StayBeautiful_27

The final snap of the rubber band echoed in the quiet suite as you smoothed down the last braid with a dollop of jam. You stepped back, wiping your hands on your apron, admiring the crisp, geometric parts that mapped out his scalp.

Bronco looked sharp. The fresh braids pulled his features tight, highlighting the rugged slant of his jaw and the dark intensity of his gaze as he studied his reflection.

He didn't just stand up, he unfolded himself from the chair like a predator finally released from a cage. He ran a hand over the side of his head, feeling the precision of your work, then turned his attention entirely to you.

"Damn, ma. You really got me lookin' like a million bucks," he rumbled, his voice dropping low. He stepped into your personal space, forcing you to back up until your ass hit the edge of the heavy marble station. "But I don't like bein' in debt. And you been workin' those hands for hours."

He reached out, his large, calloused hands gripping your waist and hoisting you effortlessly onto the counter. Your legs instinctively parted to accommodate him, the cool surface of the marble a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off his body.

"So, here’s the deal," he murmured, leaning in until his nose brushed yours. "Service for service. I’m finna take care of you, but I need to know how you want it. You want me to pay you back in full right here, right now? Or you want a down payment— half right now on this counter, and the rest of that interest when we get home tonight?"

He didn't wait for a verbal answer. His hand slid up your thigh, his thumb grazing the hem of your shorts. "Choose wisely, 'cause if I do the whole thing right now, we might not even make it to the restaurant. I’m feelin' hella generous."

"I... I think I want a down payment," you breathed, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Bronco smirked, a dark, knowing flash in his eyes. "Smart girl. Keep me hungry for later."

The smirk on Bronco’s face sharpened into something primal, a look that promised you wouldn't be walking straight to the car. He didn't just move; he commanded the space, his large frame caging you in against the mirrors.

"Down payment it is," he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, vibrato-heavy register that made your toes curl against the cool marble. "But don't think I'm skimpin' on the quality just 'cause it's the deposit, preciosa."

He stepped back just enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. With a slow, deliberate tug, he peeled them down, his eyes never leaving yours until the fabric hit the floor. He didn't rush. He watched the way your breath hitched, the way the salon’s LED lights caught the shimmer of your skin. He reached for your thighs, his large, warm palms spanning the width of them as he guided your knees wider, settling himself firmly in the cradle of your hips.

"You been standin' on these feet all day for me," he whispered, his thumbs tracing circles into your inner thighs, heading dangerously high. "Time to let 'em hang for a minute."

Then, he dropped to his knees.

The transition was jarringly domestic yet intensely erotic— this huge, intimidating man, fresh braids gleaming, kneeling between your legs on the hard tile of your suite.

He leaned forward, his hands sliding under your glutes to pull you right to the very edge of the cold marble counter. The contrast was electric, the freezing stone beneath you and the scorching heat of his breath hitting your sensitive skin.

The change in perspective was dizzying. From your vantage point on the counter, you looked down at the crisp, fresh braids you’d just finished, neat rows of black hair against his scalp— as he buried his face in the soft heat of your inner thighs.

"B-Baby.." you gasped, your head hitting the mirrored wall behind you with a soft thud.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and damp. "Just stay right there. I’m finna show you how much I appreciate those hands of yours."

He started slow, teasing the sensitive skin with light, ghosting kisses that made you shiver, before his tongue finally found you.

The first long, upward stroke was firm and purposeful, a direct contrast to the gentle way you’d handled his scalp earlier. Bronco was thorough. He used his tongue with the same rhythmic precision you used for parting hair, swirling and flickering against your clit until your breath was coming in short, jagged hitches.

Your fingers sought purchase, finding the fabric of his shirt before migrating up to his head. You tried to be careful of the fresh braids, but as the pleasure began to climb, your grip tightened. You felt the tension in his neck as he pushed deeper, his nose buried in you, completely unbothered by the mess or the cramped space.

"Oh god, Bae, please..."

He let out a low, muffled rumble of approval against your wetness, sensing you were close. To tip you over the edge, he slipped two fingers inside you, his movements mimicking the relentless, steady pace of his tongue.

He knew exactly where to apply pressure, his thumb finding the sensitive peak of your clitoris and circling it with a maddening, flicking motion. The combination was diabolical. You were trapped between the ice-cold marble and the furnace of his body, the friction building until your vision started to blur.

Your breath came in ragged, uneven hitches. You began to call his name, your voice cracking as the orgasm started to coil in the base of your stomach. Bronco heard it— he lived for that sound. He amped up the intensity, his tongue swirling with a sharp, insistent focus while his fingers curled deep inside you, hitting the exact spot that made your toes curl and your legs lock around his neck.

"Mmhmm. Gimme that mama, I got you," he mummbled, as his other hand squeezed your thighso hard, you knew it would leave a faint mark.

Your orgasm hit you like a physical wave. Back arching, fingers tightening in his hair as a long, airy moan escaped your throat. Your body shook and muscles twitched in the aftershocks, while he Bronco stayed right there, drinking in every vibratuon of your release until the last of the trembles subsided.

He finally pulled back, looking up at you with a slow, predatory grin. His lips were wet, his eyes dark with a hunger that suggested the "down payment" had only made him more ravenous. He reached up, tucking a braid behind your ear, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your bottom lip.

"Now," he whispered, "Since we settled the first half of the bill... let's go get those tacos. You're gonna need your strength for what I'm finna do to you when we get back to the crib."

He reached for a fresh microfiber towel from your station, gently cleaning you up with a tenderness that contradicted the raw power he’d just displayed. He helped you slide off the counter, keeping his arm firmly around your waist until your legs stopped shaking.

