Sanaa sighed, her lips pulling to the side, “bitch,” she whispered, her voice half-pout, “You couldn’t even wait up for me?”

She let the door close slowly and padded back to her room, shoulders relaxing. Her fingers unzipped her dress at the side with a smooth slide, stepping out of it like silk slipping off a memory. She dropped it neatly onto the back of her chair, unclasped her bra, and reached for her go-to comfort: an old oversized T-shirt, soft and worn thin from years of wash cycles. She pulled it over her head, and the fabric fell over her like a second skin. It draped unevenly—loose around the waist, caught high on the curve of her ass. The neckline slipped off one shoulder without effort. Her dark skin peeked out in soft, warm stretches. The hem barely covered the swell of her backside, revealing quick flashes of her black thong when she moved. Her gold anklets, delicate and shimmering, chimed lightly every time she shifted her weight.

She was comfortable.

And fine without trying.

She grabbed a satin headband to pull her curls back and made her way down the hall to the bathroom, bare feet soundless against the floor. The light inside was already dim—she liked it that way. Calming. Ritualistic. Her fingers moved gently across her face, wiping away the layers she’d put on hours earlier. The gloss. The liner. The slight shimmer near her collarbones. All gone, leaving only her skin, still glowing. Still soft. She cleansed. Toned. Dabbed on her night serum. Lip balm. Pressed her palms to her cheeks like she always did at the end of her routine.

Back in her room, she exhaled and sat at her desk, her PC humming to life as she opened Sims 4.It was her quiet joy. Her wind-down. The thing she did when she didn’t want to think too hard, just needed to exist for a while in a world she controlled. But as her sim loaded and the background music kicked in, her eyes drifted toward the slightly cracked window… and her thoughts drifted again.

To him.

To Erik.

To the way his eyes felt like they were still on her, even now. Watching. Measuring. Waiting for something she hadn’t said. She shook her head and clicked into build mode. But her thighs pressed together again.

Because no matter how soft the night was…her body remembered heat.

Apartment Kitchen, 1:13AM

The apartment was quiet, the kind of stillness that only crept in after midnight. Streetlights bled in through the sheer curtains above the kitchen sink, casting long shadows across the tile. The hum of the fridge was the only sound until the soft squeak of the water filter echoed. Sanaa stood at the counter, barefoot, her toes curled slightly on the cool floor as she filled her water bottle. The bottle hissed and gurgled beneath the stream, and she held it loosely, one hand braced on the counter.  Her face was bare except for the little star-shaped pimple patches dotting her cheek and jaw, like constellations scattered across her warm skin. Her bonnet sat slightly askew, puffed in the back, a few strands of curly hair slipping from the edge. She had on her glasses, the ones she always wore late at night when nobody but Aaliyah was supposed to see her.

She thought she was alone.

Then she heard him.

The soft drag of a foot against the hallway floor.

Sanaa froze. Her heart jumped once, quick and tight. Then she swallowed and glanced toward the opening, still cradling the bottle.

Erik stepped into the kitchen like he belonged to the dark.

He was shirtless, his skin a warm bronze-brown that caught the soft glow of the overhead light. His locs were pulled back into a loose tie, thick and coiled at the nape of his neck. His torso was all carved muscle and history. Broad chest, sloped shoulders, arms thick enough that her throat went dry. The lines of his stomach were deep, more like stone than flesh, and the ball shorts he wore rode so low it felt disrespectful. A gold cuban chain hung heavy around his neck, catching the light as he moved toward the fridge.

He didn’t speak. Just opened the door, leaned in, and reached for the grapes on the top shelf.

Sanaa didn’t breathe.

She stared at his back—at the long trail of marks, the jagged pattern of scars cut and raised like a ritual in flesh against the expanse of skin. His back wasn’t smooth. It was brutal. Story-filled. Beautiful in a way that made her chest ache.

He looked like war turned to bone and muscle. Not soft. Not sweet. But gripping. Pulling. Drawing. Her eyes drifted over the width of him, the way his back tapered into a tight waist, the curve just above where the shorts barely sat. It was too much. Too intimate for this hour. For this silence.

She turned quickly, facing the kitchen island, trying to hide the rush of heat pulsing up her neck.

Behind her, Erik glanced over his shoulder.

His eyes slid down her back. He didn’t move at first. He just looked.

The shirt was thin enough to show the dip of her spine, the soft push of her ass. He caught a glimpse of the strap of her thong, high on her hip, barely hidden. The anklets around her ankles glimmered like they didn’t belong to a girl—they belonged to a woman who knew exactly what kind of heat she was waking up in the middle of the night.

His jaw clenched slightly. Then his gaze rose to the slope of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the glimpse of skin where her shirt slipped low. She wasn’t doing anything. She was just standing there, back turned, body soft and warm, still half in her dreams.

But she looked like temptation dressed in cotton.

Sanaa cleared her throat, “It’s been a while,” she said softly, her voice low, trying to push past the tension. “Since I saw you last. Crazy how fast five years go by.”

Erik didn’t answer right away. He plucked a grape from the bunch, popped it in his mouth, and chewed slowly. The silence thickened again.

She glanced over her shoulder.

He was staring.

Not with surprise. Not with guilt. Just that deep, unreadable stare he always carried. The kind that made her legs tense without warning.

His eyes held hers.

He didn’t answer right away.

But his gaze dropped—to her thighs, the hem of her shirt, the outline of her breast as the fabric clung to her. Her nipples weren’t hard, but they were there. Bare. Soft. Natural. And he saw them. He didn’t look away.

“Yeah,” Erik finally said, voice deep and slow, “Been a minute.”

That was all.

He looked down at his grapes again, plucking another from the vine, but the moment had already folded in on them. Too quiet. Too thick.

Sanaa held her breath again, her body buzzing.

Erik bit down on another grape. His jaw moved slow.

Then—his voice, low and dry, “How was the date?”

Sanaa blinked. She hadn’t expected him to ask. She turned her face toward him, brows lifting slightly, water bottle still cradled in one hand.

“It was good,” she said softly, “He’s nice.”

Erik nodded once. Lazy. But not uninterested. Then—he squinted at her like he was reading something in her tone.

“But?”

She tilted her head, “There’s no but.”

He gave a slow grin. Not big. Just enough to show one dimple before he chuckled under his breath, low and rough like it came from somewhere deeper.

“If you say so.”

She shifted against the counter, lips twitching. Her voice stayed soft.

“You ask me questions about my date but won’t tell me what your scars mean.”

That made him pause. His fingers stilled on the grape bunch. His chest rose once, then held. He didn’t answer right away. Sanaa kept her gaze steady.

“Why you wanna know so bad?” he asked finally, his tone even but tight, like the question mattered more than he wanted to admit.

