✨ Love, Ny'Kol✨

Elijah "Smoke" Moore.

His name alone was enough to make grown men lower their voices and rethink their decisions. People feared him. Respected him. Avoided him.

Everyone...

Except you.

Which was exactly why you got under his skin.

You were halfway out the door, sliding into your shoes, when your phone lit up for what felt like the twentieth time in the last ten minutes.

Elijah.

You sighed dramatically before finally answering, tapping the speaker button.

"Yes, Elijah," you deadpanned. "What could you possibly want?"

A loud kiss of his teeth echoed through the speaker.

"Girl, why the fuck you ain't been answerin' ya phone for?"

Smoke was already pacing the hardwood floors of his penthouse, phone pressed against his ear, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth. Anybody looking at him would've thought somebody had robbed him blind.

You froze in the middle of your living room, one brow raised.

"I told you I was going to brunch with my girls."

Silence.

"You remember? Tonya got promoted last Monday, so we're celebrating."

...

"Elijah."

Nothing.

"You were literally sitting next to me while I was on Zoom with all the girls making these plans."

The silence somehow got louder.

A slow smirk spread across your lips.

"Yeah... that's what I thought."

Smoke dragged a frustrated breath through his nose.

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost disappeared into the back of your head.

"Look, I should've been gone. The only reason I'm still standing here is because you keep blowing my phone up like somebody got shot."

One hand settled on your hip while the other adjusted the strap of your purse.

Your reflection stared back at you from the hallway mirror.

A buttery-yellow cropped jacket hugged your curves perfectly, paired with a matching pleated tennis skirt that showed off just enough leg. Your honey-blonde French-curled braids cascaded down your back, half-up, half-down, framing a face that looked entirely too good to be arguing with a hardheaded man before brunch.

Meanwhile, Smoke was still talking.

Talking...

Talking...

Talking.

You honestly tuned him out somewhere between 'you need to answer' and 'what if something happened?'

"Are you done?" you interrupted, your voice dripping with enough attitude to sour milk.

The line went dead quiet.

"...Girl."

His tone dropped.

"Who you gettin' smart with?"

A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

"Ain't nobody getting smart. You just doing the absolute most."

"You always got a mouth—"

"And you always got a problem."

Another beat of silence.

You smiled sweetly... the kind of smile that usually came right before somebody got cussed out.

"My ride's here."

"You better not—"

Click.

You hung up.

Across town...

Smoke slowly lowered his phone from his ear.

His eyebrows knitted together.

"...Did this girl just hang up on me?"

Nobody...

Nobody hung up on Elijah "Smoke" Moore.

His boys sitting around the living room exchanged cautious glances before immediately finding something else to look at. Nobody was volunteering to comment on that.

Meanwhile, you were already locking your front door, sliding your phone into your purse with a satisfied grin.

Finally.

A peaceful brunch.

No drama.

No interruptions.

No Elijah.

Your phone vibrated.

Then again.

And again.

You sighed before pulling it back out.

Smoke: Don't hang up on me.

Another vibration.

Smoke: Are you out ya fuckin' mind?

Then another.

Smoke: Answer the phone.

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost gave you a headache.

"He's so damn dramatic."

You tossed the phone back into your purse without another glance.

If only you knew...

Elijah "Smoke" Moore wasn't finished.

Not even close.

You made it all the way to the restaurant before you realized one very important thing.

You should've known better.

Because when it came to Elijah "Smoke" Moore...

Peace was never really an option.

You stepped out of Lyft, smoothing your yellow skirt down as you walked toward the entrance. The sun hit your skin perfectly, your girls already waiting outside with wide smiles and phones raised.

"Okayyyy!" Tonya shouted the second she saw you. "Look at you! Miss Sunshine herself."

You laughed, pulling her into a hug.

"Girl, it's your celebration. I had to show up cute."

"Baby, you always show up cute," one of your friends teased.

You smiled, rolling your eyes as everyone walked inside.

For the first twenty minutes, everything was perfect.