"You good, baby?" he asked, a touch of wit returning to his tone as he checked his new braids in the mirror one last time. "Or do I need to carry you to the car?"

Bronco was already reaching for his keys, but the look in your eyes made him pause. The "down payment" hadn't settled the debt— it had only made you crave the bankruptcy.

"Change of plans," you rasped, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him back into your space. "I don't want to wait. I want the full payment. Right now."

He didn't give you a second to reconsider. He grabbed you by the waist and slammed you into your heavy leather salon chair, the hydraulics hissing under the impact. He didn't even bother taking off his pants completely, just shoving them down enough to free himself, his gaze locked on yours with predatory intent.

"Sit back," he commanded, his hands forcing your knees wide. "Watch what you did to me."

He guided himself in with one heavy thrust, a guttural groan escaping his throat as your heat encased him. "Goddamn... mira como me tienes," he choked out, his Spanglish thick and messy.

"You so wet for me, it’s like a slip-and-slide in this bitch. You been waitin' for this, huh? You wanted to see if I could really handle the bill."

You couldn't even answer; your head fell back against the headrest, a loud, piercing moan escaping you that echoed off the high ceilings of the suite. Bronco winced, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at the frosted door.

"Hey, hey... keep it down, preciosa. Unless you want the neighbors findin' out exactly how I’m payin' you," he teased, though his eyes were anything but playful.

He reached over to the station, grabbing the black nylon cutting cape. Without breaking his rhythm, he bunched up the cool fabric and pressed it against your lips. "Bite down, ma. Don't want ya neighbors knowin' how I'm sluttin' you out in your own shop."

You took the fabric between your teeth, the taste of salon-grade nylon filling your mouth as he began to find his stride. He wasn't being gentle anymore. He was digging you out, his hips snapping forward with the power of a professional athlete. The chair groaned and slid an inch across the floor with every hit.

"Yeah, ma" he growled, watching your eyes blown wide with pleasure. "You look like a little slut for me right now, you know that? My pretty little stylist... takin' this dick like a champ."

He suddenly stood up, pulling you with him by the waist. He flipped you around with a strength that made your stomach flip, pressing your chest down against the seat of the chair. He reached out, his large fist winding into your box braids, using them as a handle to tilt your head back.

He began to pound into you from behind, a relentless, punishing rhythm that had the chair sliding against the floor.

"You like that? Te gusta que te trate así?" he growled, his voice a jagged rasp against your neck. You like it when I treat you like this. "Look at how wet you are. You was drippin' all over your chair. You're such a little slut for me, aren't you?"

The pace became animalistic. You were sobbing into the cape, tears streaming down your face from the sheer intensity of the friction. Every thrust was deep, hitting your soul, his fresh braids swaying with the violence of his movements. He didn't let up, his hand tightening in your hair as he drove you toward the edge.

"Ya voy, mami... me voy a venir," he choked out, his body tensing like a coiled spring. I'm coming, mamí... I'm going to come With one final, devastating lunge, he buried himself to the hilt, a gutteral roar echoing in the small room.

He didn't pull out. He stayed deep inside you, his chest heaving against your back, his sweat dripping onto the marble. As he finally withdrew, the "payment" leaked down your thighs, a messy testament to the debt settled.

He pulled the cape from your mouth and kissed your shoulder. "Now," he panted, a smirk returning to his face. "Now we can go get those tacos."

The smell of peppermint oil and sex hung heavy in the air as the adrenaline finally started to taper off. Bronco was the first to move, his breathing still coming in ragged hitches as he reached for a roll of paper towels. He cleaned you up with a focused intensity, his eyes lingering on the marks he’d left on your thighs before he helped you back into your clothes.

You felt like liquid, your bones humming with the aftershocks of what he’d just put you through. You pulled your shorts back on and adjusted your top, watching him in the mirror as he smoothed out his fresh braids, his movements back to that cool, Oakland-bred swagger.

"You look hella wrecked, preciosa," he teased, his voice still low and gravelly. He stepped behind you, wrapping his thick arms around your waist and pulling your back against his chest. "I did a number on you, huh?"

"You know you did," you breathed, leaning your head back against his shoulder. "Service for service, right?"

"Damn straight." He turned you around in his arms, his dark eyes searching yours. "But I ain't done showin' you how much I appreciate you yet."

Before you could reach for your bag, he backed you up against the frosted glass door one last time. He didn't go for your body this time, he went for your lips. He cupped your jaw with both hands, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones as he tilted your head back.

He plunged his tongue into your mouth, deep and possessive, tasting the lingering heat of your moans. It wasn't a sweet kiss— it was a tonguing down, a raw, wet exploration that made your knees buckle all over again.

He tasted like the peppermint you’d used on his scalp and the raw hunger he still had for you. His tongue danced with yours, demanding and slow, reminding you that even with your clothes back on, you were still his.

"Mmm," he hummed into the kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your ass. He pulled back just an inch, his lips still brushing yours. "You taste good, mama. I could stay in this suite all day just eatin' you up."

He gave you one last, sharp nip on your bottom lip before finally letting go. He grabbed his keys and hooked his arm around your neck, dragging you close to his side.

"Alright, c'mon. This Orlando heat ain't playin' and I’m starvin' fo'real now," he said, leadin' you out of the suite and locking the door behind you.

The humid Florida air hit you both as you walked toward his car, but Bronco didn't loosen his grip on you for a second. "After we eat, we goin' straight back to the crib. I still owe you that 'interest' on the second half of the bill, remember? You really gone ride a Bronco."

He hopped into the driver's seat, cranking the AC and reaching over to rest his hand heavy on your thigh, his thumb rubbing small, possessive circles into your skin.

"Let's get this food, reina. Then it’s round three."

