BB👑

Duckie had a knack for reading people, especially when it came to making friends at work. Unintentionally and against Jack’s better judgement. She barely stepped out unless she was going out with Victoria and Samira, and Garcia. surprisingly. She was sure to get menacing glares from Santos when she was paged down from Ortho to look at a fractured foot alongside her attending who was there for other consults. The two of them decided to match in scrubs and hairstyle, making the younger resident scowl. 

Duckie didn't swing that way, and if she did, she would be going for Baran, maybe Ellis. Garcia was like a sister to her. When her Residency started, she was trained on day shift with her. Instantly becoming fast friends, and potential roommates when she needed to get away from Jack and to bitch about her new attending. 

So, she couldn’t quite figure out how she ended up at some club in the streets. She knew that her boyfriend kept blowing up her phone with that custom ringtone. Some have told her it sounds like the movie Jaws.  She’d put it on silent, trying to enjoy the vibe with the random girls she met before heading inside.

“Girl, you look so fine!” A few girls surrounded her, showering her with compliments. That red leather dress hugged her body, showing off her figure. Her hair was styled in a curly half-up, half-down look. Jack saw how she looked when she left. The bulge in his scrubs tented, something she sated with a long kiss and a handjob that left him with a wet spot on his crotch. He couldn’t tell her to change even if he wanted her to. 

“Y’all look good too!” Duckie wasn’t great at taking compliments, even when Jack would tell her.

“Duckie!” 

Garcia’s voice was harsh, but the loudest one in their friend group. It comes in handy when someone needs to yell at white men who did entirely too much for your attention. Saved by her attending once again she moved through the crowd until she got to the front. Javadi and Mohan had been waiting with her, both dressed in more fabric than she was. 

“Parker and Baran are saving us a section.” Garcia doesn’t look up from her phone until the four of them are inside. 

“They’re here?” Duckie turns to look at Garcia. “I thought it was just us.”

“We’re the only women of color in that entire building who make up the 2 percent of female doctors employed there, three of us who can move to different departments.” Mohan tells her. “We can’t be friends with everyone, but we can to those who understand us.”

“She’s being fucking dramatic.” Garcia laughs. “We just hang out from time to time, and it pays off at work. Like you and Abott.”

Duckie feels embarrassed, “It’s not like that.” 

“Come on, you don’t think me being a nepo baby has its advantages? People are too scared to trust my intelligence , or they don’t want to haze me by making me do scuff work, and it's both due to my parents.”

“Every wonder why you're always on that midshift? No one ever gets that shift in any department.” Mohan leads through a sea of bodies until they make it to their section. Duckie did notice she was always there a few hours before Jack, their shifts constantly over-lapping, working through the rest of her shift with him until it was time for her to clock out. Duckie never went home, she always slept in his truck until he got off, Both wanting to have breakfast together, share the shower, and hopefully other activities until she really needed to sleep before her shift.

“I didn’t”

“Chill jaws,” Garcia finally looks up, “Jack is practically royalty on night shift, The board or the hospital is not firing their war veteran over a relationship.” 

“It’s baseless.” Victoria finishes for Garcia, “You knew him before starting at The Pitt.”

“He brings military funding.” Mohan corrects. 

Duckie frowns. “What happens when he retires.?”

“They find a new poster white boy to be their face.” Garcia waves to Parker and Baran, thanking the guy in passing who helped her up the stairs. “The pitt has a thing for sick men going through a mid-life crisis.” Victoria is close behind her, Garcia looks at Duckie. “I’m already viewed as bitch, might as well be a smart, bad ass one with connections, You have them. Use it.”

Duckie watched as Garcia joined the rest of them, each taking shots of whatever liquor Parker deemed it would get them drunk enough. Her phone buzzing pulls her to put it on do-not disturb. Her residency was about to go to shit, they knew that, she wasn’t sure of what she wanted to do anymore, or if she could keep up with the demands of Ortho. She turned that off for now, and found herself floating into the space where her friends were, a shot glass in each hand so she could catch up. 

“Ah, ah, open up and take it from the bottle baby.” Parker stands behind her hand on her chin to open her mouth like she was about to intubate a patient, the other hand holding the neck of the whiskey bottle. “There she goes.” Parker cooes with praise when the warm brown liquid tickles Duckie’s throat. 

“That’s like five shots in one, trying to elevate her blood alcohol Ellis?” Baran smirks from her seat, sipping on the gin and tonic she ordered. “Jack would not be pleased if his best girl is inebriated.”

Parker rolls her eyes. “Good to know, she’s not with him tonight. The old man is working a double.” She takes a swig from the bottle, eyes on Duckie as she dances with Victoria and Garcia. 

“She’s delicate.” 

“She’s SharkBait.

Duckie went the entire night without so much as a glance at her phone. The multiple shots back to back, the DJ playing her favorite hits, and her friends dancing with or around her had her in another world. There was no care for the people trying to reach her. She could check them when she went to the bathroom.  She enjoyed the one night of unfiltered dancing, without the hardened gaze of him behind her, scaring everyone away. 

Garcia led her back to their section to dance away from the ain’t shit men.That and to avoid the wrath of the multiple messages blowing up her phone.  Baran had joined them, losing a game of rock, paper, scissors with Parker on who got to stay on the dance floor with Mohan and Javadi. She didn’t care otherwise, using this as a perfect time to get to know the new doctor in the building.  

“Having fun?” Baran smiles with her eyes, sipping on a bottle of water as Duckie plopped next to her for a foot break. Her phone was in hand to look at her reflection in the camera, notifications buzzed through catching her attention as she thought about her question. This was the most fun until she saw his messages filter through, and he was not happy

What the hell, Duckie?! Answer the damn phone.

She hadn’t had a fun night without him in months. The freedom from him hovering over her every five seconds to telling where and when she had to go somewhere. The penthouse was starting to drive her crazy. He was possessive, overbearing, and would have a fit once he found out where she was. He could handle one night without her. She hoped.

“The most I’ve had in months.” She had a gut feeling to check her phone again, and as she danced in her seat, doing her best to avoid the predatory gaze of other men wanting to dance, she checked her phone, eyes widening at the several messages from her boyfriend.

Who the fuck told you to wear that dress. Don’t worry. I got something for you.

“I can tell.” Baran smirks. “What, daddy doesn’t let you out of the house anymore?” Everyone knew about her and Jack. He made it known the moment she was hired. She was looking into general surgery, and hopefully an orthopedics fellowship, at the PTMC. Jack made sure she was chosen with glowing recommendations. Now Garcia had her eyes set on her. Baran needed to know why.

“I don’t need his permission to do anything.” Duckie snaps. “I’m an adult.” 

“Then turn off your phone.” Garcia dares, switching out her empty glass for another one from the nearby waitress.. “Tell Jaws, you're a grown ass woman, block him,”

Duckie does just that and turns her phone off in the process. It gets lost somewhere in her purse. Baran was surprised at the ease in which Duckie cut access to her. She knew Jack must be a strong man to trust her on a night like this.

“Happy Birthday Duckie.” 

Duckie meets eyes with Trinity Santos. The younger woman standing outside her section in black leather pants and a white top. Her smile was fake, but it reached her eyes when she saw Garcia behind her. 

“What are you doing here?” Yolanda asks her before Duckie could say ‘thank you.’. She was curious to as to how Trinity found exactly which club they were going to be at. 

“Whitaker and I bar hop a lot on weekends, this is the only spot where you can go upstairs and play pool.” Trinity rubs her hands together. “You didn’t tell me you were gonna be here tonight.” 

“Duckie technically doesn;t like you, Whitaker was invited but he’s loyal to a pariah until Robby comes back.” Yolanda’s tone was flat. Barely looking at her. “ I thought we were keeping this casual.” 

“Right, like what she and Jack have is casual too.”

“It happened long before I started working at The Pitt.” Duckie pushes past her friend. “Jack and I have history.”

“Which is none of her business.” Yolanda snaps. “ Since you're here, you can keep your mouth shut and dance, or go back to playing pool upstairs.” 

The night rolled on with laughter, dancing, and shots. Each song felt like an anthem, pumping up her energy as she let loose, the worries of her relationship fading away. Surrounded by her girls, she felt beautiful and free. After a few more songs, they took a break. They flopped down on the couches, laughing and catching their breath.

“I see the party has started without me.” Santos made Duckie roll her eyes. Who invited her? “Another round of shots on me.”

“Actually we were just about to it wrap up,” 

Duckie bit her lip, spotting him in a white t-shirt and jeans, his normally slicked back hair tousled from what she assumed was his bedhead from his nap. His voice was raspy, gruff, and harsh while talking to her. 

 “Oooh boo Park!” Garcia yells over the music to lighten the mood.  “I’m throwing tomatoes, let her breathe.”

“What Jack is not enough, so you jump to the next dick?” Santos flicks her eyes at her. “Didn’t take you for that type.”

“Brendan Park is a surprise,” Baran sits up with curiosity. “When did this happen?” 

“Man is trying to get her pregnant, Baran, has been for the last three months.” Parker joins with a passing pat to Brendan’s back. The older man did not take his eyes off Duckie, and how she looked in the dress she had on. “Jack set them up on some polgamy shit. They share her or some shit.”

“Damn, that’s three incomes though, Who does she marry?” Samira has to ask from behind her. Brendan moved closer to Duckie, tugging on the ends of her dress, and trying to shield her front with his own body.

“It’s obvious.” Javadi grins when she sees Matteo at the door. “Also, that’s a look of he had plans for her birthday.” 

“ Crazy coming from a woman who’s obsessed with a man they tried to get fired.” Duckie retorts.

 Brendan shakes his head. “Your arrogance, and lack of professionalism is why you weren't chosen for the fellowships.” He doesn’t look at Santos to know that she wasn’t liking the way he was talking to her. “Garcia doesn’t exchange sex for favors like you think.” 

“And what do you call this?” Santos snaps.”Pretty sure it's against policies to date interns,” 

“Crazy how you of all people think I'm still an intern.” Duckie moves closer to him subconsciously. 

“Ignore her,” Brendan grits, getting annoyed at the amount of bodies brushing past him without as thought of an excuse. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, no, I still owe another round of shots for Garcia and Mohan wants to do a line dance. ” she protested, crossing her arms defiantly, feeling a thrill in her defiance. Since Jack set them up together on some wild ass polygamus shit. She was on her week with Brendan while Jack worked. This time with an extra week so she could hang out with the girls, if Brendan was there of course. The days he wasn’t, Duckie stayed home waiting for him. She was tired of waiting for him to come home just to go out. She wanted to have fun, and Brendan wasn’t about to ruin that. “You're not my daddy.”

Brendan raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly while rubbing his jaw. “Alright.” His jaw tightened. “This is not how you get my attention sharkbait. Especially in a dress I don’t like you wearing.” He replied, tugging at the hem of it while ignoring the stares from other people. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, knowing that this outfit was meant for the house—and his eyes only.

Duckie tossed her hair back, unbothered. “I can wear whatever I want.”

Brendan took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool, but his patience was slipping. “We’re leaving. Now.” He grabs her arm in a split second, grateful that she had her purse on her, she didn’t care too much, just hated how he was treating her like some teenager he can ground for sneaking out. She was twenty-nine now. She was an adult and he knew that.

“I’m not a fucking child.” she huffed, trying to pull away. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I don’t care,” he said, his tone firm.Before she could respond, he scooped her over his shoulder and marched toward the exit.

“Nigga put me down!” she shouted, squirming and tugging her dress down over her ass. She wasn’t trying to give anybody a show tonight.

“No,”Brendan dismissed, striding through the club as heads turned to watch. Once outside, he set her down but kept a firm grip on her arm. “We’re going home.” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He dragged her to his black truck, opening the door and forcing her inside. She plopped down in the passenger seat, crossed her arms, and rolled her eyes, refusing to look at him.

Duckie still couldn’t help but watch the way Brendan walked around the front of the truck.. So sure of himself. His eyes sharp, jaw locked as if he was in deep thought. He was silent when he got in, seatbelt clicking and the truck started. He pulled out of the space without a word. Usually by now she would be hearing some snarky remark, or blunt opinion coming out his mouth. Jack did it sometimes with her when he got too angry, it usually led to some bomb make-up sex afterwards. She wasn’t sure if Brendan was in the mood. 

He still took her to get food at one of her favorite places. Putting in an order for two of their usuals and drinks, throwing in the sugary sweet doughnut holes she was going to want later. Brendan would steal one despite going on about the unhealthiness of it. Food was always the answer to calming his Duckie down. 

After getting the food, they parked under a tree in the back lot of some chain store. He covered all the windows with a black shade, leaving the windshield to see. Duckie watches him click on the light and set up their food. She grabs the hand sanitizer from the dash board to clean her hands, leaving it out for Brendan to use afterwards. The scent wafted through her nose, finally looking up at him. She needed to know he wasn’t mad at her.

“Eat.”