Mimosas.

Laughing.

Gossip.

Complaining about work.

The usual.

You finally relaxed, leaning back in your chair as Tonya told the story of how her boss surprised her with the promotion.

"See, this is why I love us," you said, lifting your glass. "We really be showing up for each other."

Your phone buzzed.

You ignored it.

Buzz.

Again.

Ignored.

Buzz.

Your friend across from you looked at the table.

"Girl..."

You already knew.

"No."

"That man is blowing your phone up."

You sighed.

"He's being dramatic."

Tonya laughed.

"Elijah Moore? Dramatic?"

You gave her a look.

"Yes. Don't let that scary act fool you. That man is the biggest baby when he doesn't get his way."

Your friends burst into laughter.

Because everybody knew.

The same man who could make an entire room go silent with one look...

Was completely powerless when it came to you.

Your phone buzzed again.

This time you looked.

Smoke: Pick up the fuckin’ phone, Y/N.

You stared at the message.

Then another one came through.

Smoke: I'm not asking twice.

Your eyebrows lifted.

"Oh, he really thinks he's somebody."

Your friend shook her head.

"Girl, answer before he shows up."

You laughed.

"He would not."

A beat passed.

Then your phone rang.

You looked down.

Elijah.

Your smile slowly disappeared.

Because the annoying thing about Elijah was...

He absolutely would.

You answered but didn't say anything.

For a few seconds, all you heard was his breathing.

"Wow."

You took a sip of your drink.

"What?"

"That's how you answer me now? You just gonna sit there quiet?"

You smiled to yourself.

"You called me."

"You hung up on me."

"You deserved it."

A low chuckle came through the phone.

And somehow that irritated you more.

Because Elijah only laughed like that when he knew he was about to get on your nerves.

"You really got an attitude, huh?"

"You really got control issues, huh?"

Silence.

A dangerous kind of silence.

Your friends immediately picked up on it and started watching you.

Because everybody knew that tone.

The two of you could turn a simple conversation into a full-blown war in under thirty seconds.

"You know what your problem is?" Smoke asked.

You leaned back.

"Oh, please enlighten me."

"You think because I let you get away with shit, you can do whatever you want."

You laughed.

"Baby, I don't think that. I know that. Let’s be for real, baby."

Your friends covered their mouths trying not to laugh.

On the other end, Smoke rubbed his forehead.

"You are something else."

"And you're obsessed."

"Obsessed?"

"Yes."

You looked around the table.

"Because no normal person panics because their girlfriend doesn't answer for twenty minutes."

"I wasn't panicking."

You scoffed.

"Elijah."

"What?"

"You called me seventeen times."

"..."

"That's literally the definition of panicking."

He went quiet.

And you smiled because you knew you had him.

Then his voice lowered.

"Where you at?"

Your smile faded slightly.

"Why?"

"Just answer the question."

"No."

A pause.

"No?"

"No."

You took another sip.

"I'm having brunch with my friends. Remember? The thing I told you about three times?"

"I remember."

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

You narrowed your eyes.

Something about his voice had changed.

It wasn't the playful Elijah.

It wasn't the annoying, teasing Elijah.

No.

This was the Elijah that made grown men straighten their backs when he walked into a room.

The one who didn't like being ignored.

"I know one thing," Smoke said, his voice dropping lower. "You hang up on me again... that fine, thick ass of yours gonna regret it. You hear me?"

You stared at your phone with the biggest eye roll of your life.

"Uh huh. Sure, Elijah."

Before he could respond, you ended the call.

Click.

You placed your phone face down on the table and picked up your mimosa like nothing happened.

Your friends stared at you.

"What?" you asked.

Tonya blinked.

"You really just hung up on Elijah Moore?"

You shrugged.

"Yes. And?"

"And you are either the bravest woman alive or absolutely insane."

You smiled.

"Both can be true."

Across town...

Smoke stared down at his phone.

The call had ended.

The woman actually hung up on him.

Again.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then a slow smirk pulled at his lips.

