#elias stack moore

The sun was warm on my neck, but the weight on my lap was warmer. "Eli, buddy, you gotta let go of my leg for a second," I grunted, trying to stand up from the bench. He just tightened his grip, babbling some nonsense that sounded suspiciously like "no" and "dada" all mushed together. A year. A whole damn year had passed since he'd been dropped on my doorstep like a forgotten Amazon package. The apartment was long gone, traded for a two-story house in a gated community with a backyard big enough for the slide set Smoke had insisted on buying. The name "Stack" felt like a ghost from another life, a loud, reckless kid who didn't know shit about anything that mattered. Now, I was just Elias. Dad. And this little dude, my son Elijah, was my whole world.

He was a walker now, all wobbly legs and determination, a true velcro baby who attached himself to me the moment I walked into a room. I wouldn't trade it for anything. "Alright, alright, you win," I laughed, scooping him up. His little fists immediately went to my chain, his favorite toy. "Let's go hit the slide before your uncle gets here and shows you how to do it all wrong."

I set him down in the woodchips at the base of the playground structure, and he took off, a tiny chocolate bolt of energy. I leaned against the fence, watching him, that quiet hum in my chest—the one that was always there now—keeping time with his happy squeals. That's when I saw her. Walking the path that circled the park. She gave off those black earthy girl vibes, the type who probably talks to her plants and has fresh lavender hanging in her kitchen. Her deep mocha skin seemed to drink in the sunlight, and her head wrap was a swirl of deep purples and golds. She wore a flowing dress that brushed the ground, and when she got closer, I saw her eyes were this light, warm brown, like honey. She was thick in all my favorite places, moving with a kind of easy confidence that had me standing up a little straighter.

She must've felt me staring 'cause her eyes met mine, and she gave me a small, polite smile before her attention was captured by Eli, who had stopped his mad dash to the slide. He was standing frozen by the fence, staring right at her. His mouth fell open. Then, he let out a string of excited babbling, pointing a chubby finger right at her. It was his official "I approve, come talk to me" signal.

The woman laughed, a sound like wind chimes. She stopped and walked over to the fence, crouching down so she was eye-level with my son. "Well, hello there," she cooed. "Aren't you just the cutest thing?"

Eli, completely smitten, babbled back, slapping his hand against the chain-link fence like he was telling her his entire life story. She giggled, nodding along like she understood every word. I just stood there, confused as hell. I don't even know what he's saying most of the time, and this random stranger is having a full-on conversation with him?

"He's very talkative," she said, looking up at me. Those light brown eyes.

"Only when he sees something he likes," I found myself saying, my voice smoother than it had any right to be.

"I'm Skylar," she said, pushing herself up gracefully.

"Elias. And this little charmer is Elijah."

"Elijah," she repeated, and the way she said it, soft and warm, had my son grinning like he'd just been told he could eat ice cream for dinner. "I'm a daycare teacher over at Little Sprouts. I have a soft spot for them when they're this age. All personality and no filter."

"No filter is right," I laughed, running a hand over Eli's curls. "He keeps me on my toes."

"I bet he does," she said, her smile lingering. "Well, it was nice meeting you both, Elijah."

As she turned to walk away, Eli let out a disappointed whine. "Da-da! Da!" he yelled, pointing at her retreating back.

Skylar stopped, turned back, and her face broke into the widest, most genuine grin I'd ever seen. She walked back to the fence. "Okay, okay, I get it," she laughed. "I can't leave without saying goodbye properly." She blew him a kiss, and my son, my little player, caught it right out of the air and pressed it to his cheek.

I was laughing. Skylar was laughing. Eli was giggling, completely enchanted by this woman who had appeared out of nowhere. And in that moment, with the sun filtering through the trees and the sound of my son's happiness filling the air, it felt like something was starting. Something good.

—

From across the street, behind the tinted window of a parked car, I watched them. My son. My beautiful, perfect boy. He was so big now, walking, talking in his secret language. He looked happy. Healthy. Loved. Elias had changed. The reckless, toxic energy I remembered from our last fight—the energy that had me blocked on every platform, ignored, erased—that had softened into something steady, something warm. He looked like a father. He looked like he was giving my son everything I couldn't. Everything I begged him to give me.

