yna 𖹭

Jaafar was leaning back, an arm resting along the top of the cushions, seemingly engrossed in a replay of a masterclass bunker shot. But his eyes weren't really on the green. They kept drifting down to the quiet rhythm of your chest rising and falling, the way your lips parted slightly when you were deep in thought, and the soft fabric of the oversized knit sweater that kept slipping off your shoulder.

A sudden, sharp memory hit him. The faint taste of blackberry reduction, the cold marble of the kitchen island, and a very specific, whispered promise about a rematch.

A slow, wicked smirk crawled onto his lips.

'Hey,' Jaafar murmured, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room like a low purr.

'Mmm?' you responded, not even looking up from your page, turning it with a soft rustle.

'Put the book down, baby.'

You blinked, finally lifting your eyes from the text to find him staring at you. The lazy, sleepy expression he usually wore on a rainy Sunday evening was entirely gone. Instead, his dark eyes were heavy, fixed on you with a sharp, predatory heat that instantly made your pulse skip a beat.

'Why?' you asked, tilting your head, a faint, amused smile tugging at your lips. 'Are the golf highlights getting too thrilling for you?'

Jaafar let out a low, breathless chuckle, shifting his weight. He slid down the length of the couch, his long legs moving effortlessly until he was hovering right over you, trapping you between his body and the back of the sofa. He reached down, his fingers gently taking the book from your hands and tossing it onto the coffee table without looking.

'Golf is over,' he whispered, leaning down until his chest was practically brushing yours, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head. 'I just remembered we have some unfinished business. A certain deal we shook on after the great MasterChef tie.'

Your breath hitched slightly as his scent enveloped you. The memory flashed vividly in your mind.

'Next time we should try a different game. Like strip poker... purely for the sake of competition.'

'Consider the deal accepted.'

'Oh,' you murmured, your hands naturally rising to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, heavy thud of his heart beneath his shirt. You arched an eyebrow, your competitive streak instantly flaring up to meet his. 'You actually remembered that? I figured you backed out because you realized how embarrassing it would be to lose to me twice in one week.'

'Lose?' Jaafar’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with a sudden, competitive hunger. He leaned an inch closer, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. 'Baby, I’ve been playing poker since I was old enough to hold the cards. I was actually giving you a head start by letting you think about it.'

'Bold words for a man wearing a t-shirt, a hoodie, and sweatpants,' you teased, your fingers playfully tracing the hoodie design. 'You layered up on purpose, didn't you? Cheater.'

'It's called strategy,' he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes, a heavy, dangerous playfulness vibrating between you. 'But if you're scared, we can just go back to golf.'

You narrowed your eyes, a confident, wicked smile spreading across your face. You brought your hands up to his neck, pulling him down just enough to whisper against his lips.

'Get the cards, Jackson. Let's see what you're made of.'

Jaafar didn’t need to be told twice. He broke the space between you, pressing his lips to yours in a quick, bruisingly hot kiss that felt more like a declaration of war than an affectionate gesture, before swinging his legs off the couch.

'Don't move,' he commanded, pointing a finger at you as he walked away. 'And no shedding layers while my back is turned.'

'I play fair,' you called out, shifting so you were sitting cross-legged in the center of the plush rug by the coffee table, clearing off your book to make room for the battlefield.

When Jaafar returned, he had a pristine, unopened deck of cards in one hand and a heavy, dark wooden box of poker chips in the other. He dropped down onto the rug directly opposite you, mirroring your posture. The coffee table sat between you like a neutral border, but the air in the room had shifted entirely. It was thick, highly charged, and undeniably flirtatious.

He popped the seal on the card deck, his long, elegant fingers shuffling them with an effortless, hypnotic rhythm. Snap, snap, snap. The sound was crisp in the quiet room.

You watched him, completely mesmerized.

You had always had an absolute weakness for his hands, but watching the fluid, practiced dexterity of his long fingers arc the cards together was sending a low, sudden spike of heat straight to your core. Your throat went dry as you tracked the sharp lines of his knuckles and the steady strength in his wrists.

There was something intensely commanding about how effortlessly he controlled the deck, and just thinking about those same large, skilled hands touching you later made your pulse tick up a frantic notch. You were entirely hypnotized, and it was getting harder to hide just how much the view was turning you on.

Jaafar’s eyes tracked the cards, but he wasn't blind to your heavy gaze. A slow, knowing smirk played at the corner of his lips.

'Alright, let's establish the rules of engagement,' Jaafar said, his eyes tracking the cards but his mind clearly on you. 'Standard five card draw. No wild cards. At the end of every hand, the loser sheds one item of clothing. Jewelry doesn't count, socks do. And absolutely no backing out.'

'Simple enough,' you smiled, leaning your chin in your hand, watching his fingers work. 'What about the chips?'

'The chips are just to keep track of who's dominating,' he said, setting the dark wooden box directly onto the rug between you. 'Think of it as a scoreboard. Ready to lose, baby?'

'Deal the cards, Jackson.'

Jaafar smirked, dealing out five cards to you and five to himself with practiced ease. You picked up your hand, fanning the cards out, and suppressed a sigh. A pair of fours. Nothing spectacular, but a starting point. Across from you, Jaafar’s face was an absolute brick wall. His eyes met yours over the rim of his cards, completely unreadable, a slow, devastatingly handsome grin cutting through his poker face.

'How many do you want to discard, chef?' he asked smoothly.