“Because I wanna know,” she said simply. She watched his face for a reaction. There wasn’t one, “I think they’re beautiful,” she added, voice lower now, “And they gotta mean something. The way they’re placed. How clean they are. Like…they were done on purpose.”

That made Erik’s eyes flick toward her, sharper now. Sanaa lifted one shoulder—the one that wasn’t already bare.

“My guess?” she said, not breaking the moment, “Something from your time in the Navy. Training. Maybe a ritual. Or punishment. I don’t know. But it’s not random.”

Erik looked at her like she’d opened a door she wasn’t supposed to find. His jaw flexed once. And then he went silent. The moment stretched long. Sanaa didn’t press. She didn’t fill the air with nervous energy. She just stood there, watching him, letting him sit in it. Her calm wasn’t bait. It was intentional. She was showing him she could handle the weight of whatever he might carry.

But Erik didn’t speak.

He just stood there, the chain on his chest rising and falling with each slow breath, his eyes locked somewhere just past her.

Sanaa’s voice softened even more, “You don’t gotta tell me now. Or ever.”She let the bottle tap softly against the counter, “But I don’t ask things I don’t mean.”

Another pause.

Erik’s gaze finally met hers.

There was something unreadable behind it now—tension, maybe. Or memory. Something older than the conversation. Something heavier than silence.

“Not Navy,” he said finally.

His voice was so quiet she almost missed it.

Sanaa leaned against the island now, the cool granite pressing into her thighs where the shirt had hiked up. Her bottle was capped, gripped loosely in one hand. She glanced at Erik again, that familiar curve creeping into her lips—half smile, half trouble.

“So what’s the story with this?” she asked, nodding her chin toward his arm, “That sleeve. You didn’t always have that.”

Erik rolled his shoulder once, slow, like the weight of it didn’t bother him, but the question made him shift slightly. He looked down at his inked arm, the black and gold patterns running along his bicep and coiling into the deeper creases of muscle.

“It’s old script,” he said simply, “West African. Nsibidi, some Adinkra. Symbols for protection, war, transformation. Shit that meant somethin’ when I got it done.”

Sanaa’s gaze flicked over it, her eyes trailing the details. The art was layered, beautifully so. Some parts looked geometric, others hand-drawn—lines like blades, others like waves. At the elbow, something bold cut through the center, the shape curling around the meat of his arm.

“You went deep with it,” she said.

He plucked another grape and popped it in his mouth. They held that moment a beat too long. Erik stayed close to the fridge, watching the way her shirt stretched when she reached.

That was when he saw it.

Just under the soft skin of her inner arm, near the crook of her elbow. A small tattoo in fine script.

soft

It was barely there. Not flashy. Not something someone got to show off. More like something meant to be known. Remembered.

He didn’t mean to stare, but he did. That mismatch caught him. Made him look twice. Made him wonder what else she’s hiding under that cool exterior.

That one word told on her.

And now he’s curious as hell.

And then he spoke, “Why that word?” he asked, voice low.

Sanaa paused, bottle in her hand, “Hm?”

“Your tattoo,” Erik said, still watching the letters, “It says soft.”

She lowered the glass to the counter and glanced at him over her shoulder, that smile playing again, “You squintin’ at me like I’m a poem,” she said, “Didn’t think you noticed stuff like that.”

He stepped closer, just a little. Not enough to crowd her, but enough that she could feel the shift in the air.

“I notice,” he said, “Especially when it don’t match.”

She turned, brow lifted, “Oh, so I don’t come off soft?”

Erik looked at her—really looked at her.

She stood barefoot in a loose shirt and tiny thong, glasses sliding down her nose, with her little stars glowing on her cheeks and her lips still pink from sleep. Anklets shining against brown skin. And that word written on her like a secret.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I ain’t sayin’ that,” he finally said, his voice rougher now, “I’m sayin’ it caught me.”

He’s not clowning her. He’s drawn in.

Sanaa blinked once, the smile fading just slightly, shifting into something quieter.

“It’s for me,” she said, “Not them.”

That made Erik nod once. Solid. Like he understood that too well.

“You got any?” she asked, pivoting the topic, lifting the hem of her shirt slightly in teasing gesture, though not enough to show anything more, “Hidden ones?”

“I got shit nobody sees,” he said, and his eyes dropped—just once—to the shadow between her thighs before dragging back up, “But they not hidden unless I want them to be.”

Sanaa rolled her eyes, scoffing, but her cheeks burned.

“See, that’s why you don’t get to hold the grapes,” she said, reaching to snatch the bowl from the counter.

He let her.

Let her walk away in that shirt that slid just enough when she turned, just enough to show a curve of waist, the top swell of her ass where it rose against the thin cotton. And when she passed by again, water bottle in one hand, grapes in the other, Erik’s eyes dropped to that tattoo once more.

Soft.

He started to wonder if softness was a choice she made. And if he was lucky enough to feel what it really meant.

Sanaa never rushed. Not even now.

She stepped out of the kitchen like time belonged to her, like it bent around her curves and rolled across the floor ahead of her bare feet. The water bottle was tucked against her side, and her other hand carried the grapes like they were hers now—because they were. Loose cotton shirt hanging off one shoulder. Bonnet crooked. Stars on her face. And that little twist in her walk? Yeah, that was there too.

Her hips rolled just enough.

The slight jiggle of her ass timed like rhythm.

Measured.

Natural.

Deadly.

Erik leaned against the counter, watching the entire exit, jaw locked and arms crossed. He didn’t follow right away. Just listened. The soft pat-pat of her bare feet faded into the carpet of the living room, followed by the click of the remote, then the hum of the TV. Some reality show. Voices bouncing, laughter cutting sharp through the still apartment.

Eventually, he came too.

Sanaa was already stretched across the sectional, half on her side, flipping through her phone like nothing mattered. The soft blue of the screen lit her face. The TV flickered on low. Love Island USA. She wasn’t watching it, not really. It was just noise. He sat down on the far end of the other sofa, one arm thrown along the back, legs spread like he needed the space.

“You sittin’ over there for what?” she asked without looking up, “You can’t even see the screen.”

“I don’t wanna watch that shit,” Erik said.

“So why you out here then?”

He didn’t answer that. Not with words.

Eventually, he just got up—slow, casual—and dropped down next to her.

She didn’t move. Didn’t shift or make room. Just let him sit close, close enough their thighs touched. The cotton of her shirt brushed his arm. Her leg was warm against his. She didn’t say anything about it. Didn’t even glance his way.

After a beat, she shifted again.

Stretched out a little. First a soft yawn, then a sigh. Then her legs eased across his lap, smooth and lazy, her skin cool from the air but soft against his thighs. She kept scrolling, nails tapping on glass, legs draped like she forgot where she put them.

Erik went still.

He stared down at her legs. Smooth, brown, shapely. Anklets glinting in the TV light. He cleared his throat.

“I ain’t no foot rest.”

