♡

you never really cared when sibella and her man got loud.

they could be in the next room, door cracked open, her voice moaning high-pitched and desperate while his sounded like it came from his chest—gritty and mean like he enjoyed knowing she couldn’t keep quiet. it happened too often for it to phase you. maybe the first time you’d been embarrassed. maybe you’d rolled your eyes, stuffed a pillow over your head, huffed loud enough for them to hear. but now? you were used to it. background noise. like the heater kicking on or a pot boiling over.

sibella had always been the wild one. you were soft. quiet. watched and listened more than you spoke. you liked your room, your books, your own air. sibella, on the other hand, liked attention, chaos, dick. she’d tell you things you never asked to hear—how good it felt when he held her neck, how she liked it rough, how you were too uptight for your own good.

“you gon’ die with that pussy untouched,” she said one night, fresh out the shower in a towel, her eyes still lined in smudged makeup.

you just looked at her from your bed, a little amused. “and?”

“girl,” she laughed, climbing up beside you, “you act like keeping it makes you better. ain’t nobody judging you, but you really ain’t even curious?”

you shrugged. it wasn’t that you thought you were better. you just didn’t want to fake wantin’ something you didn’t feel yet. and maybe it wasn’t even about sex, just the idea of someone close—really close. breath on your skin, hands down your thighs, someone else seeing all of you. you didn’t know what that would feel like, and you didn’t think it was something you wanted to rush. sibella had called you “old-fashioned.” her boyfriend, troy, had called you “uptight” once, but you didn’t care. it was your body. and they could live how they wanted, but so could you.

until he started coming around.

stack.

the first time he showed up at your apartment, you ignored him like you always did with troy’s friends. they’d come in loud, laughing, all of them trying too hard to impress each other. chain-smoking, playing music, shouting about basketball or some shit you didn’t care about. you usually stayed in your room. maybe came out to grab something to drink or use the bathroom. most of the time they barely noticed you. but not stack.

from the second he laid eyes on you, it was like he already knew you were gonna be a problem for him. and he decided to be one right back.

“damn,” he’d said loud, grinning, watching you walk to the fridge in your house shorts. “she don’t say hi? too good to speak?”

you didn’t answer. not even a glance. pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and walked back to your room. door closed behind you.

that was the beginning.

he started showing up more after that. it didn’t matter if troy was around or not. sometimes he’d knock on your front door with food for sibella, claiming she asked him to drop it off. sometimes he’d come by just to talk to troy, linger around the living room even when the conversation dried up. you caught him staring. a lot. and he didn’t try to hide it either.

“yo,” he said one night from the couch while you passed through in leggings and a hoodie, “you ever wear anything that don’t hug that ass?”

you gave him a flat look. “do you ever shut the fuck up?”

he grinned like he liked that answer. like you fed him instead of shut him down. “mmm. lil attitude. i like that. you actin’ mean, but i know that’s just ‘cause you shy.”

you rolled your eyes. sibella laughed from the kitchen.

“you might as well get to know him,” she said later, when y’all were alone. “he not that bad. cocky, yeah. but that’s just how he is. underneath all that extra shit, he cool.”

you weren’t convinced. but three months of him showing up, finding you in whatever room you tried to hide in, cracking jokes, complimenting your skin, your mouth, your shape—he wore you down. maybe it was the way he’d make you laugh without meaning to. or the fact that when you actually sat down and talked to him, he had more to him than you thought. he was smart. surprisingly observant. he’d tell you about his childhood, his mom, his twin brother. and when you spoke, he listened. remembered little things you said in passing and brought them up days later.

“you like strawberry cream in your coffee, right?”

“you said you like sade—put this on.”

“you was talkin’ ‘bout them earrings you saw at the mall. i got you a pair.”

and it started getting harder to treat him like the rest.

you didn’t mean to let your guard down. but it was hard not to with him. stack had a charm about him that crept up slow. he was always touching you. not in ways that crossed lines at first—just light brushes against your waist when he passed behind you in the kitchen, knuckles on your thigh when he leaned too close, fingers tucking a curl behind your ear. at first, you shut it down. pushed his hand off your leg. shifted away from his body. made sure he knew you weren’t that type of girl. but he never got mad. never pushed. he just gave you that same cocky-ass smile like he knew you’d give in eventually.

“you playin’ hard to get,” he said once, his thumb dragging lazy circles across your bare knee. “but you like that i’m on you. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

you didn’t even respond. but your breath had caught in your throat when he said it. and he noticed.

he always noticed.

still, you never told him you were a virgin. it wasn’t something you wanted to throw out casually. you figured he probably assumed you were just picky. maybe waiting for the right one. sibella never told him, and you doubted troy knew either. and honestly, you liked keeping that part of you tucked away.

then came that one night.

it was a friday. sibella and troy had gone out, probably wouldn’t be back ‘til the next morning. you were stretched out on the couch in your usual—short shorts, tank top, no bra, nipples pressing faintly through the fabric. you weren’t trying to be sexy, but you weren’t hiding either. you texted elias just outta boredom.

you busy?

he texted back quick.

for you? nah. slide thru? or you want me over there?

come here.

ten minutes later, he was knocking.

he smelled like his cologne, the one you were starting to recognize. brought a little weed with him, a smirk that made your stomach flutter even though you pretended it didn’t. y’all rolled up on the floor first, sitting cross-legged across from each other, talking shit. smoke drifted lazy through the room. the air got thick, quiet between laughs and teasing.

you felt good. loose. warm behind the eyes.

“i don’t get you,” he said low, leaning back on his elbows, watching you from the couch now. “you sexy as hell, smart, got that attitude on you… but you act like you scared of me.”

“i ain’t scared,” you said, biting your lip slightly.

“nah. you are. or maybe you scared of you. ‘cause if i touch you again, you gon’ fold. i see it all on your face.”

you didn’t answer. you were already crawling into his lap, slow and deliberate like your body moved before your brain. the weed had you floatin’. his eyes locked on yours, waiting.

“yeah?” he said, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, fingertips just under the edge of your shorts. “you sure you want me touchin’ you?”

you nodded, heart racing.

you kissed him. for real this time. not like the other stolen little moments when he’d pressed his mouth to yours and you turned your head too quick. this was deep. hot. full of tongue. he gripped your hips tighter, groaning into your mouth like he’d been holding back too long.

his hands moved. over your ass, up your back, fingers gripping the sides of your tank. he kissed your neck, sucked at the curve of your collarbone. heat spilled down your belly. your legs were straddling him now, his dick hard under you through his sweats, pressing up against your core.

he flipped you under him, moving slow like he was waiting for you to say no. one hand slipped down your stomach, toward the waistband of your shorts, and just when he hooked his fingers in—

“wait,” you whispered.

his eyes flicked up.

“what’s up?”

“i’m a virgin.”

his face went blank. still. he blinked, mouth parted just slightly like he didn’t hear you right.

“what?”

you looked away. “i ain’t never… like, at all.”

he sat back on his heels, staring at you for a long second.

“you serious?”

you nodded.

he exhaled slow, ran a hand down his face.

“…fuck.”

his “fuck” lingered in the air like heat.

for a second, you thought he might leave. thought maybe you read it wrong—maybe the way he’d chased you down for months didn’t mean he actually wanted you like that. maybe it was just for show, a game to get you to break. but he didn’t move. didn’t get up. didn’t pull away either.

he just looked at you different now. softer, but still sharp. eyes a little darker. mouth twitching like he had a hundred thoughts moving at once.

“…you shoulda told me that shit,” he muttered, finally. “damn.”

you swallowed, feeling small under him, but not in a bad way. just new. raw. like being seen too clearly.

“you mad?”

he shook his head slowly. “nah. i ain’t mad. just… surprised. you ain’t act like no virgin.”

“how they act?”

he leaned forward again, lips brushing your neck now, voice dropping lower. “not like this. not sittin’ in my lap wit’ no bra on. not kissin’ me like that. shit, i thought you was just takin’ your time. had no idea i was gon’ be the first.”

you shivered under his mouth.

“you want me to stop?”

you shook your head.

“aight then,” he breathed, hands sliding back down your thighs. “you sure, you let me handle it.”

he kissed you again. deeper this time. slower. like he was tasting you different now. his hands didn’t rush, but they didn’t hesitate either. he dragged your shorts down your legs, steady like he was unwrapping something delicate. your tank top went next, peeled off and tossed aside. your whole body burned. you covered your chest at first, instincts kicking in, but he gently pulled your hands down.

“nah. don’t hide all this. lemme see it.”

you looked away, but he tilted your chin back to face him. he stared for a long second, eyes trailing down your curves like he was trying to memorize every line.

“god damn, girl,” he whispered, low and reverent. “you really built like this under all them hoodies?”

you blushed, biting back a laugh.

he moved down your body slow, mouth brushing your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. then he was kneeling between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder, spreading you open like he had all the time in the world.

“shit,” he murmured, thumb dragging over your folds. “so fuckin’ pretty. pussy fat as hell.”

you squirmed under his grip, toes curling.

“you ever play wit’ it before?” he asked.

you nodded. “sometimes.”

“show me.”

you hesitated, but he gave you a look that melted any doubt in your chest. you brought your fingers to your slit, shy at first, dragging them up the center like you were doing it in secret. he watched you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. eyes locked. jaw tight.

“mmm. there you go. you wet already?”

he ran his fingers over yours, dipped one between your lips and brought it up to your mouth.

“taste that shit.”

you sucked his finger slow, your own breath catching as you did.

he groaned. “fuck, you nasty already. i like that.”

then he lowered his head.

his tongue was slow at first. wide, wet licks that made your whole body tremble. he took his time, holding your thighs open, lips sealed around your clit, tongue dragging figure eights against it ‘til you moaned out loud without meaning to.

“don’t hold it in,” he said against you. “i wanna hear that shit.”

he sucked harder. circled your clit faster. then slid a single finger inside you and your hips jerked up from the bed.

“tight,” he growled. “fuckin’ gripping me.”

you grabbed at his hair, breathing fast now, your whole body winding tighter and tighter until everything snapped. your legs shook around his head, mouth open but nothing coming out except a breathy sob as you came for the first time with somebody else’s mouth on you.

he pulled away slow, lips shiny, licking his bottom one like he’d just finished dessert.

“damn. you taste like peaches or some shit,” he said, laughing low. “sweet ass pussy.”

you were still trembling when he moved back up your body, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

then he pulled his sweats off.

your eyes widened.