A sharp, bitter pain twisted in my gut. I'd made the right choice. I knew I had. Leaving him there was the only way. We were in such a bad spot, a vicious cycle of fucking and fighting. I wanted more. I told him I wanted to be his girl, to settle down, to start a family that was already growing inside me. He laughed. He actually laughed right in my face, because I'd lied about being pregnant before, a desperate, stupid attempt to get him to just look at me, to see me as something more than a warm body for the night. So when I told him the truth, he just shook his head and said I wasn't the only one and he wasn't ready to be tied down. He wanted to keep running the streets, keep fucking random girls. So I did the only thing I could think of. I prayed that seeing his son, holding him, would make him see me as more than just a convenient fuck. That he'd see me as the mother of his child. After giving birth, I tried messaging him from new numbers, calling until my fingers were numb, but he was gone. So I left our son on his doorstep and prayed for the best.

The first few weeks without him were a blur. Then the silence in my apartment became too loud. The weight of my decision crushed me, and I broke. A 48-hour hold turned into six months in a place with white walls and scheduled meals. Now I'm out. Settled into a new home, trying to find my footing again. A home that, by some cruel twist of fate, is in the same damn gated community as him.

Watching them now, watching Elias laugh with that other woman, watching my son look at her with the same open joy that should be reserved for me... it hurts. It makes me angry. Pissed off. Because this is what I wanted, this is what I cried for, what I sacrificed my sanity for. This was supposed to be me. I was supposed to be the one on the other side of that fence, giggling at our son's babbling, flirting with the man I loved. I was supposed to be the one he changed for. I shouldn't have come. But I couldn't stay away.

The only thing Annie liked about Stack was that he ate it like his life depended on it.

I mean, he’d have her ass folded up on that bed, trying to get to the deepest, warmest, most secret parts of her body, and she’d let him—because why wouldn’t she? She may have hated every other thing about him—like his stupid face and his stupid dimples when he smiles down at her and his stupid eyes that she swears glimmer with mischief just when she’s already about to cave and his stupid outfits and that stupid ass voice that makes her pussy thump violently—but that tongue was magic.

Annie hated that when her family moved to the Delta, she was introduced to Stack Moore. She hated even more that he’d flirt with her, thinking she was like any of the other easy ass girls he fucked with. It took seven years of growing and some distance when he went away to Chicago for her to actually entertain his advances, and now she understood what had bitches fawning over him.

Annie grappled with the fact that when Stack was with you, you had one hundred percent of his attention. He could take care of you in every way that made you feel special, but when he was finished with you, he’d leave and hardly ever return. He was a good time—a great time—a nigga of empty promises masked by a slick tongue, but the woman couldn’t contend with the truth that she was different.

With Annie, Stack would care for her, pouring every ounce of love and affection into her, and when he’d leave, the feeling would linger—in the clothes he left behind, in the kiss to her inner thigh, in the smell of his sweat and sex, in his promises to see her the next day no matter how spirited she was when telling him she was done with him for good. With Annie, he always came back.

With Annie, Stack was consistent. Consistently annoying. Consistently caring. Consistently good at eating her out. Consistently good at coming back for more. And she definitely hated that part about him the most.

Annie wanted him inconsistent so that she wouldn’t become attached to him. If he was as flaky with her as he was with every other girl from Clarksdale to Little Rock to Chicago, then she’d be able to rationalize allowing him access to her and her body when he did show up again—because then it would feel like a treat rather than a reminder of her own shortcomings.