She sucked her teeth, still looking at her phone, “It’s a habit.”

She said it like that, nonchalant, like this was nothing new. Smooth. Toned. Skin glowing under the flicker of the screen. The kind of softness you didn’t need to touch to feel—just looking was enough. Every curve was delicate but full. Her knees relaxed, one leg slightly bent, the dip of her thigh curving into the plump rise of her hip. Her skin was the kind of brown that shimmered—deep, rich, and warm like cocoa butter and honey mixed with moonlight.

But it was her feet that had Erik stuck.

They were small. Pretty. Delicate in that quiet, intentional way. Nails painted in a clean French tip—short, elegant, precise. White edges perfectly square. The kind of detail that told you she took care of herself even when nobody was watching. Her toes flexed slightly as she shifted, catching his attention again.

Two gold anklets circled her ankle—thin, glinting, stacked just enough to chime lightly when she moved. One was simple. Smooth gold links. The other had tiny charms: a star, a crescent moon, and one tiny heart that kept catching the light and throwing it across the room. The anklets sat against her skin like they’d been there forever. Like they belonged there. Like they knew her.

Erik’s eyes dropped lower again.

Her heels were soft. Arch high. The natural curve of her foot led to that perfect slope of her instep, then to her toes—dainty, aligned, beautiful. The way they moved when she flexed? He felt that shit deep.

He didn’t touch her.

Not yet.

But he looked.

Hard.

His hand rested just beside her shin. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off her, but not touching.

But she knew.

She always knew.

She knew exactly how her body curved when she leaned over the kitchen counter. She knew the dip in her waist pulled eyes like gravity when she reached for the remote. She knew her thigh pressing against his made it harder for him to breathe, and she still didn’t flinch.

That was her game.

And Erik was in it now.

The silence stretched a little. Not awkward. Just charged. She kept scrolling, switching apps, sipping her water like nothing about this moment meant anything.

Erik’s eyes dropped again, this time to the tattoo on her inner thigh.

Crave.

It was taunting now. Brazen. It lived in a spot that made him wonder if anyone else had kissed it. 

“You always act like you don’t notice me starin’ at you?” he asked.

Sanaa didn’t look up.

She smiled, just a little. That half-smile. The one that curved slow and smug and knew exactly what it was doing.

“Boy, I’m just mindin’ my business.”

She said it so smooth, so untouched.

Erik’s jaw ticked. He looked down at her legs—them thighs, that soft brown stretch of skin—and then back at her face. And when he spoke, his voice came low.

Firm.

Final.

“I ain’t no boy, little girl.”

She tilted her head, eyes calm, voice low, “Mm. So what are you then?”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Just let the question sit there between them—warm, sharp, and dangerous.

Then, like it was nothing, she lifted her arms over her head to adjust her bonnet. Her shirt lifted again. Just enough. Just barely. Erik saw a sliver of her waist, the tease of her thong, then the way her spine stretched before she relaxed again.

No apology. No correction. No tugging the shirt back down.

And when she leaned forward a minute later to grab her charger from the floor, ass lifting slightly from the couch, back arched just enough to burn into his memory, she still didn’t glance his way.

She didn’t have to.

She was in his head now.

The TV faded into background noise. The grapes were forgotten. The silence between them shifted into something slower. Heavier.

She teased by not teasing.

Sitting too close.

Letting her legs linger.

Flashing just enough skin to make him wonder what else she’d give if he asked the right way.

And if he did lean in? If he did reach?

She’d only look at him and say:

“You really think this is about you?”

And Erik knew she wasn’t done yet.

He glanced down at her legs again, then shook his head.

“If the nigga you talkin’ to knew how you be walkin’ around here…” he started, voice low, dragging just enough to make her look up, “puttin’ your legs on another nigga lap like it’s normal…he’d bitch.”

Sanaa’s lips twitched. She turned toward him slightly, one hand resting against her cheek.

“I ain’t got a man, Erik.”

That slow, sultry syrup still clung to her voice even though she was from Oakland. Sweet when she wanted. Sharp when she felt like cutting.

“And if I did,” she added, “so what? You E. I can do this.”

That hit different.

His brow ticked up, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Erik leaned in just enough to tilt his head, “What else can you do?”

Sanaa went still.

No flinch. Just silence. Eyes not moving. Lashes lowered, lips parted just slightly.

Erik smirked. Not the charming kind. The kind that curled at the corner like it held too much. Like it had patience.

“Yeah,” he said, voice dark and rough, “thought so.”

Sanaa’s jaw tightened. She sat up just a little, adjusting the way her legs rested across him, not pulling away. Just shifting. Her gaze flicked up to meet his.

“You got a girl?” she asked.

He didn’t hesitate, “No.”

She studied him, “Why not?”

“‘Cause I don’t,” he said, like it was obvious, “Ain’t got time for relationships.”

Then he cut his eyes at her. That look that said more than he wanted to say.

Sanaa didn’t drop it, “Does that include sex?”

He tilted his head, slow, “Why you wanna know, Bri?”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t know what to say, but because her memory came before her words.

“I remember,” she started, “I almost walked in on you and some girl…the night of Aaliyah’s graduation party. On my way to the bathroom.”

Erik didn’t move, but something in his jaw shifted. Tension. Or maybe curiosity.

“You didn’t shut the door all the way,” she added, voice low.

He looked at her now. Really looked.

That party had been loud. Drinks flowing, people laughing, the house full of bodies moving in and out the rooms. He didn’t think anyone noticed. He barely remembered the girl’s name.

But she remembered.

“Why you bringin’ it up?” he asked, eyes locked on her face.

Sanaa smiled, slow and subtle, “Because I can.”

Erik’s chuckle was low, deep, almost like a warning, “You a trip,” he said.

“So are you,” she shot back.

He leaned a little closer, “That what you think?”

“That what I know.”

“You always talk back?”

“Only when I’m bored.”

Erik’s eyes dropped to her mouth, “You ain’t bored. You up here talkin’ like you tryna spark something.”

Sanaa raised a brow, “If I was, you wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

That made Erik laugh. For real this time.

It rumbled out of him, low and full, like he couldn’t help it.

“You sure about that?”

She shrugged, “I’m just mindin’ my business.”

He nodded once, slow. But his eyes never left her face.

“That’s the problem.”

And that silence came back. The kind that buzzed. Warm and dangerous.

It started as heat.

Low and dull, right between her hips. The kind that crept slow and settled in thick. Then came the pressure. A tight pulse behind her clit, so sudden she shifted her legs, just slightly, like movement might ease it. But it didn’t. It made it worse. Her thing was thin. The thong did nothing to stop the way her pussy lips swelled and pressed against the cotton, already damp.

Sanaa could feel the slick starting to spread.