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Tags: @caramelcleopatraa @uceypunk @aikosilo @hauntedskye @partypoison00 @uceyliyahh@paigereeder @isabella-2025 @milt-9221 @theusotwinzcom @hunnidmilly @tribalchief2112 @msripleybennett @cafeluvs @4milly @empressdede

@fearlesschimera @bebesobrielo @fafomama @sheaabuttaababyy @soccergirlbee@mindairy @prettypink-princesss @luuvprincess @punksyeet @beccalynns-world @baybehkay @alphabetically-deranged

By 9 AM, I was in my stylist's chair. The salon smelled like oils and Marcel irons. "Girl, you look worked," Sheila, laughed as I sank into her chair. "Blame Mr.2EZ," I groaned, stretching sore quads. While she double-shampooed, I spilled the tea about the detils of Ed's birthday, the threat on my soon-to-be- freshly straightened hair. Sheila pops her gum. "He payin' that invoice for when I gotta redo this?" I grin, "Oh, trust. He'll Zelle you that and a tip."

Thirty-two passes of the flat iron later my coils pour silk-smooth to mid-back. Sheila spins me toward the mirror. “Look. Movement.”

It’s lethal. Also temporary.

I snake-wrap the press, secure it under a black bonnet, and text Ed a selfie— just the swirl of burgundy fabric and me smirking.

Me: Bet you won't

He instantly read it and replied with

Bae Daddy🥵: Yk I will 😏🤤

I was back home by 2, I padded through the apartment in fuzzy socks, bonnet still snug.

The living room’s dim, ceiling fan humming while Girlfriends reruns drone from the TV. I prop one leg on the ottoman, scrolling lesson-plan emails and nursing a strawberry protein shake.

Two hours later, the door swings open, smelling of talc and aftershave. Ed’s fade is razor-sharp, mustache lined to perfection. Jonathan beelines to the kitchen for leftover pastelitos, but Ed stalks straight to m

“Let me see it,” he murmurs, fingertips already teasing the knot at my nape. I swat him off. “Sir. It’s two in the afternoon.”

He drops to his knees in front of the couch— big man, puppy eyes. “Just a peek.” I swat his hands. “Boy, if you don’t—!”

He grins, palms slipping under the knot, tugging temptingly. The bonnet budges a centimeter before I clamp both hands over his.

“Edwin. Dinner is in two hours. Respect my process.” He nips my wrist, smug. “Fine. But at nine-o-one, I’m destroyin’ that process.”

Jonathan strolls by with a plate, shakes his head. “Y’all nasty,” he mumbles, mouth full.

Ed sighs, backs off, but not before pressing a soft kiss where my pulse jumps. “Countdown’s on, bonita. three hours.”

I pretend to focus on the TV, but the look he gives me turns my stomach into helium.

After doomscrolling and taking a well needed nap, it was time to get ready. It was hitting 5:30, and I decided to shower first. In our bedroom, the floor was a graveyard of multiple outfit options. I settled on a Orange satin midi that hugged everything. I’m blending concealer when I catch Ed’s reflection in the mirror, leaning on the doorframe, V-cut visible above tailored jeans, eyes molten.

“Need help?” he rumbles. “With eyeliner? Nope.”

He saunters in anyway, palms spanning my hips. His heat bleeds through cotton. A kiss lands at my nape, then another—vlower, wetter. My grip on the liner flickers.

“Ed…” “You look too damn good, ma.” His hand glides up, cups a breast, thumb circling leisurely.

I try for firmness, it escapes breathless. “We’ll be late.” “Just bend over a little.” He presses me forward over the marble counter, dress hem rising.

Cool stone meets my stomach, warmth floods everywhere else. He hooks a thumb under my panties, teasing—

Knock-knock.

“Thirty minutes, lovebirds!” Jonathan shouts, obnoxious.

Ed groans into my shoulder, reluctantly straightens. “You lucky my brother’s still here.” I turn, cheeks flaming, but can’t resist a smug grin. “Touch me again before dinner and you’re on the couch.” His gaze skims me head to toe. “Sure."

Thirty minutes later, we all made our way outside. I ordered a Uber black for us, because I did not want the birthday boy to do shit but celebrate his day in style. Ed's dress shirt hugged his biceps in ways that threatened public decency. He offered me his arm, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Then his gaze took in my hair and my dress. A small smirk spread across his face, "Happy birthday to me." he whispers.

By 7:42PM, The Uber Black glides to a curb awash in teal uplighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a rooftop bar sparkling above—El Cielo Azul, the priciest modern-Mex spot in the city. A hostess clocks us instantly and taps her ipad.

A hostess in cobalt satin leads us to a horseshoe booth curtained by tropical foliage. “Welcome to El Cielo Azul, Señor Grande—happy twenty-eighth.”

Ed glanced over at me with a raised eyebrow, "Mamí, I told you not to go overboard. It's not a big deal."

Smiling sweetly at him, "Baby, you are a big deal. Enjoy this Mr. Grande." The hostess led the three of us to the secluded dining area, where everyone else was already seated. "Aye, Happy Birthday Mr.2EZ!" Trick greeted while standing up to dap up Ed. Lucien followed suite by giving him one of those bro hugs that had depth to it. Anriel–Lash– hugged me then Ed, and gave him a little gift baggie. "Don't open this at the table." She warned with a wink. He peeks, eyes widening at the glint of silver handcuffs nestled among silk ties. He coughs, cheeks reddening under the dim lighting. Jonathan’s cam zooms in shamelessly. Ed went around and greeted his other friends and co-workers, and made small talk and jokes about how nice the restaurant was. Once we were all seated and settled the waiter, Luis, took everyone's drink orders. Before explaining the six course tasting.