Because that was the thing about you.

Anybody else would've been nervous.

Anybody else would've apologized.

Anybody else would've tried to calm him down.

But you?

You challenged him.

And somehow that only made him want to bother you more.

Smoke ran a hand over his jaw before dialing another number.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up.

"What's up, brotha? You need something?"

Stack's voice came through the speaker, resulting in a smirk from Smoke.

Meanwhile...

You were having the time of your life.

The conversation had moved on, the drinks were flowing, and for once you weren't thinking about Elijah.

You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt while Tonya reenacted a conversation with her boss.

"Girl, I swear, when he said 'we see leadership qualities in you,' I almost cried."

"You better not cry today," you teased. "This is your celebration."

Everyone laughed.

Then suddenly...

Tonya stopped.

Her expression changed.

Her eyes moved past you.

Slowly.

Confused.

And slightly terrified.

You noticed immediately.

"What?"

She pointed behind you.

"Uh..."

Her voice lowered.

"Y/N."

You looked at her.

"What?"

"Is that Elijah?"

Your smile dropped.

You almost choked on your mimosa.

"What?"

You slowly turned around.

And there he was.

Walking through the restaurant like he owned the entire building.

Elijah "Smoke" Moore.

Dressed in all black.

Black jeans.

Black shirt.

Black watch.

That same unreadable expression on his face.

The kind that made people move out of his way without him saying a word.

Every step he took toward your table made your friends sit up straighter.

You stared at him.

He stared right back.

And the audacity of this man...

The absolute audacity.

You placed your glass down slowly.

"Elijah."

He stopped beside the table, looking down at you.

"Y/N. Ladies."

Your eyebrows lifted.

"Are you serious right now?"

A small smirk appeared on his face.

"Get up."

Your friends exchanged looks.

Because this was no longer brunch.

This was entertainment.

You leaned back in your chair.

"I ain't doin' shit."

Smoke crossed his arms.

"You sure about that?"

"Yep."

Smoke stood there for a moment, staring at you like he was waiting for you to test him.

And knowing you...

You probably would.

You lifted your chin, crossing your arms.

"What?"

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Nothing."

"Exactly. So why are you standing here?"

Your friends tried their best not to laugh.

Because everyone knew this was the same Elijah "Smoke" Moore who had half the city nervous...

And yet here he was arguing with you in the middle of brunch.

Smoke shook his head before reaching into his pocket.

He pulled out a thick roll of cash, peeling through the crisp bills while his eyes never left yours.

"How much the food?"

Tonya blinked.

She looked around at the girls.

Then back at you.

Then at Smoke.

Because she wasn't stupid.

She knew better than to answer the wrong way.

"I... I ain't sure, Elijah."

Smoke didn't say anything.

He simply counted out a few bills before pulling out five crisp hundred-dollar bills.

Your eyes widened.

"Elijah."

He ignored you.

Instead, he handed the money to Tonya.

"Y'all have a good brunch."

Tonya stared at the cash in her hand.

"Elijah, this is too much—"

"Nah. It's good."

His eyes stayed locked on you.

"We headin' out."

Your jaw dropped.

"I'm sorry... we?"

Smoke gave you that look.

The one that said he had already made up his mind and there was no point arguing.

Which, unfortunately for him...

Only made you want to argue more.

"No, sir."

You grabbed your purse.

"I am not leaving my brunch because you decided to have a surprise appearance."

Smoke raised an eyebrow.

"Surprise appearance?"

"Yes."

"You mean the brunch you told me about?"

"Yes."

"The brunch where you ignored my calls?"

You narrowed your eyes.

"Don't start."

A few of your friends were silently watching, trying not to laugh.

Because the tension between you two was ridiculous.

Smoke stepped closer.

"Come on."

"No."

"Y/N."

"Elijah."

The two of you stared at each other.

A silent battle.

Neither one willing to back down.

Then Smoke sighed.

"See, this right here..."

He shook his head.

"You always gotta make things difficult."