Could feel the cling. The soft suction between her folds and the fabric. Could feel the throb. That low, heady throb that said: you need. And all she’d done was sit too close. Let her legs rest on his lap. Play a little too close to the edge.

She shouldn’t have teased him.

Because now her pussy was thinking ahead.

Her clit felt swollen. Heavy. Like it had its own heartbeat.

And if he touched her now—if he even grazed her?

She’d be a mess.

She kept her face neutral. Kept scrolling her phone like her body wasn’t slicking up just from the way his hand sat near her knee. But her thighs kept shifting. Not from discomfort. From the warmth between them. That sweet ache. The need for friction. Her breath was still steady, but her skin was warm, her nipples pressing faintly against the thin shirt. She crossed her ankles to distract herself.

Then—without warning—she reached up and pulled off her bonnet.

Her curls tumbled down. Soft and thick, falling in dark, glossy springs across her back and shoulders. The strands that had been peeking out before now fell free, some catching at her collarbone, others brushing her jaw. She ran her fingers over the roots, pushing it back once, revealing the full soft frame of her face.

Erik stared.

No shame in it. No hiding. His eyes traced every detail.

Sanaa caught him.

“What?” she asked, arching a brow, “What are you looking at?”

His voice came without hesitation.

“You.”

That one word hit harder than it should have.

She blinked. Just once.

And then, quieter, she asked, “Why?”

Erik shifted beneath her legs. Adjusted slightly. His thigh pressed harder against her ass now, and her stomach gave a small tug in response.

“‘Cause you Bri,” he said, “I can do that.”

She laughed, quiet but real. Her lips pressed together, nose scrunching, teeth flashing for just a second. That laugh—the one she used when she was trying not to be charmed. And Erik—he bit his bottom lip, dimples cutting deep, trying not to laugh back.

It caught them both off guard.

Then she rolled her eyes and muttered, “Jokes, okay… Killmonger.”

Everything stilled. Erik’s shoulders tensed, just slightly. His grin slipped back into something else. Something unreadable. Sanaa caught it. She tilted her head, eyes cutting sideways.

“That’s what they call you, right?” she said, pretending lightness, “Aaliyah mentioned it before. Wild nickname, if you ask me.”

The sound of it on her tongue—Killmonger—wasn’t harsh. It was sultry. Rolled out low, smooth, with a sassy little curl at the end like she didn’t really know what it meant but liked how it tasted.

It did something to him.

He didn’t even breathe for a second.

The name wasn’t just a name. It was weight. History. A title born from blood and war, sharpened in training, whispered by enemies and survivors alike. It wasn’t something said in daylight. Not in places like this. And definitely not by girls with anklets and pimple patches and soft little tattoos on the inside of their arm and thigh.

But hearing her say it?

With that teasing smile. That warm body resting soft across his lap. That hair spilling over her shoulders like silk swirls. That voice that could sound sweet and smart and sexy all at once.

It hit different.

It dropped into his chest like a trigger. Like instinct. Like an old self being called out of its cage.

His jaw ticked.

His tongue pressed behind his teeth.

He looked at her longer than he needed to.

Because the way she said it didn’t sound like fear. It sounded like a dare. Like she could say it and still be safe. Like she had no idea what that name had meant to other people. Or maybe she did. Maybe that was the whole point.

And still—Still.

He liked the way it sounded coming from her mouth.

Too much.

Sanaa didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just lifted her brows at him.

“Did I say something?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her lips like he was wondering how they’d taste if they said it again.

“Don’t say it again.”

Sanaa’s lashes fluttered like she was processing, then—

“Okay, Killmonger.”

Erik exhaled through his nose, low and sharp. A dry huff that carried just enough warning to make the tension in the room stretch taut.

Sanaa smiled.

And then she shifted.

Her legs slid off his lap in one slow motion, her body twisting as she pulled her knees to her chest. The shirt rode high, and just for a split second, Erik got a full view—the curve of her ass, soft and high, swallowed by that barely-there black thong. Her skin looked smooth, her thighs warm and pressed close, a little gleam catching from the light above the TV.

Erik just stared.

Heat curled in his gut.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Holding his gaze for a beat too long, playful, cocky, like she wanted him to react. And then she looked away, tucking her chin to her knees like nothing happened.

“I’m going to bed,” he said finally, voice thick.

Sanaa shrugged, still smirking, “You should. You old.”

“You got studying to do, right? You should be sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, long and drawn out, “Boy, you don’t even know my schedule.”

Erik’s jaw ticked. 

He didn’t argue. Just grabbed the remote, pressed the power button, and the room fell quiet. Dark. 

No TV. No background noise. Just them.

He stood above her now.

Tall, broad, shirtless, blocking the soft hallway light.

And Sanaa was looking up at him, still curled on the couch.

Her eyes dragged slowly up his torso, over his chest, the gold glint of his chain, the sharp cut of his abs, the raised stories in his scars. Her breath felt tight in her chest. Her pussy pulsed again, hot and aching. Her thong was wet now—sticking to her, her lips swollen and slick.

The angle made it worse. Him looming. Her small in comparison. She clenched her thighs together, like it would do anything.

“Move,” she said, barely above a whisper, “Give me the remote.”

She reached up.

But Erik didn’t hand it to her.

He caught her wrist—gently, but firm—and in one smooth motion, pulled her off the couch like she weighed nothing.

Sanaa gasped, her bare feet hitting the floor as her body caught up.

“Damn,” she breathed.

Erik tilted his head down close to hers, lips brushing near her ear, voice barely above gravel.

“Bed. Now.”

That wasn’t a request.

Sanaa exhaled slowly, biting down on her bottom lip just enough for him to see. She gathered her water bottle, her phone, her charger. No sass this time. Just heat rising in her cheeks, chest tight, panties soaked.

She turned and walked toward the hallway, and Erik followed.

He didn’t touch her.

He didn’t have to.

The sound of his footsteps behind hers did enough. He stayed close—so close she could feel his body heat ghosting up her back. Her legs kept shifting. Her thighs slick. Every step a reminder of what she wasn’t getting yet.

At her door, she paused.

Aaliyah’s room sat quiet across the hall, lights off, door shut.

Sanaa stepped inside her own room, hand on the frame.

Erik didn’t enter.

He stood right at the threshold, staring down at her like he wasn’t done.

“Good night,” he said, low and gruff.

She didn’t move at first.

They stared at each other. A long, loaded silence. Her chest rising and falling faster now. His eyes stuck on her mouth.

Finally, she tilted her head, “You gonna close my door,” she said, “or no?”

Erik didn’t say another word.

Just reached in, long arm brushing past her, fingers curling around the doorknob. He shut it slow. Deliberate. His eyes never left hers—not once. Not even as the door clicked into place.

And just like that, he was gone.

Sanaa stood frozen for a beat, pulse thick in her throat.

When the door sealed shut, she exhaled. Loud. Needy. Like she’d been holding her breath since the kitchen.