"Hi everyone, My name is Luis. Tonight we have the Chef's six-course "Sueño" tasting. Shall we begin?" Ed looked at me with a raised eyebrow, I just shrugged and sipped my wine. Already knowing the gatback on this was gonna be something lethal.

Luis gives a little bow and disappears, returning with two servers balancing obsidian plates that shimmer under the soft amber glow of hanging lanterns.

“First course, atún en hoja de limón, compressed tuna dressed with citrus smoke and micro cilantro.”

The plates land before us— ruby slices arranged like constellations. Lucien whistles low. Trick mutters, “Man… this some fancy ass shit.”

Ed chuckles, then without hesitation—cuts the first piece, lifts it to my lips. “You first, ma,” he murmurs, voice dipped in that deep, sweet grit.

“On your birthday?” I raise a brow.

He just smirks. “Don’t argue. Open.”

The tuna melts the second it hits my tongue— bright, delicate, one exhale away from disappearing. Ed watches for my reaction like it’s his job, then finally takes his own bite.

"Not this being a episode of a telenovela." Trick joked, making all of us laugh. Next entrée, was a citrusy beet carpaccio with goat cheese mousse, candied pepitas, and a drizzle of jalapeño honey.

Anriel leans in. “Sis… this is fancy as hell. The bill gon’ read like a student loan.”

I shrug, smiling into my wine glass. “He deserves it.”

Ed flicks a glance at me— soft, a little dangerous, a little grateful. His hand slides under the table, squeezing my knee. “Try this,” he murmurs, lifting a perfect forkful to my lips agaim.

"Bae,eat your food,” I whisper.

“You keep takin’ care of me tonight. Least I can do is feed you.”

By 9:15, the fifth course came out, Ed kept feeding me portions of his meals. "Edwin." He smirks, "You said don't touch you before dinner. Never said anything bout feedin' you."

I open my mouth. He grins like he just won gold.

Thirty minutes later, the final course arrives– dessert. Chocolate tres-leches with cajeta drizzle. Ed's specifically had a single sparkler with Happy Birthday, Bronco written around the rim.. The lights were dimmed, and the staff appeared. Everyone sung happy birthday, loudly, badly but with so much love. Ed is smiling hard as hell, dimples deep. Cheeks red.

Then cuts a piece, scoops it onto a spoon, and holds it out not to himself— to me.

"Come on mamí,” he murmurs. “Eat the cake.”

I take the bite, slow, lips closing around the spoon in a way that is absolutely not PG-13.

His jaw flexes. Jonathan zooms in again.

“Aight, that’s enough filming,” Ed growls playfully, putting a hand over the lens.

At 10, Luis arrives with a leather folio. "Whenever you're ready," he says.

Ed reaches for his wallet.

“Nope.” I snatch it before he even opens it.

“Baby,” he sighs, “I told you—”

“It’s done,” I interrupt. “Everything’s covered. Tip included.”

Ed stares at me. Long.

“Why you keep doin’ this for me?” he asks quietly, thumb brushing my wrist. I shrug. “Because I want to. Because it’s you AND it's your birthday.”

He leans close, whispering with a promise that burns molten, “You know I’m gettin’ every penny back out of you when we back to the crib, right?”

My breath catches. I just sip from my near empty glass, pretending I’m unfazed— but Ed knows.

Finally everyone stood, stretched, laughing – buzzing from the food and mezcal. Jonathan walks up to his brother with the camera. "Birthday boy– any last words for your b-day vlog?" Ed drapes an arm around my waist, pulls me flush to his side, and gives the camera a small smirk.

"I 'preciate everybody comin' out for ya boy. Love yall. Twenty-eight been good to me already..." he looks down at me, licks his lips. "... and now, it's about to get even better. I'm about to go unwrap my real gift, and take my time doing it."

The room filled with wolf whistles, hollers, and Jonathan gagging. "Alright, alright. That ain't PG."

Ed just laughs, deep and satisfied, tugging me toward the exit like the night belongs to him.

And honestly? It does.

Outside, the Florida night is warm and velvety, that soft Orlando humidity that clings to skin and curls at your ankles. Everyone spills out of the restaurant buzzing— full, loud, tipsy, chaotic in the best way.

Trick is still laughing at Ed’s vlog sign-off, wiping at his eyes. Anriel is yelling, “YOU DID NOT SAY THAT ON CAMERA, EDWIN—OH MY GOD.” Lucien is shaking his head, muttering, “Man’s reckless. Absolutely reckless.”

Jonathan’s camera is still recording as he walks backward, narrating the birthday exit like a dramatic documentary.

The Uber Black glides to the curb— sleek, glossy, tinted like secrets.

Before Ed opens the door, Jon taps his shoulder.

“Yo, big bro. Lucien’s droppin’ me off at Cam’s. I’ll catch you tomorrow.” Lucien lifts two fingers. “I got him. Safe hands.”

“Bet,” Ed says, dapping him up. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“You too,” Jonathan fires back, smirking pointedly at me before hopping into Lucien’s passenger seat. The whole squad cackles.

The second the boys peel off, Ed’s hand slides to the small of my back.

And just like that— everything goes quiet.

After hugging the rest of the crew, we hopped in the uber and the moment the door shuts, Ed’s entire birthday-boy composure drops. He tosses the gift bag Anriel got him to the seat next to us.

He dragged me onto his lap like he’d been starving for hours instead of minutes, hands immediately finding the curve of my waist.

“Mamí…” His voice is deep, post-mezcal, warm enough to melt steel. “That little silk press bouta be history.”

I choke on nothing. "Ed–"

The Uber pulled away from the curb, city lights streaking across the roof as Ed’s fingers grazed up the back of my neck. He continues like I didn’t speak.