 Brendan dismisses the longing in her eyes for a kiss, digging into his own food. Duckie picks through hers, taking slow bites until she gives into the hunger and finishes before him. Brendan just watched her, gaze raking over her body in the dress he told her not to wear. He wasn’t mad she went out, He was upset that she was being reckless. She never let herself get that drunk to the point of incompetency, and she let Santos bait her into it. Duckie was smarter than that. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Duckie questions mid bite of her food, finally glancing over at Brendan. His stare was intense, still she could see the wheels turning in his eyes. He was too calm for the way she embarrassed him.

“You still have an attitude.” he questioned, his voice low and steady.

She shrugged, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.. “You do too much.”

“I do too much?!” He laughs through his teeth and reaches out to squeeze her thigh gently. “You were, I could’ve got arrested. again.” 

There have been a few times where Duckie went out without Brendan and Jack before. She did all the time while Jack worked out the kinks of their relationship. She celebrated finishing her residency, alongside going back to medical school. She wanted to be an M.D. despite Jack’s protests of her finding better than the pit. Still Duckie called her friends and they were back in club aqua taking shots and dancing. 

“Nobody told you to fight the man.” She moves her leg from his grip, The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. “I can handle my own.” 

Brendan tracked her location. He was annoyed at the sight of different men trying to dance with her. He could see it in your body language you were uncomfortable. It didn’t help that her choice of clothes had a lack of fabric, he would never blame that as the reason. He would blame the men's inability to be competent enough to know when a woman says no, they leave it at that. No. One still got handsy, Brendan saw red, pushing his way through the crowds to land punches on the man. Duckie barely processed Brendan’s presence until the police were called. The both of them being taken in for disturbing the peace, and damages to property. 

“Unwanted attention can get you killed,” Brendan said, his grip tightening slightly. “Especially dressed like that.” 

“You don’t trust me.” Duckie meets his gaze, just as defiant. “I can hold my own.”

“Not if you let Santos bait you into shit like that again.” Brendan respected the fact that she was becoming a doctor, but her bedside manners, arrogance, and lack of professionalism marked her as unqualified in his eyes. Then to add on the inappropriate relationship she shared with Garcia. The moment Duckie began working in the hospital, He and Jack made sure to establish the relationship they had with her to Human Resources. He wanted no miscommunication. “She doesn’t like you.” 

“Yeah, I know,” she replied, finally glancing at him, but the tension still hung. Garcia had a special relationship with Trinity outside of work. Since Duckie’s arrival and the constant need to speak about Langdon and his issues, Garcia replaced sex with Santos with hanging out with Duckie. She didn’t like Langdon herself, but if Jack thought he deserved a second chance, then so did she. “She’s also seen me support Frank”

“You never let the enemy close like that.”

As Brendan pulled into the parking garage of their apartment, Duckie’s heart raced—not from excitement but from the mixed emotions still churning in her stomach. She wasn’t queasy, but there was an impending sense of fear at how he would flip like a switch.. Brendan outside was a sweetheart- always at her side when she needed something but at home. He was a completely different man. She knew well enough that the punishment tonight would not be fun on her part.

“Let’s go,” he said, his tone firm but gentle as he opened the door for her.

“Not going back to my place?” She doesn’t immediately move, looking at him from under the door. She hoped Jack would be at home, usually the quickest to save her from whatever Brendan had planned, always making sure he was soft and gentle with her. 

“He’s working another double.” Brendan’s face doesn’t change, on the inside he was annoyed that she was stalling. “I hate repeating myself, Duckie.”

The journey to their penthouse was dangerously quiet; Brendan’s demeanor started to change with each step closer they got. Duckie trailed slowly behind him as he led them up to the Penthouse suite. The elevator stopped directly on his floor with a special key. Brendan wasn’t a flashy man and the style of home he chose wasn’t his preference. The fifteen minute drive to work, the security at the reception desk, plus the private parking had been what sold him. The elevator stopping on his floor is an added bonus. The large floor-to-ceiling windows are the first thing you see as they overlook the city of Pittsburgh when you step in. The city lights cast an ambient glow across the combined kitchen and living space. The air was thick with unspoken tension. Brendan closed the door behind them, his demeanor shifting as he walked around her.

“Strip.” He demands.

“What?” Duckie barely registered what he told her to do. She hoped the car ride was enough to calm him down, make him forget she went out without him, but the try-me look in his eyes said otherwise. 

“If I do it, you’re not gonna like me.” He warns, moving around the space, to remove his jacket and shoes. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Do we have to?” She swallowed hard,all thoughts of defiance slipping her mind. She wasn’t scared of Brendan just at the thought of having to endure yet another punishment this week. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“You weren’t sorry when you left the house.” Brendan shook his head, his expression serious. “Too late for that..”  He finds his seat in the leather recliner, stretching out his legs as his eyes watch her every move. Duckie was testing his patience, and it would only be so long before he ripped that dress off himself. 

She bites her lip as she reaches down to take off her heels.

“I said the dress, not the heels; hurry the fuck up Duckie.” She quickly removed the dress, standing naked before him. Brendan had to close his eyes and work through his breathing exercises. The sight before him. God, you must be fuckin with me. I know she didn’t leave the house with nothing under that dress. He looked at her, motioning for her to come, and she reluctantly did. His hand grabs her by the wrist, forcing her to lie over his lap. He couldn’t help himself as his hands rubbed over her ass, massaging the ample flesh beneath his fingers.

“Such a naughty girl.”  he asked, his voice steady, almost soothing. “You like fucking with me Duckie?” 

“No…” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You miss a count. We start over, understand.”

She nodded, “Yes….”

The first strike of his open palm landed on the swell of her cheeks, sharp but not painful—just enough to make her gasp and jolt in his lap. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes Sir!.” 

“Good girl.” He mutters so she couldn’t hear, “Count for me,” he said.

“One,” the number slipped out like a breath at the first hit; his rough hands collided with each cheek.

“Good. Keep counting,” he encouraged, watching her closely.

“Two,” she breathed, the heat of his hand on each cheek stinging her skin, grounding her in the moment.

“Three,” she continued, feeling the rhythm settle in. As he delivered each hit, Duckie felt her resolve begin to break down, her belly started to flutter, and she could feel her slick dripping between her legs.

“Four,” she counted, the tension in her body slowly unwinding. Brendan felt the wet patch forming on his pants, chuckling darkly at how easily aroused she was from just his touch, painful or not.

“Look at you.” Brendan paused, placing his hand on her back. “So fuckin’ wet from my hands.” He calls attention to the way her pussy was dripping, leaving a shine on her leaking hole. He ran a thick finger down her slit.and circled her clit for a second. His hand pulled back to crack another slap on her butt. She whimpers, squirming in his lap. He watched her ass ripple beneath his fingers as he continued his assault on each cheek. She continues her count, not wanting to start over. He smooths his hand up her back, fingers grasping the nape of her neck. He pulls her head back to see her tear-streaked face, lips slightly swollen from biting them. He presses a soft kiss to her cheek, tasting the salt in her tears before whispering in her ear.

“Take your ass to bed and wait for me.” 

She scrambles to get up, wincing at the sudden pain in her ass. Their room was a short distance away; quickly going into the large primary and laying on the bed. the cool blue silk sheets soothing her aching bottom as she laid on her back waiting for him.

What felt like hours was only a few minutes when he finally made his presence known. His gaze trailed over her naked form. It was taking everything in him not to fuck her right then and there. He stops at the foot of the bed, removing his shirt and pants, before climbing over her. 

“Sir,” she whispers. 

He grabs the restraints that were at the foot of the bed, spreading her legs further to see her glistening mound dripping for him.  He doesn’t answer her as he binds her legs to the bed. “What’s your safe word?”

“Jaws.” 

That’s all he needed to hear, moving his hands to her pussy, fingers teasing the folds softly, making her squirm beneath him. His thick digits rubbed in circular motions, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath of air she took. One finger slips inside her to hear the tiny gasps she lets out as he strokes said finger in and out of her.

“Look at you.” He tsks, adding another finger inside her and curving them up to brush against her sensitive spot. Duckie’s body began to feel warm as his thumb and forefinger toyed with the swollen numb; he watched her face contort in pleasure while her hands fist the sheets. She did her best to grind down on his fingers for more friction just for him to stop and remove them. “Such a slut for my fingers.

“Brendan. Sir,” Duckie whines, rolling her hips down against nothing. “Please.” 

He ignores her plea for more, hovering over her to lock her wrists into the restraints attached to the headboard. Unable to move, she had to take whatever he was about to give her. His boxers are long discarded as his hand strokes his thick dick. By no means was this man small. He was long, nearly eight and half inches with a slight curve. The girth made up for in size what it lacked in length.It was thicker as it traveled up to the fat angry red tip leaking with pre-cum. She bites her lip, lifting her head to watch him. 

Her slick coated the tip when he taps it against her puffy wet folds. Brendan watched her clench around nothing. He used their combined slick to coat his dick, swirling the tip around her clit until she bucked. The motions continued. He wanted to see how far he could take her before she was a begging mess.

“Such a messy girl,” Brendan licks his lips, dick coated in her essence despite not being inside of her.

“Fuck Brendan!” She whines definitely. “Put it in.” she begged, tugging on the restraints with no sign of them loosening up unless he did it. His hand grasps her throat, squeezing just enough to stop her from talking. His breath blew on her as he rocked against her, his erection nestled between her lower lips 

“Someones’ letting their little girls pow wow night go to their head.” Brendan nibbles on her ear, hand on her neck still pushing her head back.

She whimpers, shifting and squirming beneath him while tugging on the restraints.

“Sorry sir.” She whispers with a needy whine. “I need you,” she begs flexing her fingers like she could touch him.

“Yeah” Brendan kisses her cheek, up her jaw until his lips brush against her ear. "Fuck I need you to." He kisses her just as his hips press forward, the tip pushing through her slit, a whiny noise vibrating against his mouth at the pressure off him filling her to the hilt. He's halfway in before she tries tapping out. It had been a few weeks since they last shared a moment of intimacy. She was tighter compared to the swell and growth of his dick. The stretched burned, but he didn't stop.

“You know the safe word.” He groans, rolling his hips until he slips inside her inch by inch until he stretches her out to adjust to him bottoming out. With one hand placed on the bed behind her and the other on her waist, he rocks his hips slowly, getting her used to the size of him. “Doing so good, baby.” He whispers, kissing her cheeks and nose. Her eyes flutter close at his rhythmic strokes—the blunt tip pressing against her walls.

“Brendan,” she drags out with a sigh of contentment at the pain turning to pleasure.

 “Yeah. Feels good.” He looks at her, mouth parted at each glide of him inside her, grazing her sensitive walls. It swelled inside her the deeper he went until it curved into her sensitive bundle of nerves. She nodded as her eyes rolled to the back of her head; her mouth dropped open at each snap of his hips, the skin of his thighs slapping against her pelvis. She could feel that familiar rumble in her belly, telling her she was close, only for him to stop.

“Why-”

“Brats don’t get to cum.”

She bites her lip to hold back tears. He slid out halfway until he saw the tip at her entrance. He slowly slides back in, slowing his motions as he almost pulls out and slams back into her. “Fuck.” She tugs at the restraints holding her arms back. His thumb finds and rubs her clit in time with the slow thrusts. Her pussy clenching and fluttering, her walls squeezing tightly around him with a groan. “Please.” She sobs, tears running down her cheeks from the intense pleasure. 

“Please, what?” He watches her, a rhythmic pace he sets, finally picking up, curving his dick to hit her spot once again, applying non-stop pressure to it. She’s a mumbling mess now, her body dripped in sweat, her edges curled and sticking to her head. She could barely form a string of coherent words. He leans down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along her breast, taking the erect nipple between his lips.

“Hm?" He hums, freeing a hand to massage the other breast. He thrust painfully slow, stopping when her pussy squeezed around him.

“Let me cum.” She gasps. “Please.”

He switches to sucking on the other nipple, giving both breasts equal attention as he stills himself. He pulls off with a pop and pulls out. 

“Do you deserve to?” He mocks. His dick was swollen and wet. He strokes downward, squeezing the tip in his palm until he nearly comes.  He got off on her begging, but without it he was still going to fill her up. 

Duckie nods eagerly, watching him undo her legs, just to flip her on her stomach. Her arm restraints rotating and adjusting to the new position. “Yes, sir, I won’t be a brat anymore.” She pleads, looking over her shoulder as he settles behind her on his knees, pulling her up on her own. 

Brendan grabs her hips, a drip of spit falling from his lips onto his already glistening dick. He leans over her back, their bodies seeming to mold like puzzle pieces. He kisses her shoulder blade while pressing into her. A loud moan echoed off the walls, sure to wake their downstairs neighbors. He keeps a bruising grip on one hip while the other reaches around to grab her throat.

“Better not wear that fuckin dress again, hear me?” He grunts in her ear, pounding into her from behind. She could barely hear him over the sounds of their skin clapping, throwing her ass back to meet him thrust for thrust.