You smiled sweetly.

"And you always think you can just show up and take over."

Before you could say another word, Smoke reached down, pulled your chair back, and grabbed your handbag from the table.

Your eyes widened.

"Elijah!"

Your friends immediately started laughing.

"Girl..."

"Not him picking you up!"

"You better call somebody!"

But before you could react, Smoke easily lifted you up and threw you over his right shoulder.

"Excuse me?!"

You lightly smacked his back.

"Put me down!"

"Nope."

"Elijah Moore!"

"Yeah?"

"You are embarrassing me!"

He started walking toward the exit like you weighed nothing.

"You embarrassed me when you hung up."

"You are so dramatic!"

"And you're still coming with me."

You looked back at your girls, completely betrayed.

They were no help.

They were crying laughing.

Tonya waved.

"Girl, call us later!"

"TONYA!"

But it was too late.

You were already halfway across the parking lot.

Your girls' laughter echoed behind you, making your embarrassment ten times worse.

"TONYA!" you yelled, still thrown over Smoke's shoulder.

The only response you got was more laughter.

Traitors.

All of them.

You started hitting his back lightly.

"Elijah, put me down!"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

You gasped.

"Did you just tell me no?"

"Yep."

"You are unbelievable."

"And you're stubborn."

"I am not stubborn!"

Smoke let out a low laugh.

"You arguing with me while I'm carrying you proves my point."

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it.

"People are watching!"

"Let them."

"Elijah!"

You soon arrived at the curb of your home, your arms folded tightly across your chest.

You hadn't said a word the entire ride.

Not one.

You'd spent most of it staring out the passenger window, cheeks still warm from the embarrassment of being carried out of a restaurant like a damn child while your friends laughed their asses off.

And the mimosas definitely weren't helping.

You weren't falling-over drunk, but you were pleasantly—and unfortunately—tipsy enough that your emotions were sitting right on the surface.

Smoke pulled the truck to the curb and put it in park.

The second the engine cut off, you reached for the door handle.

Smoke got out first.

You stayed put.

He walked around the front of the truck and opened your door.

"Come on."

You looked up at him.

"No."

His eyebrow lifted.

"No?"

"No."

You folded your arms tighter.

"I'm still mad at you."

"I figured."

"And embarrassed."

"I figured that too."

"And annoyed."

Smoke nodded slowly.

"Definitely figured that one."

You stared at him.

"Then why are you standing there looking so damn calm?"

He leaned against the open door.

"Because you drunk."

Your eyes widened.

"I am not drunk."

"You had how many mimosas?"

You pointed a finger at him.

"That's none of your business."

He fought back a smile.

"Exactly."

You scoffed and finally climbed out, immediately swaying just a little when your heels hit the pavement.

Smoke's hand instinctively reached for your waist.

You slapped it away.

"Don't touch me."

"Okay."

He raised both hands.

You started walking toward your front door.

One step.

Two.

Three.

You fumbled with your keys.

Smoke stood a few feet behind you, watching.

"You need help?"

"No."

You tried the key again.

Wrong one.

You sighed.

"Stupid keys."

Smoke pressed his lips together.

"Keys ain't the problem."

You slowly turned around.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"That's what I thought."

You turned back around and tried again.

Still wrong.

Smoke finally stepped forward.

"Move."

"No."

"Y/N."

"I got it."

"You've been fighting that lock for thirty seconds."

"Because you are distracting me."

He laughed under his breath.

That did it.

You spun around.

"You think this is funny?"

His smile faded.

"No."

"Because I'm not laughing."

"I know."

"You embarrassed me in front of everybody."

"I know."

"You didn't even let me say goodbye."

"I know."

"And then you just—"

Your words stumbled over each other.

You stopped, frustrated, blinking hard.

Smoke's expression softened.

"You done?"

You looked away.

"No."

Your voice came out quieter.

"I'm still mad."

"I know."

"You always do this."

"Do what?"

"You act like you can just decide what's happening and everybody else has to go along with it."