'Three,' you said, tossing the useless cards into the center. He slid three fresh ones across the smooth wood. You picked them up. Still just the pair of fours. Damn it.

'Dealer takes two,' Jaafar murmured, replacing his own cards. He stacked his hand neatly, tapping it against his knee once. 'Show 'em.'

You tossed your cards face up. 'Pair of fours.'

Jaafar’s grin widened into something purely wicked. He laid his cards down one by one. A pair of jacks. 'Told you I’ve been doing this a long time.' He leaned back on his hands, his dark eyes raking over your outfit with an expectant, heavy gaze. 'Off comes the sweater, y/n.'

You rolled your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks had nothing to do with frustration. You reached down, grabbing the hem of the oversized knit sweater, and pulled it slowly over your head.

Underneath, you were just wearing a delicate, sheer black lace bra, the exact one you knew was Jaafar’s absolute favorite.

Jaafar’s breath hitched noticeably, the smooth words completely dying in his throat. His gaze instantly locked onto the exposed line of your collarbones, his dark eyes darkening significantly as they tracked down to where the intricate lace met your bare skin. The confident, smug look on his face faltered entirely, replaced by a raw, hungry focus that made your pulse race.

'Your turn to deal,' he rasped, his voice suddenly much lower, rougher around the edges as he tried and failed to look back up at your eyes.

'My pleasure,' you purred, snatching the deck. You shuffled them, intentionally taking your time, keeping your eyes locked onto his the entire time. You could feel the shift in the room; the playful competition was rapidly dissolving into something much hotter, and you were determined to turn the tables.

You dealt the next hand. This time, the gambling gods were on your side: three queens right off the bat. You discarded two cards, drawing a king and another queen. Four of a kind. A statistical masterpiece.

Jaafar looked at his cards, then looked at you, trying to read your expression, though his eyes kept involuntarily dipping down to the lace of your bra. You gave him the most innocent, sweet smile you could muster.

'Show me what you've got, Jackson,' you whispered.

He tossed down two pairs,tens and sevens. 'Not bad. Let’s see it.'

You flipped your cards over with a dramatic flourish. 'Four queens. Take it off.'

Jaafar let out a low growl, a mixture of disbelief and intense amusement. 'You're a cheater. Theres no way.'

'The cards don't lie,' you laughed, crossing your arms and leaning forward slightly, your eyes sparkling as the movement shifted your chest, drawing his gaze right back down. 'The hoodie, Jackson. Let's see what's underneath.'

Jaafar didnt hesitate. He grabbed the bottom of his heavy black hoodie and pulled it off in one swift motion, tossing it carelessly to the side. Underneath, he was wearing a tight fitted white t-shirt that clung perfectly to the broad expanse of his chest and the sharp definition of his shoulders.

He leaned across the small space separating you on the rug, his face just inches from yours now, the heat radiating off his skin completely clouding your senses. He reached out, his thumb slowly, deliberately tracing the line of your jaw, before his fingers slid lower, lightly grazing the skin just above the lace of your bra, sending a violent shiver straight down your spine.

'Round three, baby,' Jaafar murmured, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, his eyes burning into yours with a dangerous promise. 'Let's see who breaks first.'

Jaafar didn’t wait for you to answer. He shifted his weight, moving off his crossed legs and sliding onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He was half laying down on the plush rug now, completely relaxed, his long legs stretched out carelessly his long legs stretched out carelessly across the carpet. The casual, sprawling posture should have made him look less intimidating, but with his tight white t-shirt straining against his chest and his dark eyes tracking your every breath, it only made him look twice as dangerous.

'Deal 'em, baby,' he murmured, his free hand lightly playing with a heavy poker chip, flipping it over his knuckles with effortless grace. 'Let's see if your luck holds out.'

Your hands were a little less steady this time as you distributed the cards. The proximity was starting to work against you, every time you leaned forward, his gaze would drop deliberately to the black lace of your bra, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at his lips when he noticed the slight tremor in your fingers.

You picked up your cards. A pair of kings. Solid. You discarded two and drew...nothing helpful. Just the kings.

Jaafar didn't even look at his cards right away. He kept his eyes locked on your face, taking his time before finally fanning his hand out against the rug. He didn't even bother to sit up. 'Dealer takes one card,' he said softly, tossing a discard into the center. He slid the new card into his hand, his expression completely blank. 'What do you have, baby?'

'Pair of kings,' you said, throwing them down on the table, trying to sound confident.

Jaafar let out a low, victorious hum that vibrated through the small space between you. He flipped his cards over one by one, his smirk turning thoroughly wicked. A flush. Five pristine hearts staring right back at you.

'Kings are beautiful, but they don't beat a flush,' he purred, his gaze slowly traveling down from your face, raking over your exposed skin with a heavy, possessive heat. He tapped the coffee table with a single finger. 'Pants, y/n. Let's go.'

You let out a breathless laugh, your heart hammering against your ribs. You rose to your knees slightly, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs before kicking them away, leaving you in just your matching black lace panties and the bra. When you settled back down onto your heels, you caught the exact moment Jaafar’s lazy composure completely shattered.

The playful chip-flipping stopped instantly. The chip dropped onto the rug with a soft thud.

Jaafar’s jaw tightened, his chest rising and falling in a sudden, heavy breath as his eyes burned into you. He didn't stay half laying down for much longer, the sight of you in his favorite set had him shifting, his large frame tensing as he slowly sat up, crawling an inch closer to the edge of the table.