“You walked out the house and in that restaurant lookin’ like this… with that hair movin’…” His fingers sliding through the silkiness, “I been fightin’ myself for the last three hours.”

“Baby, my hair—”

“Mm?” he hummed, nose brushing the corner of my jaw. “You know I’m still thinkin’ ’bout sweatin’ this out, right?”

He kisses my jaw in slow, deliberate drags, heat pooling at every point his mouth touches. His other hand slid up my thigh so slowly it felt like prayer and threat at the same time.

“You spent all that fuckin' money to get it bone straight…” He nipped my ear, deep voice vibrating through me. “…and I’m finna disrespect every minute of it.”

I grabbed his wrist— instinct, not actual resistance. “Baby, we are in an Uber—”

“That ain’t stoppin' me from thinking,” he whispered, lips dragging down my neck. “And you know how I get when I think too long.”

My breath caught. The driver adjusted the mirror. Ed didn’t care.

Large palm settling on my hip, he pulled me tighter against him, letting me feel exactly how “unwrapping his real present” had him acting already.

“Soon as that door closes at home?” he promised against my throat. “You’re ass is mine. And this pretty little silk press?”

His hand slid back up,this time gripping just enough to make my pulse stutter.

“Say goodbye to it now, mamí.”

As soon as we got in, the door couldn't close good enough before he was on me, like white on rice. My back hit the entryway wall, his mouth already on my neck, hands sliding everywher at once, ike he didn’t know which part he wanted first. “Ed—w-wait,” I breathed, half-laughing, half-melting.

“Oh, now you wanna wait?” he murmured against my collarbone, voice thick with that dangerous birthday rasp. “You wasn’t tellin’ me to wait in the Uber.”

I slipped out from under him with a quick twist and darted toward the kitchen.

He followed. Slow at first… then not slow at all.

Every time I ducked into a room, he filled the doorway like a threat and a promise. Living room? He stalked in with a grin.

Laundry room? He leaned on the frame like try again, baby.

Bathroom? He didn’t even let me close the door— just stood there smirking like he was letting me play.

“Mama…” he warned softly, “you know what you doin’.”

“I’m not doing anything,” I lied, backing away, heart pounding. “You said you had a gift to unwrap. Maybe I’m hiding it.”

That did it.

His smile dropped into something wolfish. “Aight... Bet.”

He stepped toward me, I bolted down the hallway— He laughed, deep, pleased and chased.

Not rushed— chased. Predator pace. Long, hungry strides. Like stalking a prey.

“Run, mamí,” he growled. “Run while you can.”

Every door I slipped into, he appeared seconds later… and every time he showed up, something was missing from him. First his dress shirt. Then his belt somewhere down the hall. Then his tank. The man was shedding clothes like breadcrumbs.

“Edwin—!” I squealed when he appeared shirtless in the office doorway.

“Mhm,” he said, rolling his shoulders like the chase was warming him up. “Keep playin’, hermosa. I want you to.”

I darted into our bedroom, thinking I had a small lead.

He caught me.

One arm around my waist, the other braced on the doorframe for leverage, lifting me clean off my feet like I weighed nothing.

“Got you, mamí.”

My breath stuttered. The way he said it? That wasn’t teasing. That was possession wrapped in velvet he

He carried me to the bed and set me on my feet only long enough to run his hands through the silk press he’d been threatening all day, the straps of my dress, the curve of my ass.

“Turn around.”

I did.

His accent dipped heavier when he was losing patience— when want pulled at his words. He pushed my straps down inch by inch, reverent… until the dress whispered to the floor.

Then? His control snappe.

He spun me back toward him and kissed me— deep, claiming, all tongue and heat. My knees buckled, and he guided me backward until I hit the edge of the mattress.

He pulled away just enough to murmur, “Stop runnin' from me, baby.”

But I did.

Instinct. Thrill. That little kink he knew I lived for— the one that wanted to be chased, caught, claimed.

I scrambled up the bed a few inches ,and he wasn’t having any of it. His hand wrapped around my ankle before I made it even halfway up the mattress, his grip warm, wide, unmovable.

“¿A dónde vas, huh?” he laughed, voice thick as honey and threat. “Get over here.” Where you going, huh?

I squeaked, trying to dig my fingers into the comforter for leverage.

He just chuckled, deep from his chest, and dragged me right back down the bed, slow and sure, like pulling silk across satin.

“Baby—!” My breath punched out of me when he tugged harder, sliding me all the way to the edge until my hips met the mattress seam.

His shoulders dipped as he leaned over me, stare heated, knowing exactly what he was doing to me. "I told you what it was, hermosa." he murmured, brushing a knuckle along my knee. My thighs trembled.

He climbed onto the bed, caging me with his body, his gold chain dangling forward to graze my collarbone. I tried scooting backwards again.

Mistake.

His palm came down on my hip, firm, guiding, pushing me right back into place.

“No te muevas.” Don’t move.

His nose skimmed my cheek, his breath warm, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His fingers ghosted my thigh, dragging slow enough to make my whole body clench.

I swallowed hard. “Ed—”

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head once, hair brushing my forehead. “You had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

He nudged my chin up with two fingers, making me look him dead in the eyes. That accent thickened when he spoke again,

“Dije que te quería aquí. I said I wanted you here.”

A shiver raced up my spine.

He smirked, pleased. “Good. Now stay put while I unwrap the rest of my birthday present.”

His hands slipped to my waist, his fingers hooked in the lace, slow… deliberate… like he was testing how long he could drag the anticipation out of me before I snapped.

He eased the lace down, inch by inch— his thumbs brushing my hips, my thighs, the dip just above my knees. Not touching anything forbidden… but close enough that my whole body arched toward him without permission.