“I said,” he snaps with each syllable in her ear. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes. I hear you” She sobs, feeling him deep in her stomach. Her pussy squeezes his dick every time he slides in and out.  He rasps in her ear, licking the shell of it, smirking when she shudders beneath him. If it weren’t for the hand on her throat, holding her to him, she would have fallen into the bed. 

“Yes, sir” Her eyes gloss over, and that familiar sensation builds up again, relaxing more into his hand; he lets her fall limp against the band. Brendan spread her ass open, wanting to see where their bodies meet and to watch her creampie his dick. His eyes darken while fucking her into the bed. It was messy, sloppily and making the wet slapping sounds lewd. The harder he drove his hips, the messier and whiner she got.  He looks at her face, mouth dropped open, with a bit of drool spilling out on the sheets.

“Fuck, princess.” His dick swells inside her, reaching down to pull her back up, his chest pressed into her back, one hand reaching around to vigorously rub her clit, while the other holds her close to his chest by her throat; her head tilts back on his shoulder.  “Cum, baby.” He mumbles in her ear. It was all it took for her to shake in his arms, legs buckling as she came to a release. 

“Good girl.” He hushes, kissing her face while chasing his own; with a few more thrusts, he releases into her, dropping her back down on the bed, emptying the last drop. Their juices leak out the sides as he stills himself. He looks down at her with a chuckle. Brendan pulls out with a pop, dick coated in her juices as the rest spill out of her.

He rolls her over and presses a kiss to her head before getting up. He moves to the joining bathroom to clean himself up and puts on clean shorts.  He grabs another wet rag and one of his shirts, coming out to clean her. 

He was careful of her sensitive areas, doing his best to clean up the remnants of their encounter. Duckie sighed, content as she looked at him. Reaching out to cup his cheek, he softly kissed her hand.

“i'm sorry.” 

“Ssh,” he mumbles, sitting her up, putting the large black shirt over her head, and guiding her hands through the sleeves. “Time for bed.”

Brendan locked up for the night, turning out all the lights and checking on her two cats– Luna and Lucifer. The small animals curled up together in their beds in the guest room. He put out more water for them and returned back to his room to join her in bed.

Duckie loved being up under Brendan. The older man was always warm and cuddly. When he finally lays in bed, she instantly moves to lay on top of him, arms resting on either side of him, with her right cheek to his chest, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep as his calloused fingertips find their way into her hair–scratching at her scalp.

I can admit that I overdid it, but I wanted this Christmas to be special since it was our first Christmas together. Terry and I were spending this holiday alone as a couple, not so much by choice.

His parents were on a cruise, and all of his siblings were visiting their in-laws. Monnie and her bf were visiting her parents, who lived out of state. So that left Terry and me here, alone. Or, so we thought.

“So, what do you want from Santa?” I asked my little cousin as I sat on the bed beside him.

“Ion know,” he whispered, pulling his knees up into his chest and resting his head between his legs.

Watching as sadness slowly crept into the heart of my six-year-old little cousin was not my bingo card. Terry and I had agreed to watch him for a few days while his mother recovered from COVID. What we thought would be a few days had turned into a little over a week. He was no longer being his bubbly, energetic self. After the past few days, it was clear that the cookies, hot chocolate, and singing were only going to help so much.

Luckily for me, I had a great man by my side. Once Terry started to notice the change in my little cousin's attitude, he started taking him to work with him. It seemed to help a bit, but still, it was certainly not enough because I know he wanted nothing more than to see his mama.

“You don't know? Whaaat?! You telling me you ain't write your list yet?” I asked, rubbing his back.

“No,” he pouts, “I really just want my mommy. Is she okay, Vana?” The look on his face as he leaned up broke my heart.

“Yes, baby. She's okay,” I replied.

“Can I see her?” He asked timidly.

I leaned over and pulled him into a hug. “You can as soon as she feels better, Boogie,” I said, placing a kiss on the top of his head.

Silence filled the room as he sat with my answer.

“Vana, what if she doesn't get better? Paw Paw says she has the nona virus,” he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

I giggled at his mispronunciation, “Yes, she has the coronavirus. That's why you can't see her just yet. She doesn't wanna get you sick, Boog.”

“But, I don't care about getting sick,” he cried.

“Ok. Hey, listen…,” I said, gently pulling his chin to face me. “What if… we called her? Would you like that?”.

“Yes!”, he sat up on the bed, facing me.

“Ok, I'll go get my phone and call her. If she answers, we'll ask her if she can FaceTime us. Cool?”

“Yes!” he screamed, kneeling on the bed with excitement.

I scooted to the edge of the bed, walking towards the door. I slowly opened the door and closed it softly, leaving it cracked. I peeked back into the room to see him twiddling his thumbs with nervousness. I sulked in slight disappointment with myself. I felt like I was ruining this baby's Christmas. Had I not done enough? Did I not include him enough? Was there something that I was mi—

“Need some help in there?” Terry asked softly as I turned around to face him.

“No. Go get some rest. You've been at work all day. I'll warm up your food after I figure all this out,” I said, feeling gutted.

“Vana. Baby, you don't have to do this by y—,” Terry started to speak before I slid past him.

“Terry, go shower. I'm fine, honey. I promise.”

I walked down the hall to get my phone that I had left in the kitchen. I found it resting on the island still covered in flour from earlier’s little baking fiasco.

Picking up the phone and frantically dialing the number, I prayed that she would answer.

ring

ring

ring

click

“He—,” she coughs, “hello.”

“H— hey, ummm….,” I stuttered.

“Vana?” she questioned.

“Yeah, it's me. You up to talking?” I pleaded.

“Yeah. Is it Boogie? He bothering you? I know he can be a handful.” Her voice cracked slightly.

“No. He's just worried about you. I think he's more concerned with you than Christmas,” I chuckled.

“Mmmm… Aww… Him worried bout his mommy.”

“Girl! He misses you like crazy and won't let us forget it!” I affirmed loudly, maybe too loudly.

Silence took over the conversation. A pause that seemed to stretch for far too long.

I rolled my shoulders. “If you feel up to it, can I FaceTime you? He's going insane, but I can come up with an excuse if y—.” I was starting to ramble.

“Hell, no. Go give my baby this phone and call me right back,” she yelled with excitement.

“Damn. Aggressive much?” I laughed.

“My bad,” she giggled in slight embarrassment, “I guess I miss my baby, too.”

I floated through the apartment as I redialed her number. Eagerness and excitement coursed through my veins. My adrenaline was spiking by the second.

“Oh, Boogie! Someone wants to speak to you,” I sang as I opened the door. I walked over to him and handed him the phone.

I could hear her through the other end as she spoke.

“Hi, baby,” she said.

“Mommy!!!” he yelled, jumping up on the bed. He held the phone directly in front of his face.

“How are y—,” she started to speak.

“You okay, mommy? You still sick? The nona virus gone, yet?! Can I come ho—,” he rattled off.

I could sense just how elated he was to hear his mother’s voice, but most of all see her face.

“Ouuu, slow down, baby. One question at a time. Momma's brain ain't functioning that fast right now.” Laughter rattled through her chest. It was clear that she was still sick.

I laughed quietly to myself.

I turned and moved towards the door. “I'm going to leave you two alone. Alright? I'll be in the kitchen, ok?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, too focused on the phone to look at me.

I sauntered into the kitchen, feeling like I had possibly saved this baby’s Christmas. I knew I could’ve called her sooner, but I didn’t want to bother her. Plus, the last time we spoke, she couldn’t speak at all. Her voice was practically gone and hoarse. She didn’t want to FaceTime because she knew Boog couldn’t handle seeing her that sick. She was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to IVs, and had oxygen tubes in her nose. Boogie was such a sensitive baby, and luckily, his mother was in tune with her child.

I quietly danced around the kitchen as I fixed Terry’s plate. Placing it in the microwave to warm up, I spun around and wiggled my hips to the music in my head. I leaned on the counter and waited patiently for them to finish talking.

A few minutes had passed before I heard someone coming out of a room.

“So… How you feelin’, Boog?” I asked while walking around the island.

“I take it that that means you handled it, huh?” Terry asked, rounding the corner. He was rubbing a towel through his lumpy curls.

“Yes, sorta.” I bit my bottom lip.

“Whatchu mean?” Terry asked, leaning down to kiss me on the lips.

“He’s facetiming with her, but I know he wants to physically see her.” I hugged Terry’s waist, pulling him closer to me.

“Then, we gone make it happen,” he said, placing kisses on top of my head.

“How?” I stepped back to look into his eyes. Confusion spread across my face.

“Ask her if we can bring him by? If she can make it to the door, he can see her that way.”

“Shit, why d—… Shoot, why didn’t I think of that? See, that’s why I love you.” I corrected myself.

“Well, I can think of other reasons why you love me.” Terry winked.

“Like what with yo’ nasty ass?” I grabbed his shirt.

“This big ass d—,” Terry started.

Before he could finish, we heard the guest bedroom door open. A rumble of quick footsteps rushed into the kitchen.

“Mommy wants to talk to you!” Boogie yelled, handing me the phone.

A smile plastered his cute little face. His chubby cheeks had practically closed his eyes, turning them into slits.

“Yes?” I asked, smiling down at him.

“Thank you so much, Vana. You and Terry are angels for this,” she said appreciatively.

“You’re welcome,” Terry and I responded in unison.

“Ask her,” Terry mouthed.

“So, Terry had a great idea. But first… Would you be able to walk to the front door?” I asked.

“Yeah. It might take me a minute, but I can get there,” she laughed.

“Ok, so how would you feel about us bringing Boogie to see you?”

“Vana, that seems like a lot. Y’all live almost an hour away.” She sat up and leaned back against the headboard.

Terry’s eyes roamed between Boog and me. He squatted down in front of him and placed his hands on his shoulders.

“Go get your shoes,” he instructed.

Before any more words could be spoken, Boog took off into the room.

“Terry!” I yelled while laughing.

“You go get your shoes, and tell her we’re on the way,” Terry smirked.

I looked down at the phone. She was staring back at me with the biggest smile on her face. I could tell by how she tucked her lips that she wanted to laugh.

“You heard that man. Go get your shoes, and bring me my baby!”

I rolled my eyes, pretending not to smile. Leave it to Terry to save the day.

Sorry this is so late.😔

Two days after the fight

Mr. Rollins was in a meeting he had to secretly leave the Hamptons for. He left his wife and children home, needing a clear head and no distractions in this meeting. He had to be strategic about being seen. One wrong move and it could dismantle everything he’s been putting in place for the past two years. Instead of his usual flamboyant clothing, he opted for a dark suit. No accenting colors or gaudy designs. He pulled his hair back into a tight bun with thick aviator shades to cover his eyes. There was no car detail or luxury accommodations he'd normally put in place. Just an old Camry he rented in a staff member’s name. 

For more secrecy, he met his guest in a library study room. He knew there would be no cameras in the quiet space, and he rented a corner one with smaller windows and curtains to block out potential eyes. It was public place, but no one would expect him to be here. 

He sat on one side of the table, facing the door, as his guest occupied the other. 

“They are in the Hamptons.” Seth said, his voice clear so the recorder could pick it up. “They brought their family as well. Randy Orton has a girlfriend, Ziva. They have two twin daughters. Phil Brooks brought his wife, Naira, and their son and daughter.” 

“Tell us what you know about Randal Orton and Phillip Brooks.” 

Seth went on his spiel about the two. From their company Apex Extreme, their relationships, allies he was aware of, and what it was they 'shipped'. He spoke about the two fights between them and Cody and Jade Runnels. He was careful about mentioning anything related to his life, but he knew those questions would come and he was prepared. 

“They were arrested and spent time in federal prison for drug trafficking, yes?” 

“Yes.” Seth replied. 

He kept his answers direct and short as best as he could. He was only giving information when asked as his lawyer advised him two nights ago. 

“Have you seen this activity recently?” 

“No.” He answered, he realized his deal was disappearing so he added, ‘however, they mentioned they would be in talks with certain individuals. I am unaware of who they are, but from what I understand,’ he lied, ‘they plan to make more connections that could potentially be referencing drugs, another shipment.” 

The embellishment was thrown in there and while he hated to toss in the lie, he knew it would land.  

"Are you saying they have continued to move illegal narcotics?"

"There was a recent meeting discussing the deal that put Randy in prison. Recompence had to be paid apparently." 

"Apparently,' the agent repeated. They looked down at their notes as they stopped the recording. “Mr. Rollins, off the record, we’re going to need more than this. You do know we are aware of your own dealings and have decided not to involve you. You need to give more than this if you wish to be compensated. Your immunity relies on it.” 

He knew his lawyer would advise against it, having some deniability worked in his favor. It kept him ignorant on both sides of the fence he was currently straddling, but he knew if he didn’t pick a side soon, he would be exposed. Exposure meant death. 