Stack treated Annie like a number one priority, and she never went long without getting a piece of him again—she never went long without giving up a bit of herself, too.

~~~~~

Stack came to her home ready for a night doing his favorite thing. He’d had a rough day—a rough couple of days—dealing with his brother’s attitude and business fluctuating at Club Juke. It felt as if every attempt he made to fix things was being thwarted, but finally life was on track again and he could get a piece of his Annie.

Stack understood her. He understood that she didn’t want to like him as much as she did, but there was no other way of being. He poured so much into her, stayed consistent because she mattered to him. He even stopped fucking all those random girls ‘cause Annie was all he needed (she ain’t know about that though because she wouldn’t have believed him anyway; he’d rather show her with actions than words).

When she opened her door after his vigorous knocking, Annie scowled at him, a hand on her cocked hip. She trailed the length of his body, entranced and trying to remind herself that she was supposed to be upset. But the man only giggled, stepping into her home and stealing a kiss.

“I ain’t seen or heard from you in days, ‘Lias,” Annie breathed fire. It was the longest she’d gone without seeing him since the twins returned home, and it struck her ego hard. He’d been glued to her hip, a nuisance she could rid herself of, and out of nowhere, he just went ghost. Looking at him now, her arms crossed under her chest, anger making itself home in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, babydoll,” Stack hummed, stepping out of his shoes and removing his suit jacket. He huffed, remembering all the bullshit of the past week. “Smoke been barkin’ my ear off, and the juke was underwater for a while, but now that everything’s taken care of, I’m back with my favorite girl.”

And as much as he wanted the words to calm her, they couldn’t soothe the emotion creeping up the back of her throat.

“Ion like feelin’ stupid, Stack,” Annie whispered brokenly. Her feelings for the man tangled up with what she knew wasn’t real hatred for him. She really liked him, really cared for him, and she felt like an idiot for it. It was as if she’d forgotten everything she’d been taught as a girl. She was trusting him blindly. “I ain’t finna be waitin’ on you while you off doin’ God knows what,” she spat, nostrils flaring.

“Annie, baby,” he consoled, hands reaching out for her, but she pulled her hand away forcefully. Emotion dripped from his eyes—honest and heartfelt. Every bit of that slick talking man dissolved away. “Ion want you feelin’ like that. And I’m sorry I ain’t check in,” he began, unsure of what could soothe her. His eyes wandered over her posture, walls built high and refusing to let him in. “It was touch and go for a couple days, but I coulda at least sent word that I was thinkin’ ‘bout you.” With each word, his hands fluttered down the sides of her arms. His mouth shifted back into a sly grin. “You know I was thinkin’ ‘bout you every second I got,” he laughed, nudging the woman’s jaw with the tip of his nose, successfully pulling an exasperated giggle out of her chest.

Annie’s cheeks heated up as she remembered just how good it was to be around Stack. She swatted at him to feign annoyance, only pulling him in closer a second later.

“You don’t be thinkin’ of me,” she decided, coaxing endless affection from him.

“Yes, I do,” he insisted with a sharp nod. “I be thinkin’ ‘bout yo’ pretty eyes. And yo’ pretty smile. And them beautiful lips. And yo’ stomach. And yo’ titties. And them thick ass thighs wrapped ‘round my head.”

“Boy, shut up,” Annie swatted once again, laugh uncontrolled. She moved away from his wandering hands and deeper into the home. Chasing her, Stack quickly caught the edge of her dress, pulling her into him again.

“Come on, mama,” he breathed into her ear. “Lemme make it up to you.” His chest fluttered at the small whimpers she let out. For days he’d dreamt about the sound, how she was enough to soothe all of his pain, anger, and exhaustion in one fell swoop. He loved him some Annie, and he knew she loved him, too—even if she refused to admit it.

What he hadn’t expected though was for Annie’s face to drop all together. He hadn’t expected her to shut him out again despite his efforts.

“What about yo’ other girls,” she attempted jokingly, but he could hear the sadness. Annie refused to look him in the eye. She pulled at her fingers, twisting a ring gifted by the man before she choked out her next question. “Don’t you got a whole lot of makin’ up to do with them, too?”

Stack’s mouth dropped open, closing soon after because he didn’t know how to answer that. The simple answer was obviously no, but Annie had no real reason to believe him. All his life he’d been on bullshit, lying whenever it best served him, but he was truly ready to be a one woman man now.

“You my only girl, Annie,” he admitted, voice immediately turning raw. It shook with each word. His hands trembled as he reached for her. “You the only one. After I got back and we got good, I stopped fuckin’ ‘round. I stopped entertainin’ other women. And I know you probably don’t believe me, but you all I don’ ever wanted.” He stared at her with wide eyes, tears brimming.

He’d never let emotion out like this. Humor was his way of concealing his feelings and masking the hurt of—everything. But with Annie, he wanted to open up; he wanted to be honest; he wanted to show her that she could trust him.

“Ain’t no other girls, Anne,” he insisted, holding her hand to his chest.

Feeling the rapid beating of his heart, the woman’s eyes rose to meet his. Her hand curled in the fabric of his shirt as she attempted to breathe more confidently. Her tears matched his, and as frightening as it all was, he somehow managed to give her heart a little reprieve.

“Lemme make it up to ya’,” he repeated for the second time that night, gripping at her dress skirts to bring her closer. He fell to his knees, pled with his eyes, begged her to let him apologize properly. And although Annie didn’t need him to do anything else to fix the situation, she obliged him, nodding her head profusely.