'You did that on purpose,' he rasped, his voice incredibly deep, thick with desire. 'You knew exactly what you were doing.'

'Maybe I just wanted a tactical advantage,' you whispered, leaning your forearms on your thighs. You picked up the deck, offering it to him with a teasing tilt of your head. 'Your turn to deal, Jackson. Unless you're too distracted to count to five.'

Jaafar let out a low, warning growl, snatching the cards from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours, hot and electric. 'Oh, I can count just fine,' he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a lethal intensity as he rapidly dealt the next hand, though his eyes never truly left you. 

You picked up your cards, your fingers trembling slightly against the paper. A straight. The universe was practically screaming at you to finish him off. Across the table, Jaafar didn’t even bother to hide his hand, he just stared at you, his dark eyes burning, a heavy, rough edge to his breathing that told you exactly how much the sight of you in that black lace was tearing through his self-control.

'Show me,' he rasped, not even waiting for a discard round.

You flipped your cards over, a triumphant, breathless smile breaking across your face. 'A straight. Looks like you're out of options, Jackson.'

Jaafar looked down at the cards, then let out a low, gravelly chuckle that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine. 'Fair enough.'

He reached down, grabbing the hem of his white t-shirt, and pulled it up and over his head in one smooth, fluid motion, tossing it blindly onto the floor.

Your breath caught completely in your throat. Seeing him shirtless, left in absolutely nothing but his grey sweatpants, was driving you entirely insane. The dim light of the living room caught the broad, cut planes of his chest, the sharp definition of his shoulders, and the slow, heavy rise and fall of his abdomen. But what made your heart batter wildly against your ribs wasn't just how breathtaking he looked, it was his raw, physical reaction to you. His skin radiated heat, his gaze fixed on your lace-clad body with a desperate, heavy hunger that made it incredibly clear he was hanging onto his restraint by a single, frayed thread.

You were sitting with your legs stretched out in front of you on the plush rug, leaning back slightly on your hands, trying to hold his gaze.

'Game over,' Jaafar murmured, his voice incredibly deep and entirely stripped of its playful edge.

He didn't look at the cards. He didn't care about the chips. He slithered across the small space of the rug entirely and crawled directly into your space.

Your eyes widened slightly as his large, heavy frame loomed over yours, his scent of warm skin and cedar completely intoxicating your senses. Before you could even utter a sound, Jaafar’s large, warm hands slid down to your knees. Gently but with an undeniable, unyielding authority, he separated your legs, stepping his knees directly between your thighs to lock you underneath him.

The sudden, intense proximity made you gasp, the heat of his bare chest hovering just inches from yours.

'I can't look at you in this damn set for another second without touching you,' he growled softly, his hands traveling up your inner thighs, his thumbs tracing the edge of your lace panties, leaving trails of liquid fire on your skin. He leaned down, his dark eyes locking onto your lips. 'You won the hand, baby, but I'm taking the prize.'

Jaafar didn’t give you a chance to answer. He slammed his mouth down onto yours, a deep, bruising kiss that completely eradicated any lingering pretense of a game. His tongue slid into your mouth, possessive and thick with a desperate hunger that matched the wild hammering of your pulse. You let out a breathless whine against his lips, your hands flying up to grip his bare shoulders, your fingers digging tightly into the hard, smooth muscle of his back as he tasted you thoroughly.

He tasted like unadulterated desire. His large hands slid higher up your thighs, gripping your hips with enough force to ground you completely against the rug. He dragged his mouth away from yours, panting heavily, his hot breath fanning across your wet lips before he buried his face in the crook of your neck. He bit down gently on the sensitive column of your throat, sucking a dark mark into your skin that had you arching your back off the floor, your chest pressing firmly against his bare torso.

'You are so fucking beautiful,' Jaafar growled against your skin, his voice a gravelly, raw vibration that sent a violent jolt of electricity straight to your core. 'Driving me insane all night in this lace.'

His hands moved to the back of your bra. With a heavy, impatient tug, he unclipped the clasp, spilling your breasts into his warm palms. He let out a low, ragged groan at the sight, his thumbs instantly swiping rough circles over your nipples. The intense sensation had you crying out, your fingers tangling into his dark curls, pulling him closer. He didnt need the invitation, he leaned down, taking one stiff peak fully into his mouth, his tongue swirling and sucking with a fierce, rhythmic heat that made your lower abdomen clench up in an agonizingly sweet ache.

You rolled your hips up against him instinctively, the friction of your lace panties rubbing against the heavy, solid ridge swelling beneath his sweatpants. Jaafar gasped into your skin, his grip tightening on your waist as he pinned your hips flat to the floor.

'Don't start that yet, baby,' he rasped, lifting his head, his dark eyes entirely black with lust, heavy lids hooded as he stared down at you. 'If you move like that, it's over before we even start.'

Without breaking eye contact, he reached down, his large hand sliding under the waistband of your matching lace panties. He hooked his fingers into the delicate fabric and dragged them down your legs in one fluid motion, tossing them blindly into the shadows of the room. You were completely open beneath him now, your skin flushed and trembling in the cool air of the living room, completely locked under his heavy gaze.

Jaafar didn't hesitate. He guided his hand back between your separated thighs, his long, elegant fingers, the ones that had been shuffling cards so effortlessly just minutes ago, sliding over your wet, swollen entrance. You let out a broken gasp, your thighs trembling as his thumb found your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, putting a deliberate, heavy pressure on it that had your head tossing back against the rug.