Clearing his throat, Seth leaned forward. “Allow me a few more weeks to gather information. We’ve only been in the Hamptons for a few days and it’s too early to make any business moves. There have been some personal issues, and they have been very guarded.” 

The blond woman closed her notes and tucked the recorder back into her jacket pocket. She stood up and Seth watched her as she nodded, clearly not amused at having to wait. 

"You have a month and whatever intel you gather needs to be worth my time and for you, your anonymity.” 

Hudson Farms Hamptons, NY Saturday, 3:00 am.

Unlike the set up at home, Hudson Farms had been on the smaller side. It sat in the middle of thirty acres surrounded by woods, and trails. A section was closed off as Sebastian and Ziah noticed the course was also stationary. There was a long table set up with disassembled guns on it. In front of that table, a couple yards away, were targets attached to rubber dummies with blood packs beneath the top layer. Randy and Phil had told them of the Skills Test last night and in preparation for it, they spent a few hours in the backyard of the house shooting and doing a few drills. 

As they arrived, Phil and Randy noticed the other kids there. After that meeting, they both knew the other families would want their children involved. It didn’t change anything as Sebastian and Ziah outpaced them. It wasn’t intentional, but they made sure their kids were prepared. Being defenseless in their world was akin to neglect. The same way they took the kids on whatever trip they wanted to they made sure those same kids could disarm someone trying to attack them. 

As they all gathered, Steve greeted them. 

“In light of previous situations and the addition of the younger generation to meetings, the Council decided to do a Skills Test. It will gauge if they can keep, gain, or their active status.” 

“For what?” Cody snaps. “Some of us here have natural ability.”

“Oh was that a compliment?” Sebastian grins. 

"Some of us know what we are doing." Ziah added passively. 

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself. "If the children are going to participate, then we should see where they are." 

“Maybe they shouldn’t participate at all.” Cody looks around for someone to agree with him. Many avoided eye contact. “What kind of parenting is letting your kids play with weapons?”

“Just say Charlotte doesn’t have skills and she’s scared.” Seth teases. 

He was well aware of Daniel’s abilities despite Becky’s ramblings of Sebastian and Ziah training since their single digit ages. No one was that good–but he loved a challenge.

“She knows how to handle a gun.” Cody sneered. “I can protect her,’ he smirks, ‘I guess Randy and Phil can’t if their children are-'

"Can she shoot it?" Ziah interrupted. "Picking up a gun isn't handling it." 

Sebastian looks around realizing she was the only kid that wasn’t there. “Where she at?” 

Ziah folded her arms across her chest. "She's always sticking her nose in everything else. Why isn’t she here?” 

“She is tending to her mother’s wounds.” Cody took a long pause. “I don’t need to explain myself to a child.” 

"Oh, she did get her ass beat." Ziah laughed, ignoring his budding disdain. 

“I would like to see the footage on that.” Sebastian nudged Ziah’s side. 

Booker T laughed. He was one of three other Council members that had arrived over the past few days. They knew it was him considering he genuinely laughed at anything he thought was funny, no matter who it was aimed at. He was known to always make it known who he did and didn’t support. His sense of morality was strong and was strict about how he maneuvered. D’von, a shorter, stockier man stood to his left side and nudged him hard. 

“Man, that shit ain’t funny.” 

“There will be none of that.” Steve interrupts. Things were starting to get out of hand already.  "Ziah, would you like to go first?" 

"Do you want to set the standard that high?" She replied. “Because I’d hate to stress them out more than I know they already are.” 

“Let the others go first.” Phil suggests. “She's a little too eager.”

Sebastian and Ziah glanced at each other before finding chairs to sit in. This was up their alley. Their area of expertise. They might deal with different sides of the family business, but anything related to field work had them excited. 

“Names have been pulled at random.” D’von steps up with a timer and clipboard at hand. “The first test is simple. Step up to the table and on your call the time starts. You will assemble the gun and in two shots hit the target matching the butt color on the gun.” 

Steve adds in. “Being as Sebastian and Ziah work as a pair, they have the option to separate for their own tests, or–”  

“It’s only fair they separate.” Seth says. 

"Twenty grand I beat you," Ziah wagers as she looks at Sebastian. 

“No betting." Randy and Phil replied in unison. 

Sebastian huffs. “Buzz kills." 

D’von looked down at his clip board. “Once we’re done, everyone is ranked by fastest to slowest time.” 

“Do we get a prize?” Ziah asked, rocking back and forth on her heels. 

“I’ll take you car shopping if you outpace everyone by at least thirty seconds.” Randy says. 

Ziah turned to her dad, “get ready to import my Ford Everest Wildtrack.” 

Cody watched the exchange between them and their children. The ease at which they could ask for and spend money. He wouldn't admit it, but he was jealous of that. That was the type of money he wanted. Endless. He was well aware of some of their financials. 

“They will separate." Steve looks to D’von. “Bron is here?”

D’von nods. “His first work trip. He’s been asking to come.” 

“Shit, my boy, has too.” Booker nods toward where they had been standing near the building. 

He waved them both over to join the group. Randy and Phil never understood why they waited so long to train their kids. They didn’t understand why they wouldn’t want them to know the ins and outs of the world they operated in. If they hadn’t noticed, no one was off limits. 

“Wait, what about the other two?” Cody says. “As I recall, Orton and Punk have two each between." 

Randy's eyes narrowed. "They aren't active." 

"So, like Charlotte." He chuckled. 

Ziah rolled her eyes as she sat in one of the chairs, one leg crossing over the other. "Rían and Giselle are better than Charlotte on their worst day." She paused. “If Charlotte isn’t here, why are you here?” 

Cody looks to Randy and points towards Ziah. “You need to teach her some respect.” 

“Respect was lost the moment you opened your mouth.” Ziah looks Cody’s way. 

“Let’s just get started.” Steve shakes his head. “Who is first?” 

D’von looks at his list, the fifth member of the Council had done the drawings and was inside the building. 

"Daniel." 

Seth smiled, clapping his son on the shoulders as he stepped up to the table. 

Steve pointed to a box on the end of the table. "There is a scope attachment for each if you need it." 

“We won’t need it.” Sebastian mutters, specifically talking about Ziah and himself.

Steve gave them all a chance to look over the guns before the test started. Sebastian's eyes grazed over the Colt 1911, Bolt-Action Rifle, M&P 15-22 Series pistol, and his personal favorite Desert Tech MDRX 308 Forward Eject rifle. Randy never let them use scopes, he considered it a handicap, and if you needed it, you didn't need to be handling guns. 

“This light work.” He mumbled.

Steve shakes his head. "Let's get started." 

Daniel didn’t show it, but he was nervous. His father gave him reassuring words before he took a deep breath, touched one piece of the disassembled Desert Tech and called for the time to start. He focused on the two guns he was familiar with, though he fumbled getting the magazine in. He managed to finally load it and forgot to remove the safety, causing the gun not to fire. He cursed under his breath and removed it, firing twice rapidly. He missed the target on the first shot, clipping the edge of the paper on his second. 

“Take your time kid,’ Cody says. 

That was the mantra as each name was called. Take your time. Ziah took note of the growing times between assembling the guns and shooting their targets. 

“Sono lenti. Papà ci teneva fuori tutta la notte finché non diventavamo più veloci.” [They're slow. Dad's would have us out all night until we got faster.]

"Non ci lasciavano passare all'arma successiva se sbagliavamo qualcosa durante l'assemblaggio." She replied. ("They wouldn't let us progress to the next gun if we messed up on any part of assembly.")

“If you have something to share, speak English.” Cody looks their way, "Otherwise, you are a distraction.”

"Take your time has been said sixteen times between you and Mr. Rollins. That is distracting considering this is a timed skill test." Ziah turned her head towards Cody. "Sei stupido?" ("Are you dumb?")

“What?” 

"Exactly." 

“Everyone, let’s refrain from talking during the test.” D’von steps in. 

It was clear that Cody was antagonizing the kids, but Ziah and Sebastian always kept up-having a response for every comeback. As Bron and the others each had their turns, he moved towards Phil and Randy standing behind him. 

“Listen, your kids are right to defend themselves.” D’von lowered his voice, just so no one else could hear. “But they’re intense.” He tilted his head towards Ziah. "Especially your daughter." 

Sebastian learned to drown out the background noise. Even as he stepped up to the long table of disassembled guns. They were laid out by size, length and power, he expected something harder, maybe one on its own table and having to move around…the way his dad and uncle Randy trained them. 

“Ooh, somebody looks nervous.” Seth taunts with a teasing smirk. 

“Harley has a time of five minutes,” Sebastian cracks his knuckles and lays his hand on the Colt pieces. “And that’s on the one she knew how to put together.”

Ziah wanted to say that was too long if she knew how to put the guns together, for a novice it would be on average around three and a half and that was too long. However, she bit her tongue, only letting out a breathy laugh remembering Harley only put that one gun together and didn’t attempt the other three. 

"Any order on which we have to start with,' Sebastian inquired. 

"No. It's up to you." D'von gestures to the table. "Have at it." 

Ziah tilted her head to the side. "So you're stealing my method?" 

Sebastian grinned, 'it is easier." 

Cody was growing agitated, and what he thought was a silent response in his mind, was blurted out. “Quit talking and fuckin’ start already!” 

"Sébastien se lâche." Randy interjected with a wave of his hand. (Sebastian, let loose.”) 

The timer started as soon as he touched the Desert Tech, breezing through the mechanics of the gun with practiced ease. He placed them down in the order of colors on the target, starting with what was closest to him. His least favorite, the Colt 1911 was first on the target, and the easiest to put together at an even thirty seconds. Instead of shooting immediately after he put them together, each one was assembled and placed into its spot. 

“He’s supposed to shoot after!”

Steve shook his head. "It was never shoot after. It was assemble, and in two shots hit the target." 

“If our kids missed the target the first time, I'm sure he will.” Seth states. 

All of the kids before Sebastian each missed the first target, the second hit landed where it should, though some did need the assistance of the scope. He was expecting for it to be the same with them. It should be the same with them. No one talked that much shit and were perfect. 

Sebastian picked up the Colt, his finger pulling the safety and pressing the trigger. He fired off his first shot, barely letting it hit the dummy before moving to the next gun and target in succession. 

“This nigga doing headshots.” Deondre exclaimed. 

Sebastian called for time as soon as he fired off his last round. A satisfied smirk on his face as D’von called his time. 

“Two minutes. Fifty-fifty one.” 

“Bullshit!” Randy spit. 

“Do you want to do these drills later,’ Phil asked. “Because that’s unacceptable.” 

“Maybe I should have gone first.” 

Sebastian didn’t take it hard; it was how they talked during training. “Didn’t want to be a showoff.”

“Do it again.” Randy tells him.

"Ziah est tellement excitée qu'elle en perd l'eau à la bouche. Laissez-la faire." Sebastian replied quickly. ("Ziah is all but foaming at the mouth in excitement. Let her do it.) 

“Ziah aurait fait un meilleur temps au premier essai. Refais-le.” Randy’s accent got thicker through gritted teeth. (Ziah would have a faster time on the first try. Do. It. Again.)

“Możemy anulować sezon, jeśli tego chcesz.” Phil threatens. [We can cancel the season if that's what you want, Bash.]

They watched in real time how Randy and Phil dealt with their kids. They barely moved and while they couldn't understand, they noticed the way Sebastian and Ziah responded. 

"It's the fastest time so far,' Booker cut in with a cough. 

Randy moves over to where he stood. “Do you have more like these?” 

Steve nods, motioning for the rangers in the back to set up the table similar to Sebastian’s set up. Some were confused but Ziah knew exactly what’s about to happen. It wasn’t often Randy had to correct her, and the times he did, she hated it, but it made her better. She never let it get to the point where he had to correct her in public. 

Sebastian didn’t argue, just stood at his table after they had been taken apart- nor did he flinch when Randy stepped closer to him. His tone was low enough just for him to hear. “Si tu n'es pas plus rapide que moi, la saison est annulée et tu vas devoir faire ça tout l'été.” (If you’re not faster than me, season's canceled and you're doing this all fuckin summer."

"Farò in modo che mia madre lo maledica, non rendergli le cose facili, Sebastian." ("Ill get my mom to curse him out. Don't make it easy for him, Sebastian.") 

He didn't understand, but Randy turned his gaze on Ziah and she pursed her lips shut with her hands raised. "My bad. I'll be quiet." 

“Y’all done?” Seth steps in. “Some of us have plans later.” 

“They can take all the time they want.” Booker defends. “This is what you should be doing with Charlotte.” 

The guns were set up in a different order but not assembled. New target sheets were added as the dummies were replaced again. Randy moved back to his table, just as D’von moved to Sebastian's table again. He was mostly timing Sebastian but with the addition of Randy at the other end. He counted them down. Sebastian closed his eyes, having memorized the layout of the pieces from just watching everyone go before him.  He could really do it with his eyes closed.

Three

Two

One

Sebastian kept himself focused as he flew through the test again with more ease than the first time. 

"One minute. Fifty-one seconds." 