He tossed the lace aside, something about the way it landed on the floor made the room feel hotter and spread his palms up my thighs again, slower this time, possessive in a way that made my breath catch.

He loomed over me a heartbeat longer breathing me in, mapping out every new shiver— then shifted his grip from my hips to my shoulder.

“Dáte vuelta, beautiful.” Turn over.

The command unfurled in that smooth Cali cadence, spiked with warmth that always made my stomach drop. He guided me, deliberate, until my palms sank into the mattress and I settled on hands and knees. Comforter-soft cotton brushed my knuckles, his body heat blanketed my back.

“Así—good girl.” Pride colored his voice, low and intimate. “Stay right here.”

His palm skimmed up my spine slow enough to drag goose-bumps behind it. When he reached the nape of my neck he threaded his fingers through my bone-straight hair, gathering it with practiced care. Silken strands slid over his knuckles until he’d formed a high ponytail, gently wrapping the length once around his fist.

“Que suave,” he crooned, testing the smoothness. So soft. I hummed a helpless, tight little sound— earning a satisfied chuckle.

“You always keep it so pretty for me…” A playful tug drew a gasp from my throat. “…now let’s see how long it stays this way.”

My breath hitched. He leaned forward, chain clinking against my back, chest brushing me as he spoke at my ear, “Messin’ up this press is on me, ok? Tú relájate.” You just relax.

One hand braced beside mine, the other maintained its gentle grip on the makeshift ponytail, tipping my head back just enough for him to press a slow, devastating kiss to the base of my neck. Heat cascaded down my spine in waves.

He let me go and climbed off and dropped his briefs, in one swift moment. “Stay right there, preciosa.”

His briefs hit the floor with a soft slap— then nothing but quiet, predator-still.

The mattress dipped when he knee-walked behind me. A broad palm smoothed over my hip, down my thigh, then back up to cup the underside of my cheeks, thumbs coaxing me to arch. A breath left him, half-groan, half-prayer.

I tried to glance back but my hair in his fist kept me facing forward, arms trembling as I balanced on hands and knees.

“Look at this…” He squeezed, reverent. “… this birthday cake all mine.” Heat pooled low in my belly. The next second his grip on my hair tightened, just enough to tip my chin and bare my throat. A shiver chased the motion.

Air punched from my lungs, as he slowly entered me. So slow and un hurried.

“Ed—” It left me like a plea.

“Shhh.” He rocked back, then forward again, deeper. “Focus on this dick, mamí.”

The command rippled through me. I rocked back to meet him, the wet smack of skin on skin echoing off the walls. He set a deliberate rhythm— drag, retreat, return— each stroke slower than the last, savoring how good I felt around him.

His grip shifted, tugging my head back slightly, enough that my spine arched deeper.

“Look how good you take it,” he said, almost to himself. “Birthday wish came true.”

The praise did something reckless to me. I reached back blindly, fingers catching his thigh, nails pressing in just to ground myself. He answered with a deeper stroke, slower still, like he was savoring the way my breath stuttered every time he filled me.

The air in the room grew heavy, thick with the scent of his cologne and the rising musk of heat. His thumb found my center, circling with a rhythmic, agonizing precision that made my vision blur. He wasn't just touching me, he was mapping me, his calloused skin sparking fire against my slickness.

“You’re shaking, reina,” he rumbled, his voice vibrating against the sensitive skin of my shoulder. “We’re just getting started.”

He didn't speed up. Instead, he deepened the friction, his thumb maintaining a relentless, swirling pressure while his hips began a grueling, circular grind. It was a friction designed to dismantle me. Every time he withdrew, he went so far I felt the loss of him, only for him to plunge back in with a heavy, forceful deliberation that made my hips buck involuntarily

The bone-straight perfection of my hair was already a memory. The edges along my nape were beginning to ripple from the sweat pooling in the crook of my neck, the humidity of our joined bodies rising like a tropical storm. He noticed. He leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of my ear, his breath a scorching contrast to the cool air of the room.

“Look at you,” he hissed, his grip on the ponytail tightening as he pulled my head back again, forcing my chest to flare out, my back snapping into a sharp, beautiful arch. “Sweatin' for me already. I told you that silk press wouldn't stand a chance tonight.”

To prove his point, he abandoned the slow glide. He shifted his stance, his knees digging into the mattress for leverage, and began to drive into me with a raw, punishing thrusts.

I tried to keep my arms locked, but the sheer force of his momentum sent tremors through my triceps. My palms slid slightly on the cotton comforter, slick with the perspiration dripping from my forehead.

My hair, once a neat, shimmering curtain, was now dampening at the roots, the sweat of my skin blooming through the strands as he used that makeshift handle to steer me into every impact.

“Ed— please,” I gasped, my voice breaking as the friction from his thumb reached a fever pitch.

“Please what? You want me to stop?” He didn't wait for an answer, he knew it was a lie. He removed his hand from my hair and reached around splaying his fingers across my stomach, whike still working my clit, pulling my hips back to meet his thrusts with even more violence. “I told you I was gon' mess this up. Every inch of you is gonna be soaked by the time I’m done.”

He began to pick up the pace, his breathing turning into a series of jagged, guttural growls. My orgasm was rapidly building and before I could fall over the edge and it could shatter me, he abruptly withdrew. The sudden absence of him leaving me cold and aching.

“Not yet, mama” he grunted, his voice thick and sandpaper-rough.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he hooked his arms under my armpits and hauled me backward. I was a tangle of limbs and damp hair until he flipped me onto my back. The transition was fast— one second I was looking at the headboard, the next I was staring up at the ceiling fan spinning a dizzying blur above us.