'Look at how wet you are for me,' he whispered wickedly, his fingers sliding deep inside you with a heavy, slick glide. You were so incredibly tight, wrapping around his fingers instantly. He groaned, plunging them deeper, establishing a filthy, relentless rhythm that had you weeping, your hips lifting off the floor to chase his hand. 'Listen to that sound. You like that, baby?'

'Jaafar, please,' you whimpered, your hands against his chest, trying to get him closer, trying to tell him what you truly needed. The friction of his thumb and the deep, stretching glide of his fingers inside you was pushing you dangerously close to the edge. 'I want you. Please, get rid of the pants.’

Jaafar let out a low, incredibly wicked chuckle against your skin, but he didn't pull the sweatpants down. Instead, he slowly slipped his fingers out of your dripping heat with a torturous, wet slide, making you whine at the sudden loss of friction.

Before you could protest, he reached blindly over his shoulder, grabbed the messy deck of cards from the carpet, and dropped them right onto your bare stomach.

'Shuffle your cards, baby,' he whispered, his voice a lazy, teasing purr as he leaned his weight back onto his knees, hovering over your open thighs. He gave you a slow, maddeningly handsome smirk, his eyes dark with absolute mischief. 'Gotta take these off if I lose, baby. Rules are rules.'

'Jaafar, you are a sadist,' you gasped out, your breath catching as you looked up at his bare, beautifully sculpted chest, his sweatpants practically hanging off his hips, teasing you with the heavy, rigid outline hidden beneath the fleece.

'Again, I'm a man of strategy,' he corrected smoothly, leaning down to press a quick, agonizingly soft kiss to your lips. He tapped the deck against your skin. 'Come on. Deal the final hand. Let's see how bad you want me out of these.'

Your fingers were shaking so badly you could barely square the deck against your stomach. Jaafar watched you with a heavy, hooded gaze, completely unbothered by his own agonizing restraint, thoroughly enjoying the sheer desperation rolling off you.

'Hurry up, baby,' he murmured, his deep voice dropping into that smooth, gravelly register that made your core ache. 'The dealer is waiting.'

You managed to shuffle them, a messy, unpracticed flutter of cardboard, before holding the deck out to him. Jaafar didn't take them. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his heavy chest against yours, and reached around you to deal the cards out directly onto the plush rug on either side of your head. Five for you, five for him.

But he wasn't going to let you play standard.

Just as you reached up to grab your cards, Jaafar’s large hand slid right back between your separated thighs. He didn't hesitate, driving two long, slick fingers straight back into your tight, dripping heat with a deep, authoritative plunge.

You let out a loud, high-pitched gasp, your back arching entirely off the rug as your internal walls clamped down around him.

'Ah-ah,' Jaafar chided softly, a devastatingly wicked smirk spreading across his lips. He began a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm inside you, his thumb finding your hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves and applying a heavy, relentless pressure. 'Pick up your cards, y/n. Let's see what you're working with.'

'Jaafar—I swear to god—' you whimpered, tears of sheer pleasure stinging the corners of your eyes. You blindly reached for your cards, fanning them out with trembling fingers. Your vision was practically swimming. A pair of aces. You needed to draw.

Across from you, Jaafar didn't even bother to pick up his cards with his free hand. He just rested his palm flat on the floor next to your head, leaning his weight into you, using his other hand to absolutely ruin your thought process inside your thighs. He curled his fingers up, hitting your sweet spot with lethal accuracy.

'Discard,' you choked out, your hips involuntarily lifting off the floor to chase his hand. 'I need... I need three cards.'

'Three?' Jaafar purred, matching your breathless tone. He reached over with his free hand, flipped three cards from the deck, and dropped them onto your chest. At the same time, he drove his fingers deeper inside you, speeding up his rhythm just enough to make you cry out, your cards nearly slipping from your grip. 'Show me the final hand, baby. I'm getting impatient.'

You forced your eyes open, looking at the new cards through blurred vision. Another ace. A three of a kind.

'Three aces,' you sobbed out, throwing the cards face up on the rug. You grabbed his bare, muscular shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. 'I won. Take them off. Take them off now.'

Jaafar looked down at your cards, then up at your flushed, desperate face. The teasing, playful dynamic completely evaporated from his eyes, replaced by a raw, predatory hunger that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

'My pleasure,' he rasped.

He pulled his wet fingers out of you with a slick, heavy sound that made your cheeks burn. In one swift, powerful motion, Jaafar hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweatpants and boxers, shoving them down his long, muscular legs and kicking them away entirely.

When he moved back over you, he was fully thick, dark, and rigid, a heavy bead of pre-come glistening at the tip. He didn't waste another second. He grabbed your knees, pinning them high against your chest, and drove his hips forward, burying his entire length inside you to the hilt in one deep, brutal stroke.

The sudden, massive stretch of him filling you completely had you crying out, the sound echoing loudly off the high ceiling of the living room. Jaafar didn't give you even a second to adjust. He instantly began to drive his hips forward, a low, guttural roar escaping his throat as he slammed into you, his groin hitting yours with a heavy, wet thud that sent shockwaves of pure pleasure straight to your brain.

'Fuck, you're so tight, baby,' Jaafar groaned, his voice completely raw and ruined. He buried his face in your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he established a brutal, unyielding pace. 'Mmh, yeah...just like that.'