Randy stood there the entire time, arms crossed over his chest as he watched. "Don't fuck with me again, Sebastian." 

Ziah stopped her Dad before he could step away from the table. "Oh non non non, je peux battre ça et toi." ("Oh, no no no, I can beat that and you.") 

Ziah bounced from foot to foot as their guns were taken apart. 

Randy obliged his eldest. "Scramble the pieces." 

They turned around, so they couldn't see them being shuffled around the table until they were mixed. Ziah saw the way Cody stepped closer to see what was happening.

"Remove a bullet. I only need one." Ziah grins up at her Dad. 

"You take way too much joy in this,' he replied as they turned back to the table. 

It wasn't a drill she hadn't done before but he wanted the other men watching to know why Ziah was sitting at their table now. Many thought Randy was hard on her, and he was, but when it came to knowledge of guns Ziva had taught Ziah most of what she knew. It was a very distinct style based on his wife's past. 

D'Von stepped between them, the timer reset in his hands. "Ready?" He asked, moreso to Randy. 

"It's her call." He says. 

Ziah rolls her shoulders as she steps up to the table. “Aller!" (“Go!”)

Her hand seeks out the larger pieces first, putting the Desert Tech together first. The butt of the rifle was placed properly in her right shoulder, her head tilting just slightly to the right as she aimed at her father’s target. She ejected the magazine while picking up the M & P. Same sequence as she moved down the length of the table, hating the stationary position. 

“Damn.” Deondre coughed. 

Ziah had only just heard her father’s second shot but unsure of the order he picked, she knew it would be close. Her eyes swiped over the Colt and realized the Bolt was missing and instead they had given her a disassembled Baretta. She pieced them both together before taking them both in her hands. When it came to the Colt she shot better left handed. She held the Baretta behind her back and widened her stance while making sure her feet were planted. The Colt fired, and the Baretta shot after as she shifted her weight when her arm came from behind her back. Two shots within seconds of each other. Grip firm as she had it in place the moment the Baretta was in her dominant hand. 

Ziah called for time in the same breath. 

“I never saw her switch the safety.” Someone else whispered. 

“Why would I leave the safety on when I can turn it off before putting the gun together?” Ziah placed the guns down, arms crossed. “What’s my time?” 

D’Von stared at the in shock. “Uh, um, one minute and fifteen seconds.” 

“Broke your record, Dad.” 

“For now. Who switched the gun?” Phil asked. 

Shawn coughed. “Well, I thought throwing in a change would get more honest results. She knew the line up already.” 

“Run that by everyone next time,” Steve says. 

“Not even that,” Randy says. “She has a custom Baretta and you gave her one similar to what she trains with.” 

“So does she have to do it again?” Cody asks.

Ziah shook her head. “Start my time from one-fifteen..” 

She disassembled Randy’s Bolt and had someone mix them up. She stepped to the table and called for time to start. The pieces slid through her hands fluidly. 

She shot and called time again. “How many seconds did that add?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“Your cousin is scary,’ Deondre whispers.  “What did he say to you?” 

Sebastian looks to his Dad. “To było zbyt łatwe.” (this was too easy.)

“Szukasz innego testu umiejętności? (looking for another skill test?") Phil questions. 

“Let's do another, there's no way these kids did that.” Cody argues.

Seth chooses to remain quiet, realizing the extent of which these kids were trained. While Harley was just starting her own training into guns, Daniel had been a few months in.

 “How old were they when you started training them?” 

“It doesn’t matter when they start." Steve interferes. “We’re determining the kids' status. It’s very clear that Sebastian and Ziah can keep theirs.”

“It absolutely doesn't!” Cody shouts. “Had I known, this is what we're doing, Charlotte would be here.” 

"She doesn't need to be here. If she is not already training. We all know she's not." Zìah replied. 

“The Council didn’t specify the training age for nepo babies.” He spits. “There is nothing in the bylaws about an appropriate age. How is anyone supposed to be prepared?” 

Ziah couldn't understand how Cody couldn't understand. "Why are you running from common sense?" 

"Ziah," Randy calls. "Je vous demande de reculer." ("I need you to back down.") 

"Listen to your Daddy, little girl," Cody snaps. "Grown men are talking." 

"Watch it,' Phil says. 

“Lack of planning on your part, does not constitute an emergency on ours.” Booker shouts. “Were you expecting us to just test them two?” 

“We were expecting a fair shot.” Cody argues. “Putting together and shooting guns is not a good judge of skills, anybody can do that.”

“You sure do bitch a lot.” Sebastian crosses his arms. 

“And you need a muzzle.” 

Ziah wasn’t surprised at the derogatory comments, nor was she surprised at the speed in which Sebastian invaded his space. 

“Cody!" Steve roared. 

She moved to flank Sebastian, but Phil grabbed her upper arm to stop her. He was proud of how they worked in tandem with each other, but this was not the time. 

“And I'll beat his ass right now” Sebastian grits, barely fighting through Randy’s grip on his shoulders. 

Shawn pushed back an agitated Cody to make distance. 

“No one is fighting,” Steve barks. “Since this was too easy, the fifth member suggested the kids fight each other.”

"Oh," Ziah says, a little excitement in her voice. "That sounds fun." 

“I'm sure it does.” Randy grumbles. 

He already knew how this was going to go. By his and their standards it still technically wasn't fair, but he wasn't going to say a thing.

“As far as who goes up against who. Sebastian and Ziah will have to fight each other.” Steve adds. 

“And how is that fair?” Seth questions. 

While guns were still a learning thing for Harley and Daniel, fighting was different, they started when they were fourteen, quickly picking up the styles of him and their mother. 

"When we get to the mats we'll show you." Phil says. 

They followed Steve back inside the building. On a lower level was a large, matted area and a gym on the other side. Ziah slid out her shoes before they reached the mat, already anticipating a fun time. Steve and Shawn had them spread out into a large circle. She had smoothed her hair back into a ponytail, bouncing from foot to foot. 

Sebastian stood on one side, removing his jacket to toss on the ground next to his own shoes. 

“Shouldn't it be girl vs girl and boy versus boy.” Daniel questions. “Why is he fighting her if they train together?”

"Ziah isn't going to hold back,' Phil explains. "She's not going to give you a moment to breathe. She's not going to stop until we call her off and even then," he shakes his head. "Sebastian is able to balance that out."  

Sebastian and Ziah circled each other for a few moments. She wasn't sure how he was going to come at her until he charged and tackled her to the ground. His shoulder smacked into her chest in the tackle and for a second, she lost her breath. 

"Oh,' she grunted, 'you want to fight for real?" 

Sebastian lifted her up, but she had her arm around his neck and dropped her weight, putting him into a headlock. Sebastian tried to pry her off, but her hands were locked, fingers linked and he couldn't see to grab them. He grunted, hoisting her up and backwards causing her to let him go and fall to the mat. 

"Yes,' he replied, slightly breathy but laughing, "I want to fight for real." 

He was brute force which meant Ziah relied on her speed and agility. She got in a few punches and one open slap to the side of his head, but he was determined to win. 

"Are you sure they should be fighting like this,' Bron asked wincing as Sebastian took a kick to his side.

He held Ziah's leg and yanked her forward before dropping her to the mat with a hand to her chest. 

"This is not the worst of their fights." Randy says. 

"What was the worst fight?" Hayley asked, bewildered at what she was seeing. 

"Sebastian needed stitches." Phil shrugged. "We found out that night, Ziah's skill with knives." 

"Her mother taught her." Randy cuts in. 

"Ziva,' Booker asks. "That does make sense." 

"Sebastian is stronger than Ziah, obviously. He knows she's fast, but they know each other so he's able to out-power her." Phil explained. "Sometimes he just……out powers her the entire time." 

Randy makes a few mental notes for Ziah's training. She was letting Sebastian bait her in. "He's given her a black eye before. That was another one of the serious fights." 

Cody swallows as he watches the way the Brooks-Orton kids fight each other. He noticed Seth had the same look on his face, eating his words from earlier. These kids were not normal. On the mat, Ziah's shoulder and back were burning. He was either keeping her grounded to the floor, which she hated, or he was blocking and tossing her to the floor. She had bit him twice to get out of a chokehold he was going for. 

Steve folded his arms across his chest. "When do you stop them?" 

"If we thought they were going to kill each other." Randy replies. He points to the two on the mat, realizing it was about to come to an end. "They both use a submission to end their sparring." 

Sebastian knew how much Ziah hated the rear naked choke, but it was fun to put her in it. He’ll deal with the retaliation later. Ziah rolled her shoulders backwards after her recent barrage of fists to his shoulder, side, chest and the hard crescent kick to the side of his head. He grounded her again, and she drove her knee up into his stomach. She head butted his cheek and he blocked her attempt to get up with a knee in her chest. Ziah's fist drove into the side of his thigh and he fell off. Sebastian watched her swing her legs to kick him again, but he grabbed them and flipped her to her stomach. He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into the choke hold. He applied just enough pressure she could squirm. Sebastian knew she wouldn't. 

"He's going to take it easy on her,' Cody said, gesturing towards the two on the mat. "It's not a fair fight." 

Maybe it was the constant nagging and whining that ticked Sebastian off. His hold on Ziah tightened as he rocked her side to side. Her toes were barely touching the ground as he swung her side to side. 

"Tap, princess." He taunted, knowing she hated being called that. 

Ziah lifted her arm, driving her elbow back into his side and stomach several times to get him to release her from the choke hold. She pushed to her feet, driving her foot into Sebastian's side before he could stand up. 

"Oh, no,' Phil whispered. "Maybe we should…" 

Ziah drove her knee into the side of Sebastian's head. "I told you not to call me that!" 

Sebastian laughed, shaking his head as he pushed up to his feet. He reached for Ziah but she ducked and kicked the back of his thigh. His knee bent as he dropped to it. The laughing sent her over the edge, and she swung her fist, grinning as it smacked into his jaw. She saw the blood from his busted lip.

"Aw, is your lip busted, pretty boy?" 

While he was down, Ziah managed to get two more hits in before Sebastian stood and tackled her to the ground. They rolled across the mat, his knee finding her stomach, back, and almost her head before she rolled out of the way. It was a show between strength and agility. Sebastian worked close up and he slowed Ziah down several times by keeping her close to the floor. 

"He's baiting her,' Phil notes. 

Randy nods, his eyes watching Ziah slink around the mat, hooking her leg in Sebastians' to make him fall forward. He pushed to his hands and feet when Ziah's head tilted to the side. Sebastian caught her eyes and the slow draw back of her leg. The look in her eyes was vacant. Ziah, like Randy, was a hunter and he wasn't going to be idle prey. He lingered on the mat a little longer and when she ran towards him, he jumped up, his knee rising high to connect with her face. She dropped to the ground, hand over her nose as she shrieked. Not a shout. Not a cry. A shriek. Loud, ear piercing and angry. 

"Holy shit,' Bron shouted. 

"And you wanted us to fight them?" Deondre asked, looking towards his Dad. 

They had seen them both fight to exhaustion against each other, but this time was different. Sebastian grabbed Ziah by the front of her shirt, yanking her to her feet before his knee slammed into her stomach. 

It took a minute for Randy and Phil to fully comprehend the series of moves Sebastian did, slinging Ziah to the mat face first to disorient her more than they knew she already was. Sebastian grinned and moved along her side until they were face to face, locking eyes as he closed his hands together and resting them under his cheek as a way of saying ‘go to sleep’. He gave her a moment to push up onto her hands, like he knew she would, then moved in to grab one arm and pull her up and over the back of his shoulders into a fireman’s carry. By that point, Randy and Phil had rushed to the mat, separating the two just as Sebastian hosted her up in the air. Phil caught Ziah and pulled her back before Sebastian’s knee could connect to her face. 

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption. It didn’t matter if the other kids fought or not. They were nowhere near the level these two were on, and it was scary to see what they would be like as adults. 

Phil had Ziah by her waist, hauling her away from the mat as Sebastian taunted her. He eventually picked her up to put some distance. 

"Come on princess,' Sebatian shouted, stumbling backwards when Randy pushed his chest. 

“I’m going to rip your head off!” Ziah screamed as a stream of blood came from her nose. She struggled against Phil trying to push her way out his arms. 

"Riddle me the fuck this," Randy began, "Tu n'arrêtes pas de raconter des conneries. Tu te la pètes comme si tu étais le grand homme que tu crois être, et quand tu en as eu l'occasion, tu as marqué un putain de 2,50, mais maintenant tu veux faire chier Ziah!" He sucked air through his teeth. His hands shoving Sebastian backwards again. "Que vous avons-nous dit à propos de l'utilisation de nos produits de finition?" ("You've been talking so much shit. Puffing your fucking chest out like the man you think you are and when you had the chance you scored a fucking 2.50, but you want to piss Ziah off! What did we tell you about using our finishers?) 