In a flash of a second, Stack had Annie’s dress up over her hips and his face between her legs.

“Fuck, you smell so good, mama,” the man growled, nose nudging at the seat of her panties. He practically inhaled her, reminding himself—and her—what he’d been missing for the last week. He promised himself then that he’d never allow anything to come between him and his Annie again. So, he parted her legs wider and pushed the damp cloth to the side. Instantly, his mouth watered. “This all I need, baby,” he grunted, watching as she clenched from the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath. “You all I need.”

Arousal coated her outer lips by the time he finished speaking. It was like her body was addicted to the man, and every little thing he did brought her deep pleasure.

Annie’s head fell back as his tongue explored her. Eyes on the ceiling, she could feel everything: the warmth of his breath, the plushness of his lips, the broadness of his tongue, the strength of his arms and shoulders as he held her in place. She was already trembling, already moved to tears by his efforts. She didn’t know how long she’d last like this.

“Stack,” she moaned breathlessly, pulling his head closer by the hair at the nape of his neck. He was suckling on her clit now, grip tight as she allowed his name to slip from her lips. Every couple of seconds, he dipped his tongue down toward her entrance to taste her sweet, musky arousal, and every couple of seconds, Annie keened from the torture. “Yes,” she cried at the sensation, hips chasing it.

“Fuck, woman,” Stack shuddered, feeling his own body rapidly growing in need. Every time he found himself between Annie’s thighs, it was as if he’d been fulfilled from the inside out; He needed nothing more than this: Annie spread across his face. Even now, with his dick thumping hard in the seat of his pants, he didn’t need anything but the taste of her on his lips.

Above him, the woman trembled violently, and he held onto her hips to keep her in place while he worked.

“Let me lay down, baby,” Annie huffed, frustrated with the position. She wanted to have a surface to support her, something she could writhe against, something that she could grip onto other than herself or Stack. She pulled his head back, looking down into his eyes. “I wanna feel you better,” she whispered, bringing heat to the man’s cheeks.

Stack lifted her with ease, arms wrapped underneath her thighs as he moved them to the back of the home. Annie’s head was spinning, pleasure running amok in her body. Each kissed placed to her jaw, chest, neck, and lips as the man transported them from her front room to the bedroom had her ready to commit herself to him. Stack was hers, and she was his.

“You my only girl, Annie,” the man punctuated. He sat her in the middle of the bed, spreading kisses wherever he could reach. His voice was raw with honesty. His breath was hot with desperation.

“Yes,” she nodded, hastily reaching to remove her clothes.

“The only one who get me like this,” he cried, pulling her dress and panties away before ridding his own body of clothes. “Forgive me, babydoll,” he pleaded with a mouthful of her once more. His voice vibrated between her legs, nearly tearing her in two from how strong his emotions were. Hands clawed at her thighs, and Annie’s fingers moved to cover them—to soothe him.

“Stack,” she whispered, sitting up to watch as the man ate her. Feeling as if she were losing all function and control, she held the back of his head. As he devoured her, she stuttered out the words he needed to hear, trembling against his tongue.

“Please! Forgive me, doll,” he attempted once more, the ask coming out more like a demand. His chest hurt from how badly he needed her to trust him. He wanted to be good for her, to prove that he was worthy of all she gave him. He shifted so that their eyes could meet, his fingers reaching below to assist in her pleasure. “Please,” he tore out, immediately following the ask with his fingers sinking inside of her.

“Eli-Elias,” Annie fluttered around him.

As much as she wanted to hate him and curse his name, this is what always brought her back: the pleading, the raw emotion, the dedication to her body and her sex.

Diligently and with every effort he could muster, Stack fucked her through orgasm after orgasm; He held her together after each delicious breaking; He begged for her forgiveness, not expecting it but hoping to God that he would earn it.

Annie shivered at how well the man knew her body. She’d let him so close, had allowed him to understand her on such a deep level. Stack wasn’t just some regular man to her. He was everything, and she was his everything, too. She began to feel her body moving toward another orgasm, and from the added deep breaths to her cunt, she could tell that Stack was close, too.

God, how she loved to hate this part about him: how he could cum just from the sound of her, just from the taste of her. Annie opened her eyes and looked down into his. They were raw, rimmed with tears, and tired from refusing to look away from her.

After hearing the moans floating from his mouth—the exaltations—Annie turned inward, seeking the part of herself that could give them both what they needed.

“I forgive you, baby,” she bellowed, clawing at the sheets as her climax threatened to rip its way through her. “S-Stack,” she whined, reaching for his hand, and the man obliged, moaning just as loud as she. He rocked into her, holding onto her in a desperate attempt to calm his own ruining body.

“Cum for me again, mama,” he whimpered, hips rutting against nothing. “Please!” He felt like he was on the verge of imploding, and if he held on any longer, he’d miss the chance to cum alongside his Annie. But just as he decided that her pleasure was more important than his, Annie’s hand came to his face, and her words forced them both to erupt simultaneously.

“I love you, ‘Lias.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~2,700

a/n: the best guilty pleasureeee. i copped out at the end,,,,,

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