He was moving with a terrifying amount of stamina, his thick length sliding all the way out until just the tip lingered before plunging back in to the absolute hilt. Every single thrust was hitting your G-spot with lethal precision. Combined with the slick, intense friction from his fingers earlier, you were already flying toward the edge. Your internal walls began to ripple and squeeze around him.

'Jaafar—wait, I'm already—'

'Go ahead, baby. Take it,' he rasped, his own pace turning frantic as he felt you clamp down. He arched his back, pushing deeper, his hips jerking hard into yours. 'That's right...give it to me. Let me feel it.'

With a loud, broken scream, your first orgasm crashed over you. Your body shook violently, your internal muscles spasming around him in a tight, desperate vice. The sheer sensation of your climax squeezing his length had Jaafar letting out a high-pitched, breathless moan, a sound so raw and undone it sent a whole new wave of heat straight to your core. He didn't stop. He pushed right through your climax, his thrusts turning heavy, wet, and punishing, driving you immediately back into a state of rising tension.

Before your body could even fully process the release, Jaafar gripped your waist with bruising force. He pulled back, sliding out of you with a slick, loud pop that made you whimper, and hauled you up by your hips.

'On the couch. Come here,' he panted, his chest heaving, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.

He backed onto the plush sofa, sitting down and pulling you right over his lap. You didn't even have time to think before you sank down onto him, guiding his thick, rigid length back inside you. You let out a ragged gasp as he filled you to the absolute top, your knees resting on the cushions on either side of his hips.

The angle was entirely different, exposing your clit directly to the friction of his lower stomach. You gripped his broad shoulders for leverage and began to ride him, rolling your hips in a desperate, frantic rhythm.

The sudden control, combined with the way your sensitive, overstimulated walls were rubbing against him, completely broke Jaafar's composure. He threw his head back against the top of the couch, his fingers digging desperately into your hips to help guide your movement.

'Ah...fuck, baby,' he whined, a loud, uninhibited groan tearing from his chest. His breathing turned into a series of breathless, needy whimpers as you set a relentless, grinding pace. 'Mmh, yeah...right there, keep going baby. You're killing me, baby. Fuck, ride it.'

Hearing him completely lose his mind under you, hearing those deep, needy whimpers and raspy moans echoing right in your ear, turned you on to a dangerous degree. Your mind was completely overloaded. Every single nerve ending in your lower body was screaming from the constant, heavy friction. The overstimulation was massive, blurring your vision, but the sound of his voice kept pushing you higher.

'You like hearing me like this, huh?' Jaafar choked out, his eyes opening, entirely black with lust as he watched your head toss back. He suddenly bucked his hips upward, meeting your downward slides with a brutal, lifting force that hit your sweet spot so hard your jaw went slack. 'Mhm...that's it. Take all of it.'

Your second orgasm hit you like a physical blow. It was completely secondary to the first one, longer, deeper, and so intense your legs went weak, your entire upper body collapsing against his chest. You wept into his shoulder, your body trembling uncontrollably as you pulsed around him.

Jaafar let out a loud, strangled cry as your climax squeezed him, his body jerking beneath yours. He grabbed your waist, flipping you over in one powerful, effortless motion so you were flat on your back against the sofa cushions, your legs hooked over his broad shoulders to open you up completely.

'We're not done,' he growled, his voice thick and dripping with dominant heat.

He didn't give your overstimulated body a single second to rest. He dove back in, his thrusts shallow and incredibly fast, vibrating directly against your hypersensitive entrance.

'Jaafar, please, it's too much—I can't—' you sobbed out, your hands clawing at the fabric of the couch, your hips twitching under the sheer, unyielding overload of pleasure. Every touch felt like fire.

'You totally can, baby. I know it hurts how good it is,' he whispered wickedly, leaning down to trap your mouth in a deep, wet kiss, swallowing your frantic cries. He kept the pace brutal, shifting his angle slightly to grind against you with every single slam of his hips. 'Look at me. Don't close your eyes. Look at what you do to me.'

You forced your heavy lids open. He was staring down at you, his jaw clenched, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your chest, completely consumed by you. He let out a series of low, rhythmic groans with every deep thrust, the sound vibrating right against your chest.

The relentless speed, the vocal, needy sounds coming from his lips, and the sheer, unending friction pushed you straight over the edge for the third time. Your mind completely snapped. You let out a muffled scream into his mouth as your third climax tore through you, a violent, full-body shudder that had your toes curling and your muscles locking onto him like a trap.

The crushing, pulsing warmth of your third orgasm completely broke his stamina. Jaafar stiffened, his eyes flying wide open as a loud, guttural shout tore from his throat. He buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, his hips locking flush against yours, and gave three final, desperate, heavy thrusts before his body completely gave out. He threw his head into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving violently as he pumped wave after wave of thick, burning come deep into your pulsing core, filling you completely to the brim.

The living room fell into an absolute, heavy silence, broken only by the sound of your loud, synchronized pants. Jaafar stayed buried inside you, his heavy, sweaty frame crushing you into the soft cushions of the couch, his heart beating like a trapped bird against your ribs.

After a long, quiet moment, he lifted his head, a completely dazed, dorkily satisfied grin breaking through his exhaustion. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your wet lips, before rolling onto his side and pulling you tightly against his chest, completely content to stay locked together for the rest of the night.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. You just lay there in the quiet living room, the scattered playing cards and wooden poker chips still littering the rug around the coffee table like colorful debris from a beautifully fought war.