"Elle allait me donner un coup de pied dans la tête!.” Sebastian huffs, using the back of his hand to wipe away the blood that was starting to dry on his lip. “Les coups de grâce servent à tuer.” [She was going to punt me in the head!] [The finishers blows are used to kill.]

Phil tried to pull Ziah away but eventually lifted her up and over his shoulder. “Ziah, I’m not putting you down, until you calm down.”

“Wise choice, cause I’m beating his ass!” Ziah shouts over his shoulder. "Put me down!" She said, eerily calm, though Phil could feel her heart pounding in her chest. 

Neither of them was sure what brought this on. While on one hand Phil was proud of Sebastian for getting the upper hand over Ziah. He still took it too far. 

“You’re bleeding and we need to stop it.” He lowers her to her feet, but keeps a firm grip on her arm to guide her inside where the bathroom is. 

“So, none of the freaks speak English?” Cody laughs. After seeing the fight, the two just put on, he shouldn't be speaking, but he couldn't help himself. “It’s a nice show really, but boring.” 

Sebastian steps forward. “Je vais vous montrer, bande de tarés, espèce de lâche !.” [I'll show you a freak, pussy ass nigga]

 “Tu voulais te battre contre lui?” The realization dawned on Randy the source of the kids' spiraled fight. Sebastian glances at Randy with a nod. It should have been obvious with the way they let the fight progress to such dangerous heights. Both were on edge and needed a release that shooting guns wasn’t going to give them. “Tu auras dix-huit ans dans trois semaines, patiente.” [You wanted to fight him] [You'll be eighteen in three weeks, be patient.]

“Do you have a business?” Booker asks Cody 

“Yeah.”

REM SLEEP (rapid eye movement): A stage of the sleep cycle characterized by rapid eye movements, vivid dreaming, and high brain activity that’s similar to being awake.

NIGHT ONE.

“Georgia, are you sure this shit’s going to work?” you ask, eyeing the bag of the african dream root she'd given you. 

“Penny, my aunt swears by it. You know her PTSD is really bad, it helps her sleep after the worst nightmares.” Georgia  said, rubbing your arm. “You haven’t slept peacefully in months. Come on, you’re tired, barely making it through your shifts. You need rest or you’ll burn out more than you already have. Just try it tonight, and if it doesn’t work, you can throw it in the trash,” you watch as she tops off the bag with more tea leaves. Thanking her, you take the bag, and head towards the door hugging Georgia on your way out. 

Once you got home, you did your regular nighttime routine, made your tea and settled into bed. Turning on your soft mood lighting, you grab your kindle and settle into bed. You’re reading a why choose romance, where a woman is at the mercy of three male suitors. She’s tied to an extravagant bed while they use her for their pleasure, and she’s enjoying every second of it. You’re on the second chapter of orgasms when your eyes begin to droop. 

“Mmm, my pretty Penny, how wet are you for me hmm?” You blink your eyes open, the figure on top of you slowly coming into focus. Sepia colored skin, marred by keloid scars. Muscular torso with a tapered waist that led to an impressive bulge. Though, as the room around you came more into focus there was no denying that this was Erik Killmonger. His tapered locs hanging freely, just barely showing his eyes, a dangerous smirk painted on his face, and his skin glowing in the hazy light. Glistening with oil or sweat, you didn’t know, but it was hot as hell. 

“Erik?” you question.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, your eyes drifting lower to see the bulge in his briefs. 

He leaned in close, his warm breath tickling your ear as he purred, “What does it look like I’m doing baby? I’m taking what’s mine, and there isn’t a fucking thing you can do about it.” You try to reach for him, but are met with resistance. Glancing up, you see that your wrists are tied to the bed frame, struggling to free yourself proves useless. Goosebumps pepper your skin as Erik’s strong, large hands rest on your thighs. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine. 

“What do you say, we put that pretty mouth of yours to good use?” Erik’s lips brushed your neck with every word, making you arch into him. 

“What’s going on?”, you ask, your mind reeling trying to grasp the situation in front of you. 

Erik chuckles against your neck, “Baby I thought that was obvious.” He leans back, his onyx eyes focused on you. Chest heaving with lust, lips plump and moist. You couldn’t help but bite your own at the thought of them on your body, kissing, licking, and sucking. You glance down at your body, your eyes widening at your bare frame. Only a thin pair of blood red panties on, pushed to the side. This is crazy! There’s no way that the fictional man of your dreams has you tied to bed practically naked. Fuck it, you thought. If this is the  only chance you have to fuck the man of your dreams, you’re going to take it. Erik feels your body soften against the restraints, legs widening to accommodate his size. 

“That’s right mama, let me in. Let me worship you, take you, please you and make you mine.” Erik pulls back, his eyes focused on yours, impatiently waiting to defile you. 

Your eyes roll back in your head as Erik’s hands grab your heaving breasts. His calloused hands immediately find your sensitive mounds, kneading and groping as he leans in to capture a pert nipple between his teeth. You whine, unable to hide the need in your voice as Erik sucks and tugs your nipple with his expert mouth, as his hand reaches up to tease your other nipple. 

“Yeah baby, let me hear you,” Erik moans into your flesh.

“I want it all, your moans, screams, your cum. I want you crying, begging, and pleading until my name is the only thing you remember,” Erik moans his mouth leaving no part of your breasts untouched. 

“Mm, more E, please,” you moan. Your hips canting in the air hoping to find some kind of friction. 

“There she is,”Erik smiles, his signature gold slugs making an appearance. “Where do you want my mouth?”

“Kiss me,” you respond immediately. So desperate to feel his lips on yours. Something similar to a growl leaves his lips before they meet yours in a heated passionate kiss. Tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours as mewls and moans are released from you. You struggle against your restraints wanting to touch him, run your fingers through his locs, claw at the defined muscles of his back, you wanted it all. The kiss is a dance of dominance and desire, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth as if he’s claiming you, possessing you utterly. He pours all of his pent up passion and longing into the kiss, his lips moving against your with a fervor that takes your breath away. 

One hand tangles in your hair, gripping your braids and angling your head to deepen the kiss further. The other hand slips between you and the sheet to grip your ass pressing your wet pussy against his leg. You immediately search for friction, grinding your warm center against his leg. As the kiss intensifies, your hips continue their relentless rhythm, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Erik swallows your moans, following up with a few of his own. You can barely think, in a kiss drunk state all you’re able to do is whine and moan. 

“Erik, please,” you beg against his lips. 

Breaking the kiss, Erik trails his lips down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin hard enough to leave marks. His teeth graze your pulse point before latching onto it, sucking hard enough to make you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. 

“That’s it Penny , let me hear all those sounds,” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with lust. “You’re mine now, all mine. I’m going to break your body apart piece by piece and put you back together again.”

You fight against the restraints, desperate to touch him, touch yourself, fuck it you just wanted friction. “Erik, touch me please,”you whine. His thigh was so slick with your juices, you ‘d be embarrassed if you weren’t so horny. He pulls away from your neck with a guttural groan, his eyes blazing with primal hunger as they lock onto yours. 

“Need more?” He smirks, his fingers trailing down your torso to tease your clit with slow deliberate circles. 

You whined, throwing your head back as you babbled incoherently. “Yes baby, I… I n-need more. S-so much more. Untie me please,” you cry out, pulling on your restraints.

Erik leans back, a cold smirk on his face, “Why should I untie you pretty Penny?”

You groan, your mind delirious with need, “Because, I want to pull your hair, while you eat my pussy daddy. Please don’t deny me,” you whine. 

A low appreciative groan rumbles in his chest at your request. “Mmm, you nasty bitch.” 

Your body arches as Erik kisses a trail of fire down the length of your body, pausing to lavish attention to each hip, no doubt leaving marks behind. Continuing his descent, he settles between your thighs. He inhales deeply, savoring your intoxicating scent. Reaching out he parts your pussy lips admiring your glistening flower. 

“Fuck, you smell so good. You this wet for me baby?” Without waiting for you to answer, he dives right in. His tongue delving between your folds to taste your essence directly from the source. He laps at your slit hungrily, alternating between broad flat strokes and targeted flicks against your clit. 

His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he feasts on your pussy like a man starved. Your hands grip the back of Erik’s head pulling him closer, a high pitched whine leaving your lips as you began to ride his face. His nose bumping your clit as your hips circled his mouth. 

“That’s it baby ride my fucking face, use me,” Erik moans, tongue deep in your cunt. In the dimly lit room you see the slick shine that’s convering his face, making you moan even louder. 

“K- Keep eating me Daddy, just like that,” you finish with a moan. Biting your lip you look down to meet Erik’s eyes. He focuses his attention on your clit, flicking and circiling the sensitive nub with the top of his tongue while two fingers thrust deep into your dripping core. He curls his finger deep, rubbing against that spot that has your toes curling and you seeing stars. Your back arched, hips nearly leaving the mattress, but Erik’s arm pinned you down.

“Nah baby, don’t run away from this. You take everything I give you,” he murmurs against your flesh, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

“I could eat this sweet little pussy for hours,” to emphasize his point, he seals his lips around your clit hard. Simultaneously pumping his fingers faster and deeper, determined to push you over the edge. 

“Oouu yes baby! That’s it! Right there!” you moan, as you feel your release beginning to build. Your abdomen tightening, your pussy buzzing with that delicious burn, and your hips picking up to a rhythm of their own. 

“Your fucking mouth feels so good on my pussy daddy! Keep going I’m ganna fucking squirt!”

Erik doubles his efforts at your words, driven wild by the knowledge that he’s bringing you to such heights of ecstasy. His tongue dances over your clit in rapid fluttering motions as he adds a finger. The noises heard from you pussy are past pornographic and just downright nasty.

“That’s right baby. Let go for Daddy. Squirt all over my face like the nasty little slut you are,” he growls against your pussy, his filthy words only fueling the fire that was burning in your belly.

“I want to taste your cum, to feel it gushing down my throat as I make you fall apart. Give it to me Penelope! Now!”

On his command, you felt your climax crash over you. A euphoria like no other rattled your bones, rendering you almost speechless. Your inner walls clampled down rhythmically on Erik’s fingers, rippling and pulsing with intense contractions. Then, a flood of your release gushed forward, spraying from your spasming pussy to coat his face and mouth in your sweet nectar. You hear Erik’s groan of approval in between your own squeals and moans.

He moans in delight as he feels your warm essense splashing against his skin, lapping it up greedily and your body continues to shudder and quake below him. Through it all, he keeps his fingers buried inside you curling and stroking your g-spot further prolonging your orgasm.

“Oh my god!” you cry out, your body giving out. Your arms and legs went slack, your orgasm draining you of all your energy, You watched with hazy eyes as he slowly emerges from between your thighs, his face glistening with remnants of your orgasm as he crawls back up your body. A satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he takes in your dazed blissed-out expression. 

“Damn baby, watching you come like that, feeling your sweet honey coat my face…” He leans in to capture your lips in a deep, sensual kiss letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “So responsive, so passionate. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you when you’re cumming.” 

You moan, strecthing like a feline, “You know my body so well daddy, I’ve never come like that before.”

He chuckles softly, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “Well, we’re just getting started baby. I want to see what else I can make that body do.” His hands begin to roam your curves once more, caressing and kneading your soft flesh as if committing each dip and swell to memory. 

“I plan to worship every inch of you, to unravel you until you’re nothing but a trembling pleading mess beneath me.” He nips playfully at your earlobe. You moan contently curling into Erik’s side, your body craving his warmth after he wrung you dry. 

“Can I regain feeling in my legs first?” you ask playfully, kissing his neck. 

He chuckles, “Keep doing that, all you’ll be feeling is those guts being rearranged.” He presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering on your skin. 

“You can rest for 10 minutes, then I’m getting in that pussy baby. My pretty Penny, you’re amazing,” he murmurs softly, his voice sounding far away as you stared into his eyes. Erik reached for a blanket from somewhere on the floor, draping it across the both of you. He held you close, your head on his chest, legs intertwined, and you drifted off to the sound of his 

heartbeat. 

Your eyes squint open from the blinding sunlight streaming through the coutain. Stretching your arms above your head, you reach to your side, feeling for Erik. Touching nothing but a cold mattress, your eyes shoot open. As your eyes adjust to the morning light, you take in your surroundings. Your bedroom looked exactly the way you left it, kindle and water bottle on your bedside table along with your phone. Nothing out of place to indicate that anything you just experienced even happened.  

“It was a dream?” you question to no one in particular. Sitting up you fling your sheets off your body and swing your legs to the side of the bed. The dampness between your thighs is unmistakable, Well it was definitely a good dream, you thought. You yawned drowsily as you made your way to your ensuite bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. 

After using the bathroom and washing your hands, you turn on your shower. Undressing while the bathroom heats up. Undressing you double take looking at yourself in the mirror. Small little fingertip shaped bruises littered your thighs, and a hickie was at the base of your neck. 

“The fuck?!”

TO BE CONTINUED….