Her knees wobbled. Her pussy throbbed.

She moved without thinking. Plugged in her phone. Let the screen light the room. The TV came on with low background noise—some drama she wasn’t watching—but it helped ease the silence. Made her feel less like she was unraveling. She stood near the edge of her bed, reached under her shirt, and pulled her thong down. Wet cotton peeled off sticky. Her breath caught when it passed over her swollen lips.

She looked down between her legs.

God.

Her pussy was soaked.

Her folds glistened, puffed and glistening, swollen from arousal. Her clit peeked out, heavy and stiff, throbbing with its own damn heartbeat.

Sanaa gasped as her fingers touched it—just once.

She staggered back onto the bed, legs still slick, thighs shining faintly under the TV light. She couldn’t wait. Couldn’t tease herself slow. The ache was too sharp. The tension had built up since the kitchen. Since the couch. Since he picked her up like she was his to move.

She laid back, shirt still on, but bunched around her waist. Her knees pulled up, legs parted wide. The scent of her own arousal hit her nose—warm, musky, sticky sweet. She touched herself again. Two fingers stroking circles over her clit, slow but firm.

“Fuuuck,” she whispered, head tipping back.

She was drenched. Playing in it made the slick noise rise between her thighs, soft and obscene.

All she could think about was him.

Erik, standing in her doorway. Shirtless. Chain swinging. Jaw tight. That low, commanding voice in her ear: Bed. Now.

Her hips arched off the sheets.

“Mmm—E,” she whispered, rubbing faster now. “Fuck, Erik…”

She let her fingers drift lower, gliding through her folds, spreading her mess. Then back up to rub circles on her clit again, slower, harder, chasing that edge.

She imagined him coming back. Quiet. That big frame filling her doorway again. Watching her with those eyes. Catching her in the act. Her legs wide. Her fingers slick. His name slipping from her lips like she couldn’t help it.

Sanaa gasped.

Her other hand grabbed her thigh firm, held it open. Biting down on her knees to stifle her moans. She was panting now, lips parted, hooded eyes watching her own movements. The sounds she was making weren’t cute. They were filthy. Raw. Honest. Hips rolling as she rubbed.

“Look what you do to me,” she whispered under her breath, chest rising fast, “Look how fuckin’ wet I am, Erik. Can’t sleep. Gotta cum. Thinkin’ bout you.”

She rubbed faster. Firmer. Sloppier.

Her legs tensed. Back arched. That pressure building again. Her clit was so sensitive now it hurt to stop. Her body locked up.

Then it hit her.

Sanaa cried out, thighs shaking, back bowed off the bed, eyes fluttering shut. Her fingers didn’t stop right away. She kept playing in it, slow, sloppy strokes, riding the wave down. The sheets beneath her damp. Her thighs trembling.

She lay there panting, legs still parted.

Her chest was hot.

Her mouth dry.

Her pussy? A mess.

Creamy. Warm. Still pulsing.

The house was already awake when Raiya pulled up. Sunlight touched the glass walls like a lover tracing familiar lines, bouncing gold off the chrome trim of her G-Wagon as it coasted into the stone-paved driveway. The hills stretched out behind her, smug and silent—just like she liked her clients.

She stepped out into the quiet. The scent of eucalyptus and manicured money clung to the air. Twelve-point-two million dollars of architectural seduction stood in front of her, all hard edges and soft light. She straightened her collar, smoothed her trousers, and tapped the key fob once. Her phone buzzed.

Michael B. Jordan: Here. 3 minutes out.

She read it. Didn’t reply. Let him wait.

Inside, the house was cool. Clean. Rai moved through it like she belonged there—heels muffled by imported stone, tablet in hand, mouth set. She took a slow breath before the doorbell rang. Just once.

When she opened it, he filled the doorway.

Black joggers. Oversized hoodie. Clean fade, skin rich and smooth under the sun. Sunglasses too dark to see through—but she felt the stare all the same.

“Afternoon,” he said.

His voice was lower than she remembered from TV interviews. Less polished. A little rasp tucked behind the charm.

“Mr. Jordan.” She stepped aside. “Come in.”

He moved like he was used to being followed. Quiet but intentional. Every step designed to be noticed even when it wasn’t. She clocked the cologne—woodsy, warm, expensive. She didn’t comment.

“Call me Michael,” he said, scanning the interior. “Or Mike.”

She let the pause stretch. “Raiya Sinclair. Rai, if I like you.”

He looked at her, finally. Really looked.

“You always this formal?”

“Only when I’m working.”

“So what’s it take to see you off the clock?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Buying a house, for starters.”

He huffed a soft laugh, no teeth. “That an invitation?”

“That’s a transaction.”

They stood in the foyer, thirty feet of glass to their left revealing a wide-open view of L.A. The house didn’t speak. It watched.

Michael nodded once, slow. “Show me around then.”

Rai turned without answering. Let her silence speak.

“The house is just over twelve thousand square feet. Five beds, seven baths, a full theater, gym, pool, you name it.”

He followed, hands in pockets. “You always start with the numbers?”

“I always start with what matters.”

They walked down the main hall, shoes whispering over polished stone. Art hung like suggestions. The ceiling climbed too high for conversation.

“I see what you meant in your email,” he said. “It’s got presence.”

“Presence is why it’s still on the market,” she replied. “It’s not a starter house. This place intimidates people.”

“And you think I don’t intimidate easy.”

Her eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. “Do you?”

He didn’t answer.

In the kitchen, he leaned against the island. Marble. Seamless. Rai paused by the sink, tapping her tablet but watching him from the edge of her lashes.

“Everything here’s imported. The appliances, the counters, even the cabinets were designed in Milan.”

“You been here long?”

“The listing? Three months.”

“No. You. L.A.”

“Born here. Left. Came back.”

He nodded, slow. “So you know the city.”

“I know the city,” she echoed, turning to face him fully. “I know who pretends to belong and who actually does.”

Their eyes held. Something passed between them—quiet, sharp, heavy with the weight of what wasn’t said. Then she moved again, walking toward the stairs.

“I’ll show you the master suite.”

He followed, close now. Too close.

“You don’t do the small talk thing, huh?”

She didn’t look back. “Not when I’m showing a house.”

“What about when you’re not?”

She paused at the landing. He stopped just behind her. Close enough to feel the heat off his chest, the static tension in the inch between them.

Rai turned her head slightly, lips near his shoulder.

“Are you always this forward?”

“I don’t waste time.”

“Maybe you should learn how.”

The hallway swallowed the sound of his low laugh. The bedroom was minimalist—glass, wood, stone, a bed like it was made for sin and redemption.

He didn’t comment. Just looked around. Then looked back at her.

“You ever live in a place like this?”

She glanced at him. “No.”

“You want to?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t need my house to impress anyone.”