Jaafar’s long fingers, still lightly trembling from the sheer intensity of his release, began to trace slow, lazy circles up and down your bare arm. A low, thoroughly pleased chuckle started deep in his chest, vibrating right against your cheek.

'Well,' he murmured, his voice incredibly husky, deep, and completely ruined from all the groaning. He reached down, his thumb gently catching your chin to tilt your face up so he could look into your heavy, hooded eyes. A lazy, devastatingly handsome smirk crawled back onto his lips. 'I think... I think it’s a tie, baby.'

you weren’t a part of the original twelve cast, though originally you were planned to be. a small family emergency arose and nearly pulled you out completely. instead, it was settled and handled by your sister. you gave the okay to stick to the process— coming into the villa as a bombshell the next day.

and of course, you were a hot commodity. no one in the villa was closed off, meaning you were pulled for chats consistently without all the added tension and drama. you’d started in a chat with a boy named ruben and found you had no connection immediately. your next few conversations were dry as fuck. one boy asked to kiss you within five minutes, and honestly? you didn’t play that shit. you’d gotten up with the quickness, making it maybe a dozen feet before deon pulled you for, finally, your first good chat.

physically, deon was your type to a T. he’d been a gentleman, holding your hand gently as you walked up the narrow steps and not letting go until you’d gotten comfortable on the overly cushioned couch. deon made sure to ask you questions and show you interest, spaced a respectable distance away from you as you chat about the vibes and everything you missed from coming into the villa late.

within a few minutes of chatting with deon, though, you feel a shiver down your spine. you ignore it for as long as you can but, as you shift positions to get more comfortable, you see an outline from your peripheral view. your eyes wonder and you see him sitting directly across the villa with a girl you’d been introduced to but already forgot the name of.

you feel slightly bad for her, because as she speaks animatedly— sitting so close that it was obvious they were coupled up— he watches you.

he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, even as you catch him in the act. in fact, you watch as his eyes trail slowly down— over your lips, down your printed dress that showed the perfect amount of cleavage, over your bare knee peaking through the slit, and over the heels on your feet. your stomach flips when his tongue glides over his bottom lip and plummets when he pulls his lip between his teeth.

his eyes travel back up your body until he meets your stare again. it feels like you’re frozen in his gaze, only breaking free when the girl— what was her name? winter? autumn?— lays her hand on his arm and pulls his attention away.

it takes less than two minutes for him to pull you after wrapping up your chat with poor, sweet, deon.

jermajesty doesn’t lead you far— just to the set of daybeds near the pool, away from the main seating area but still visible to anyone who wanted to look. he sits first and you sit across from him— a strategic distance— but he just grins like he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“nah, come sit over here,” he says, patting the seat directly next to him. “i don’t bite.”

you move closer, telling yourself it’s because refusing would hurt his ego, not because something in his voice makes you stand before your brain catches up.

he’s even prettier up close. loose curls fall over his forehead in a messy way, nearly grazing his thick but neat eyebrows. you can’t help the way you can’t look away from, switching from the heat of his dark eyes and his plush lips. his skin is so clear that you feel a little jealous. he has slight facial hair and you imagine what it would feel like rubbing against the skin of your neck and the inside of your thighs.

your first chat, outside of introductions during your entrance, goes just as you expect it to. he’s charming you in every opportunity and you’re accepting it with a shit-eating smile on your face.

“real shit— i saw you walk in and i already knew,” he says at one point.

“knew what?” you’d managed, and you hated how breathless you had sounded around him already.

“that you was gon’ be a problem for me.” and he sits back as he says it, spreading his legs wider and resting a hand on his knee. he watches you notice it and the corner of his mouth lifts a tiny bit higher. you roll your eyes, albeit playfully, and reply, “you know you’re coupled up, right?”

“i am. and?” there's no hesitation in his voice. “this whole thing is about finding your person, right?”

you hum in reply and he moves past it. “so what you looking for? ‘cause i peeped you with deon. he seem like a nice guy.” he says ‘nice guy’ as if it’s an insult, a slur. it causes a spike of annoyance to run through you. there was nothing wrong with being a gentleman.

“he is nice,” you sound slightly defensive.

“yeah, i bet,” jermajesty’s smile is slow, knowing. “you like nice? is that what does it for you?

you should say yes. you should tell him that nice is exactly what you want, what you need. instead, you hold his gaze and say nothing. he laughs— a low, rich sound that you feel in your chest and somewhere a lot lower.

“nah, you don’t. i can tell…” he trails off, “i bet you the type that need somebody who challenges you. keep you on your toes and make you feel something.”

“you don’t know me.”

“not yet, but i will.” he promises. your conversation continues until it’s time to unwind and get ready to sleep. that night, he shared a bed with winter/autumn/summer but doesn’t dare touch her. he turns to lay with his back facing her. conventionally, he can also see you two beds down, sleeping alone in your satin tank and short set.

the next morning, you’re met with two breakfast plates as you’re getting ready in the makeup room. the third arrives as you’re halfway done with your makeup. it’s jermajesty’s plate— and it’s piled up with twice the amount of food as the other two plates. the girl next to you shouts ‘damn girl, he want you bad!’ and you laugh. looking in the mirror sat on top of the vanity, you see a twinkling in your eyes.

the day is chill. you spend some time in the pool getting to know the girls better. jermajesty pulls you for multiple chats throughout this time, giving the other boys damn near no chance as he gets to know you better. that night, the villa is hit with a surprise recoupling where the choice is in the hands of the men.