TAGLIST

The Arkansas sun was high and swollen, spilling down like warm honey over the courtyard of The Blackline. The air clung heavy and thick with heat, scented faintly with honeysuckle and the iron tang of old brick warming in the sun. Cicadas screamed from the trees like spirits in heat, their song rising and falling in waves as languid as the breeze—what little of it stirred.

Violet moved slow through that garden, barefoot in the shade-dappled courtyard where the magnolia trees stood like sentinels in bloom. Her dress was a slip of a thing, thin and pale like lemonade satin, damp in places from sweat and clinging to the swell of her hips. The straps had slipped down her shoulders, as if too weary to hold on, leaving her collarbones bare and glowing. Her curls had given up the ghost, too, haloing her face in dark, syrupy coils that caught at her neck and temples like ivy. A ribbon the color of pomegranate wine was tied high on her thigh, just under the hem, nearly hidden unless you were looking.

And Smoke was.

He leaned in the shade of the jasmine-covered archway, arms crossed, shirt open at the throat, the rise and fall of his chest slow and deliberate. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, though he hadn’t lit it. He was watching her sip water from a jar, watching the way her lips curved around the rim, watching the drop that ran down her chin and traced the column of her throat before vanishing between her breasts. Her skin shimmered with sweat, kissed golden by the sun, and he wanted to press his mouth to every bead of it.

Violet didn’t say a word. Just walked further in, letting the stone path warm the soles of her feet. She knew he was behind her, watching. She felt it like a breath at the back of her neck. Every step she took was an invitation.

Smoke finally moved.

The gate clicked behind him.

His boots were quiet on the flagstones, but she heard the rasp of his voice just as she reached the camellia bush blooming near the fountain.

“Hot out here.”

Her back was to him, “Mmm. You ain’t even touched the heat yet.”

“You sweatin’ like you are,” he said low, deep, “Like the sun been suckin’ on your skin all day.”

Violet tilted her head, curls brushing her bare shoulder, “Maybe it has.”

Smoke crossed the courtyard in three slow steps, and when she turned, he was there. She was smaller than him, and the heat between them wasn’t just summer it was the kind of southern, wicked thing that drew in thunderclouds and stirred wind through still air. He stared at her ribbon, tied soft and sinful on her thigh. Then at the drops of sweat still sliding over her clavicle. Then at her lips.

“Don’t drink no more water,” he rasped, hand curling at her waist.

She blinked up at him, lips parted, “Why not?”

“’Cause I want to taste it off your mouth.”

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t sweet. It was thick and slow and hungry. His mouth was hot against hers, tasting of smoke and salt, and her moan curled up into the August air like steam. He cupped the back of her head, tugging her hair just enough to make her gasp, then caught her lower lip between his teeth. His other hand slid down, palm rough over her damp dress, fingers gripping the meat of her ass through the thin fabric. He pulled her flush, the hard line of his desire pressing into her belly.

She whimpered, hips shifting. Her hands gripped his shirt, twisting the linen as she kissed him back with a fever that surprised even her. When he pulled away just slightly, her lips followed.

“You taste like..” he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. “...Like summer and sugar and sweat. And that goddamn ribbon…”

His hand slipped down her thigh, fingers brushing the bow. She gasped, breath catching.

“Don’t untie it,” she whispered, voice hoarse, “Not yet.”

Smoke smirked, his nose brushing hers, “Then don’t run.”

“I ain’t runnin’. I came out here to burn.”

He growled at that—an honest, hungry sound—then kissed her again, deeper, his tongue demanding. His hand slid under her dress, fingers grazing skin, nails scraping just enough to leave a whisper of possession. The fountain bubbled beside them, but neither heard it. Not over the rasp of their breath, the slick heat of their kiss, the creak of the old brick wall as Smoke backed her into it.

She sighed into his mouth. “It’s too hot for this…”

“Then take it off,” he whispered against her throat.

“No.”

“No?”

“I want you to fuck me through it.”

Smoke’s head fell back, eyes closing, breath heaving like he’d been slapped. He looked at her again—sweat-streaked, flushed, hungry—and knew the sun wasn’t what had him sweating now.

The heat had found its match.

Smoke pulled back from the kiss like a man coming up for air, chest rising slow but full, eyes hooded and dark. His skin glistened now, sweat beading along his temple and jaw. Without a word, he turned and dropped onto the wide stone lip of the old courtyard fountain, the spray behind him catching the sunlight in tiny rainbow arcs.

He leaned forward, dipped both hands into the water, and let the chill bite through the heat. Then, with a sharp inhale, he splashed his face—palms dragging down over his cheeks, through his beard, over his throat. Water dripped from his chin, ran down the hollow of his collarbone, soaked into his open shirt. He sat there a moment, breathing. Gathering himself.

Violet hadn’t moved.

She watched him from where she stood, dress clinging to her like second skin, her chest heaving from the kiss and her curls catching the sun like ink poured over honey. Her thighs pressed together subtly beneath the hem of her dress—one hand ghosting over the ribbon still tied there, the other curling at her side.

Smoke looked up at her, water dripping from his lashes.

“C’mere, girl.”

She stepped toward him, already undone, and he took her by the waist and guided her into his lap like she weighed nothing. The warm stone at his back, the soft curve of her body against his chest, the heat of her skin on his. He groaned low and let his mouth find hers again, slower now, deeper, like he was memorizing the shape of her breath.

She straddled him, knees spread against the fountain’s cool edge, dress riding high. The curve of her thighs framed his hips, and her lips parted on a sigh as his wet hands gripped her waist, sliding around her back to hold her firm.

One of those hands—still slick from the water—slid down, fingers dragging under the hem of her dress, grazing warm, sweat-slick skin.

Her breath hitched.

“Shhh,” he whispered into her mouth, “let me.”

And then his hand sank between her thighs.

His fingers were cold from the fountain but her heat made them steam. He found the edge of her panties and slipped past with ease, parting her with slow yearning, then sinking a finger into her with the kind of gentleness that made her tremble.

“Oh…” she gasped, mouth falling open as she clutched his shoulders.

He watched her. Watched her eyes flutter. Watched her fall apart slow like sugar cubes melting in tea.

“Look at you,” he rasped, curling another finger inside her, thumb dragging up to circle her clit, “Drippin’ on daddy like you were made for this. Made for me.”

Violet’s hips rocked, helpless and slow, grinding down onto his hand as he kissed the side of her neck, licking away the sweat. His voice stayed low and sticky, every word like a hand dragging through honey.

“You sittin’ in my lap like that…dress damn near fallin’ off your shoulders…thighs shakin’. This what you wanted when you came out here?” His voice was velvet, full of lust, “Wanted me to touch you in the sun?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

He sucked a mark into the soft spot beneath her jaw, “Say it again.”

“Yes—Elijah, I wanted—”

He groaned like the sound hit something deep, “I know, baby. I know.”

And with that, he slipped his fingers in deeper, coaxing her open with practiced patience, watching her come undone in the thick Southern heat, right there on his lap in the garden of The Blackline.

Her thighs trembled around him, muscles taut with tension and need. She clung to his shoulders like she might float away if she didn’t hold on, her dress bunched up at her waist, the bow at her thigh brushing his wrist.

Smoke’s breath dragged heavy from his nose as he watched her, soaked with sweat and desire, riding the edge of something sharp and sweet.

“Hold on to me, Violet,” he said low, like a prayer or a warning.

Then he slid in another finger.

She cried out, a soft, desperate sound swallowed into the crook of his neck. Her nails bit into his shirt, fingers curling in the thin linen as her hips instinctively rocked to meet the deeper stretch.

“Mmm,” he growled, letting his teeth graze the shell of her ear, “That’s it. That’s what I wanted.”

She looked up, dazed, lips parted, curls stuck to her cheeks. And he kissed her again—harder this time, mouth greedy and full, tasting her sighs like they were sustenance. His fingers kept moving, slow and deep, scissoring slightly, curling just so, the heel of his hand grinding against her clit every time her hips tilted.

The kiss turned molten.

She moaned into his mouth, and he drank it down like a man in a drought. The sound went straight to his thick pecker, stiff and trapped beneath her, but he didn’t care. This was her moment. This was about watching Violet lose herself, watching her body learn him, open for him.

“You feel what I’m doin’ to you, pretty girl?” he spoke with a hushed tone against her lips, “How deep I am?”

She nodded, eyes wide, voice caught in her throat.

“I want you to fall apart right here,” he whispered, “Right in the damn sun, in my lap. Let me feel it. Let me taste what this heat made you.”

Their foreheads pressed together, sweat mixing where skin touched. He kissed her again, slower now, licking into her mouth like a promise, fingers still working her—deeper, fuller—until her thighs quivered around his hips and her whimper broke into a cry.

He was losing himself in her sounds, in the clutch of her body, in the soft gasp that left her every time he curled just right.

“You close, baby?”

She nodded, breath hitching.

“Cum for me, Violet. Right here. Just like this…”

His mouth claimed hers again, sealing them in silence and sunlight, as her climax hit like thunder beneath the skin. Violet was still trembling, her body fluttering around his fingers when Smoke leaned in and pressed a soft, possessive kiss to her temple. She was limp in his lap, boneless and breathless, and still—still—he wasn’t done.

His voice rasped against her cheek, “I ain’t lettin’ you go yet.”

Violet was still shaking in his lap, chest rising and falling like she’d just run through a field barefoot. Skin slick. Dress wrinkled and bunched around her waist. Her eyes barely opened—lashes fluttering, mouth parted, legs wide and limp.

And Smoke just sat there. Breathing heavy. Watching her.

“Look at you…” he said low, his fingers easing out of her soaked pussy. They glistened in the sunlight, coated in her slick. He lifted them to his mouth and sucked—slow, then greedy—tongue sliding between each digit with a growl that rumbled through his chest.

“Damn,” he muttered, “You taste like you been sittin’ in the sun waitin’ on me.”

He shifted beneath her, lifting her easily—one arm strong under her back, the other hooked behind her knees—until she was on the fountain’s ledge. Her bare ass kissed the cool stone. Her legs fell open without protest. Her panties hung twisted at one ankle.

And Smoke dropped to his knees.

The wet brick scraped his skin, but he didn’t give a damn. His face was already pressed between her thighs, and he groaned at the sight.

“That’s mine?” he whispered, more to himself than her, “This messy little pussy all mine?”

She tried to close her legs from the intensity, from the look in his eyes.

He gripped her thighs and spread them wide again, “Nuh uh. Don’t hide that from me. I wanna see how bad I made it.”

Her folds were puffy, slick with cream, lips swollen and twitching from his earlier touch. He could see the way her release still glistened inside, like honeyed milk pooling in the heat. His mouth watered.

“Be a good girl,” he whispered, lips brushing her thigh, “and keep quiet. You hear ‘em voices from the house? All them folks? Don’t want nobody comin’ out here, right?”

Violet whimpered and nodded, teeth catching her bottom lip.

Smoke smirked, “Mmm. Remember when I fingered you under the table? That little dinner we had? People talkin’ all around us while you was grindin’ on my hand like you was starved? This the same. Bite your lip. Do whatever you need to. But don’t you make no noise I don’t let you.”

And then he went down on her.

No teasing. No slow licks.

Just mouth—wide—open.

He sucked her clit into his mouth like he’d been waiting all damn day for it. His tongue flattened against her, then lapped fast, slick, greedy. Slurping sounds echoed off the stone walls, drowned only by the distant hum of laughter and chatter from inside the house.

Violet’s head tipped back.

She clung to the fountain behind her, water splashing her spine, eyes rolling as his tongue worked side to side and up again. The stone was slippery from the fountain spray, but she held on.

Her moans were soft.

Whimpers even softer.

She didn’t want to cry out, but his tongue kept finding that spot. His lips wrapped around her clit and sucked, then licked slow right after—just to fuck with her. He groaned between her legs, the sound vibrating through her whole damn body.

Smoke’s grip got tighter.

His fingers dug into her thighs, pulling her open wider, locking her in place while his tongue dragged down, then up, then circled her clit like he was tracing a map to heaven.

“Fuck,” she gasped so softly, her voice barely there.

Smoke didn’t respond with words. Just wetter licks. Sloppier kisses. He nuzzled his face deeper between her legs, let her ride his mouth while his tongue flattened and pressed, dragged, flicked—fast and filthy.

Her thighs started to shake again.

“Mmhm,” he growled, mouth still full, “Gimme that. I feel it.”

He sucked her lips into his mouth, then licked between them, nosing up to her clit again. His face was drenched. Chin shining. Mouth messy. He didn’t care. He devoured her like the world was ending and she was the last thing worth tasting.

Violet slapped a hand over her mouth.

Her other hand flew to his head, fingers fisting in his waves, trying not to ride his face but her body was already bucking, already arching, already close.

That tongue of his flicked again. Circling. Flattening. Fast.

And then he sucked her clit hard.

Violet’s back bowed.

She shook with a cry that got swallowed into her palm.

Smoke groaned, tongue never stopping. His mouth moved with hers, licking up every drip she gave him, swallowing her pleasure like it fueled him.