Smoke was quiet.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the alcohol and the day's emotions crashing down on you.

"I just wanted one day with my girls."

There it was.

The real thing underneath all the attitude.

Smoke looked at you for a long moment.

Then he stepped closer.

"I know."

You shook your head.

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, I do."

His voice was calmer now.

"I just wanted to see you."

You scoffed.

"You could've waited until I got home."

"I could've."

"Exactly."

"But I didn't."

You rolled your eyes.

"Obviously."

Smoke reached past you and gently took the keys from your hand.

This time, you didn't fight him.

He unlocked the door.

You stepped inside, immediately kicking off your heels.

"Never again," you mumbled.

Smoke closed the door behind you.

"What's that?"

You pointed at him.

"You."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Me?"

"You are never kidnapping me from brunch again."

A faint smirk appeared.

"Kidnapping?"

"Yes."

"You got in the truck."

"You carried me to it!"

"You walked into the house."

"Because I am independent."

Smoke shook his head, amused.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Don't laugh."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"Maybe a little."

You groaned and dropped onto the couch, covering your face with both hands.

"I cannot believe you."

Smoke stood in front of you.

For once, he didn't tease.

Didn't argue.

Didn't push.

He simply looked at you.

Then quietly said,

"I'll make it up to you."

You peeked through your fingers.

"You better."

His mouth twitched.

"And tomorrow?"

"What?"

"We're gonna talk about that seventeen missed calls."

You stared at him.

"Absolutely not."

He laughed.

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.

"Get out."

He caught it easily.

"Nah."

"Elijah."

"Go to sleep, trouble."

You crossed your arms again, glaring at him.

"I'm still mad."

"I know."

"And I don't forgive you."

"I know."

You looked away, fighting a sleepy smile.

"Good."

Smoke watched you for a moment before shaking his head.

"Still got an attitude."

You mumbled under your breath.

"Still got a problem."

And somehow...

Neither of you was ready to let the argument end.

You were still sitting on the couch, arms folded, staring at the television like it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.

Smoke stood across the room.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

You glanced at him.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on you.

"What?" you mumbled.

He shook his head.

"Nothing."

You rolled your eyes.

"There you go again."

"There I go doing what?"

"Looking at me like you wanna say something."

Smoke let out a slow breath through his nose.

"Yeah. I do."

You looked over at him.

"Then say it."

He stepped closer.

"You hung up on me."

You blinked.

"Here we go..."

"Nah. Don't 'here we go' me."

His voice was low now.

"I can deal with you going to brunch. I can deal with you having drinks with your girls. I can deal with you ignoring me for a little while."

He pointed toward you.

"But hanging up in my damn face?"

You scoffed.

"You were threatening me!"

"I wasn't threatening you."

"You literally said my thick ass was gonna regret it!"

"Because you kept playing with me!"

You stared at him.

"And you think that's okay?"

Smoke dragged both hands down his face, visibly frustrated.

"See? This is what I'm talking about."

"What?"

"You always find a way to flip the shit around."

Your eyebrows lifted.

"Because you were wrong."

"I called you because I couldn't get ahold of you."

"You called me seventeen times!"

"Because you weren't answering!"

"Because I was with my friends!"

"I didn't know that!"

"NIGGA, I TOLD YOU!"

"I KNOW!"

His voice echoed through the room.

You went quiet.

Smoke stood there breathing heavily, chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything.

Then he spoke again, quieter.

"I don't give a damn about you having brunch."

His eyes locked onto yours.

"I give a damn about you making me feel like I don't matter."

That caught you off guard.

Your expression softened slightly.

But Smoke wasn't finished.

"You hung up on me like I was some random dude."

He shook his head.

"You don't do that to me."

You swallowed.

"Elijah..."

"No."

He held up a hand.

"Let me finish."

You nodded slowly.

"I ain't asking you to stop having your own life. I ain't asking you to sit by the phone all damn day waiting on me."

He stepped closer.

"But when I call you, answer me. And if you can't answer, tell me that."