to no one’s surprise, you and jermajesty share a bed that night. and the night after. and the night after.

you slowly get closer, even as your connection is tested by the arrival of two new bombshells— both men. they’re revealed during the villa’s lingerie party, as you’re blindfolded and handcuffed to a pillar. jermajesty has to remind himself that it’s a challenge as he watches one of the bombshells choose you to kiss, removing your blindfold, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. you’d looked at jermajesty the second the bombshell stepped back.

but, jermajesty refused to meet your eye. instead he eyed the bombshell, tracing every step he took with a clenched jaw and a bouncing leg.

the next day, he’s seething as the bombshell gets to take you on a date outside of the villa. his anger builds with each passing hour and he seems oblivious to the way the other islanders avoid walking within his vicinity.

he sits at the fire pit, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together so tight that his fingers start to go numb. his jaw works like he’s chewing on something bitter. isaac, one of the original six boys, approaches cautiously, his bottle of water and phone for pictures in hand.

“yo, you good, bro?” isaac asks.

jermajesty doesn’t look up, doesn’t really move at all, as isaac sits with him. “yeah, i’m straight.”

isaac side-eyes him, a burst of laughter leaving him. “this date got you in your feelings, huh?”

“nah, not in my feelings. i’m just observing,” he finally looks up, smoothing his palms down the front of his pants and rubbing a hand over his chin. “watching how niggas move when they think they got an opening.”

“ay, he gotta get in somewhere, it’s part of the show—”

“i know what it is. that’s why i ain’t trippin’. cause at the end of the day?” he leans against the back cushion, spreading his arms along the back of the bench. a picture of complete confidence. “she coming back to me. she gon’ tell me all about it, probably apologize for shit she don’t need to apologize for, and imma listen. imma be understanding. and then imma remind her who she really want.”

“what if she actually vibes with dude?” isaac asks, “like, the date goes well? what you gon’ do if they kiss?”

jermajesty’s jaw clenches again, that muscle jumping. “then imma have to check that. real quick.”

isaac opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of laughter and cheering cuts through the villa. both of them turn toward the entrance.

and there you are.

you’re glowing. that’s the first thing jermajesty notices— the way your skin catches the late afternoon sun, the way your smile is so wide it makes your eyes crinkle at the corners. you’re wearing a different outfit now, something flowy and baby pink that moves with you as you walk. and your hand—

your hand is wrapped around the bombshell's.

jermajesty goes completely still.

“oh shit,” isaac mutters under his breath. 

the girls rush up to you immediately, a whirlwind of questions paired with squealing and hugs. one girl, deanna, wraps her arms around your waist, lifting you up and spinning you. jermajesty praises her in his mind, because that’s the thing that gets you to let go of his hand.

you’re talking animatedly when you get set down, gesturing with your hands as you recount different moments from the date. the bombshell is grinning down at you like he just won the lottery. he’s tall, light-skinned with a fade, wearing a linen button-up that’s open at the collar. he looks comfortable.

he notices as you recount the date, that you’re only showing genuine excitement over what you did— a private beach set up— and not over the bombshell. not over what the two of you talked about. he feels himself relax slightly. when deanna asks if the two of you kissed on the date, you shake your head ‘no’ and he feels the tension leave his body completely. 

he walks right up to you, body angled away from the bombshell and giving him no attention, and asks to pull you for a chat. you say yes, the smile on your face growing bigger, and let him lead you down the stairs to the dock. he holds your hand the entire way, switching to wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer when you finally sit. he breathes a lot easier with you in his arms.

that night, the tension comes back to him tenfold. the fire pit is lit and everyone is gathered around. the host’s voice leaves an echo through the space as she announces that the bombshells will get to choose who they want to couple up with, while the two boys left single will be vulnerable and at risk of being dumped.

jermajesty stands across from you, lined up with the rest of the boys. his face is a mask of indifference, but you can see the tension in his posture. you both know what’s coming and it leaves a sick feeling in your stomach.

brandon, the bombshell, is called first. he steps forward, confident and smiling, “this is an easy choice for me,” he says and his eyes find yours before he shifts his attention away immediately. “from the moment i got here, there’s been one girl who’s caught my attention. she’s beautiful, she’s real, and our date today just confirmed what i already knew. so the girl i want to couple up with is…”

he speaks your name, and it’s a fight to force a smile onto your face. you stand and step forward, even as your legs feel like lead. brandon meets you halfway and pulls you into a hug, leaning down until his mouth is lined up to your ear, “you okay?”

“mmhm,” you lie. you meet jermajesty’s eyes over his shoulder and the expression on his face makes your breath catch. it’s colder than cold, and he can’t seem to pick where he wants to focus his attention. his eyes jump from brandon’s arms around your waist, to your hands on his back, to your chin on his shoulder. you can’t help the guilty pout that crosses your face as you mouth ‘i’m sorry’. your stomach drops when he looks away with no acknowledgement. 

the second bombshell makes his choice, leaving an islander named tyler at risk alongside jermajesty. the host continues to announce that the decision of who’ll be dumped from the island will be up to the girls. you blink frequently, wishing that you could advocate for them to save your connection. instead, you sit off to the side— shivering even though you don’t feel cold.

deliberation happens quickly. the girls huddle, whispering. you force yourself to drown it out, focusing on jermajesty. even as brandon’s leg presses against yours and his hand rests just slightly above your knee. when the girls announce that they’re saving jermajesty, you try and keep the relief under wraps. a shaky breath leaves you before you can stop it.

tyler is dumped from the island. you, having not really built any kind of bond with him, find it easy to say goodbye. in a fucked up way, you wish he’d hurry and leave so that you could finally talk to jermajesty. 

when it’s over and everyone disperses, mostly leaving to comfort tyler’s old connection, brandon immediately tries to pull you toward the daybed but you shake your head with a small frown.