“Maybe it’s not about impressing. Maybe it’s about what feels like you.”

Her eyes narrowed, curious despite herself. “And what about this feels like me?”

He walked toward her, slowly, like the room bent in his direction. When he stopped, it was close. Not too close—but close enough to make it intentional.

“I don’t know yet,” he said quietly. “That’s why I’m still here.”

The air between them stilled. The house felt like it was holding its breath.

Rai didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You think charm’s gonna get you a discount?” she asked, voice low.

Michael smiled again. Small. Slow. “Nah. I think dinner might.”

That stopped her. Just a flicker in her eyes. Not surprise—but calculation. Like she expected him to ask eventually. She just wanted to see how he’d do it.

“I don’t eat with clients,” she said.

“Then don’t make me one.”

“You are one.”

He tilted his head. “I could be more.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

She exhaled softly. “You done seeing the house?”

He didn’t look away. “That depends. You showing me the door, or are you thinking about that dinner?”

She stepped around him, smooth and unreadable. Walked to the door like she hadn’t just spent the last hour orbiting a decision she wasn’t supposed to make.

“I’ll send the disclosures tonight,” she said. “Let me know if you’re serious.”

Michael stood there a moment longer. Watching her. Weighing something.

Then he smiled—just a little.

“Oh,” he murmured, “I’m serious.”

She didn’t turn around. Just opened the front door and let the afternoon light pour in.

It was the silence that got him.

Not the kind that fills a room when people don’t know what to say. The kind that wraps around someone like armor. That kind of silence—her kind—was heavy with choice.

Michael hadn’t stopped thinking about Raiya Sinclair since the moment she opened that front door.

He’d seen a million pretty women. Been on red carpets with them. Interviews, sets, parties, premieres—where they all laughed too hard and leaned too close and pretended not to see the name stitched into his fame. Most wanted the version of him that lived in press junkets and GQ spreads. Polished. Predictable. Packaged.

Rai didn’t want shit from him.

Not a smile. Not a quote. Not a glimpse.

She looked at him like he was another listing on her roster—expensive, yes. Rare, maybe. But not irreplaceable.

And that? Had him fucked up.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she walked through that house. Like it was hers. Like she’d built it from blueprint to finish, and the structure bent to her presence. She didn’t fill space. She claimed it.

Tailored ivory trousers that hugged her hips like they had history. Silk blouse that didn’t dare wrinkle under pressure. Her skin, a deep, unbothered brown. Her voice—clean, clipped, and coated in something cool. But her eyes? Her eyes were what had him caught.

Sharp. Curious. Measured.

She looked at him like she was sorting through possibilities: buyer or bullshitter. And Michael wasn’t used to needing to prove the difference.

Now, twenty-four hours later, he sat in his car outside the restaurant she picked—a tucked-away spot in West Hollywood with no valet and even fewer windows. Her kind of place. Hidden, expensive, and deliberate.

He checked the mirror. Adjusted the collar of his coat. Swiped a hand over his beard, then stilled.

Why the fuck was he nervous?

Michael scoffed to himself and got out.

—

Rai was already inside.

She was seated at a corner table near the back, facing the door. Of course she was. Hair twisted into a long, thick bun. Gold hoops peeking beneath her locs. Dark red lipstick. That same posture—one elbow on the table, one finger on her glass stem like it wasn’t wine she was holding but information.

He stepped in. Didn’t rush. Let her see him walk.

Her gaze flicked over him once—black coat over a slate-grey turtleneck, clean trousers, watch gleaming at his wrist. She didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just took a sip of her drink like he was late, even if he wasn’t.

Michael sat across from her.

“You beat me here.”

“I set the reservation.”

He huffed a soft laugh, leaning back. “You always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Sharp. Unimpressed.”

She shrugged. “You showed up looking like a spread from Esquire and thought that’d be enough.”

He smirked, not even mad. “It usually is.”

She tilted her glass toward him. “Then maybe you should update your algorithm.”

The waitress arrived—young, nervous, over-apologizing. Rai ordered without hesitation: pan-seared halibut, wild greens, pinot noir. Michael just nodded and said, “Same.”

When the server left, he leaned forward, arms resting on the table.

“So, is this how you spend your evenings? Wearing people down one syllable at a time?”

“No,” she said smoothly. “Just the ones who ask for dinner like it’s a transaction.”

“I didn’t ask you like that.”

“No?”

He paused. Sighed. “Okay. Maybe I did.”

She didn’t blink.

“But I meant it like a… detour. Not a shortcut.”

Now that earned her attention.

“A detour,” she repeated.

“Yeah.” His voice dropped a little. “’Cause you caught me off guard.”

A beat passed.

“I didn’t think that was possible for you,” she said.

“It’s not,” he replied. “Until you.”

Her lashes lowered, slow and thoughtful. She picked up her wine. Swirled. Sipped. Didn’t break eye contact.

“Do you always talk like that?”

“Only when I mean it.”

“And how often is that?”

Michael chuckled. “Rare.”

She smirked. “Good. I don’t like liars.”

They ate. The conversation dipped and danced between them like a slow jazz record—questions hidden in compliments, truths tucked behind sarcasm.

He asked about her work. She told him enough to sound open, not enough to be vulnerable. She asked about his films. He gave answers that felt polished but not practiced.

Eventually, she said, “You ever get tired of playing the same role?”

“You mean the romantic lead?”

“I mean the fantasy.”

Michael leaned back, studying her. “You think I’m a fantasy?”

“I think people want you to be.”

He went quiet.

She didn’t push. She just sipped.

Finally, he said, “Sometimes I wonder what I’d be if no one was watching.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And who is that?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Still figuring that out.”

Rai sat back in her chair, eyes softening just a fraction.

“I was married once,” she said suddenly.

That made him still.

“He was ambitious. Smart. Wanted the world.” She traced the rim of her glass. “But I was moving faster than he was. And eventually, he made that my fault.”

Michael’s jaw flexed.

“He ever hit you?”

“No,” she said. “But he tried to make me shrink. That’s worse in some ways.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and pulsing.

“I ain’t scared of women like you,” he said quietly.

“What kind of woman am I?”

“The kind that don’t bend. The kind men remember even if they never touch.”

Her throat bobbed, just once. She looked away.

“I don’t want to be remembered,” she said.

“What do you want?”

Rai looked back at him, steady now.

“I want to be understood. Without needing to explain.”

Michael didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“That’s a tall order.”

“So is dinner,” she said. “And yet, here we are.”

—

After, he walked her to her car.

The night was warm, the breeze soft. The parking lot was near empty. He didn’t speak until they reached the driver’s side.

“You always pick places like this?”

“Where nobody knows your name and nobody’s watching?”

“Yeah.”

“Privacy’s a luxury,” she said. “You should know that.”

He reached out—slowly, intentionally—and tucked a loose loc behind her ear.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t lean in either. Just let him touch her.