His jaw tightened.

"Don't hang up on me like I'm nothing."

You looked down at your hands.

"I wasn't trying to make you feel like that."

"I know."

His voice softened for half a second.

"But that's how it felt."

You were quiet.

Then you muttered,

"You still embarrassed me."

Smoke gave a short laugh with no humor in it.

"You embarrassed me too."

Your head snapped up.

"How?"

"You had me calling your phone seventeen damn times."

You rolled your eyes.

"Oh my God."

"And then you hung up on me."

"You are never letting that go, are you?"

"No."

You stared at him.

He stared right back.

Then he leaned down slightly, his voice dropping.

"Because you need to understand something, Y/N."

You waited.

"I can handle your attitude."

A pause.

"I can handle your mouth."

Another pause.

"I can even handle you being mad at me."

His eyes narrowed.

"But don't ever make me feel like you don't give a damn."

Your anger faltered.

Because underneath all that frustration...

You could hear the fear.

The concern.

The attachment.

You sighed.

"You're still an asshole."

Smoke's eyebrow lifted.

"And you're still drunk."

"I'm tipsy."

"Whatever helps you sleep."

You grabbed the pillow beside you.

"Don't start."

He smirked.

"There she go."

You threw the pillow at him.

He caught it.

And for the first time since the restaurant...

The tension cracked just a little.

But neither of you apologized.

Not yet.

Because you were still mad.

And Smoke?

He was still pissed about that damn phone call.

Smoke didn't throw the pillow back. Instead, he tossed it aside with a careless flick of his wrist, his eyes darkening as he watched you. 

The brief moment of levity vanished, replaced by a heavy, suffocating heat. The anger hadn't left him; it had just shifted, morphing from a shouting match into something far more primal and possessive.

He stepped into your space, his large frame looming over you on the couch. The smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of raw frustration.

Before he claimed you on the couch, Smoke’s rage hadn't fully burned out; it had just shifted into a need for total submission. He didn't just want your body; he wanted your breath, your voice, and your pride. With a sudden, violent movement, he grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head forward, forcing you down onto your knees on the hardwood floor. You let out a startled gasp, but it was cut short as he stepped closer, his heavy dick pulsing and leaking pre-cum just inches from your face.

"Since you love using that mouth to talk back to me," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "let's see how you use it for something useful."

He didn't wait for you to open up. Smoke gripped the back of your head and slammed his thick head into your mouth, forcing his way past your lips in one aggressive shove.

You gagged instantly, your eyes watering as he buried himself deep in your throat, hitting the back of your windpipe with a brutal thud. 

He didn't care that you were choking; he liked the way your throat clamped around him in a desperate struggle for air. He began to fuck your face with a ruthless, rhythmic intensity, his hips snapping forward to drive his dick deeper and deeper into your gullet. Each thrust was a punishment, a silent command to shut up and take it. 

He held your head firmly, controlling the pace, forcing you to take every inch of his girth until you were sobbing and gagging around him, your hands clawing uselessly at his thighs.

He groaned, the feeling of your tight, wet throat squeezing him nearly pushing him over the edge, but he pulled out with a wet pop just as you were about to collapse, leaving you breathless and shivering on the floor before he hauled you back up onto the couch to finish what he started.

"You think you're so fuckin’ cute when you're act the fuck up," he growled, his voice vibrating in his chest. "Thinking you can just push me and then act like a brat."

You opened your mouth to snap back, but Smoke didn't give you the chance. He lunged forward, his hand gripping your jaw firmly, forcing your head back against the cushions. His thumb pressed hard into your cheek, pinning you in place.

"I told you that thick ass was gonna regret it," he hissed, his face inches from yours. "And since you like to ignore me so much, I'm gonna make sure you can't think about anything else but me for the rest of the night."

He didn't kiss you gently. He slammed his mouth onto yours in a bruising, demanding collision. It wasn't a request; it was a claim. He tasted of mint and rage, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, raiding it with a hunger that bordered on violent. 