He didn’t stop when she came.

He didn’t stop when she squirmed.

He just kept eating.

Spit and cream glistened down his chin as he licked her clean, tongue dragging through every fold, every crevice, until she twitched from the aftershocks and whimpered his name against her palm.

“Elijah…” she whispered.

He lifted his head, chest heaving.

His mouth was wet, his lips red, his chin glazed in her. He looked like a man who’d just survived a war and wanted to go right back into battle.

“Still ain’t lettin’ you go,” he said again, voice dark and thick as syrup.

And with that, he hooked her legs over his shoulders and went right back in.

Violet’s legs were still open, still glistening.

The fountain gurgled soft behind her, water splashing her back, cooling the sweat that slid down her spine. But nothing could cool the fire between her legs—not with the way Smoke was lookin’ at her now.

He stood.

Big and broad. His shirt was damp with sweat and fountain spray, plastered to his chest. And his slacks hung low from where he’d unfastened them, undone and open like a promise. For a second, he just watched her. Took her in. Her thighs still spread, dress hitched high, pussy messy and twitching from his mouth.

He peeked over his shoulder.

The courtyard stayed still.

Then his gaze dropped back to her—slowly. Dominant. Burning.

He unbuckled, tugged his slacks down to his thighs, and that thick, long, veiny dick bounced free—hard, dark, beautiful, veins pulsing, tip flushed and glistening. Violet’s lips parted on instinct.

Smoke gripped the base, thumb sliding slow over the slick crown. “Spit on it.”

She blinked up at him—doe-eyed, cheek dimples soft from still catching her breath—but she leaned in anyway. Opened her mouth and let a slow string of spit fall onto the tip.

Smoke hissed through his teeth. Bit his bottom lip. And then he slapped that heavy dick right on her tongue.

Slap.

Slap.

She didn’t move. Just held it there—pretty and pliant.

“You a pretty ass girl,” he said, voice thick and gritty, “always lettin’ a gangster do whatever he want to you, huh?”

She nodded slow, lips brushing the underside of his shaft. Her voice was a whisper, “Yes, papa…”

That did something to him.

His jaw clenched. His chest swelled. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, just like that—like she was weightless.

“C’mere. Gimme that pussy. I ain’t done wit’ you.”

He turned, still holding her, and sat right down on the fountain’s cool stone edge, planting his feet wide. Her thighs straddled him again—but this time, her pussy hovered over his dick, dripping onto the tip.

Violet whimpered. Tried to ease herself down.

But she was going too slow.

“Nah, baby,” he growled. “Don’t make me wait.”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her down—slow but strong—easing her tight, messy heat down onto his thick length.

She cried out—soft, breathless—as he stretched her open, deeper, deeper, deeper.

“Shit,” Smoke growled, voice caught in his throat. “You ridin’ daddy raw like this…drippin’ already…fuck. You feel how I’m hittin’?”

She nodded, eyes wide, hands flying to his shoulders for balance.

He grunted, grip tightening, “Bounce on it. All the way down. C’mon.”

Her hips started to move, slow at first—but Smoke wasn’t satisfied.

He grabbed her waist again, helping her find rhythm. Made her ride—up, down, slap, bounce—till she was takin’ him to the bottom. Till every stroke punched a cry from her throat.

“That’s it,” he rasped, “Just like that. Keep ridin’. I wanna feel you grip every inch.”

Her body obeyed. Her thighs shook. Her whimpers turned breathy and high as she bounced harder, faster, wetter. Skin slapping. His dick so deep it curved up against her spot. Her curls stuck to her cheeks. Her nails clawed at his shoulders.

Smoke tilted his head, eyes locked on the place they met.

“Look at this fuckin’ pussy…” he groaned, watching her cream spill down the base of his shaft, “Messy fuckin’ girl. Ridin’ dick in the damn sun like it’s yours.”

“It is,” she gasped, “It is, papa.”

That made him growl deep. Possessive.

He pulled her in close, mouth at her ear, “Then show me.”

And she did—grindin’, ridin’, whimperin’ while the fountain sang behind them and the heat swirled around like smoke from a match just struck.

Violet was ridin’ like she belonged there.

Ass clappin’ against his thighs, slick thighs flexin’, curls swingin’ with every bounce. The sun caught on her brown skin, all glazed up and glowin’ from sweat and lust, her dress bunched at her waist, tits spilling from her bodice.

Smoke was gone.

Palms gripped tight around her hips, helping her ride his dick deeper. Harder. Watching her with those low, dark, greedy eyes—eyes that didn’t miss a damn thing. His lips were parted, breath ragged, chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold back, but he couldn’t.

“Fuck on that dick,” he rasped, voice so low and gritty it sounded like gravel, “You hear me? Don’t just sit there. Fuck me.”

Violet let out a soft whimper, her rhythm faltering, his size stretching her wide, that curve inside hittin’ just right.

“Uh uh,” he grunted, dragging her down hard again, “Been on this dick long enough. Thought good girls knew how to fuck. Don’t slow up now.”

His hands gripped her ass, guiding her stroke for stroke. Up. Down. Bounce. Grind. Smack.

She moaned again—high and breathless—but her hips obeyed, rolling and bouncing like he told her to.

“That’s it…” he growled, “There she go. There my girl go. Look at this tight ass pussy takin’ every inch…”

Her eyes fluttered. Her mouth hung open.

“I love this fuckin’ pussy,” he hissed, jaw clenched, eyes locked on where they met, “I could live in this shit. Bury my dick in it every damn day. It’s wet for me right now ‘cause it know it’s mine.”

Violet cried out—soft and shaky—but it wasn’t loud enough to catch attention.

“You ridin’ so good, baby. Fuck. So fuckin’ pretty on my dick. This what you wanted when you came out here with wet panties? Hmm?”

She nodded fast, lip caught between her teeth.

His hand slipped between them, thumb finding her clit again—pressing down while she moved, makin’ her twitch and shake as she kept grinding down on that thick dick.

“Say it.”

“I wanted it,” she gasped, “Wanted you to fuck me. I wanted this dick—Papa, please…”

He grinned, all teeth and tension.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, “Now take it. All of it. Bounce till I hit the bottom. Don’t stop. Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”

She didn’t.

Violet kept ridin’—wet, raw, deeper—bouncing on his lap with everything she had, his name caught in her throat, her body clenched around him, close to fallin’ apart again.

Smoke watched her like he was starved.

She was gasping, grinding, her moans climbing like the heat in the air, body locked in a rhythm that was all instinct and hunger. Her fingers dug into Smoke’s shoulders. Her eyes were glassy, lips swollen and parted as her breath caught.

She was close.

So close.

“Go ‘head,” Smoke said low, thumb still on her clit, his dick buried deep inside her. “Do it pretty, baby. Let me feel it.”

And Violet did—head tipping back, curls stuck to her cheeks, mouth falling open on the softest, sweetest cry as her pussy clamped down around him. Her body fluttered with that full-body quake, thighs trembling as she came hard, breath ragged and eyes rolling.

“Mmm. There it is,” he muttered, dick twitching inside her, “Knew you had another one in you.”

He let her ride it out. Let her grind through it, let her little moans melt into his neck. His hands never left her, big palms stroking her back, guiding her hips, holding her in place until her body went soft against him—boneless, whimpering, still twitchin’ from the aftershocks. And when her thighs started to tremble again, when her hands gripped his shoulders and her walls started fluttering all over his dick, that’s when he wrapped one big arm around her waist and stood the fuck up.

Lifted her like she was nothing but air.

Her gasp caught in her throat when her back left the stone. He had her up, legs dangling, arms clinging to his shoulders, eyes wide as he hooked his arms beneath her knees and spread her wide. His dick slipped out only for a second—just long enough for her to see it, fat and glistening with her slick.

Then he thrust back in so deep she could have sworn she’d seen stars in broad daylight.

“Ohfuck—” she choked, legs kicking.

Smoke didn’t pause.

Didn’t give her time to adjust.

He was plowing her from below, strong thighs rooted, thick arms holding her up and open, his hips snapping up with brutal, perfect force. She clung to him—helpless, gasping, toes curled tight as his dick pounded into her again and again.

“D-daddy,” she cried, voice breaking.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, face pressed against hers, his breath hot on her lips, “Say that shit again.”

“Daddy…”

Harder.

“Daddy—please—”

Faster.

“DADDY.”

He snapped.

“Fuck. That’s what I like. My name in your mouth while I tear this shit up.”

Her head dropped onto his shoulder, teeth sinking into his neck to muffle her cries. Her fingers clawed at his back, legs trembling as he wrecked her from below—balls slapping, stroke deep, dick curving up into the sweet spot over and over again.

“You feel me fuckin’ you like that?” he growled, “This what you needed, huh? That why you came out here so wet? Needed Daddy to beat that pussy up?”

“Y-yes,” she sobbed, shivering, completely gone, “Yes—yes—yes—”

Her pussy was a mess—squeezing, gushing, clinging to him with every deep stroke.

And Smoke was locked in, eyes shut tight, forehead pressed to hers, groaning every time her walls clamped down on his dick like she didn’t wanna let go.

“I got you,” he panted, thrusting harder, “I got you, baby. Just hold on. Daddy got you.”

And she did. Arms around his neck. Legs trembling in his grip. Pussy swallowing every inch like it belonged to her.

He was tearin’ her ass up, and she was takin’ all of it.

Smoke was panting.

His grip was tight beneath her knees, arms flexed, body gleaming in the thick afternoon sun. Violet was limp in his hold, moaning against his neck, still trembling from the brutal stretch of his dick slamming into her again and again.

But he wasn’t done.

He shifted, turned, and laid her down across the slick, rounded edge of the stone fountain. Water splashed behind her, warm droplets kissing her back, her thighs, her shoulders. Her curls were wild against the wet brick. Her chest rose and fell like she couldn’t catch her breath.

She looked wrecked.

Smoke hovered over her, all power and glistening muscle, body carved in sweat. His thick dick was still hard, twitching, soaked in cream, bobbing just above her soaked slit.

Then he slid back in.

All the way.

“Fuuuck,” he growled, eyes rolling for a second, then locking onto hers as his hips started to snap again—slow at first, deep, full, each thrust punching the air from her lungs.

Water licked at her sides.

His thighs slapped her ass.

The sound of it—wet, hot, relentless—echoed off the stone and trees.

Violet cried out, but Smoke was on her. One big hand came up, covering her mouth, pressing her head back against the ledge.

“Shhhh…” he hissed, breath heavy, lips parted, “Take it. Let Daddy kill this pussy.”

And he did.

Hard strokes.

Perfect rhythm.

His other hand gripped her hip tight, holding her in place while he pumped into her with that deep curve, every thrust hitting that sensitive spot inside like he’d been born to ruin her.

Violet was moaning under his palm, drooling behind it, her thighs twitching, legs falling open wider as he kept pushing, pounding, digging.

“You feel that?” he grunted, hips snapping faster, “Feel what you do to me? You got me fuckin’ crazy, baby. This pussy too damn good.”

He watched her—eyes locked, lip caught between his teeth as he felt her walls flutter again.

Then—

“Oh my—!” she tried to cry out, but it came out muffled.

Her whole body shook.

Her pussy clenched hard—and then gushed.

Hot slick sprayed between them, down his thighs, onto the stone.

Smoke’s jaw dropped.

“God damn, baby…” he groaned, never slowing, fucking her right through it, hand still over her mouth as she quaked and twitched and tried to breathe through the pleasure tearing her apart.

“You just squirted all over this dick, huh?” he growled, hips still rolling deep, still milking it out of her, “You nasty little thing…”

She was gone—legs flung wide, arms limp, body wrung out beneath him. Drool ran from the corner of her mouth, her eyes glassy, her pussy clenching again, begging for more.

Smoke’s pace faltered.

His breath hitched.

His abs tensed.

“Fuck—I’m close,” he bit out. “Fuckfuckfuck, I’m—”

He pulled out fast, hand stroking his thick, wet shaft.

“Come here.”

Violet blinked, dazed—but obeyed.

She rose up on shaky elbows, mouth open, tongue out like the good girl she was.

Smoke grabbed the back of her head and guided his dick to her lips.

“Clean it up.”

She sucked slow, wrapping her mouth around the head, swirling her tongue to catch the taste of herself, the glisten of spit and squirt. She moaned around him, looking up with wide, teary eyes, dimples soft, so fucking pretty.

Smoke groaned loud—hips jerking.

“Fuck. FUCK. There you go. That’s it. Take it. Take it, baby.”

His grip tightened.

His hips snapped once more.

And then he came—hot, thick, deep—right down her throat.

She swallowed like it was nothing. Let it paint her tongue. Licked him clean.

And when she pulled back, lips swollen and wet, Smoke was still staring down at her like she was a fever dream come to life.

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. Still breathing hard.

“Goddamn,” he muttered.

And Violet?

She just smiled—slow and wrecked—before the next splash from the fountain kissed her cheek.