It felt like a win.

“You ever get tired of holding it all together?” he asked.

She locked eyes with him. “You ever get tired of people asking questions they don’t want the answers to?”

Michael smiled. Then stepped back.

“Thanks for dinner, Rai.”

“You’re the one who asked.”

“Didn’t say I was done asking.”

She slid into the driver’s seat, door still open.

“You looking to buy or looking to play?”

He leaned down, bracing one hand on the doorframe.

“I’m looking to see what happens when you stop pretending you don’t want me to.”

And then, just like before—she drove off without answering.

He watched her taillights disappear into the dark.

This time, though?

He knew she’d be thinking about it too.

The text thread between them started professionally.

Michael B. Jordan [Mon, 10:42 AM]

Any luck finding something with less glass and more warmth?

Rai Sinclair [Mon, 10:47 AM]

Sent two options last night. One in Bel Air, one near Coldwater Canyon. Did you review?

Michael B. Jordan [Mon, 10:49 AM]

Looked through the one in Bel Air. Gorgeous, but cold. Like being rich in a freezer.

Still looking.

Rai Sinclair [Mon, 10:55 AM]

Noted. I’ll adjust the filters.

Michael B. Jordan [Mon, 10:56 AM]

Keep the filter for “intimidating but lowkey irresistible” though.

I like those.

She left that message on read.

But didn’t block him.

Over the next four days, it became a pattern.

He’d text late. Not disrespectfully late—just late enough to feel intentional.

As if she’d be on his mind when the world got quiet.

Michael B. Jordan [Wed, 11:17 PM]

The Coldwater place—view is nice. But still missing something.

Rai Sinclair [Thurs, 7:02 AM]

Elaborate?

Michael B. Jordan [Thurs, 7:03 AM]

Not enough pressure. Not enough presence.

Feels too easy.

Michael B. Jordan [Thurs, 7:04 AM]

Like it’d never keep someone like you in it.

She read that one twice.

Didn’t reply for six hours.

Then sent a new listing. With the words:

Rai Sinclair [Thurs, 1:02 PM]

Showing is tomorrow. 4PM. I’ll meet you there.

She didn’t ask if he was available.

He cleared his schedule anyway.

⸻

Michael hadn’t planned on obsessing.

But there was something about her he couldn’t shake.

It was in her eyes—that steady, unbothered stillness. Like nothing he did could move her unless she chose to be moved.

He didn’t like chasing. That wasn’t his rhythm.

But Rai?

Rai was worth recalibrating for.

She was the first woman in years who didn’t rush to fill the silence. Who didn’t care that he was Michael Fucking Jordan. Who didn’t ask him to be charming or perfect. Who didn’t try to impress him.

She just was. And now?

He couldn’t stop planning how to pull her out of that armor.

Not with manipulation. Not with lies.

Just with truth—slow and unrelenting.

He’d make her want to let go.

He’d make her need to.

⸻

Rai told herself it was just another showing.

But her pulse always picked up when his name hit her phone.

Michael Jordan was many things. Charming. Calculated. Beautiful in that slow-burn, double-take way. But the thing that shook her wasn’t how fine he was.

It was how focused he’d become.

There was an edge now. Less smiling, more watching.

Less jokes, more silence that felt like it was pressing against her skin.

He didn’t flirt like he wanted to fuck.

He flirted like he wanted to undo her.

And that? Was dangerous.

Because she wasn’t scared of being wanted.

She was scared of being claimed.

⸻

The house sat on a cul-de-sac in the Hills, privacy on all sides.

Clean lines. Black brick. Narrow driveway. Interior wide open.

No staff. No distractions. Just her and Michael, again.

Rai arrived first.

Of course she did.

She stepped out in black this time—fitted slacks, a sleeveless turtleneck, hair in a low twist, gold bracelets stacked on her wrist like punctuation.

Michael showed up two minutes later.

He didn’t smile when he saw her.

He just watched her for a beat too long, then said, “You always wear black when you’re trying to control a room?”

“I wear black when I don’t feel like repeating myself.”

He huffed, a low breath of a laugh, then followed her inside.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

The house swallowed their steps.

Wood floors. Dark walls. Gold fixtures. Every room warm-toned, quiet, purposeful.

“You said you wanted warmth,” she said, walking ahead of him.

“I said I wanted something that felt like you.”

She paused.

Then kept walking.

“You’ll notice the layout is more intimate,” she said. “High ceilings, but the room divisions make it feel less like a gallery.”

Michael didn’t respond. His eyes weren’t on the ceiling.

She walked him through the kitchen, the office, the outdoor deck with the infinity pool. Her voice stayed level. Even.

But she could feel him.

Watching. Measuring. Calculating.

When they reached the primary bedroom, she opened the door without turning around.

“King suite. Private access to the pool. Heated floors. Walk-in closet the size of a boutique. You want specs, I’ll send—”

“You always this composed?”

The question cut through her rhythm.

She turned to face him.

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s just not what I’m used to.”

“That sounds like your issue, not mine.”

He took another step. They were three feet apart now.

“You ever let anyone see what’s under all that control, Rai?”

She held his gaze.

“You ever stop pretending you’re not used to getting your way?”

He smiled. But it was tight.

They stared at each other.

The room felt smaller.

The heat between them had nothing to do with the HVAC.

Michael stepped in.

Two feet now.

“I’m not trying to fuck this up,” he said softly.

“Then don’t.”

“I just want to see how far I can take you.”

Rai didn’t breathe.

“And what if you can’t take me anywhere?”

Michael leaned in, not touching, but damn close.

“Then I’ll wait.”

Silence.

Then—his hand lifted, slow, slow, slow—

And landed lightly at her waist.

Not tight. Not possessive. Just there.

Rai’s throat tightened.

His voice dropped again.

“Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t.

His palm warmed against her side. His other hand hovered, ghosting near her hip. His lips were right there—right fucking there—and she could smell him now.

Clean. Masculine. Intentional.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again.

She looked at him—right into him—and for the first time, her voice cracked.

“You’re a client.”

“I’m a man,” he breathed, “who wants you to stop hiding.”

Her body leaned. Just slightly. Just enough.

Then she pulled back.

Not far. Just enough to break the current.

His hand slid off her waist slowly.

She turned away, voice tight.

“I’ll send the specs. You can decide by Monday.”

He didn’t stop her this time.

Just stood there, alone in that quiet, gold-lit bedroom, fists in his pockets, jaw clenched.

Rai stepped outside and didn’t look back.

⸻

That night, she sat in her car with her hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary.

One breath.

Two.

Three.

Her phone buzzed.

Michael B. Jordan [Sat, 10:14 PM]

You almost gave in.

So did I.

I’m not done, Rai.

She stared at the screen.

Didn’t type back.

But she didn’t delete it either.