He didn’t give me a heartbeat to adjust to the change in perspective. Before the spots in my eyes could clear, he was hovering over me, a broad-shouldered eclipse that blocked out the light of the room. He grabbed my thighs, hauling them up until my knees were practically pinned to my chest, exposing me completely to his hooded, hungry gaze.

“You think I’m playin' with you,” he rasped, his voice dropping into that chest-vibrating register that usually made my knees weak— though right now, they were busy trembling for a different reason. “I told you, reina. I want every bit of this.”

When he slammed back into me, the impact sent a shockwave straight to the base of my skull. It wasn't the measured, teasing pace from before. This was raw, relentless, and heavy.

He was bottoming out with every drive, his hips bruising against mine as he anchored himself inside me. My hands scrambled for purchase, catching on the damp cotton of the comforter before I finally reached up, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to me.

The heat between our bodies was generating its own atmosphere. A fine sheen of sweat coated his chest, and as he moved, it slicked onto my skin, sealing us together with every wet, rhythmic thud. My silk press? The one I’d spent hours and a cool few hundred dollars on, was officially a lost cause. I could feel the roots beginning to swell, the sweat from my scalp causing the hair to puff and revert in real-time. The sleek, bone-straight strands were now clumping together, damp and heavy, sticking to my cheeks and the column of my throat like dark ribbons.

"Mmm, bae– my h-hair," I gasped, a half-sob, half-laugh escaping me as the friction sent a fresh wave of electricity through my nerves.

“Let it go,” he commanded, his breath hot against my ear. “Fuck it. I'll pay for it to get fixed."

He shifted his weight, bracing his forearms on either side of my head, his muscles roping and straining with the effort of maintaining that punishing pace. He was putting in work, his breathing coming in jagged, guttural growls that synced with the frantic beat of my heart.

I could feel the tension spiraling in my lower belly, tighter and tighter, until the world narrowed down to just the friction of his skin and the overwhelming weight of him.

"Eddie—" I choked out, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his triceps.

"I got you, reina," he grunted, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against my collarbone. He shifted, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while the other dove back down, between us, his thumb finding that hypersensitive spot and flat-out demanding a reaction. "Mírame. Eyes on me."

I forced my eyes open, catching the glint in his dark gaze. His honey skin was glistening, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple and dropping onto my cheek, branding me. I clenched around him, he sensation so intense it made my toes curl.

"Eddie—I’m gonna—I’m-I'm– " The plea broke from my throat, raw and jagged.

My body shuddered as the last waves of pleasure rippled through me—sharp, warm aftershocks that made my thighs tremble uncontrollably. But even as I tried to catch my breath, he stayed right there, his body still aligned with mine, the steady rhythm of his breathing brushing my cheek like a coaxing promise.

Every tiny move he made still sent little sparks racing up my spine, hitting that one sensitive place so perfectly I couldn’t stop the soft, broken sounds that slipped out of me.

I barely had two seconds to melt into the high when he shifted— slowly, intentionally,, giving me room to breathe but not enough time to recover. His hands slid down the backs of my thighs, warm and firm, before he moved away just far enough for my lungs to pull in a shaky breath.

“Wait…” I managed, but it sounded thin, not convincing at all.

His palms wrapped around my ankles, thumbs brushing the delicate bone there with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity in his eyes. In one smooth, controlled motion, he guided my legs straight—stretching them out as if testing my balance, my flexibility, my willingness.

Then— slowly, deliberately, he pushed them upward.

Higher…

Higher…

Until my ankles hovered near my ears, every line of my body folding into a position that felt both vulnerable and powerful at the same time. The stretch pulled a gasp from me— not from discomfort, but from exposure, from how completely he opened me up to him.

“Mierda…” he exhaled, staring down at me like he was witnessing something sacred. His hands steadied my calves, warm and sure, "I keep forgettin' you this flexible, mamí."

He savored the view with a hunger that made my skin prickle. With my legs pinned back, the exposure was absolute. He could see the flush staining my inner thighs, the way my body was still humming from the first peak, and the sheer, slick evidence of how much I wanted him.

I lifted my head and looked . My vision was swimming, but I saw it— the heart-stopping sight of him sliding back into me.

In this position, the depth was staggering. I could see the way my skin stretched, the slick, honeyed contrast of his skin against mine. The wetness from before had evolved into a heavy, squelching rhythm that echoed in the quiet room, a sound of pure, unadulterated labor.

My jaw dropped as I gasped, "Ed— oh my god," I whined, my fingers finding his lower back to pull him in deeper.

"Mhmm, feel that," he grunted, "I’m deep yo guts, ain't I? I’m touching your soul, mamí."

He wasn't just moving, he was digging. Every thrust sent a jolt straight to my core, making my toes curl and my breath hitch in jagged, broken sobs. The humidity in the room had reached a breaking point.

The friction from his body and the relentless depth of his strokes started that familiar, terrifying spiral in my gut, again.

“Eddie—I can’t—it’s t-too much,” I gasped, my breath hitching as he hit that sweet, internal curve with a precision that made my vision blur.

“It’s exactly enough,” he countered, his voice sharpening with the intensity of his own climb. He shifted his grip, one hand leaving my ankle to splay across my low belly, his fingers digging in as if he could feel himself moving inside me. “I want you to feel me, baby. I want to feel you trying to keep it all.”

He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, sharper, and more desperate. He wasn't just working for his own pleasure, he was hunting for something deeper. His eyes were dark, fixated on the way my body reacted to him, a territorial glint shining through the sweat.

"Imma nut in you mama," he panted.

He didn’t even give me a chance to process the words before he was acting on them. He adjusted his grip, his fingers tightening around my ankles to hold me open, his gaze locked onto the point of impact with a feral kind of focus.