“…elias.”

he smirked. “yeah?”

you didn’t even know what to say. he was thick. long. heavy. it curved up slightly, veins bulging down the shaft, head dark and already leaking. he stroked it slow, watching your face like he wanted to see your brain short-circuit.

“this too much for you?”

you nodded, honestly. “i dunno if it’ll fit.”

“it will,” he said, voice low and certain. “i’m gon’ go slow, baby. i got you.”

he kissed you again, then guided the head to your entrance, rubbing it through your folds.

“just breathe. let me in a lil at a time.”

he pushed slow. real slow. and it still burned. you winced, grabbing onto his arm, and he stilled right away.

“you good?”

“keep goin’,” you whispered, nails digging into his skin.

he went deeper. inch by inch, until your eyes rolled back and your breath caught. he filled you completely, bottomed out with a groan in your ear.

“fuck,” he muttered. “you tight as a fuckin’ vice. shit.”

he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust. kissed the side of your neck, your shoulder, your cheek.

“you takin’ it so good, baby. ain’t even cryin’. first dick and you already built for it.”

he moved his hips slow, dragging out, then back in, just enough for you to feel the stretch again. it was painful, but the pain faded quick. pleasure started creeping in, humming low in your belly.

“see that? told you i’d make it fit.”

you whined beneath him, eyes fluttering.

“that’s it,” he said, fucking you a little deeper now. “let me ruin you.”

your fingers gripped the sheets. he held your throat lightly—not tight yet, just enough to feel the pressure. his other hand cupped your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple.

“feel good?” he asked. “you like this dick, don’t you?”

you nodded, breathless.

he tightened his grip on your neck just enough to make your head float.

“say it.”

“i—i like it,” you stammered, brain going fuzzy from the pressure, the stretch, the sound of his voice in your ear.

“yeah you do. got that virgin pussy dumb already.”

you moaned louder.

“you ain’t never gon’ forget this dick,” he said, cock driving deeper now, hips smacking yours. “first one in it, first one to stretch it, first one to own it.”

you couldn’t even speak.

he flipped you over, pulled your hips up and fucked you from behind now, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hair.

“this the angle that’ll fuck the innocence out you,” he muttered, dragging his dick slow then slamming back in, making you scream into the mattress. “you feel that in your gut?”

your whole body shook. you were drooling on the sheets, eyes wet, legs trembling.

“lemme see that face,” he said, pulling you back by your hair. “look at me while i break you in.”

you glanced over your shoulder, mouth parted, and he almost came right then.

“beautiful ass girl. i swear to god, i’m gon’ fuck you stupid.”

and he did.

he didn’t stop. kept going, made you cum again—twice, maybe three times. you couldn’t keep track. everything was wet. the sheets. his chest. your face. your thighs. he lifted your leg, drilled into you from the side, choked you through another orgasm. your moans turned into sobs. pleasure ate your brain alive.

“stack—fuck—i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he growled, pounding into you. “you takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ.”

your nails raked his back. his hand squeezed your throat again, hard enough to make the edges of your vision blur.

you came one more time, back arched, toes curling, legs locked around his waist.

he groaned deep, spilling inside you with a twitch.

everything went still.

all you heard was your heartbeat. your breath. his deep, ragged one against your skin.

you were ruined. for real.

he kissed your forehead after, gently. ran his hand up and down your back.

“you good?”

you nodded, tears drying on your cheeks.

“…i ain’t never lettin’ nobody else touch you,” he said, voice low, possessive. “you mine now. you know that, right?”

you just nodded again.

because deep down, you already knew.

you woke up before him.

barely. the sun hadn’t even fully crept through the curtains yet. just a strip of light cut across your comforter, hitting the edge of the bed where elias was sprawled out, ass-naked, sleeping like he’d just come home from war. one arm slung over his eyes, the other draped where your body had been. the sheets were a mess. the air still smelled like sex, weed, and sweat.

your thighs ached.

you groaned softly when you moved, careful not to wake him. every inch of you felt sore—inside, outside, places you didn’t even know could hurt. your hips were tender. your legs had that heavy, overworked kind of weight to them. and your pussy? bruised. not in a bad way. but like it remembered every single stroke.

you held onto the edge of the dresser for balance while you stood up, wobbling a little. took a second to catch your breath. your legs did not feel normal.

“damn…” you muttered, barely able to walk straight as you grabbed a towel and slipped out the room.

the water in the shower hit different. you stood there for a minute, letting it run over your body, steam curling around your face while you leaned a hand against the tile. your whole body was humming—raw, open, still floating a little from the night before. flashes kept replaying in your head. his hands on your throat. the way he moaned your name against your ear. how many times you came. how he kept going even after you said you couldn’t take it.

you touched between your legs under the water and winced.

he really meant that shit when he said he was gon’ ruin you.

by the time you dried off and wrapped up in a big t-shirt, your legs were moving better. you still had a little limp, but nothing dramatic. the hallway felt quieter than usual. you figured sibella and troy hadn’t come back yet. probably stayed at his place.

you walked out into the kitchen, yawning, about to fix some eggs or something light, when you saw her.

bella.

sitting on the couch in her work clothes, sipping a mug of coffee and staring right at you.

your stomach dropped.

“…you back already?”

she didn’t even blink. didn’t even answer.

just smirked.

“…you got your lil virgin ass fucked, huh?”

you blinked, froze by the fridge.

“what—?”

“don’t even try it,” she said, standing up slow, walking over to lean against the counter across from you. “we came back early. me and troy. around two. figured we’d crash here instead. we wasn’t even gon’ bother you—until we heard you screamin’.”

your face heated instantly.

“bella—”

“nah,” she cut you off, wide-eyed and laughing, “nah, girl. you was in there hollerin’ like somebody took the damn soul out your body. like—goddamn. i was impressed! my lil sis got some lungs on her!”

you groaned, turning around to hide your face behind the fridge door. “please shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up,” she cackled, sipping her coffee louder. “you had my man like, ‘ayo, is that stack in there?’ i said, ‘who else would it be?’ you know he ain’t never quiet. i shoulda known from the second he started comin’ over too often. he was locked in on you. and you was playin’ all innocent.”

you mumbled under your breath, grabbing eggs from the fridge.

“girl, spill the damn tea,” she leaned closer. “was it good? how big was it? that man fine as hell. look like he dickin’ every bitch down, and now he got you stuck.”

you refused to give her full details. your body still felt too open, too exposed from what happened just hours ago. like your skin still remembered his hands. like it wasn’t meant to be talked about yet.

so you gave her one thing.

you looked up at her, dead in the face.

then held your hands apart, slow.

a little bigger.

then a little bigger.

then wider.

her mouth dropped.

“…bitch.”

you smirked. “exactly.”

bella screamed into the kitchen towel, spinning in a circle like she just heard the juiciest gossip in her life.

“i knew it! oh my god. no wonder you limp-walkin’. ohhhh, he really broke you in!”

“bella, please go to work.”

“no, bitch, you need to call out. i know you not sittin’ in no office chair today.”

you shook your head, laughing quietly, cheeks hot, chest fluttering at the memory. she eventually left, still shaking her head and giggling like she’d just found out her favorite show got renewed. and as soon as the door clicked behind her, you walked back to your room.

he was awake.

half-sitting up on your bed now, chest bare, sheets low on his waist. eyes still a little heavy but locked on you the second you walked in.

“where you go?” he mumbled, voice thick and scratchy.

“shower.”

he yawned, then grinned slowly as his eyes trailed down your body again.

“how you feel?”

you climbed back into the bed, under the covers. still warm from where he’d been laying.

“…sore.”

he smirked, proud. “good.”

you gave him a look, rolling your eyes.

“what?”

“you proud of yourself or something?”

he pulled you in, kissed your neck slow.

“yeah,” he muttered. “you still here, ain’t you?”

you didn’t say anything. just buried your face in his chest and let your limbs tangle into his. his fingers found your thigh again. light, lazy touches.

you already knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

not even close.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

Confessions Restaurant & Lounge pulses with booming 808 basslines of UGK, Z-Ro & Trae Tha Truth. Thick Southern drawl in every Dirty South lyric that matched the crowd moving below. Brown skin, dark skin, copper skin, deep mahogany skin caught the strobe lights and threw it back in flashes. Gold hoops swung. Rings glimmered. Fresh lineups, silk presses, locs, curls, braids, and fades moved through the sea of black people like art in motion. Everywhere you looked, somebody was laughing. Heads tipped back. Hands slapped shoulders. You could see girls huddled and gossiping while sipping vibrant drinks that snuck up on them like a chill. Bodies packed the main floor, women in lace jumpsuits, tight dresses, skirts that barely covered ass, stilettos and platforms. Men wearing sneakers straight out the box, all the jewelry in their collection, grills gleaming like rainbows. Women twerked low to the southern beats while men watched from the edges with drinks in hand. 

Up in the private VIP section, separated by velvet ropes and a low glass partition that let the noise in but kept the space exclusive. Plush black leather couches lined the walls, low tables scattered with bottles of top-shelf liquor and ashtrays holding half-smoked blunts. 

Stack sat back in the center couch, one arm draped along the backrest, black shirt open at the collar to show the gold chains layered against his brown skin. His tailored pants fit sharp over his athletic frame, expensive loafers planted wide, rings catching the colored lights every time he lifted his glass. 

She sat right beside him, thigh pressed against his. Her dress clung like it was painted on, short enough to show the length of her legs and cut low to frame the curve of her chest, the fabric shimmering. She held her posture straight, shoulders back, chin lifted just enough to project that ice-queen distance she wore like armor. Her eyes stayed sharp, scanning the room with cool assessment, and every time Stack leaned in, she answered with clipped words or a raised brow that dared him to push further. 

Stack watched her for a long moment, the mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes narrowing as he read the attitude rolling off her. His honeyed, Mississippi drawl came low, meant only for her ear over the thump of the music. 

“You been runnin’ that mouth all night like you forgot where you at. Like you forgot who put you in this section, who decides how long you stay.” His free hand rested on her knee, fingers pressing just firm enough to remind her of the grip he could tighten. “You know who you belong to. You know what happens if you keep givin’ me that look, like you too good for a reminder.” 

She shifted in her seat slightly but didn’t pull away, her expression staying composed even as the tension between them rose. Stack’s thumb traced a slow line along her skin, his gaze dropping briefly to the way her dress rode up before lifting back to her face. 

“Keep it up and I’ma put you right where you need to be. On your knees in this booth…throat open while the music covers every sound you make…you think that attitude protects you out there but in here…it just tells me how bad you want the correction.” 