The knock on her office door wasn’t expected, but she knew who it was before she looked up.

Michael filled the frame with too much calm, too much presence, and a coffee cup in each hand.

“Brought a peace offering,” he said. “Assuming you’re the type who takes her caffeine like her attitude—black and no sugar.”

Rai stayed seated. Didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk.

“Your assumption’s correct,” she said. “You always show up unannounced?”

“Only when I’m trying to prove a point.”

He crossed the room like he’d done it before, placing the coffee just to the left of her open laptop. No cream. No sugar. No apology.

“And what point would that be?”

He sat across from her like this was his meeting. Legs spread. Elbows on thighs. Calm in a way that made her skin itch.

“That we don’t need a reason to see each other.”

She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “You do. I work.”

“I noticed,” he said, eyes flicking up and down the length of her body like she was dressed in his schedule. “You work like you’re scared of stillness.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” she said.

He smiled, slow and irritatingly knowing. “Then let me take you to see something.”

“I’m busy.”

“Not for what I’m about to show you.”

She exhaled. Picked up the coffee. Sipped.

“You think just because you’re Michael Jordan, people rearrange their time?”

He stood. Didn’t answer. Just handed her a printed listing—on her letterhead.

Property: Off-market

Status: Under construction

Location: Private gated lot

Access: Only via keyholder

“You had this pulled from my system?”

He gave a slow shrug. “You sent me cold houses. I wanted something warmer.”

“This one’s unfinished.”

“Exactly.”

Her brow lifted. “Symbolism?”

“Something like that.”

She held his gaze for a long, flat second. Then stood.

“Give me ten minutes.”

⸻

The property was a skeleton with promise.

Set at the end of a long, narrow road in Brentwood, it looked like a mansion still deciding who it wanted to be. Drywall half up. Floors not yet laid. Beams exposed like collarbones under an open shirt. The bones were good. The silence was better.

They parked side by side. The sky threatened to storm.

Rai led them inside, keying the temp code into a digital pad near the doorframe. Michael followed, steps slower than hers, gaze heavier.

“You really think this is your pace?” she asked as they walked across unfinished floors.

“I think I want to build something,” he said. “Not just move into what someone else made.”

She looked over her shoulder. “That a metaphor or are you just trying to impress me?”

“I stopped trying to impress you the minute I realized it wouldn’t work.”

They entered what would eventually be the master suite. Dust clung to sunlight pouring through oversized windows. The walls weren’t painted. The closet was just a frame. But the space was loud in its silence.

She turned. “This is where the primary bedroom would be.”

“Is that where you’d be?”

Rai blinked once.

“You think flirting makes this less complicated?” she said.

Michael stepped closer, gaze low and deliberate.

“I think we already complicated it when we kept pretending there’s no tension.”

He was close now.

Not touching. But near enough that she could feel the shift in the air. That stretch of seconds where wanting sat just behind his teeth.

“You’re not the first man who thought he could undo me,” she said quietly.

“I’m not trying to undo you,” he murmured. “I’m trying to see what’s under all that control.”

“You sure you could handle it?”

“Try me.”

A beat passed.

Then her phone rang.

She didn’t answer.

Let it go to voicemail.

Because this moment? It had weight.

She broke the stare first. Not because she couldn’t hold it—but because if she did, she’d fold. Fast.

“Let’s finish the tour,” she said.

But her voice was softer now. Less sure.

And Michael?

He didn’t move.

He just watched her walk out of the unfinished room like she hadn’t just dropped part of her armor on the subfloor.

⸻

The ride back was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of silence that built pressure behind the eyes, behind the zipper, behind every unspoken thing they weren’t naming.

Michael’s car smelled like bergamot and heat.

Rai sat beside him in the passenger seat—cool, unreadable, until he put it in park and reached for the gear again like he couldn’t trust his own hands.

She turned her head.

Watched him.

Then slowly—so slowly—leaned forward.

Not kissing. Not touching.

Just close.

Her voice brushed against his jaw.

“You want to touch me,” she whispered.

Michael’s eyes slid shut.

Her fingers moved, light and unhurried, tracing the sleeve of his jacket. Just a nail dragging down to his wrist. A press, then release.

“You’ve been circling me for days,” she said. “But I think you’re scared.”

He didn’t speak.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. His throat flexed.

Rai’s smile was soft. Sharp.

“Scared that if you touch me… you’ll never be able to stop.”

She leaned closer. Her breath against his cheek.

One hand lifted and—like she was brushing lint off his collar—her fingers smoothed over his chest, just once.

Then she leaned back.

Unbuckled her seatbelt.

Opened the door.

“You almost broke just now,” she murmured.

Michael didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Rai stepped out, heels clicking on the pavement like a threat.

Then—without looking back—

She walked toward her office, hips swaying with intention, her control back on like a second skin.

Inside the car, Michael sat alone.

Hands fisted around the wheel.

Jaw clenched.

Hard.

He didn’t chase her.

But tomorrow?

He would stop waiting.

—

Michael hadn’t texted her in two days.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he wanted to too much.

Every word he could’ve said to her felt dangerous. Charged. That close to becoming an admission.

And her voice wouldn’t leave him.

“You almost broke just now.”

That wasn’t a tease. That was a warning.

And the worst part?

She was right.

He’d been patient. Careful. Charming.

But now?

He was hungry.

So when her text came through—short, sharp, surgical—he knew what it meant.

Rai Sinclair [Sun, 6:32 PM]

One more property. One more time.

7PM. You know the code.

No emoji. No address. Just instructions.

It wasn’t an invite.

It was a test.

And he was about to pass it with his mouth.

⸻

The house was tucked behind a curved iron gate that whispered instead of screamed. The kind of quiet property made for secrets. He parked out front, engine still ticking when he stepped out.

The front door was cracked open.

Inside, it was mostly dark. Except for one room. The kitchen, lit like a spotlight.

She stood in it.

Wearing black.

Not the tailored kind. Not the professional armor.

A black slip dress. Bare feet. Locs pinned back with a single gold clasp.

She didn’t speak when he walked in. Didn’t greet him.

She just stood there, hands flat on the kitchen island, the marble cool under her palms.

Waiting.

Michael’s throat tightened.

This wasn’t business.

This wasn’t even seduction.

This was surrender—offered without being asked for.

He stepped closer.

“You didn’t give me much notice.”

“You didn’t need much,” she said, still not looking at him.

He took another step.

“I’ve been trying to respect your pace.”

She turned, finally, slowly, meeting his eyes.

“And I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t want to match yours.”

The silence after that stretched.

Their breathing synced. Eyes locked. Mouths still.

Then—

“Why do you keep pretending like you don’t feel this?” he asked, voice rough.

Her chest rose.

“Because if I don’t pretend,” she said, already trembling, “I’ll let you fuck me right here on this damn island.”

He closed the gap.