His face was a mask of pure, beautiful agony. He looked like he was fighting for his life, to not cum, his chest heaving as he found that final, frantic rhythm. "Fuuuuck,"he moaned as he watched him self spill into me, his hipss thrusting into mine. I could feel him pulsing deep inside me, a rhythmic, heavy heat that made my whole soul shutter. Every time his hips slammed home, it felt like he was trying to fuse our bodies together. He didn’t just finish; he collapsed into it, his muscles cording and jumping under his sweat-slicked skin as he gave up the ghost.

"Yeah… just like that, mama," he rasped, his. voice thick and heavy with exhaustion. He let out a long, shaky breath, his forehead dropping to rest against mine as he released my ankles. He stayed buried in me for a minute, just breathing, his heavy frame pinning me into the mattress in the best way possible. When he finally peeled himself back, he looked at me—really looked at me and his eyes went wide. He reached up, his large hand hovering over the damp, frizzy chaos that used to be my fresh silk press.

"Daaaaamn," he chuckled, the sound low and vibrating in his chest. "I really did a number on you. Look at you. I got you lookin' like you just ran a marathon in the rain."

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to my lips, his fingers tangling in the damp roots at the back of my neck. "Tell Sheila I apologize for sendin' you back to her like this. Ima send you the total and a fat ass tip to give her too. I know she gone be on yo ass when you sit in her chair again."

He rolled us onto our sides, pulling me into his chest. His thumb rubbed slow circles on my hip while the other hand stroked through my frizzed-out curls.

“You know I love your natural hair,” he murmured into the crown of my head. “That press was cute and all… but this? This is you.” I giggled and pecked his chest, “Should’ve listened to you, huh?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, smug but gentle, brushing his nose against my cheek. “But you hard-headed. Had to learn the hard way.”

I slapped his arm again, this time weaker because the soreness was creeping in.

He softened instantly, catching my hand again and kissing my knuckles. Then my wrist. Then the inside of my forearm.

“You sore?” he asked quietly, thumb rubbing small circles over my aching hip.

“A little.” A lie. A big lie. A lie he absolutely did not believe.

His brows rose. “A little?”

I buried my forehead deeper into his sternum. “Okay… a lot.”

His body shook with a low laugh as he wrapped both arms around me and pulled me fully into him, one leg slipping between mine to support the trembling muscles.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something tender, almost protective. “I got you. It was my night anyway… I’m supposed to wear you out a lil’ bit.”

“A lot of bit.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, nuzzling the top of my head. “Maybe a lot.”

The next morning, I woke to sunlight on my face and Ed staring down at me like he’d been watching me breathe for hours.

“Mornin' ma,” he said softly.

I groaned, stretching immediately regretting how much of my body protested.

He smirked. “Ahhh… there it is.”

There what is?” I muttered, burying my face in the pillow.

“That little full-body wince. The ‘he handled me’ soreness.” He kissed my shoulder. “You welcome.”

I smacked his chest weakly. “You’re disgusting.”

He only laughed and pulled me closer, palms gliding down my thighs to knead gently at the sore muscles.

“You gonna need help walking to the bathroom?”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he said with a smile in his voice. “You love me a lil’ bit.”

I huffed. “Just a lil’ bit.”

He kissed my jaw, then my cheek. Then my forehead.

“Good,” he whispered. “’Cause I love you a lil’ bit too.”

His hands slid into my curls again, playing with them, admiring the texture.

“And donforget I’ll pay for your silk press at noon,” he added.

“Why noon?”

He grinned. “Cause I plan on makin' another mess before then."

His answer landed low in my stomach, warm and wicked, and I could only blink at him because— how did he have the nerve to say that before I’d even fully sat upright?

“Edwin…” I warned, voice hoarse and absolutely not intimidating.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence as his fingers traced slow lines down my spine. “I just wanna spend quality time with my girl on my birthday weekend.”

“That’s not ‘quality time.’ That’s you trying to destroy me before noon.”

“That’s quality to me,” he countered, leaning in to kiss the corner of my mouth.

Before I could say anthing else his other hand pressed gently into the small of my back, guiding my weight forward until and rolled until I ended up straddling him. My palms landed on his chest, warm and solid beneath my fingertips.

He smoothed his hands up my thighs, thumbs tracing slow, mind-numbing circles that made heat bloom under my skin.

He leaned up just enough to kiss the center of my chest, right between my breasts— slow, lingering, almost reverent.

He slid one hand up my spine, cupped the back of my neck, and pulled me down into a slow, devouring kiss that melted every muscle in my body.

His lips broke from mine just long enough for him to whisper:

“Take your time, ma. I’m right here.”

And just as I shifted to grind against him, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

A voice came muffled through the door, “Bro? Y’all up? I’m hungry.”

We froze.

Ed closed his eyes in pure disbelief. "Shit."

------------------------------

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@fearlesschimera @bebesobrielo @fafomama @sheaabuttaababyy @soccergirlbee@mindairy @prettypink-princesss @luuvprincess @punksyeet @beccalynns-world @baybehkay @alphabetically-deranged

did your character survive the legacies finale? if so, what have they been up to in the past year? nope. ric took a page out of his bestie's book. chop chop!

what are your character’s goals? torment his nieces, mostly, and the people who screwed him over. he's going to be very excited to see all these familiar faces.. and seeing as he remembers everything, he is going to relish in the upper hand.

what song do you associate most with your character? literally so many songs but right now i have lovely things by jt music on repeat and ugh, love me a good 'created wrong' narratives.

what is their last memory? lost his head. again.

any headcanons about your character’s past or present? i'll probably have way more here later (or just make a separate post) but the most recent thing i have is that the whole kai/jade thing was just. nah. so scratch that pls and thx. :) you can ask me about other stuff!