His voice always stayed smooth, flirtatious on the surface but edged with the control he wielded so easily. It made her pulse quicken despite the cool mask she kept in place. 

Stack fixed her with that sharp, amused stare. 

“Why the fuck you show up if you can’t stand me?” 

She crossed her arms, her posture stiff and eyes darting to the crowd beyond them. “I came for the music. That’s all.” 

He chuckled low at first, then let it roll out fuller, shaking his head like she’d told the best joke he’d heard all night. 

“Nah. Don’t play that. You knew I’d be here. So what’s the real reason?”

“Drop it,” she whispered, turning her shoulder slightly away. 

Stack leaned in closer, his gold chains catching the colored lights. His lips brushed her cheek, nose pressed against her hair, taking a sniff. 

“I don’t like being ignored. You hear me? Answer the question.” 

She stayed quiet, jaw tight, refusing to meet his gaze even as the tension pulled tighter between them. Her eyes flicked down for a split second, catching the thick outline pressing against his pants, heavy and obvious. She snapped her focus back up fast, but not fast enough. 

Stack caught the glance, his lips curving into a slow grin. He chuckled, the sound warm and knowing. 

“What you lookin’ at?” 

She shifted her weight, voice flat. “You know what I’m looking at.” 

Stack reached out without hesitation, catching her wrist and guiding her hand straight to the fat bulge in his pants. Her palm landed against the heat and solid weight of it, fingers brushing the shape through the fabric. She rolled her eyes hard, pulling her usual ice back into place like armor, expression bored and distant even as her hand stayed where he put it. 

Stack watched her face the whole time, reading every flicker she tried to hide. 

“Yeah, I see you. Actin’ like you don’t care, but your hand ain’t moving.” His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges with that familiar taunt. “You gon’ keep playing games or you gon’ get on your knees and suck this dick?” 

The question hung between them just like that fat dick twitching hard beneath her hand, a sudden pulse that made the thick shaft jump against her fingers. Heat radiated through the fabric, intense and alive, the warmth seeping into her skin like it was trying to brand her. She could feel every detail—the fat girth stretching the material taut, the way it throbbed with a steady pulse that matched the bass from the club floor, the subtle ridge along the underside that hinted at its veined length. It was solid, unyielding, and growing firmer by the second under her touch, the warmth building until it felt almost feverish. 

She bit down on her lower lip, teeth sinking in to trap the moan that threatened to slip out. Her body betrayed her even as she kept her expression locked in that icy mask, eyes narrowed and jaw set like she was above all this. But her mouth watered anyway, saliva pooling at the thought of wrapping around that big dick, and her clit thumped insistently between her thighs, a dull ache that pulsed in time with the twitch she felt in her palm. Defiance kept her spine straight and her shoulders squared, but the way her fingers curled just slightly against the bulge gave her away, pressing in to feel more of that thick, warm weight. 

Stack’s eyes never left her face, noticing the way her breath hitched despite her best efforts. 

“That’s what I thought.” Stack whispered, shifting his hips just enough to grind the print harder into her hand.

Stack didn’t wait for an answer. His free hand went to his pants, unzipping with a quick pull that freed the heavy length of his dick. It sprang out thick and dark, the fat head glistening with a bead of precum, veins pulsing along the shaft. She couldn’t tear her eyes from it, the sight locking her in place even as her fingers stayed pressed against the warm skin now exposed. 

Stack laughed low, the sound rumbling from his chest as he caught the way her gaze locked on, wide and hungry despite the stubborn set of her jaw. 

“Look at that face,” he taunted, voice thick with amusement and that Mississippi drawl. “Eyes all big like you ain’t never seen a dick this size before. You actin’ like you too good but your mouth’s damn near droolin’. Go on, admit it…that look says you want every inch down your throat.” 

Stack’s hips thrusted upward, positioning that fat dick straight up so it stood rigid against his stomach, the full weight of his balls hanging heavy and tight below. It twitched visibly, the shaft bobbing with each rush of blood, the warmth radiating off it in waves that she felt even from inches away. The head flared dark and slick, a thick vein running the underside that throbbed in time with the southern bass. 

Her defiance cracked right there. She gave in with a sharp breath, sliding down to her knees without another word, dress bunched at her waist, bare ass resting on her heels. Her hands reached to grip his thighs as her lips parted. The heat hit her first when she leaned in, that feverish warmth from his skin making her clit throb harder between her legs. 

Stack’s dick stood heavy and rigid in front of her face, a network of raised veins pulsing along its length. The fat head flared wide, shiny with a bead of precum that stretched into a thin string when she leaned in. Her mouth watered openly now, tongue flicking out to taste the tip before her lips parted and stretched around the broad crown, struggling to take the girth as she sank down. Saliva welled up fast, coating the upper half of his shaft in a glossy sheen that caught the strobe lights every time she bobbed. 

Stack’s hand rested on the back of her head, rings heavy against her hair. He let her work for a few strokes, watching her cheeks hollow and her throat flex. Then, he gave a short push that forced another inch inside. 

“That mouth tryin’, ain’t it?” He said, voice low and taunting. “You call that sucking, baby? Feel like you just holding it.” 

 She tried to take more, jaw aching, but he tightened his grip and eased her back until the head remained between her lips like she was sucking on a lollipop. A wet pop sounded when he pulled free completely. His dick swayed, slick and heavy, the veins standing out darker now from the suction. Stack tapped his fat head against her cheek twice, leaving wet marks and sticky trails of pre cum.

“Nah. Lick it proper first. Base to tip. Slow. Show me you want it.” 

Her tongue dragged along the underside, tracing every ridge and vein, saliva dripping from her chin onto her cleavage. Stack watched with half-lidded eyes, the corner of his mouth lifted, dimple peeking. When she reached the head and swirled her tongue around it, he let her suck the tip again for a moment before yanking her off once more.

“Greedy. You ain’t earned the whole thing yet.” 

Stack gripped the base with one hand, angling the thick length so the head brushed her parted lips but stayed just out of reach. She leaned forward; he leaned back an inch, keeping the distance. 

“Uh-uh. Ask nice. Tell me what that mouth is good for.” 

Her answer came out hoarse, “for sucking this big dick.”

Stack rewarded her with a single swallow thrust that barely stretched her lips before withdrawing again. Spit trailed from her lower lip to the head of his dick. 

“That’s better,” he said, feeding her another inch, then two, until her nose nearly brushed his trimmed hair. 

He held her there, feeling her throat flutter around the fat intrusion, then pulled her off completely. His dick glistened from root to tip, strands of spit connecting her mouth to the head. Stack slapped it lightly against her tongue, the weight of it making a soft pat-pat sound. 

“Breathe. Then try again. And don’t stop until I say.” 

She dove back in, lips sliding down the veined girth with more determination, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth. Stack’s fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her but never letting her set the pace herself. Every few strokes he would ease her back, denying her the deeper reach she chased, his voice smooth and cutting above her. 

“Still half-assing it. Open that throat or I’ll do it for you.” 

That fat head popped free again, shiny and swollen, and he dragged it across her lips in a slow tease before letting her have it once more. She slid back down on him, lips straining wide around the broad crown, but Stack’s fingers tightened in her hair and he gave a low chuckle that held no warmth. 

“Nah. I don’t want that pretty dick sucking either. You hear me?” He yanked her off with a wet pop, dick swinging heavy and slick, thickness coated in ropes of spit that dripped from the tip down to the base where veins stood out dark and pulsing. His fat length twitched, shiny and obscene, Stack slapping it on her tongue again. 

“Open wider. Get nasty wit’ it. I want spit running down my balls, not this tidy little bob you think pass for sucking.” 

Stack fed that wide tip back between her lips but only halfway, holding her there while she sucked softly, then pulled free once more so his entire veined girth glistened and swayed in her face in a hypnotic dance. Her chin was shiny, drool sliding down her neck. Stack angled his dick so the head brushed her cheek, leaving a wet smear. 

“Look at that. You tryna keep it cute? Fuck that. Slobber on it like the greedy slut you is.” 

Stack pushed her face lower, making her tongue drag along the underside where a thick vein pulsed against her taste buds, then let her suck the tip again only to deny her the rest. Every time she tried to sink deeper he eased back, the fat crown popping free shiny and swollen, strings of spit connecting her mouth to his dick. 

“That’s right. Make a mess. I want it dripping off my shit ‘fore I even think ‘bout letting you choke on the whole thing.” His free hand stroked the base once, slow, showing her the full heavy length before tapping it against her parted lips. “Breathe through your nose and get sloppy. Or I’ll just fuck that throat myself.”

She stopped fighting the urge and let it happen, drool spilling freely from the corners of her mouth as she worked her tongue along every inch he allowed. Spit coated the full length of his dick, thick strands stretching and snapping each time she pulled back for air. Wet trails ran down her throat and soaked the neckline of her dress. Stack watched with a satisfied smirk, his grip in her hair firm. 

“There it is,” he said, voice low and approving in that mocking way he had. “Look how quick you got it. All I had to do was tell you once and now you making a proper mess. Easy, ain’t it?” He let her sink a little deeper on her own, the head of his dick nudging the back of her throat before he eased her off again. “Follow directions and this shit get simple. No need for all that fuckin’ attitude you walked in wit’. Just open up and slobber like I said.”  

Her tongue dragged heavy and wet under his shaft, spit bubbling at the corners as she tried to take more without being told. Stack chuckled, tapping his slick head against her lips before sliding it back in halfway.

“Yeah, just like that. See how much better it feels when you stop pretending? You can act like you run shit out there, but right here you follow every word, makes my job easy too.” 

His fat crown pressed deeper while spit poured down over his balls. The wet sounds filled the VIP space, louder than the muffled bass from the club floor. Stack’s free hand rested on her jaw, thumb stroking the slick skin as he held her in place for a moment. 

“Keep going exactly like that. No fancy tricks just the nasty shit I asked for. You do that and we both get what we want.” 

She kept at it without hesitation, her mouth working steadily over every inch he gave her. Spit ran in heavy streams down his thick dick and over his heavy balls, soaking the front of his pants where they hung open. Her tongue pressed flat and eager, dragging wet and thorough each time she pulled back before sinking forward again. No resistance left in the way she moved, just the steady rhythm he had set for her. 

“You really can’t stand me, huh? Always got that look like you wanna slap the smirk off my face. But here you are again, lips stretched around my dick like it’s the only thing that shuts you up. Every single time you swear this the last…you end up on your knees. Can’t leave it alone, can you?” 

He rocked his hips forward once, testing how deep she would take it on her own. She did, throat working around the head without pulling away. More spit bubbled out and dropped onto the floor between his feet. Stack laughed, thumb brushing the corner of her stretched mouth. 

“Look at this mess you making. All ‘cause you can’t stay away from what you claim to hate. I tell you to get sloppy and you do it like it’s second nature. Follow every word I give you, even when you glaring at me with those sharp eyes. You hate how easy it is. Hate that you keep coming back for more of this.” 

The club music thumped somewhere beyond the VIP curtain, but in here it was only the sound of her wet lips and his voice laying out every contradiction. 

“You walk ‘round like nobody can touch you, but the second I tell you to open up you turn into this. Can’t stand me, yet you can’t stop sucking me off every chance you get. Makes me wonder what you’d do if I told you to stop right now. Bet you’d keep goin’ anyway, just to prove you can walk away whenever you want. We both know better.” 

Stack rose to his full height, glass in hand, the ice clinking as he took a slow sip. He looked down at her on her knees, eyes locked on the way her lips stayed wrapped around him. 

“No hands,” Stack commanded. “Just that mouth. Work it like you mean it. All jaws, no shortcuts.” 

She adjusted without a word, hands dropping to her sides. Her jaw flexed as she pushed forward, taking more of him in one steady glide. She moved like she knew exactly how to angle it, cheeks hollowing on each pull, tongue pressing hard along the underside with every stroke. 

Stack watched her, drink still in one hand while the other rested at his side. 

“That’s it. Suck that dick like the pro you are when nobody’s watching. Look at you, throat working overtime. You act like you hate my guts when we in public but in here you swallow every gahdamn inch of this dick like it’s your favorite meal.” 

Stack rocked his hips once, testing her rhythm, and she took it deeper without pulling back. More spit spilled over her bottom lip and ran down his balls. Stack chuckled, low and rough. 

“Admit it. You love this big dick. Say it while you got it stuffed in your mouth. Tell me how much you love choking on it every time you swear you done wit’ me.” 

She refused to give him that satisfaction with words but her jaw worked harder, the wet sounds filling the space between them. Stack took another sip, eyes never leaving her face. 

“Come on. I wanna hear it. You can’t leave this alone ‘cause you love how it fills your throat. You love gettin’ bullied while you drool all over it. Say the words.” Her pace stayed relentless, lips stretched tight. Stack tilted his head, voice turning sharper. “That’s my mean girl, keep going. Admit everything. How you can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout this dick even when you give me attitude. Say it loud enough so I know you mean it.” 

Stack held still, letting her drive the motion, watching every bob of her head and every flex of her throat as she worked him deeper. The club noise stayed muffled beyond the curtain while he sipped again, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. 

“Good girl. Now keep that mouth moving and tell me the rest. How bad you need it. How you hate yourself for loving every second of this.” 

Stack yanked his dick free from her throat, gripping the base and started smacking the heavy length across her face. Each slap landed with a wet thud, the head dragging over her cheek, across her lips, up to her forehead, leaving shiny streaks behind. He did it slow at first, then faster. Her eyes watered but she kept them open, staring up at him. 

“I can’t fucking stand you,” she rasped, voice thick and broken from how deep she’d been taking him. “But I love it. I love all of it. This big dick, the way it stretches my throat, how you make me kneel and take it. I love choking on every inch even when I swear I hate you.” 

Stack let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and amused. He slapped his dick harder against her cheek, then dragged it down to smack her chin. 

“Look at this pathetic face. Sayin’ you can’t stand me while my dick all over it. You love it so much you drooling just from the words. Go on, keep talkin’. Tell me how bad you need this dick you claim to hate.” 

He kept the pace going, smacking the thick shaft over her nose and lips, the wet slaps echoing in the VIP section. Spit flew with each strike. Her expression stayed wrecked, mouth open, tongue half out like she couldn’t help chasing it. 

“That’s right,” he mocked, voice smooth even as he bullied her with his dick. “Admit it all. You sneak around just to get treated like this. Can’t get enough of how I make you feel like nothin’ but a hole for me to use. Say it louder.” 

She swallowed, throat working, and kept going between the hits.

“I love this big dick more than anything. I love how you make me do this, how you don’t let me use my hands, how you laugh at me while I beg for it. I hate you but I can’t stop wanting every second of it.” 

Stack grinned, dimples flashing, and gave one final slap across both cheeks with his tip girth before pressing the head against her lips again. 

“Good. Now open up and prove it.” 

She proved it right away. Her lips parted wide and she took him back in, sucking hard and sloppy like she was desperate for some prize at the end. Her tongue worked the underside in fast strokes while she bobbed her head, cheeks sunken with every pull. Spit ran down her chin and dripped onto her dress as she pushed deeper, taking more of him without any hesitation.

Stack felt his dick swell thicker in her mouth, the head pulsing against her tongue as he got closer. He groaned low and gripped her hair tighter. 

“You want my nut that bad, huh? Look at you workin’ for it. Tell me where you want it. How bad you need it.” 

She pulled off just enough to speak, voice hoarse and frantic between licks. 

“And want it so bad, Stack. Give me that nut. I want it all over my face, down my throat, anywhere you say. I need it more than anything right now. Please, just cum for me.” 

Stack chuckled again, mocking and low. “Hold still then. Grab my glass and don’t spill a drop.” 

She reached up with one shaking hand and took the glass from him, holding it steady while he planted both palms on her head. Stack drove forward, fucking her throat in hard, steady thrusts. His hips snapped towards her face as he chased his release, using her mouth like it was made for exactly this. 

Stack’s body tensed hard, his hips jerking forward one last time before he yanked his dick free from her throat with a wet pop. Thick ropes of cum erupted from the swollen head, the first heavy spurt landing across her cheek and splattering up toward her eye in a hot, sticky line. More followed in powerful pulses, each one shooting out in long, creamy strands that painted her face white. His load was massive, costing her skin in heavy globs that dripped down her jaw and onto the neckline of her dress. 

His face twisted in raw pleasure, brows furrowed deep, full lips parted around a guttural groan that built into a low, drawn-out moan. His deep brown eyes narrowed to slits, lashes fluttering as his chest heaved, the veins in his neck standing out while he emptied himself with a stutter of his hips. Stack aimed the next burst lower, letting the cum land directly on her wiggling tongue as she held it out for him, the warm fluid pooling there in a thick puddle before overflowing down her chin. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” He rasped, voice thick and taunting even as his dick twitched through the last shots. “Look at all that nut on your pretty face. You earned every drop, didn’t you?” 

She didn’t pull away, instead leaning in to suck the remaining cum from his still-hard length. Her lips sealing around the head and milking him clean with slow, tight pulls until nothing more came out. Stack watched her with a smirk, his hand still tangled in her hair as he praised her through the taunts.

“Good girl, swallowing what you can and wearing the rest like a badge. Such a nasty little slut for me, huh? Bet you love feeling it cool on your skin.” 

She rolled her eyes at him from her knees, the gesture full of attitude even with his cum streaking her face. Stack burst out laughing, the sound rich and amused as he tilted her chin higher with one finger. 

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——————

You stood between Keith Powers your boyfriend, Tyriq Withers, and on the carpet at the Met Gala, in front of the camera and your brown eyes locked on the interviewer and asked you, and your castmates Keith and Tyriq about the movie, you fake smiled and nodded.

It’s been hours and hours, of interviews, talk shows, photoshoots, and talking with your manager Leonaa nd bodyguard Felix to make sure you're good.

But this was exhausting mentally and physically, you knew that this part came with the entertainment industry but the fame part was difficult, deranged and delusional, stalker fans, toxic gossip blogs ready to get something on you.

The worst part was no privacy when it came to certain things.

“Y/N, how does it feel to be in an award-nominated and award-winning film with Keith, and Tyriq?” The interviewer asked, using a bright tone.

“It feels great to be in this film beside these two, showing the right ways to tackle certain topics that are spoken about enough, you feel that my character Nia is conflicted and chooses the one who’s been yearning for her all along, it’s reminded us that she’s human,” You spoke with confidence, smiling again. Your cheeks ached in pain.

You’ve been acting for seven years, your film credits have expanded significantly, and you’ve won Emmys and an Oscar by the age of 31. Hobnobbing with your favorite stars like Angela Bassett, who inspired your dream.

You were picky when it came to roles in Hollywood, the reboots, remakes, sequels and constant shady, predatory directors, asshole producers, and stuck and entitled managers. 

But you finally your manager Leona, who was the best in the business. You preferred working with a black women, you felt safe, seen, and protected properly by her. You had to do so much on your own but it took a toll on you. 

You've made it, you were proud of yourself. You had a black-owned production, management team. 

You starred in a black romance movie titled More To Love, which revolves around two close friends employed at a black-owned law firm. In the story, they handle legal cases, and things take a turn when your ex, portrayed by Keith, arrives to propose. Your character named Nia never forgot how much her ex hurt you from heartbreak and betrayal, so your character pretend to be with your colleague Tyriq. 

It was very similar to your story when you began dating in high school, Keith played the role so well and it made you not speak to him, you explained to him that the story was personal to you. He understood completely, shared the same story as you and he apologized. 

As the interviewer continued to throw questions your way and Tyriq’s, you could feel the weight of the promotional duties pressing down on you. Your cheeks ached from the forced smiles, and you stole a glance at him, who flashed you a reassuring grin. It was a momentary distraction from the barrage of queries.

You spotted Beyoncé beside her daughter, Blue Ivy, and Jay-Z. The overlapping voice of paparazzi chiming in, after another.

Soon enough, Tyriq held your hand reassuringly, and walked with you, beside Keith, and his fiancée Ryan Destiny. Smiling pretty for the cameras, flashing from left to right.

You wore a black knee-length dress that exposed your back paired with black heels, French tip nails with gold rings, and your natural curls pulled up in a cute bun. Your plump lips are adorned with lip gloss, and Your dark brown skin beautifully shines. 

The cameras wrapped up once Beyoncé left with her husband, and daughter, you felt a rush of relief. You stepped out of the studio and outside to the lane that led to the red carpet, the rush of the night almost dissipating.

“Great work, we’re getting to the finish line,” your manager spoke up, nodding.

“Yeah, we did,” You sighed until the both of them noticed that you looked exhausted. Burnout approaching.

“You okay baby?” He asked concerned, his brows raising.

You shake your head, “No, sweetie. I’m tired as hell,” 

Tyriq rubbed your back in the soothing circle, the feel of his hand and the cold chill from the gold metal of his ring sent a shiver down your spine. 

“It’s going to be alright, once we’re done with this Met Gala, we’ll be heading home after that okay?” Tyriq reassured you softly, kissing your cheek.

You nodded, biting down on your lip as you gazed upon the man, he smelled good with the scent of cinnamon and citrus. Your hand rested on the back of his neck, your thumb swiped over. He groaned lowly.

Regrettably, the gossip and dating scene have been lacking recently; you vowed to avoid dating celebrities because of all the negative press surrounding them, as they tend to be deceitful and dishonest.

Tyriq had his eyes on the moment he met you, and he wasn't like the rest, he was funny, kind, patient and charismatic. 

The better you got to know him, the closer you became, transforming the typical friends-to-lovers storyline from the film you acted in into something genuine in real life. Who would have thought?

The four of you stepped toward the capret laid out for you, a fence in front of you to block paparazzi from stepping too close, Ryan, Keith, and Tyriq stayed between you, he held your hand. 

Relax, you said in the depths of your mind. It almost suffocating from amount of things happening all at once. Your cheeks on your face ached again, your mom did tell you that if you kept that face, it would freeze up like that.



Was she just messing with you? Yeah, she definitely was. You resumed walking close with your man along the velvet red carpet as you peeped at the waiting limo at the end of the carpet rope. So close.

Until you were stopped by someone in the paparazzi, fuck, you were so close. They annoyed the hell of you A LOT. The fact they get paid a huge amount of money for this should be a crime.

"Show us some love!" a photographer shouted out with enthusiasm.

Next thing you know, the couple strode past the two of you before winking at you while his hand snaked from your back to around your waist, wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a snow day.

"I've got you, don't worry," Tyriq said in a reassuring tone, smiling at you as you mirrored the warm action.

The warmth of Kelvin's body against yours caused your heart to flutter, his touch made you feel safe, protected from everything and everyone out there, especially in Hollywood, another destructive, soul-sucking world that you heard of, seen in documentaries, scary Lifetime movies, tv shows, the news.

Tyriq’s head turned towards you, leaning in close before you did, his plump lips brushed against yours, pressing his onto yours gently. You kissed him back passionately after pulling away from each other.

“We’ve got a new star couple!” someone shouted in glee, you couldn't help but mentally roll your eyes. Here we go.

That was the big announcement from the two of you and to the world.

People had a lot to say, and celebrity relationships won’t last long, in and out like a drive-thru. Cheating, sex scandals, some weird cult shit, or some connection to the Illuminati.

"I'll see you lovebirds later," Keith spoke up, waving goodbye to you.

You waved back in response, smiling at Keith with a head tilt. He was so sweet, you focused on the cameras flashing before winking at the camera.

At this point, when is it going to be over? It had to be.

You walked through the strobing lights of the cameras, moving from side to side in those same painful heels. With a forced smile for the photographers and your boyfriend by your side, you were nearing the limousine.

"Time to leave, beautiful," he whispered in your ear, gently guiding you toward the sleek, black limo.

"Thank God," you whispered back, turning to face him, walking toward the door as Tyriq opened the door.

You ducked your head and settled into the plush suede backseat of the limo with its tinted deep windows, which was spacious and the color of ink black for the seats and the car floor below your heels were soft as a cloud, the color of macaroon cream.

Tyriq ducked his head and settled onto the suede backseat beside you, grinning at you like he was ready to eat you out in the backseat as he shut the door behind himself. "Glad that's over and done with, now I can focus on you," he said, his tone low and seductive.

You chuckled lightly, biting down your lips, clenching your legs before opening the door to the refrigerator and grabbing a champmage botte, "l need a drink first before I deal with your nasty ass," you shot back using a sinful smirk.

The limo had buttons atop your heads, for the white florescent lights including a small refrigerator for drinks, water bottles, champagne, and wine.

He grabbed the glasses and passed one to you, before kissing your lips again, the taste of strawberry lips gloss adorned his lips, your thumb carefully rubbed it off. He groaned at your touch, damn he was in love with you.

“You are nasty, Tyriq,” You chuckled lightly.

“I'm nasty?!” Tyriq exclaimed dramatically, his hand over his chest.

"Yeah, you heard me right. All those kisses on the red carpet, I can't help but feel like you're trying to stake your claim," You laughed, pouring the champagne into the glasses.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave."And what if I am? You're mine. And I'm yours, You know that, right?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you took a sip of the bubbly drink. "l do know that, but let's not forget that the limo driver is watching us," you whispered back.

“The window is closed, though. The driver is a woman.”

"Agreed, I'm not sure about how long this drive so how about we make the most of it? Hm?" Tyriq asked with a soft hum, shrugging.

The two of you finished your drinks, feeling the buzz of the drink flow through you, "Yeah, how about we try an exhibitionist kink that I want to do?" You suggested to him.

The sleek limo began to take a gentle turn to the right, going through the bright towering lights and passing through other cars, paying them no mind, as if you two were the only ones in the world.

He nodded, it was something that he never thought he'd do but with you, he wanted to try it. Just thought of it turned him on. An idea popped up in his head.

You grinned at the man before kissing down his neck, "You're bad, huh?" you said to him.

His fingers trailing over your arm and shivered from his touch, with your hand snaked below his pants before stopping, “Can I suck your dick? Just a taste Ty?” you whispered softly in his ear.

His breath hitched from your voice, and he nodded at you. “Y/N..yes you can, don't make me beg,” he sighed blissfully with a smirk. He was in for a treat from you, he didn't even know it yet.

And with his consent, you unzipped his zipped and gently slid down his boxers and pants a little bit, kissing his tip before wrapping your mouth around his thick, long brown dick, his arms rested on the armrest of the limo. 

His tongue gliding over his lips, he groaned loudly once you bopped your head onto his dick, your tongue tracing shapes on the veins, he knew you looked so gorgeous doing this, “Fuck…so beautiful, suck it harder..” Tyriq panted heavily, his head fell back onto the soft cushion. 

“Mmm..so good,” you mumbled lowly, your hand stroking him with your fingers rolling between his balls, he grunted once he locked eyes with the female limo driver.

The soft slurping and squelching sounds filled the car, the warmth of your mouth spurred him one. 

“That mouth of yours..is perfect, I couldn't resist you, seeing you walk down that carpet…fuck!” Tyriq shouted out, pushing his hips upwards into your mouth.

Your palm stroked Tyriq’s dick with your cheeks hollowing around him as spit dripped from the corner of her lips, spit stuck to your hand and tricked down to his balls, "Fuck..Y/N.." he groaned deeply, his hands gripping the armrest tightly, You moaned around him, sending vibrations through his body. 

“It’s turning me on when you suck this dick…that feels so fucking good,” Tyriq moaned again, hearing your muffled moans in response, filling that exhibitionist side of you once the driver’s eyes flickered back to your man.

You bopped your head faster and your cheeks hollowed harder, wetting his dick and seats up, covered with drops of precum and spit. Staining his pants, your dress. Good thing both of you wore black, “Just like that! Shit!” 

His balls tightened in response around your fingers, his mouth parted as you twisted your hand around his dick, squeezing it lightly. “Shit!….Shit!…Y/N, please!” he begged for you, he gasped as if he lost oxygen in his lungs. 

Finally, he reached it, his hot cum spilling into your mouth, you quickly swallowed every drop while you lifted you head, “It was good wasn't it?” You bragged with confidence, Smiling and using a warm towel from the edge to clean your mouth, you tossed it into the trash. You put his dick back into his boxers, he zipped them up, and pulled up his pants.

Before you could reply, his hand settled on the back of your neck, drawing you in. He kissed you passionately and intensely, and as you returned the kiss, you let out a moan. When you finally pulled away, a strand of saliva connected your lips and his.

“That was amazing, baby, my turn,” he sang playfully, giving you an tender kiss as you moaned, your pussy from his touch.

More friction, desperately.

You leaned in, “Touch me, please,” you whimpered softly, giving him consent to touch you. 

His fingers grazed the edge of your dress as Tyriq planted kisses on your collarbone, marking your deep brown skin with hickeys. “Tyriq…” you moaned again, His fingers slipped beneath your panties, sensing your wetness through the fabric, humming softly in response against your shoulder.

“I couldn't leave my girl like this, so wet just from sucking my dick off?” Tyriq asked in a deep tone, his voice deepening. His finger rubbing your clit. “Y-yeah, I-it was big, couldn't fit it all..” you groaned before moving your hips. No teasing was a rule of yours, but Tyriq’s hand slid through your panties, pinching your clit.

He pushed your panties to the side, and rolled them down and off your ankles. You parted your legs wide for him, while gazing into his eyes, “You’re so fucking nasty, girl,” he groaned softly, his legs parted a bit.

His fingers parted your folds and slipped inside with ease, making you moan wildly, causing Kendra, the female driver to look back at him but she paid attention to the road still. “Shhh, I got you, my girl’s been stressed out?” he said, his lips nibbling on your bottom lip, the taste of wine and lip gloss.

“Yes..fuck!” you cried out, rolling your hips to that torturous pace, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tight, he must've told the driver to take the long way, your essence poured onto the seats, as he gently pulled the strings of your dress, your breasts poked out. He licked his lips.

“Beautiful titties,” he mumbled, his hands cupping your breasts softly, his mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking them, pinching your nipples roughly before sucking the right softly. “Mhhm..” you hummed but moaned, you’d almost forgotten that you were still in the limo, you definitely needed this. Your hand rested on the back of his nape, feeling that comforting warmth.

In need of his touch as if it was religious, you hoped to your ancestors and God above that Kendra kept driving, eventually you would get home later, you need more. 

His fingers thrust in and out of you, he watched your face scrunch up in pleasure, he pressed your back to his clothed chest. “I love it when you make a fucking mess on my fingers, I can't wait to feel it on my dick,” He teased, curling up his fingers. He was so nasty, so passionate. His dick hardens in his pants.

“I..i..I love this shit with you, so much, get deeper for me, baby,” You babbled softly, panting while moving your hips a bit. Your hands gripped the armrest, Tyriq was still behind you, keeping you close so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

“Oh shit! Shit! Tyriq!” you moaned suddenly once his fingers slid in deeper, your wet walls clenched tightly around his digits. Your wetness covered him completely and stained his pants but didn’t care.

The limo resumed driving straight again, while the little bumps on the roads made every sensation. Your pussy sucked his fingers right back in and clenched tight, “That’s right, you feel it? That pussy sucked me back in..fuck,” Tyriq groaned raspily, biting down his lip, You gasped, feeling the rhythm of his fingers and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. 

The thrill of being in a moving vehicle, with the driver just a few feet away, was pulling you close to the edge. You were so close, but you weren't ready to go home; he pressed his bulge against you and moved his hips, “Don't see what you do to me?” Tyriq groaned as he felt your ass against him, giving your backside a playful smack that made you moan, clearly turned on by you.

His thumb flattened on your clit and circled, your mind blurred from pleasure and saw thousands of stars behind your closed eyelids, you were moaning loudly as his fingers went faster. “That pussy knows me so well,” Tyriq teased with a grin.

“You’re so good to me, just a little more baby,” You begged, your voice softened a bit, his fingers hit that sweet spot. Moving in a ‘come here’ motion over and over. “I got you,”

You nodded, feeling the tension build within you, the pressure mounting as he resumed to thrust his fingers, in and out, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot. “You drive me crazy, I'm gone fuck you so good when we get in that house,” 

After his fingers turned sporadic and curled again, you felt yourself clench around his fingers. Waves crashing over you as you cried out his name, “Tyriq!” 

He slowed his movements, letting you ride out the waves of your orgasm, feeling you pulse around him. The rush of it left you breathless, and you leaned back against his chest, panting as the aftershocks coursed through you.

“Damn, you’re beautiful when you cum,” he murmured, planting soft kisses along your shoulder and lips, sending little sparks of electricity through your body.

You turned to face him, still catching your breath. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you teased, a playful smile creeping onto your lips. 

Tyriq chuckled, the sound low and rich, filling the quiet space of the limo. “I love you,” he said, he pulled out his fingers, watching you tie up the strings in the back of your dress. 

“I love you too,” you agreed, stealing a quick kiss from him, feeling the warmth radiating between you.

The car slowed down, you could see the lights of your house glowing in the distance. “Looks like we're almost home,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

“That was fun, I liked that,” Tyriq replied, grinning like it was his birthday and he enjoyed his present. His eyes are still on you.

You nodded, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, “Yeah, I liked it too,” you said, that shy side coming out.

The limo finally came to a stop, and the driver turned to look at you both. “We’ve arrived,” she announced with a knowing smile, as if she understood the connection that had just blossomed between you two.

“Thanks, Kendra,” you said, feeling a bit shy as you realized the driver had witnessed more.

Tyriq opened the door, helping you out as you stepped onto the pavement. The cool night air hit your skin, and you shivered slightly, but Tyriq wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close again. He closed the door and let Kendra that he pay her immediately, apologizing for the mess on the seats.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, his tone both playful and protective.

Once inside, you closed the door behind yourself. Tyriq brought you into the bedroom, removing his suit as you peeled off your dress.

He quickly kissed you, your lips meeting.  Your legs spread, he buried his dick inside you. His hands on your hips.

“My beautiful girl,” he groaned softly.

And with that, he made love to you all night long, distrubing your neighbors who obviously sent a nose complaint but you knew Tyriq would talk care of it. Your moans echoed through the walls, he kissed your shoulder and said, “Fuck ‘em, you can scream as loud as you want to,” 

The world didn't just hold its breath. It fucking stopped.

Rain lashed against the Moore estate in hard, silver sheets, turning the manicured lawns into a dark, churning sea. The air, thick with the scent of ozone and wet earth, felt heavy enough to drown in. Aaliyah stood beside Elijah, his hand a warm, steady presence at her back. In front of them, framed by the open doorway, stood a family of ghosts, their faces illuminated by the cold, distant glow of headlights. Titian Bloodsworth’s eyes, a mirror of her own, held her captive, a silent, desperate plea that vibrated through the charged air.

And suddenly—she wasn't in Florida anymore.

She was in Cambridge. Seven years earlier. The world was white and silent, blanketed by a thick, heavy snow that muffled the sounds of the city, turning MIT's iconic dome into a soft, ethereal dream. Aaliyah was twenty, a ghost in her own life, a brilliant mind trapped in a gilded cage of Henri's making. She was top of her class, a terrifying force of nature in lecture halls and seminar rooms, her intellect a weapon she wielded with a precision that was both beautiful and heartbreaking. She had friends, a small, carefully curated circle of people who respected her, who admired her, but none of them really knew her. They saw the genius, the poise, the quiet, unshakeable confidence. They didn't see the loneliness, a cold, hollow ache that settled in her bones, a constant reminder of the family she didn't have, the love she'd never known.

She was carrying Henri's damage like a second skin, a heavy, suffocating cloak that she couldn't seem to shed. She was a survivor, but she was also a prisoner, trapped in a world of her own making, a world of books and theories and equations that kept the real world, the world of emotions and connections, at a safe, manageable distance.

Then she met him.

Mansa Diallo.

He wasn't a student. He was a force of nature, a quiet, powerful presence that seemed to command the very air around him. He was twenty-two, but he carried himself like a man who had seen a lifetime of war and peace, a man who understood the intricate, brutal dance of power. He was the heir to one of the most powerful criminal organizations in West Africa, but he didn't wear his power like a badge. He wore it like a second skin, a quiet, confident assurance that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. He controlled the Boston gun distribution for his family, a shadowy, dangerous world of backroom deals and whispered threats, a world he navigated with an ease that was both impressive and unsettling.

Unlike Elijah, whose power was a cold, hard, imposing thing, Mansa's power was warm, charismatic, a magnetic pull that drew people in, made them want to follow, made them want to please. He smiled. A lot. A wide, genuine, infectious smile that could disarm the most guarded of men, a smile that was a weapon in its own right. He was dangerous in a way that felt effortless, a king who didn't need a crown to prove his worth.

Their first meeting wasn't some dramatic, fated encounter. It was a Tuesday. A cold, bleak Tuesday in the middle of a brutal Cambridge winter. Aaliyah was in the middle of a strategy competition, a high-stakes, no-holds-barred debate that was less about theory and more about blood sport. She was eviscerating three MBA students, her arguments a razor-sharp, surgical strike that left them stammering and flustered, their faces a mask of bewildered humiliation. She was in her element, a predator in a sea of prey, her mind a sharp, deadly weapon.

Mansa was watching from the back of the room, a silent, observant presence, his gaze a steady, unnerving weight. She felt him before she saw him, a prickle of awareness, a shift in the energy of the room. She ignored him, her focus a laser-like beam, her arguments a relentless, unstoppable force. She won, of course. She always won.

Afterward, as she was gathering her things, a quiet, confident voice cut through the low murmur of the crowd. "You know what your problem is?"

Aaliyah looked up, her annoyance a sharp, cold flash in her eyes. And then she saw him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his skin a deep, profound black that seemed to absorb the harsh fluorescent light of the lecture hall, holding it only to release it as a subtle, inner glow, like polished obsidian under a moonlit sky. He was dressed in a way that screamed money without shouting it, a deliberate, quiet display of power. An all-white essentials tee, pristine and soft, was tucked into impeccably tailored Balmain jeans, the black denim a stark, dramatic contrast that emphasized the powerful lines of his legs. On his feet were a pair of fire-red Jordan 4 retros, a flash of bold, unapologetic color that was the only hint of the dangerous, vibrant energy thrumming just beneath his calm surface. His hair was cut into a sharp, precise Caesar, the dark line of the fade broken by the clean, geometric curve of a half-moon part, a style that was both classic and militant. His eyes, a deep, soulful chocolate brown, held a flicker of amusement, a knowing glint that made her feel like he could see right through her, right through the carefully constructed facade of the genius, the prodigy, the survivor. And then he smiled, a wide, brilliant flash of white that was so bright it seemed to light up the sterile, academic space around him, carving a deep, charming dimple into his left cheek. It was a disarming, dangerous smile, the kind that made you want to trust him, even when every instinct you had was screaming that you shouldn't.

"I wasn't aware I had one," she said, her voice a cool, clipped dismissal, a clear, unspoken warning.

Mansa laughed, a low, rich, genuine sound that vibrated through the air. He leaned in slightly, his deep chocolate eyes holding hers with an unnerving intensity, a quiet focus that was both thrilling and terrifying. "You're brilliant," he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble, a quiet, admiring confession. "But you wield that brilliance like a ghost. You win these arguments, you dismantle these people, not to prove you're right, but to make yourself so small, so non-threatening, that they forget you're even in the room. You're not trying to win, Aaliyah. You're trying to disappear."

The words hit her with the force of a physical blow, a sharp, painful jab to the gut. Because he was right. He was so fucking right. She hid behind her intelligence, a shield of words and theories and equations that kept the world at bay, that kept her safe, that kept her from being seen, from being hurt, from being vulnerable. She made herself smaller, safer, less threatening, less visible. She was a ghost in her own life, a brilliant, lonely ghost.

Mansa refused to let her stay that way.

He started showing up. At her favorite coffee shop. At the library. At the small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant where she went to escape the suffocating pressure of her studies. He didn't ask for permission. He just appeared, a quiet, confident presence that was both unsettling and strangely comforting. He didn't try to impress her with his intelligence or his connections or his power. He just… talked to her. He asked her questions. He listened to her answers. He saw her.

He started dragging her places, not because he was showing off, but because he was teaching. He took her to private dinners in opulent, backroom restaurants where men in expensive suits whispered secrets over glasses of aged whiskey. He took her to business meetings where she watched him negotiate with a quiet, unshakeable authority that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. He took her to charity galas and political fundraisers, to underground power circles where the fate of nations was decided over cigars and brandy.

One night, after a particularly intense meeting where he had dismantled a rival's argument with a few, carefully chosen words, she asked him, "Why do people listen to you?"

He looked at her, his gaze a steady, unnerving weight, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Because my voice doesn't ask. It claims. In my world, a question is a weakness, a crack in the foundation. You don't ask for obedience; you build a throne with your words and dare them to challenge you. They listen because I speak as if the air I breathe is already mine to command."

Another night, as they were walking through the snow-covered streets of Cambridge, the city a silent, ethereal wonderland around them, he said, "A sharp mind is a good tool, Aaliyah, but it's just a tool. A hammer can build a house or smash a skull. Certainty… certainty is the hand that wields it. It's the unwavering belief that the path you walk is the only one that exists. Intelligence can be debated. Certainty cannot. It is the mountain that does not move, even when the storm rages against it."

Another time, as they were watching a group of powerful men fawning over a visiting dignitary, he said, "Look at them. They are smart men, rich men. But they are followers. Because a man who is only smart is a book on a shelf—valuable, but stationary. A man who belongs is a fire in a dark room. He doesn't need to announce his presence. The heat, the light, the very air bending around him… that is the announcement. You don't walk into a room and hope you belong. You enter like the room was built for you, and everyone else is just a guest in your kingdom."

He taught her how to command a room, how to read people, how to use her own intelligence as a weapon, not a shield. He taught her how to be powerful, not just smart. He taught her that she didn't have to hide, that she didn't have to apologize for taking up space, that she didn't have to be less than she was.

"A queen who apologizes for the space she occupies is not a queen at all," he told her one night, his voice a low, serious rumble, a quiet, unshakeable truth. "She is a prisoner who has merely been given a more comfortable cage. Power is not a gift to be returned. It is a throne you build with your own spine. Never shrink to make others feel tall. A lion does not ask the sheep for permission to roar."

Aaliyah absorbed every lesson, every word, every habit, her mind a sponge, soaking it all in, a quiet, desperate thirst for a knowledge she couldn't find in any book, any lecture hall. She didn't realize it then, but he was teaching her how to survive Elijah's future world years before Elijah even existed in her life.

Without realizing it, she was falling in love.

It was a slow burn, a natural, beautiful progression from friendship to something more, something deeper, something that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. Mansa never treated her like she was broken, like she was a project to be fixed. He never treated her like a genius, like a mind to be admired from a distance. He never treated her like a trophy, a beautiful object to be displayed on his arm.

He treated her like an equal.

One night, as they were sitting in his car, the city a blur of lights and shadows outside the windows, she asked him, "What if I don't want power?"

He looked at her, his expression a mixture of sadness and understanding, a quiet, knowing grief that made her heart ache. "Power doesn't care what you want," he said softly, his voice a low, serious rumble. "People like us don't get to be ordinary."

That became one of the defining lines of her life, a quiet, unshakeable truth that she would carry with her long after he was gone.

He was her first love. Her first everything emotionally. Her first real friend. The first man she trusted with her secrets, with her fears, with her fragile, broken heart. The first man she allowed herself to dream with, to imagine a future with. He talked about Africa, about building something bigger, about changing things, about creating a new generation, a different legacy. And for the first time in her life, Aaliyah allowed herself to imagine a future. A real future. Marriage. Children. A home. Love. And Mansa was at the center of all of it, a warm, bright, beautiful sun in the cold, dark landscape of her life.

Then he was gone.

The night he died was a cold, brutal night in the middle of a vicious winter storm. They were at a luxury hotel in Boston, she was out for the holidays, the snow a thick, heavy blanket outside the windows, the city a silent, muffled world of white and gray. They were spending the weekend together, talking, laughing, planning, and dreaming. They were happy. Truly, deeply, incandescently happy.

Around midnight, they got hungry. Mansa volunteered to go get food. "Stay here," he said, his voice a low, warm rumble, a quiet, reassuring smile on his face. "I'll grab food."

She kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of promise and possibility. "Hurry," she whispered, her heart a frantic, happy rhythm against her ribs.

He laughed, a low, rich, beautiful sound. "Always."

And then he left.

That was the last time she ever saw him alive.

Hours passed. The storm raged outside, a wild, violent symphony of wind and snow. She called him, her calls going straight to voicemail. She texted him, her messages remaining unread, a stark, terrifying reminder of his absence. A cold, heavy dread settled over her, a sick, gut-wrenching feeling that something was wrong, something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Then there was a knock. A sharp, perfunctory knock at the hotel door.

It was the police.

They were kind, gentle, their faces a mask of sympathetic sorrow. They told her he'd been shot. Five times. An execution. A professional hit. He was dead before the ambulance arrived. Twenty-one years old.

Aaliyah didn't cry immediately. That was the worst part. She just stared, her mind a blank, empty void, a cold, hollow ache that was so profound it was almost a physical thing. The grief came later, a violent, destructive force that tore through her, shattering everything, leaving her broken, bleeding, and utterly, completely alone.

She never learned who ordered it. Never got closure. Never got justice. Only silence. A deafening, suffocating silence that echoed in the empty spaces of her life, a constant, painful reminder of what she had lost, of what she could have had.

She pushed all those memories to the back of her mind, a locked, hidden box of pain and regret that she refused to open, refused to acknowledge. She never thought she'd need them, never thought she'd be anyone's wife but Mansa's. She buried them deep, a secret, sacred grief that she carried with her like a heavy, invisible cloak.

And now, standing next to Elijah, in front of her father and her Bloodsworth family, she felt the panic, the fear, the uncertainty, a cold, heavy dread that threatened to drown her. The rain lashed down, the world holding its breath, and the faces of the family she never knew were a silent, judgmental jury. And then she heard a voice. Not physically. A memory. A whisper from the past, a ghost in the storm.

A lion does not ask the sheep for permission to roar.

The words were a low rumble in her mind, a spark in the suffocating darkness. Her shoulders, which had begun to tense inward, to shrink away from the weight of their stares, stopped their retreat.

Another memory surfaced, clear and sharp as a shard of glass.

You don't walk into a room and hope you belong. You enter like the room was built for you, and everyone else is just a guest in your kingdom.

Aaliyah’s gaze flickered from Titian’s eyes—so like her own—to the imposing figure of Malachi, to the grief-stricken face of Imani. They were in her house. On her land. Standing before her husband.

Another memory, a quiet, steady drumbeat in her soul.

Certainty is the mountain that does not move, even when the storm rages against it.

The storm was here. The wind howled, the rain beat a frantic rhythm against the stone, and the ghosts of her past were standing on her doorstep. But she was the mountain.

One final, powerful truth settled in her bones, a foundation of solid rock beneath her feet.

A queen who apologizes for the space she occupies is not a queen at all. She is a prisoner who has merely been given a more comfortable cage.

She was not a prisoner. She had never been. She had just forgotten how to wear her own crown.

Aaliyah slowly straightened, her shoulders back, her chin lifted, a quiet, unshakeable confidence settling over her like a second skin. For the first time, she didn't look like Henri's daughter, a pale, broken reflection of a man she hated. She didn't look like Titian's daughter, a lost, lonely girl searching for a place to belong. She didn't look like Elijah's wife, a quiet, obedient pawn in a dangerous game.

She looked like herself.

The woman Mansa always saw.

The woman she was always meant to be.

And when she finally spoke to the Bloodsworth family, her voice a low, clear, steady rumble that vibrated through the charged air, every ounce of fear was gone. Because years ago, before Elijah, before Titian, before any of this, a dead king had taught her how to wear a crown.

"Girl boo. You know its hell week. Plus when is your last final?" she asks me. "Friday morning at ten. Then Ty is taking me to the airport to go home." I say to her. "Must be nice. Mines is at three. Then got to wait until the next day to go home." she says.

So we spent the next few hours going over material. "Alright, I'm done for the day. I'm going to get food. You in?" she asks me while packing up her bag. "You mind if Ty comes?" I ask. She smiles at me. "I remember at one point in the semester you hated this man, now you two are attached at the hip." she says.

I hated the fact that she was right. Because it all started that he spilled his food on me. Now look at where we are. Ty met us and we found a spot in the quad to eat.

"You mentally preparing yourself to go home?" Ash asks me. "Yeah. I know my mother will bitch and moan about me not coming home for Thanksgiving, but she'll get over it. At some point she's got to get this idea out her head that I'm not her blueprint. She got Mo for that," I say to them.

"You'll be fine. And what. You're the youngest out of?" she asks. "Three. Girl you met my siblings." I say. "That's right. During your birthday weekend." she says.

4:50 pm

I'm sitting in the middle of my bed scrolling through my messages. My parents are arranging who is going to be picking me up from the airport. Of course its Morgan. Fuck. That's going to be a headache.

9:45 pm

I finished packing. My parents got me a first class ticket home. Of fucking course. Going to be ambushed as soon as I get off the plane in Alexandria. Better be on my ps and qs.

Thursday

7:28 pm

My side of the room has officially is ready for break. "Will I see you before your final in the morning?" Ash asks me. I turn and look at her and smile. "Yes. I won't see you for a month after my final." I say as I wrap her in a hug. "Have I ever told you that that you are an amazing roommate?" she asks me. "Maybe once or twice." I say as we seperate. "But I'm heading to find a snack. Want to come with me?" I ask her.

"Yes. I need something for my in between times for exams." Ash says.

Eventually we find something. The dorm is extremely quiet. Tomorrow I'll be back in Virginia. I sigh as I think about how I'll be secluded with the family.

Friday

12:45 pm

Ty is with me in the airport. "You know you don't have to wait for me." I say to him. "I know but I need to make sure you get on the plane safe." he says. I smile at the statement. Overhead they call my flight. He wraps me in a warm hug. "Call me when you land." he says.

He let me go and he kisses my forehead. I walk through my gate. I find my seat and put on my headphones. This is going to be a long break.

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the front door opening and closing was what shifted you from half-asleep to a bit more aware of your surroundings. you stirred slightly in bed and peered over to the alarm clock on your nightstand, ‘3:15 A.M.’ staring back at you in LED writing.

before you could move further, the sound of heavy footsteps caught your attention and you turned your head just in time to see none other than Cameron Cade standing at the doorway shirtless and in a pair of sweatpants with his gym bag thrown over one of his broad shoulders.

“did i wake you?” Cameron asked lowly, his voice surprisingly rough, as he walked over to his closet and tossed his gym bag inside with a soft huff.

“no,” you answered softly as you shifted onto your back to properly watch him, “i been awake for a while now.”

“i told you ‘bout staying up late waiting on me, ma,” Cameron sighed as he pulled back the covers and climbed underneath them, pulling them back into their original place while he moved to climb on top of you, “don’t want you losin’ sleep ‘cause i’m at practice so late, baby.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, your hands instinctually moving to rest against his upper arms, as Cameron carefully lowered his weight onto you and pressed his body against yours, a soft hum of contentment falling from his lips at your warmth, “how was practice?—”

“don’t wanna talk about it,” the words flew quickly from Cameron’s mouth as if they’d already been sitting at the back of his throat the moment practice ended, and he pressed two soft pecks against your lips before lowering his head to rest in the crook of your neck, “need you to make me feel better.”

this wasn’t an unfamiliar situation when it came down to Cameron and football practice. he was unethically overworked, and as a QB, it seemed as if he was always carrying so much more on his shoulders than he needed to — so much more than a person could mentally handle.

you were his anchor through it all. you kept him grounded and gave him an outlet to let out his emotions, along with helping him relax when his body was coiled tightly with tension.

“i’ll be quick, baby,” Cameron whispered against your neck, sliding his hands under the oversized shirt on your body that was technically his, as his large palms tenderly caressed your chunky waist and his thumbs grazed the waistband of your underwear, “promise i will… just… can’t sleep without feelin’ you around me first.”

“you don’t have to rush, Cam,” you reassured him softly as you cradled the back of his head and he groaned quietly at your touch, “take what you need from me, baby.”

Cameron inhaled sharply from your words and you felt his body go stiffer as he raise his head from your neck and took a hand off your waist to pull your panties to the side, a string of arousal clinging to them and making him groan desperately at the sight.

“oh, baby…” Cameron sighed deeply as he held your panties aside with one hand and used his other to push his shorts and boxers down enough to expose his dick, “so grateful for you… and this pussy. so grateful for my pretty girls. so fuckin’ grateful.”

before either of you could utter a word, Cameron was already pushing inside you, a guttural moan falling from his lips at feeling your pussy greedily swallow every inch of him and pull him deeper and deeper inside your slick walls.

your breathing hitched and a broken gasp fell from your mouth as you watched his hips slowly push forward before your eyes flickered up to Cameron’s face, taking note of his glossy eyes and blown pupils.

the moment he was buried to the hilt was when his tension suddenly washed away, and he stared down at you reverently as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, his big hands finding your chunky waist through the shirt on your body and firmly holding onto it.

“i love you,” Cameron moaned roughly as his hips slowly pulled back before roughly snapping forward, earning a squeal from you while your hands grabbed ahold of his back, “fuck, i love you so much, baby… don’t know where i’d be without you.”

despite Cameron’s sweet nothings, his hips seemingly had a mind of their own. he fucked into you like a man starved, the bed creaking rhythmically underneath the two of you while he deeply pounded your pussy.

his nose occasionally brushed against yours and his groans mingled with your moans as you clung to him and he clung to you right back, his hands now tightly gripping your thick hips to pull you into his quick thrusts and maintain his rhythm while your nails sunk into his back to hold him against you.

“C-Cam!—”

“i k-know, baby. fuck, i know,” Cameron moaned pathetically as he suddenly wrapped his arms around your body and held you against his body, his hips flush against yours while he rocked them back and forth and ultimately created friction between his pelvis and your clit, “you takin’ it so good f’me, mama, just hold onto me… i got you. i always got you.”

to Cameron, you were more than his girlfriend. you were almost like a drug. something that kept him grounded, but also kept him calm and at peace. something that kept him relaxed and let his mind find tranquility in silence. something that gave him a high, but it wasn’t the typical high that anyone would get from a standard drug.

you might’ve felt like a drug, but you gave a better high than others did — a natural high that had Cameron dependent on you to destress him from the trials and tribulations of his life.

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you didn’t mean for it to happen, but once the damage was done, you knew you’d be in trouble.

you may or may not have goofed around with your friends for the first month and a half of the semester, unknowingly prioritizing fun over your academics. sure, your attendance was on point and you never missed an assignment, but when you started going out to frat parties almost every weekend with your homegirls, your grades unfortunately started to slip.

it all happened so fast — the parties, the drinking, the Friday night outings, the reckless fun that practically took over your life — but it all stopped as quick as it started once your midterm grades got released. Cs and below stared threateningly at you, and you swore you felt your heart drop straight to your ass at the sight.

you didn’t know how it happened. you had always been an A and B student, so the sight of multiple grades below those made you sick to your stomach. but when Cameron found out? you felt like you could’ve vomited right in his face.

Cameron wasn’t the type to really fuss at you or even be strict on you, but when he found out what your grades were, he practically turned into your father. he got on you about your grades firmer than you expected, but the moment he told you that he’d stop fucking you and touching you sexually until you got your grades up was when you went rigid.

granted, you weren’t mad at him for taking away those privileges — you shouldn’t have even let your grades slip this bad anyway — but you knew your sexual frustration would eat away at you until the semester ended and final grades were released.

so what did you do? you worked your ass off for the rest of the semester to fix your grades.

no more parties, no more drinking, no more Friday night outings — nothing. when the weekend came, you had completely sheltered yourself in your room with nothing but your laptop and notebooks as you completed assignments and studied for upcoming exams.

you were determined to get your grades back up, but you were even more determined to be rewarded by Cameron for getting your grades back up.

once the semester came to an end and final exams wrapped up, you were practically ecstatic. you had a good feeling that you brought up your grades, but you knew you couldn’t say anything to Cameron about them because he’d ask for proof, so you waited until you were notified that final grades had been released — which came quicker than you expected.

you wasted no time logging into your Banner account and clicking through it to see your grades, your eyes lighting up at the sight of As and Bs staring back at you. satisfaction and relief coursed deeply through you as the realization settled in — you recovered rather quickly from what could’ve been a horrible blow to your GPA.

you didn’t bother celebrating on your own, though. the moment you saw your grades, you were already in the driver’s seat of your car. you drove to Cameron’s apartment with nothing but intense excitement and suppressed sexual desire inside you — though your excitement seemingly overpowered everything else because when you arrived at his apartment, you practically bursted through his door.

“Cameroooon!” you called out excitedly as you quickly pushed open his door and unintentionally slammed it behind you, swiftly locking it before taking off through his apartment, “baby! where you at?!”

Cameron jumped at the sudden sound of your appearance and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion mixed with amusement as he sat up on the couch and watched you practically pace through his humble abode to find him, “i’m in the living room. why you screamin’, you good?”

a squeal flew from your mouth before you could catch it at the sound of his voice and you ran into the living room as you threw yourself at him and into his lap, making him grunt before laughing at you while his arms instinctively wrapped around your body to steady you.

“what’s goin’ on with you, ma? why you runnin’ around here like somebody after you or some shit?” Cameron laughed as both of his eyebrows raised and he leaned back against the couch to properly look at you, his arms loosening around you and his hands moving to hold your waist.

“look!” you practically shoved your phone into his chest, but his reflexes kicked in and one of his hands caught it before it could actually come in contact with him, “i did it, Cam!”

Cameron let out a soft snort at your frantic joy and he adjusted his grip on your phone as he lifted it and his eyes averted to the screen, an understanding smile crossing his face once it clicked in his mind why you were so excited.

“see, that’s what i’m talking ‘bout. congrats, baby, i knew you could do it.” Cameron smiled, looking up at you, as you smiled back, yours wider than his, and you leaned down to him, peppering kisses across his face before moving your mouth to his and pecking his lips multiple times.

“okay, now eat my pussy,” you mumbled between pecks as Cameron laughed lowly and sat your phone aside, his hand on your waist sliding around to rest against your back while his other gently grabbed the back of your neck and slightly pulled you back from his mouth, “Cameron, come on— i haven’t felt any part of you in so long, i need this.”

“that ain’t how you ask, pretty,” Cameron teased, a small smirk creeping onto his face, as you groaned softly and rested your hands against his shoulders, a pout absentmindedly forming on your face at his denial, “ask for it properly.”

“can you please eat my pussy, baby?” you asked sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him, as your thumbs traced small circles against his shoulders and Cameron’s smirk slightly widened, “i need you, Cam, you know that.”

Cameron looked at you silently for a moment, letting the weight of your words settle into the atmosphere, before he suddenly wrapped his arms around you and flipped you over, eliciting an abrupt squeal from you while he laid you on your back.

“well… since you asked nicely,” Cameron paused and gently pecked your lips before slowly maneuvering down your body, “and you brought your grades up like i wanted you to,” he paused again and hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants as he teasingly tugged at them before pulling them down and throwing them aside, “i should reward you for that, huh?”

“yeah,” your voice was softer than before — a bit breathy as well — and you raised your hips as you helped him remove the last barrier of clothing that covered your lower body, “you should.”

“i got you, mama.” Cameron’s arms wrapped around your legs and he spread them wide as he dipped his head between your thighs and pressed soft kisses against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, gently nipping at them before sticking out his tongue and slowly licking a long stripe of your pussy.

your body shuddered from the familiar yet forgotten feeling and you whimpered as your hands came down to cradle the back of Cameron’s head, your fingertips running over his buzzed hair and slightly grazing the stapled scar by his hairline.

Cameron groaned under his breath, though he didn’t know if it was coaxed out of him by your taste or touch, and his fingers slightly tightened against your thighs as he began eating your pussy like a man who hadn’t eaten in years, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows while he buried his face into your cunt.

your head fell back against the couch cushions and a high-pitched moan fell from your mouth as your eyes rolled back and your jaw went slack, a yelp erupting from you at feeling Cameron’s mouth lock around your clit.

“oh, fuuuck, baby— C-Cam!” you cried out, your eyebrows furrowing, as your back started to arch up from the couch but you suddenly felt his palm press into your stomach to hold you down, a whine falling from your mouth while one of your hands slid down to hold onto the back of Cameron’s neck, “uuugh, shiiiit! mmh, don’t s-stop!”

Cameron’s long fingers splayed across your stomach and kept you from running away as his other hand slid between your legs and he dragged his middle finger through your folds, collecting your arousal before he eased it inside of you.

“fuck!” a broken whimper fell from your mouth and your legs jerked as your head raised and you looked down at Cameron, pleasure displayed across your pretty face and mixing with a hint of bewilderment.

you had been so wound up for the past few months from Cameron’s “no sex or head” rule, but it seemed like you weren’t the only one affected by it. Cameron had always been skilled at eating pussy, but the way he was feasting on you today felt different — as if he was practically starving for another taste of you.

Cameron’s eyes found yours and you watched the corners of his mouth slightly lift in what you assumed to be a smirk, the sight of shock mixed with pure bliss in your expression telling him more than you even needed to.

pulling his mouth off of your clit, Cameron rolled and wiggled his tongue against it as he pushed his ring finger inside you and slightly scissored them to stretch you further open, eliciting a desperate mewl from you while you watch him torment you with his mouth and fingers.

“you gon’ cum for me, ma? hm?” Cameron murmured against your clit, flicking his tongue against it, as he slightly pulled back and spit on your clit before replacing his mouth with his thumb, rubbing it in quick circles while his fingers thrusted deeply inside you, “you gon’ let me taste how much you been missin’ me, pretty girl?”

“y-yes!” you whined, your head falling back for a second time, as you gasped sharply and your legs jerked again, your eyes rolling back and your eyebrows furrowing deeply while a small scrunch formed in the bridge of your nose, “ohhh, my G— C-Cameroooon! shiiiit, baby, i-i’m—”

“uh-huh, i know. i know, baby. keep soakin’ my fingers just like that. gimme’ all that good shit.”