“sorry, i just need a minute,” you tell him. “wanna… decompress first.”

he accepts your answer and you wait until he’s gone, until most of the islanders have scattered. and then you go the direction you’d watched jermajesty head in moments earlier. 

you find him in soul ties.

he’s sitting on the day bed, one leg pulled up and the other stretched out in front of him. the lights cast shadows across. suddenly nervous, you stand in the entrance, watching the rise and fall of his shoulders.

“you just gon’ stand there?” his voice is quiet and flat. he doesn’t look up as you climb over to sit beside him, but he does wrap a hand around your calf, supporting you so that you don’t fall. 

you wrap your arm around yourself, “i wanted to check on you.”

he looks at you, so deadpan, as he asks where the other half of your couple is. you groan and throw your head back, two hands pressing hard against your forehead. you can feel an incoming headache from the day overall.

“you know that wasn’t up to me,” you lean your head back up and look at him. unconsciously, you turn to face him fully and bring both legs under you, now sitting on your knees. “we just talked. that’s it. i didn’t— we didn’t kiss or anything. i didn’t ask for him to pick me.”

“you wanted to? kiss him?”

“no, i— maj,” you pause and take a deep breath, because were you really gonna stutter over a nigga on reality tv? “i don’t know... maybe he wanted to, but i didn’t. i couldn’t stop thinking about—”

you cut yourself off, but, of course, he catches it anyway.

“thinkin’ ‘bout what?” he grins, but it’s more condescending than anything. “thinkin’ about me while you was out there holding his hand, smilin’ all big and shit? happy as hell about that basic ass date?”

a flash of irritation hits you. if he was gonna be petty, then fine— you’d be petty too. you give him the same grin and say, “yeah, actually. i was thinkin’ about you as he hand-fed me strawberries too.”

it’s the wrong answer and you regret it as soon as the words leave your mouth. they hang in the air between you dangerously. you feel an urge to leave, to end this conversation before it goes somewhere you can't come back from but you're frozen in place as he watches you with those dark, unreadable eyes. and fuck, you think he might actually be crazy as he shakes his head slowly and laughs.

his arm that rests behind you inches closer, fingers teasing the ends of your hair. he’s still leaned back, still with one leg pulled up. “i want you to understand something.”

“understand what?” you glance at his fingers before meeting his eye again.

“you can couple up with whoever you want. you can go on all the dates, hold all the hands, smile all you want.” his fingers graze your neck and the rest of his hand follows. you swallow as he swipes his thumb down the front of your throat before moving to your jaw. “but at the end of the day? you gon’ end up right here with me. because you already know who you belong to.”

“i don’t belong to anyone.”

“nah?” he’s getting closer, but he’s not the one leaning in. he’s got a gentle hold on your jaw and he uses it to guide you slowly towards him. “then why you in here right now? why you ain’t with brandon, celebrating your new couple?”

you look away, silently.

“go ‘head, tell me i’m wrong.” he challenges, his voice dropping lower. his thumb reaches your bottom lip, hovering before brushing across.

“jermajesty—” his name leaves your lips; a sigh of resignation.

“yeah ma,” a small smile, “that’s what i thought.”

and he kisses you.

it’s not gentle. his hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. his other hand grips your waist, and the kiss is claiming, possessive, everything you knew it would be and more. there’s a hunger in it, the build up of tension finally snapping all at once.

 he takes advantage the second a soft exhale leaves you, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy with it. he tastes like mint, and something sweet, and you need more.

you push him back— though you follow right after, leaving no space between you. you move to straddle his lap and he adjusts immediately, hand guiding your hips as you settle over him. your hands have a mind of their own, trailing down and back up his chest, traveling over his neck and around, finding purchase in his hair and tugging. his grip on your waist tightens at that, teeth catching your bottom lip, and you make a sound you’ve never made before—  something between a gasp and a moan that has heat flooding your cheeks.

a deep groan leaves him in reply. you feel the hand in your hair untangle, urging an arch in your spine as it travels down until he reaches your ass. jermajesty kneads, grabbing you and pressing you closer, and you can feel exactly how much he wants this, wants you. 

you help him, grinding down into his lap and pulling away from his mouth to trail kisses down the side of his face. his stubble scratches against your lips int he best way. you lick and bite the tender space on his neck, right under his ear, before leaving open mouthed kisses.

“mm, fuuck—” he eagerly tilts his head to give you better access, throat exposed and vulnerable as both arms wrap around your waist. he presses his hips up once, grinding against you in a way that makes your breath catch, before he forces himself to stop. his breathing is ragged, chest heaving beneath you.

you fall into a fit of giggles in his neck, giddy and breathless and overwhelmed in the best possible way, and you hear his soft laugh, dangerously close to your ear. his warm breath ghosting across your skin and sending shivers down your spine. 

with one last lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, you remember where you are and go to sit back at his side. but the second you shift your weight, you feel it— the hard press of him against your thigh. jermajesty’s arm pulls you back down immediately and your eyes widen at him.

“just don’t, uh—don’t move, yet.”