You moaned into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer even as you tried to fight for dominance.

Smoke groaned, a low, animalistic sound, and ripped your lips away. Without a word, he grabbed the hem of your skirt and yanked it upward, bunching the fabric around your waist. He didn't bother with finesse. He reached down and ripped your panties to the side, the fabric tearing with a sharp snap.

"You're mine," he muttered, his voice a rough rasp. "Every inch of you. You don't get to shut me out."

He stood up just long enough to shred his own clothes, his 8-inch-long, 3-inch-wide dick and springing free—thick, pulsing, and fully erect, your spit making it shine. He didn't use a condom. He never did. He didn't even ask. He just grabbed your thighs, hoisting them up over his shoulders, exposing your dripping pussy to the cool air of the room.

"Look at me," he commanded.

You looked up, eyes hazy with lust and alcohol, and Smoke drove himself into you in one singular, brutal thrust.

"FUCK!" you screamed, your back arching off the couch. He had bottomed out instantly, his heavy balls slapping against your clit. The sheer size of him stretched you to the limit, filling every void, claiming your insides with a ruthless force.

Smoke didn't give you time to adjust. He began to hammer into you, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythmic, punishing thud. Each stroke was deep and violent, designed to remind you exactly who you belonged to. He wasn't just fucking you; he was marking you.

"Still want to hang up on me?" he gasped, his grip tightening on your thighs until his fingers left bruises. "Still want to play games, Y/N?"

"Smoke... please..." you whimpered, your head tossing from side to side.

"Please what? Please stop? Or please fuck you until you can't walk?" He sneered, leaning down to bite hard on your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your skin. "I'm gonna put a baby in you.

I'm gonna fill you so full of my cum that you'll feel me leaking out of you for days. That way, every time you think about ignoring me, you'll feel my seed inside you."

The thought sent a jolt of pure electricity through your core. The possessiveness, the raw desire to be claimed and impregnated by him, made your pussy clench tight around him. Smoke felt the squeeze and let out a guttural roar, his pace becoming frantic.

He shifted his angle, digging deeper, hitting your cervix with every punishing drive. He was relentless, his breath coming in ragged heaves, his sweat dripping onto your chest. He was focused on one thing: total colonization.

"I'm filling you up," he groaned, his voice breaking. "I'm claiming this pussy. You're gonna carry my fucking child."

As the climax hit him, Smoke didn't pull back. He slammed himself in as deep as he could go, pinning you to the couch with his entire weight. He let out a long, shaking moan as he erupted inside you.

You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum flooding your womb, wave after wave of seed pumping deep into your depths. He stayed buried inside you, pulsing, ensuring that every single drop of his load stayed trapped within you.

He stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily against your neck, his heart hammering against your ribs. He didn't move, keeping you plugged and filled.

"Now," he whispered, his voice possessive and dark. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You, baby. You."

You sat there on the couch, breathing heavily, your mind still trying to catch up with everything that had just happened.

Smoke stayed close for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he leaned down, pressed a slow kiss to the top of your head, and stood.

"Stay right here," he murmured.

You barely looked up at him.

"Where you going, baby?"

"Bathroom."

He turned and walked down the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

A second later, you heard the bathroom door click shut.

And that's when the smallest smile appeared on your lips.

Because while Smoke thought he had finally gotten his way...

He hadn't.

Not completely.

You had known exactly what you were doing from the beginning.

The attitude.

The arguing.

The way you kept pushing his buttons.

Even hanging up on him.

It hadn't all been spontaneous.

You knew Elijah.

You knew exactly which buttons to press to get him riled up, exactly how far you could push before that calm exterior cracked.

And tonight?

You'd pushed every single one.

You slowly sat back against the couch, staring toward the hallway.

"Got you," you whispered under your breath.

The bathroom faucet turned on.

Your smile widened.

Smoke thought he was in control.

He had no idea he'd been walking straight into your plan the entire time.

-𝕾𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝕭𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖊𝖘-