#nahimjustfeelingit-writes

The smell hit first. Something between hospital soap and dollar store lavender. That overcleaned scent meant to mask something raw underneath. A man’s cheap cologne maybe. Old carpet. Last week’s potluck clinging to the walls.

She stepped inside, tugging her cardigan down over her hips, pretending she wasn’t already sweating through the satin beneath it. Of all the nights to wear satin. She’d stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes before leaving the house, fighting with herself over whether to go at all. Face beat but not too beat. Black pants hugging a little too tight over her hips. Curves she’d tried to downplay, but they never really went anywhere. And now every inch of her felt too much for a room like this.

The community center was plain. Mismatched chairs arranged in a loose circle. Fluorescent lights overhead casting everyone in a cold, too-honest glow. A folding table sat near the wall with a half-empty coffee pot, powdered creamer, a crumpled box of tissues. Nobody looked up at first. One woman dabbed her eyes with a napkin. Another man stirred his cup too long, like he was buying time. She hesitated at the door, clutching her water bottle tight enough to bend the plastic. Her knuckles were stiff. She took a step inside.

“Come on in,” someone said. A woman. Middle-aged, soft voice, tight afro, gold hoops. The facilitator, maybe.

She gave a small nod and walked toward the only empty chair. It squeaked when she sat. Of course it did.

That’s when she saw them.

Two men, sitting across from each other with a few empty seats between them, but their presence filled the whole side of the room. Twins, clearly. Same bone structure, same rich brown skin, same wide chests that made folding chairs look like toys. But they held themselves different.

The one on the left—Elijah—sat still, forearms resting on his thighs, palms open. His face unreadable. Tall frame folded forward just enough to look like he was ready to pounce if needed. But the way his jaw was tight, his fingers twitching slightly against his denim, told a story. This was a man holding something in his mouth he didn’t know how to say. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The other one—Elias—had a lighter air to him. Still big, still coiled up with something, but he wore it behind a smirk. Spoke earlier, she could tell by the looseness in his posture. He leaned back, legs wide, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee. There was a small laugh line near his mouth, but it didn’t look fresh. Looked worn-in, like he’d been forcing that expression too long.

She tried not to stare, but they were fine in a way that made her chest tighten. Not just good-looking. Built. Cut from something that had seen damage and made it out, barely. And she felt that part of herself—the one that craved the wrong kind of comfort—stir. She didn’t like it. Not here. Not tonight. But there it was.

People spoke. She half-listened. Stories of things they lost. Wives. Control. Sleep. Dignity. One man had been clean for two months and said it like it was ten years. A woman spoke of silence in her house so loud she couldn’t breathe. A younger guy nodded through tears. Everyone took their turn, passing the talking stick—literally, a piece of driftwood polished smooth—and giving their name, what brought them here. A few people went before them. The stick passed to Elijah.

He exhaled once through his nose, slow, then looked up at no one in particular. Voice deep. Southern. Measured, “Name’s Elijah. I don’t usually talk in these.” His leg bounced once. He stilled it with a palm to his thigh, “I was over there twice. Iraq. First time I came back, I stopped sleeping. Second time I came back…I stopped speakin’. People thought I was just quiet. But I was trying not to feel nothin’. Couldn’t talk about what I saw. What I did. What we all did.”

Someone across the room nodded.

Elijah went on, “I got these dreams now. Loud. Bloody. Sometimes I wake up and don’t know where I’m at. Or I do, but I don’t feel safe in my own skin. So I started showing up here. I don’t need fixing. I just need…a place to sit where nobody’s lying to themselves.”

He handed off the stick. Straightened his shoulders. His fingers twitched again. The stick moved a few chairs over to Elias. He spun it once in his palm, like he was about to tell a joke. But his eyes weren’t laughing, “I’m Elias,” he said, “Most folks call me Stack.”

A few raised eyebrows. Someone chuckled, “Served too. Same as him,” he nodded toward Elijah. “Different units, same war. They sent us back out there after it was already bad. I tried to lighten it. Joked around. Played music. Bought everybody rounds. And it worked for a while.” He paused, looking down at the floor like something was still there, “Thing is, when it got quiet…that’s when it got dangerous. You ever feel like your body come home, but your mind still overseas? That’s me. I’m good at faking it. Still laugh. Still flirt. But inside? Everything’s stuck. Like time don’t move forward. Just flashes. Blood. Screams. That smell that don’t wash off, even when it’s just memory now.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, flexing his jaw, “So I come here. To try and unstick the reel in my head. Don’t know if it’s working, but I keep showing up.”

He passed the stick off with a wink, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And just like that, the weight in the room changed. The air shifted around their stories, drawing everyone in tighter. She hadn’t realized her thighs were pressed together or that she was holding her breath.

Eventually it landed in her lap.

The stick felt warm. Too light for how heavy her chest suddenly got. Her throat worked once. Twice. Her mouth opened but nothing came out right away.

She looked up.

Both of them were watching her. Elijah’s stare was direct. Not pushy, not soft. Just there. Like he was listening before she even said a word. Elias tilted his head, brow raised slightly like he was ready to crack a joke if she needed it. But he didn’t speak. Neither of them did.

She cleared her throat and tried again, “I’m here…because I got tired of lying to myself,” she said. Her voice sounded smaller than she liked, but it was steady, “I been putting this off for a long time. Told myself I didn’t need to be here. That I could handle it. But that was bullshit.”

A few people smiled at the word. She pressed on.

“I’ve used a lotta things to quiet stuff. Food. Sex. People. Guilt. I kept thinking if I just stayed busy enough or pretty enough or quiet enough, it would go away. But it don’t. It just sits. Right here.” She placed her hand over her chest, then her stomach, “And I’m tired. I don’t want to live like that no more.”

The stick trembled in her grip. She passed it quickly to the next person and dropped her gaze.

Nobody clapped. That wasn’t the kind of space this was. But the quiet that followed was different now. Heavier. Not judgmental, just full. Like her words had actually landed somewhere and made room. When she peeked up again, Elias was looking at her with a slight tilt to his mouth. Elijah hadn’t looked away once.

She shifted in her chair and pressed her thighs together, heart racing.

God, she hoped they didn’t see that.

The meeting wrapped without ceremony. Just a few nods, a chair scraping, a soft clap on the back from one man to another. Nobody hugged. Nobody rushed. That was the thing about rooms like this. People stayed behind as if walking out too fast might break the spell. Or worse, the silence outside wouldn’t feel as kind.

She sat still for a moment longer, pretending to organize her things. Twisting her water bottle cap open then closed. Tugging at the strap of her purse. She didn’t trust her legs yet. Her chest felt open, too exposed, like she’d peeled something back and forgot how to cover it.

Her eyes moved across the room, not meaning to search but doing it anyway. Elijah was still in his chair, leaned back now, one arm slung over the foldout beside him. His head tilted just a bit like he was listening to something nobody else could hear. His thumb tapped slow against his thigh. A steady rhythm. That same twitch from earlier. The man didn’t move much, but when he did, it felt like the whole room shifted to accommodate it.

Elias was already standing. Taller than she expected, broad and loose-limbed, like he’d filled out in all the right places and knew it. His voice floated across the circle in a low chuckle while he talked to an older woman with grey locs and a soft wheeze to her laugh. He said something else, made her smile wider, and then handed her a Styrofoam cup from the table. Gentleman. Charmer. That was the mask. But even behind that smile, his eyes kept darting back.

Back to her.

She turned quick, pretending to check her phone, though the screen was black. Her thighs pressed together under the table, not consciously. Her body moved first. It always did when something got under her skin like this. And they were under it. Those two fine-ass men who carried war in their shoulders and shadows in their throats. Everything about them was wrong for her healing. And everything about them made her mouth dry. The things they’d said. The way they’d looked at her while she spoke. The stillness of Elijah’s gaze. The slow drawl of Elias’s voice. It stirred up the part of her she tried to sit on like a live wire, the part that got her into trouble, the part she hadn’t satisfied in too long. She stood and reached for her bag, trying to move like nothing was happening. Like she wasn’t wet. Like her fingers weren’t trembling just enough to make her phone slip when she tried to slide it into her purse.

The sound of it hitting the floor felt louder than it should have. She bent to pick it up. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. By the time she straightened, Elias was already a few feet away. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel. That grin sat lazy on his mouth, a little crooked, like it got there by accident and stayed too long.

“You did good in there,” he said, voice low, warm, and dipped in something syrupy.

She swallowed. Her lips parted, but the words got stuck.

“I’m serious,” he said, “Most folks come in and just say their name and bounce. You said something real. That shit matter.”

She finally found her voice, “I didn’t plan to say all that.”

“I know. That’s why it worked.”

He took a step closer. Not touching. Not even hovering. Just making her aware of his size, his scent. There was something peppery on him. A little citrus. And something underneath that made her stomach flip. Her response caught in her throat again, not from shyness but from the way her body reacted to him. She didn’t want to flirt. Not here. Not now. But her hips tilted, weight shifting to one side like it wanted to show itself off. Elias noticed. His eyes dragged down, slow, from her painted lips to the outline of her chest under that too-thin fabric. His gaze stayed there longer than polite. Longer than it should have. When it lifted again, he didn’t apologize.

That’s when she felt it—another presence behind her. Bigger. Hotter. Closer.

Elijah.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just let his body speak. The air shifted when he stepped up behind her, and her knees nearly gave. She didn’t even have to turn to know it was him. She could smell him—clean skin, cedar, that faint hint of something metallic like blood that never washed off war. He wasn’t touching her. Not even breathing loud. But the way he stood there, quiet and close, made her feel like he was reading everything in her pulse.

Elias glanced at his brother and smiled like he’d been expecting him, “Man always shows up when I start talking too much,” he said.

Elijah’s voice came soft. Low. Rough like gravel in molasses, “Because you always talk too much.”

That made Elias chuckle. Her eyes flicked between them. Mirror images. One warm. One cold. Both dangerous.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but Elijah finally looked at her, and her body short-circuited. His eyes were dark, still, focused. No smile. No lift in the brow. Just pure, concentrated attention like she was the only thing in the room worth watching. Her breath caught and her knees locked.

“You got a name, baby?” he asked. Slow. Careful. Like each word had weight.

Her name fell out in a whisper. She hated how breathy it sounded. Hated more how Elias repeated it, like he was trying it on for size.

“Pretty,” Elias said, “Suits you.”

Elijah just kept staring.

“Real pretty,” Elias said again, like he wanted to taste the name, roll it over his tongue.

She shifted her weight, nervous but not scared. She should’ve stepped back. Should’ve excused herself and walked out into the night, but something about the way they watched her made her feel still. Caught. Like a rabbit that wanted to be snared. Elijah stood behind her like a shadow, arms folded across his chest now. His shirt stretched over muscle that didn’t move unless he told it to. His silence didn’t make her feel unsafe. Just watched. Understood. Judged in a way that felt…thorough.

“You from around here?” Elias asked, eyes roaming again, but slower now. Not just looking—mapping, “Don’t think I seen you before.”

“Not originally,” she said, clearing her throat, “Moved here a couple years ago. Still feel new though.”

Elias nodded, “Welcome to the South Side. She’ll get in your bones before you know it.”

“She already has,” she replied, lips twitching, “Even the air here thick with attitude.”

Elias grinned wide, “That ain’t attitude, baby. That’s character.”

Behind her, Elijah let out a quiet sound. A breath that almost became a laugh, but didn’t. It brushed the back of her neck like wind. She stiffened, the heat crawling up her spine, flushing beneath her skin. She could feel the shape of his body behind her without even turning around. Felt the size of him. The quiet power. Like a wall with a pulse.

“What do you do?” Elijah asked finally, voice brushing low against her nape. It made her swallow too quick.

She tucked a curl behind her ear, fingers shaky, “Admin work. Office job. It’s decent. Pays enough. Boring enough.”

“You like it?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder and caught his eyes. Still dark. Still heavy, “Some days. Some days I just do it because it’s something to do.”

Elijah nodded once. Nothing else.

Elias leaned in a bit, hands in his pockets, “How’d you hear about this place?”

“My therapist,” she said, her voice softer now, “Been seeing her a minute. Kept pushing me to find community. Somewhere to say things out loud.”

“You picked the right spot,” Elias replied, tone dipping, “People don’t bullshit in here.”

“No,” she said, glancing between them, “they don’t.”

A pause stretched between the three of them. She could feel her pulse in places she didn’t want to admit. Her chest. Her thighs. Deep in the place she usually ignored unless it screamed. They were so damn close now. She hadn’t realized how much they’d shifted. Elias at her front, leaning just enough that her eyes landed on the line of his throat, the way his chain rested against brown skin. Elijah just behind her, not pressing, but her back tingled like it wanted him to.

She was sandwiched.

Soft and thick between two men who looked like they were carved from pressure and violence. Her body wasn’t small by any means—hips full, thighs plush, arms thick with the kind of softness that some men called too much and others never shut up about. But between them? She felt tiny. Felt like a marshmallow fluffed up in the middle of a storm. Like they could close in at any second and there wouldn’t be a damn thing she could do but take it. And the thought made her squeeze her thighs again.

“You really served?” she asked, trying to ground herself in words.

“Twice,” Elijah said.

“Same,” Elias added, rocking on his heels, “Army. First deployment was mostly patrol. Second was messier.”

“What’s it like…coming back from something like that?”

Elijah spoke first, “Noisy.”

Elias followed, “Then quiet. But not the good kind.”

They weren’t looking at each other. Only her. That twin language didn’t need glances. It moved through them like a current.

She nodded, not sure what to say to that, “And now? What do you do?”

Elias shrugged, “I bounce around. Security gigs. Freelance stuff. Keep a side hustle or two.”

Elijah answered with a slow blink, “I do less.”

“Less?”

He nodded, “I work when I need to. Sleep when I can. Stay out the way.”

She caught the flicker in his eyes then. That weight again. He didn’t need to explain it. She understood it in her bones. There was another long silence. Nobody moved. Not the inch that separated her from Elias’s chest. Not the breath that kept her from backing into Elijah’s frame. They were bigger up close. Broader. The kind of tall that felt supernatural. Her head barely grazed their shoulders. Her hips wide enough to brush both of theirs at once if she turned just slightly. She didn’t. Didn’t breathe too loud. Didn’t speak another word. 

Just stood there. Between them. Feeling her control slip…one heartbeat at a time. A few more people filtered out. The room thinned until only a handful remained, lingering near the coffee table or shuffling their coats on. The facilitator gave her a wave, soft smile, then vanished down a side hall. The hum of the night slipped through the glass doors. She finally pulled herself back from the weight between them and exhaled slow. Her bag felt heavier now. Body slower. Skin more aware than it had any right to be.

“I should head out,” she said, forcing a light tone into her voice. “Thanks for, um…the company.”

Elias tipped his chin, “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Elijah gave one small nod. His arms still crossed, his eyes still on her like he’d memorized something. She stepped into the night with careful feet. The chill hit her arms through the cardigan, but it wasn’t the cold that slowed her. It was the tingle on her spine. The weight of their stares following her all the way across the parking lot. Her car sat crooked under a flickering streetlight. She unlocked it, climbed in, tried to start the engine, and of course, nothing.

Dead.

“God,” she whispered, slamming her head lightly against the steering wheel, “Not tonight.” She got out, phone in hand, already debating who to call. AAA? Her brother? A stranger?

That’s when she heard the footsteps again. Elias reached her first, holding up his hands like he meant no harm. That smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Everything alright?”

She sighed, a little embarrassed, “Car won’t start. Battery’s been giving me problems.”

Elijah joined, hands in his pockets now, expression unreadable.

Elias turned to him, “You got the cables in the truck?”

Elijah nodded, “Pop the hood.”

They moved like it was nothing. Like it was routine. Elias leaned into the hood latch while Elijah walked back to the edge of the lot where his truck sat in a shadow. She glanced toward it—tall, matte black, tires thick, body clean but clearly used. A man’s truck. Practical. Solid. Powerful.

“Want me to wait inside?” she asked.

Elijah’s voice carried back, “Yeah. Keep warm. Driver side’s open.”

She didn’t hesitate long. Something about being told what to do, quiet and plain like that, flipped a switch she hadn’t touched in years. She climbed in and settled into the soft leather, the scent of them thick in the cab—cologne, sweat, weed, something metallic and faintly sweet. The seat was pulled far back, and she had to scoot up to sit right. The wheel large in her grip. The center console cluttered with small signs of life—a lighter, a receipt, a pack of gum, keys on a worn black loop. She let herself breathe there. Let the window fog a little while she watched them work. They moved in sync. No words needed. One connected clamps. The other leaned under the hood. That twin rhythm again. Like they were built from the same pulse. The truck rumbled to life under her touch. A few minutes later, her own engine followed, Smoke behind her wheel.  Elias waved her out and she joined them again under the hood, heart warm now from something she didn’t have a name for.

“You good,” Elijah said, shutting the hood with one clean swing, “Let it run a few.”

“Thank you,” she said, hugging her arms, “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Elias replied, voice thicker now, “Still chilly though. You wanna sit a minute while it charges up?”

She hesitated—then nodded. This time, she climbed into her own car. They didn’t leave. They opened the back doors and slid in like it was theirs. Elijah stretched out behind the passenger seat, long legs knocking against the one in front of him. Elias settled behind her, quiet as always, hands on his knees. No fuss. No noise.

“You bring that indigo?” Elias asked.

Elijah nodded, “Always.” He pulled something from his jacket. Rolled tight. Green. Dense.

“Good. That’s that smooth shit. Not the kind that make your brain spin. The kind that just—” he whistled low, “—melts you.”

“Okay if we smoke a lil’ baby girl?” Elijah asked.

She gave them the okay. He sparked it up, eyes half-lidded as he pulled. The window cracked just enough to let the smoke drift.

“You smoke?” Elias asked her, eyes drifting over her lips.

She shook her head, “Nah. I’d be laid out in five minutes.”

Elijah almost smiled, “That’s the point.”

She laughed, “I’m tryna make it home in one piece.”

Elias exhaled and passed it to his brother, “Fair enough. We’ll keep it light then.”

The scent wrapped around her anyway. Thick, earthy, sweet. A deep floral note she hadn’t smelled before. Her eyelids lowered without her permission.

“What you do for fun?” Elias asked after a pause, head resting back.

She blinked, “Fun?”

“That thing people supposed to have in their lives.”

She gave a soft laugh, “I don’t know. Read. Cook sometimes. Go to movies alone like I got friends.”

Elias smirked, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. I like movies too. Especially the trash ones—Smoke, don’t,” he added.

Elijah replied without looking up, “Because most of them are trash.”

She grinned, “So what do you do for fun, then?”

A pause.

Elias shrugged, “I smoke. Eat good. Find soft places to land when life get heavy.”

That answer felt like it meant more than it said. She didn’t push it. Elijah said nothing. Just passed the blunt back and looked out the window. The red glow from the tip lit the edge of his jaw, the line of his throat. Her thighs shifted again. The air filled with silence and secondhand smoke. Her limbs started to loosen. The nerves she’d been holding onto fell away, one by one. They didn’t crowd her. Didn’t try to flirt. They just were. Letting her soak in the moment. Eventually she sighed and sat up straighter.

“I should head out,” she said, soft but certain, “Gotta be up early.”

They didn’t protest. Didn’t try to keep her. They opened the back doors in unison. She put her car in drive.

“Wait.” Elias asked. 

She turned in the drivers seat, rolling down the window.

He held out his hand, “Lemme see your phone.”

She hesitated, “Why?”

“So you can text me when you make it home. That’s all.”

Her heart thudded hard in her chest. She handed it to him, screen unlocked. He typed something quick. Saved it. Before she could reach for it, Elijah took it next. Said nothing. Typed slower. Saved. When he handed it back, their numbers were stacked side by side in her contacts: Elias “Stack” Elijah “Smoke”

Two names. Two men. Two fires waiting to burn her in completely different ways.

“Drive safe,” Elias said, voice deep and easy.

Elijah didn’t speak. Just gave her a salute.

But she could feel both of them watching her as she pulled off. Still warm and lit up. Still trembling in the center of her seat. And she already knew next week wasn’t coming fast enough.

The apartment met her with stillness. Not peace. Not silence. Just the kind of quiet that made her too aware of herself. Of her breath. Of the damp place between her legs that hadn’t stopped aching since they left her. She locked the door behind her, turned the deadbolt, and leaned there for a second. Purse dropped on the floor like her fingers forgot how to carry anything else. Her keys hit the counter with a sharp sound, but it didn’t pull her out of it.

She could still smell them.

It wasn’t just fragrance. It was body and tension. The stretch of their legs in her passenger seat, the low drag of Elijah’s voice when he leaned in close. Elias laughing behind her shoulder, knuckles brushing her neck whenever he clutched her headrest like it was an accident. That scent had clung to the fibers of her shirt, soaked into the seatbelt, braided itself into her skin. She stood there, staring into the dark of her apartment, not moving. Her thighs shifted once, a slow grind as she exhaled hard through her mouth.

“Get it together,” she said, barely above a whisper.

But her body didn’t listen. She moved through the apartment like she was trying to walk off a fever. That worn black cardigan tugged from her arms and tossed across the back of a chair. Shirt peeled slow over her head. Her bra unhooked with a practiced twist, sliding off her shoulders and falling to the floor. Her breasts sighed when they were freed, heavy and soft, nipples dark and already pebbled from friction and memory. The cool air in her apartment kissed her skin, but it only made everything worse.

In the full length mirror, she caught herself. Curves stacked like survival. A body shaped by softness, by meals that soothed and touches that lingered. Breasts full and low, heavy with the kind of weight men either worshipped or shamed. Arms round. Belly warm and plush. Thick thighs that didn’t apologize for anything, always brushing when she walked. She stared at herself with a kind of quiet hunger, like she finally understood why men looked twice. Why they circled back. Why they didn’t leave empty-handed.

She looked like the kind of woman you lose your mind over. And she was still soaked. The drive home had made it worse. That long stretch of road. That last look Elijah gave her before he stepped out of the car. The way Elias leaned in and let his knuckles trace her thigh one last time before grinning and saying, “We’ll wait on you.” They hadn’t even touched her properly. Not yet. But her body had stored every sound, every shift of breath between them. Every moment of being surrounded by men who watched her like they already knew how she tasted.

She stepped out of her leggings and panties together, sliding them down her legs slow, bending at the waist. The air touched her pussy and she inhaled sharp, startled by just how wet she still was. Her thighs gleamed. Her folds were slick, swollen, open like a mouth begging to be fed. She climbed into bed without turning on the lights.

The sheets were cool at first, then too warm. Her skin felt tight all over. Too sensitive. Too much. She kicked the covers off, let her thighs fall open, and let her hand find that space that hadn’t been touched all night but felt used anyway.

She started soft. Just fingers tracing down her belly. Grazing the top of her mound, dipping slow through wetness that glistened even in the low light of the hallway lamp. She breathed out, slow and shaky.

It was Elias she pictured first.

His hands looked like they could hold her still by the hips and lift her off the bed if he wanted to. She imagined him between her thighs, chin glistening, one hand keeping her legs apart while the other pressed against the softness of her belly like he wanted to feel everything. He looked like the type to talk while he ate. Tease while he stroked. Thumb her clit while he said things like, You like that? You look good stretched open for me. Dripping all down your thighs, mama.

She bit her lip and let her fingers mimic his mouth.

Slow circles. Up. Down. Press. Pull. Her other hand came up and cupped her breast, tugging at the nipple until it ached. She pictured Elias pulling her down to ride his tongue, then spreading her lips wide with both thumbs just to watch her tremble.

But Elijah. Elijah came next.

Quieter. Hungrier. The kind of man who didn’t say much because he meant everything. She saw him holding her ankles in the air while he fed her strokes deep and slow, eyes locked on hers, jaw tight like he was fighting the need to break her in half. She saw herself pinned against the wall with her legs wrapped around him, nails in his shoulders, sweat on his neck. He fucked like he didn’t believe in breaks. Like he’d been hungry his whole life and finally got a taste.

Her fingers sped up.

She cried out once, head turning into the pillow, body arching into her own hand.

She didn’t slow down.

She kept going. Kept pushing. Kept pulling. Rubbed her clit like she was chasing something that had been running from her since sundown. Her body trembled under the weight of it. Her thighs clenched. Her pussy pulsed, slick spreading all over her fingers, leaking down into the sheets as her orgasm hit sharp, then melted.

But it didn’t stop there.

She rolled to her side, breathing ragged. One leg cocked up. Her hand still between her thighs. Her body wouldn’t quit. It wasn’t done with her. It needed more.

Needed them.

Guilt tried to creep in.

She pushed it away.

Instead, she reached for her phone, screen lighting up the shadows around her. Their names sat there, side by side. Still new. Still unfamiliar. But heavy with possibility.

She opened a new thread. Added them both. Typed slow.

hey. made it back safe. thanks again ❤️

Sent.

A few seconds passed. Then another.

No reply yet. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was the flutter in her stomach after pressing send. The thread was open now. The line was there.

She dropped the phone beside her on the bed and closed her eyes, Elijah’s silence still clinging to her skin. Elias’s smile burned into her thoughts.

Next week couldn’t come fast enough.

Sleep took her quick after that. Loose and full-bodied. Her hand still smelled like her own skin. Her mouth curved into the faintest smile, body stretched out like she’d finally let go of something that had been holding her tight for weeks.

She didn’t hear the buzz or  feel the soft light flicker across the room.

1:12 AM – Stack: good. i was gon come knock if you didn’t text fr. sleep good, baby girl.

1:16 AM – Smoke: glad you made it. get some rest.

_______

The chairs were set up the same way. Metal legs scraping old linoleum. The circle slightly lopsided, like it’d been rearranged too many times by hands that didn’t care about symmetry. Same off-brand coffee scent hanging in the air, mixed with that generic floral lotion somebody always overapplied.

She stepped in quiet, scanning without trying to look like she was. The room wasn’t full yet, but it was more crowded than last week. More noise. A low buzz of nervous laughter, soft conversation, people catching up on things that couldn’t be said in daylight.

They weren’t there.

Her stomach dipped.

She kept walking anyway, choosing a seat near the edge of the circle, but not too far out. Close enough to be seen. Far enough to pull back if she needed. Her thighs stuck to the foldout chair a little as she sat. She adjusted her sweater. Re-crossed her legs. Tried not to fidget.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard from them.

The week had been full of light touches.

Morning, sweetheart.

Sleep good, mama.

Don’t let that job drain you.

Text messages.

Just enough to keep her in orbit.

Elias was the more consistent one. His texts came with emojis sometimes, made her laugh when she didn’t expect to. Told her when he was eating something good. Sent her a song link with a “this feel like you” attached. She didn’t tell him that she played it three times back-to-back before bed.

Elijah didn’t text often. But when he did, it was sharp. Clean.

You up.

You working today?

That picture you posted. You looked good.

That one stayed with her. Especially because he hadn’t liked the post. Hadn’t commented. Just sent the message with no fanfare and disappeared for the rest of the night.

But that was the thing.

They’d both found her socials.

Elias first. He followed fast. Liked a few photos in a row —one of her Sunday fit, one where she was laughing in the passenger seat of her cousin’s car, one full-body mirror shot she nearly deleted because her stomach looked soft. He left a comment on that one.

Curves sittin’ nice, baby girl

She had to sit down after reading it.

Then Elijah came. No follow. No likes. No comments. Just views. Story watches. Quiet profile visits. The kind of presence you didn’t see unless you were looking for it.

But she saw.

And if he was lurking, it meant he wanted to see. It meant he was curious. And that was worse than all the compliments in the world. She tapped her nails against the water bottle in her lap, pretending to focus on a crack in the wall near the clock. The facilitator was setting out the talking stick and a box of Kleenex like she always did. A couple she hadn’t seen before slid into the seats across from her. The woman looked anxious. The man just looked tired.

Still no Elijah. Still no Elias.

She took a breath, long and slow through her nose, and pushed it out through her lips. Don’t be pressed, she told herself. She came for herself. Not for them.

Then the door creaked open behind her. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to. Their presence moved through the room like gravity. She heard the shuffle of boots on tile, the low cadence of Elias’s voice as he greeted the woman by the coffee. Heard the silence that followed behind it. That still weight Elijah carried like a second skin.

She felt it before they even reached her.

“‘Scuse us,” Elias said, smooth as ever, stepping up beside her chair, “Traffic had me on ten. My fault.”

Then Elijah was on the other side of her.

Just like that, she was boxed in again. Elias dropped into the chair on her right with a sigh, knees wide, arms stretching back over the top rail like he was settling into his throne. Elijah took the one on her left quieter. Slower. The metal groaned a little under him, but he didn’t shift after. He just sat. Still as always.

They didn’t look at each other.

“Hey,” Elias said, voice pitched just for her now, “You good, sweetheart?”

She turned her head slightly, “Yeah. You?”

Elijah answered first, “Living.”

Elias nodded, “Week was long, but manageable. You?”

She hesitated, then let a soft smile curve her lips, “Same. Just trying to keep myself together.”

Elias’s eyes dropped to her legs for a second, slow, then back up, “You look like you holdin’ together just fine.”

She didn’t respond. Not out loud. But her thighs pressed together under the table again. Subtle. Instinctual.

“You ain’t text back the other night,” Elias added, voice dipping low, “We were waitin’.”

“I was sleep,” she said, “Didn’t see it till morning.”

“I figured,” Elijah said, “You needed it.”

She inhaled. Short. Sharp.

It was the way he said it. Not as some throwaway observation, but like he’d been paying attention. Like he’d been reading between her lines all week. Every good morning. Every late night response. Every gap between replies. Like he’d felt the weight in her texts even when she didn’t name it.

Elias leaned in a little, voice pitched low just for her, “So how you sleep, huh? One of them big ol’ t-shirts with a hole at the bottom? A moo-moo from your auntie’s drawer? Or…” His eyes dragged slow over her face,  “Nothin’ at all?”

She turned toward him, lips parted just enough to let a breath out, “You askin’ for a mental picture or just tryna be messy?”

His grin curled, slow and wicked, “Both.”

She leaned in just enough to meet his energy—not more. Her lashes dropped a little as she let the answer roll off her tongue.

“For me to know, and for you to wonder.”

Elias let out a low laugh, that kind that comes from the chest, like she’d said something worth chewing on. His smile didn’t drop, but something in his eyes shifted. Like he’d just added her answer to a list he planned to revisit.

Elijah hadn’t said a word. But his hand had moved. Not toward her. Not obvious. Just from his thigh to his knee, fingers flexing once before curling into a loose fist. Like he needed somewhere to put all that stillness.

The talking stick passed. Another story started. This one from the young guy with the frayed hoodie and tired hands. He spoke with eyes on the floor, about a girl he used to love. About the way she left without saying goodbye. About how it wasn’t even the leaving that broke him, it was the way he’d never hear her voice again.

The circle went quiet. She tried to focus. But all she could think about was how Elijah shifted in his seat just enough that his shoulder grazed hers. The contact was soft. Unintentional. But he didn’t move away.

And neither did she.

The breath caught in her throat felt too heavy to swallow. Her eyes stayed locked on the middle of the circle, but her body…her body was answering to something else. Every inch of her was tuned to the rhythm of the men beside her. The way Elias moved when he crossed his legs. The way Elijah breathed through his nose. The low scent of weed on Elias’s hoodie. The faint cedar that clung to Elijah’s skin like it came from the inside out.

They were just sitting there. Doing nothing.

And she was soaked.

Her thighs flexed again. Slow. Deliberate. Just enough pressure to ground herself.

She could feel Elias glance at her.

Not with his head, with his mouth. The corner of it twitched like he was holding something back. Like he knew what she was doing. Like he approved.

Her fingers tightened around the water bottle in her lap.

The stick passed again. Someone else started speaking. A woman this time. Voice strong. Steady. Talking about learning to forgive herself. The word forgive echoed too loud in her head. Made her jaw clench. Because she knew damn well if she kept walking this edge—the edge she was on right now—she was going to need it.

Forgiveness. Grace. A reason to keep pretending this wasn’t getting out of hand.

The meeting ended like it always did. No applause, no hallelujahs, just a slow uncoiling. Chairs scraping. Deep exhales. People rubbing at their eyes, stretching their backs, pulling on coats heavy with memory.

She stood slower than usual. Took her time collecting her water bottle and slipping her phone into her purse. She felt Elias rise beside her first, his body heat peeling away like a layer of something she hadn’t realized was covering her. Then Elijah—silent, steady—pushed back his chair with a single sound and stood like a question she hadn’t figured out how to answer yet.

The three of them hovered near the exit, caught in that familiar float after hard truths had been shared and nothing felt quite real yet. The night air hit sharp when the door opened, cool on her cheeks, biting at her neckline. The parking lot looked quieter than it had last week. Streetlamp flickering overhead, pavement still cracked from some long-gone winter.

“You straight?” Elias asked, turning toward her.

“Yeah,” she said, pulling her sweater tighter, “Just waiting on my ride.”

“Uber?” Elijah’s voice was low, almost lost in the wind.

“Yeah. My car’s still on bullshit. Been giving me hell since last month.”

Elias nodded slowly, “You hungry?”

The question caught her mid-step. She looked at him.

“I’m starving,” he said, then glanced to Elijah, “You good to hit that spot on 63rd?”

Elijah didn’t answer with words. Just a short nod and a look that said always.

Elias turned back to her, shrugging one shoulder, “We were gon’ stop and grab something. Nothing fancy. Greasy spoon, hole-in-the-wall type. Good as hell though. You tryna come?”

She hesitated. Thought about her Uber being five minutes away. Thought about her fridge with nothing but condiments and regret inside. Thought about how warm Elias looked in his hoodie and how Elijah kept watching her with that still silence that spoke louder than anything Elias could say.

She said yes.

The black SUV sat in the lot like it had been waiting for her. Big, clean, lifted just enough that she had to brace herself with one hand on the console when she climbed in. The inside smelled like skin, cologne, and something earthy like smoked wood and something sweet left in the ashtray too long.

Elias drove. Elijah took the passenger seat. She buckled in behind them, legs pressed together, heart already beating too fast for no damn reason.

The music came on low. A bassline humming beneath a song she didn’t know but wanted to, the kind of track you only played when the night wasn’t over, just shifting.

“You picky?” Elias asked, turning the wheel with one hand, knuckles flashing under the dash lights.

“No,” she said, settling deeper into her seat, “As long as it’s hot and seasoned.”

Elias grinned, “You speakin’ my language.”

Elijah glanced back once, his profile sharp in the reflection of the side mirror, “That’s what she said.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling anyway, “Y’all are real smooth when you want to be.”

Elias chuckled, “Ain’t gotta be smooth when you tell the truth.”

They drove in silence for a few blocks. Not awkward, just quiet. Comfortable. The kind of silence that let her breathe, let her body loosen without realizing it. She felt herself relax into the leather seat, fingers idly tracing the stitching in the door, head tilted just slightly as she watched the city slide past.

“You always come alone?” Elijah asked after a while.

“To the meetings?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just wonderin’,” he said, “You don’t talk like somebody who’s been holdin’ it in.”

She considered that, “I been holding it. I just got tired.”

That earned a small nod from him.

The SUV eased to a stop under a flickering streetlamp, the faded sign overhead humming against the night. A red awning curled over the door of the diner, corners wind-worn and cracked. The building looked like it hadn’t been updated since the ‘90s — chipped paint on the bricks, yellow light leaking through blinds that were permanently tilted.

 It smelled like fries and something fried in love. And that was enough.

Elijah got out first.

Before she could even reach for the handle, he was there —pulling her door open with one smooth motion, stepping back so she could swing her legs out. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, holding the space like it was made for her. She placed a hand on the frame and began to step down, but Elias appeared, already reaching. His hands slid around her waist—not rushed, overdone—but steady and sure. His palms warm through her sweater. He helped her down like she weighed nothing.

“You got it?” he asked, low and close.

“Yeah,” she said. But she didn’t move right away.

Not until he released her. Slowly.

They walked up to the door, her in the middle again without thinking. Elias stepped ahead and pulled the door open wide. Elijah stayed at her back, a quiet presence that made the hairs on her neck rise.

She stepped inside.

The warmth hit immediately—fryer grease, old coffee, lemon cleaner. The lights were low, booths cracked in places, walls lined with faded pictures of food that no longer looked like the real thing. Two people sat at the counter, arguing softly over a plate of pancakes. The cook was behind the grill, face half-covered with a hair net over cornrows, eyes watching them from beneath a tangle of steam.

“Sit anywhere,” he called.

They chose the corner booth. The kind that wrapped around in a half-circle, all leather and low light, tucked away from the rest of the room. Elias slid in first, gesturing for her to follow. She eased in after him, letting the seat shift under her hips.

Elijah slid in from the other side.

And just like that, she was surrounded again.

Pressed in leather and warmth. Tension curling low in her stomach. Their bodies not touching hers, but close enough that she could feel the pull. The table had a paper menu under a glass top. Sticky in places. Two napkin dispensers. A cracked bottle of hot sauce.

Elias leaned his elbow on the table and grinned, “You look like you still don’t believe we can eat.”

She smirked, easing back in her seat, “Y’all don’t seem like the kind to get excited about greasy burgers and soggy fries.”

“Shit,” Elias laughed, tapping the menu, “This the kinda place that keep you grounded.”

Elijah picked up a napkin and wiped something off the table that didn’t even need wiping.

“They got peach cobbler here and 7-up cake,” he said, low, “Best in the city.”

She turned her head toward him, “That right?”

He didn’t smile. But the way he said it, like it was a fact, like he’d tested it and would stake something on it, made her thighs press together again under the table.

A server shuffled over. Young. Distracted. Took their drink orders—water for her, strawberry lemonade for Elias, a passion fruit lemonade for Elijah. No pen. Just memory.

The moment he walked off, Elias turned to her, “You don’t talk much outside of them text messages.”

“I’m observing,” she said, “Y’all are…interesting.”

“Interesting good? Or interesting like don’t-trust-that-man-with-your-wallet?”

“Still deciding,” she teased.

Elijah cut his eyes toward her, “You trust too easy?”

“Not even a little.”

He nodded slow, “Good.”

Elias reached over and adjusted the salt shaker like it was in the wrong place, but really, his forearm just brushed hers. On purpose. Not obvious. Not hidden either.

They settled into a silence that wasn’t really silence. The kind of stillness that hums. The kind that’s all breath and body and what-if.

The drinks came. The menus stayed unopened. Nobody was really hungry for food yet. Not with the way their knees brushed under the table. Not with the way her thighs were warm again, and she was right where they liked to keep her.

Between them.

The food came fast.

Baskets of fries steaming on contact, burgers stacked sloppy between toasted buns, syrup glossed over pancakes on a chipped plate. The kind of food that didn’t need to be plated cute just hot and greasy and worth licking off your fingers.

Elias clapped once when the server dropped off the tray, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Bless that nigga behind the grill.”

“Bless?” she teased, “That’s a strong word for a greasy spoon burger.”

“You ain’t tasted it yet,” Elias said, unwrapping his sandwich like it was holy, “You gon’ see.”

Elijah just reached for the hot sauce. Poured it slow across his plate like this wasn’t his first time doing it. His burger already sliced in half. Neat. Intentional. Just like him.

She watched his hands while he worked. He caught her watching.

Said nothing.

Just dipped a fry in ketchup and popped it into his mouth like he didn’t just catch her slippin’.

“Got you quiet now. Food must be hittin’.” Elias asked around a bite.

She sipped her water slow. “I’m savorin’.”

He licked a spot of sauce off his thumb, eyes still on her, “Yeah. That’s my kinda energy.”

“You tryna turn dinner into something else?” she asked, brows raised.

He smirked, “I ain’t tryna do nothin’ you don’t already want done.”

Elijah shook his head, low and dry, “Here you go.”

“What?” Elias grinned, “She grown. She got that look like her thoughts louder than her words.”

She smirked, “Maybe I just like the sound of my food more than your mouth.”

That got Elijah to smile. Not a full one. Just a pull at the corner. But it was there.

Elias leaned in a little, elbow brushing hers, “I like you. You quick.”

She dipped a fry in hot sauce and sucked the tip clean before biting, “You just slow.”

“Ooh,” Elias chuckled, “Okay. So you wanna go tit for tat tonight.”

She shrugged, “I’m just tryna eat.”

But she wasn’t. Not with the way her thighs stayed tight together and the way both of them kept inching closer— Elijah’s knee brushing hers every time he shifted. Elias’s arm resting behind her on the booth like it belonged there.

The jokes slowed. The food disappeared one bite at a time. Then the silence hit.

Not awkward. Just…loaded. The kind of quiet that made you breathe different.

Elias wiped his hands slow with a napkin, “Lap tense as hell. Thought this was just dinner.”

She turned her head, gave him a lazy look, “What makes you think it’s tense?”

He leaned in, “Cause you ain’t moved since we sat down. You sitting too pretty for someone who ain’t feeling it.”

Elijah’s voice came low beside her, “You been quiet ever since you slid into this booth.”

“I been listening,” she said.

“To what?”

She turned toward him, voice lower now, “Everything y’all not sayin’.”

Elias’s tongue wet his bottom lip. Elijah just blinked slow, like her words landed somewhere deep behind his eyes. Elias scooted closer. Not much. But enough that their thighs were flush now. His arm brushed hers when he moved. Rested heavy behind her shoulders. He didn’t touch her. Not yet.

“You cold?” he asked, voice softer now.

She looked straight ahead, “Not really.”

“You sure?”

“Why you askin’?”

He leaned in, mouth near her ear, “Cause you tryna sit still, but your body keep tellin’ on you.”

Elijah was still on her other side. Closer now. His hand resting on the table, close to hers. His fingers didn’t touch. But they were right there. His knee pressed against hers. Firm. Intentional.

And she felt it. She felt everything. The booth wasn’t that big anymore. The air wasn’t light anymore. Her breath wasn’t steady anymore. And nobody said a damn thing about what was happening.

It just was.

The diner noise faded into a soft background blur — plates clinking, somebody laughing near the back, an old radio humming from behind the grill. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. In her wrists. In the space between her legs.

Elijah tilted his head toward her, finally speaking again, “You sure you don’t wanna finish that cobbler?”

She didn’t look at the plate. She looked at him.

And her answer barely made it above a whisper.

“Depends how y’all serve it.”

The cobbler sat untouched.

Sweet peach halves, still steaming, rested beneath a golden crust glazed in syrup. It bled across the plate in amber puddles, warm and slow, curling into the corners like it had nowhere else to be. But nobody at that booth gave a damn about dessert anymore.

Not her.

Not Elias.

Not Elijah.

Not when Elias kept looking at her mouth every time she bit her lip. Not when Elijah still hadn’t moved his leg from where it pressed up firm against hers.

She shifted slightly, spine brushing back against the cracked vinyl of the booth. It hissed beneath her, hugging her wide hips, clinging like it didn’t want to release her. Space was tight. Too tight to run. Too tight to pretend she didn’t notice how Elias’s thigh was all up against hers on the left, and Elijah had boxed her in on the right. When she leaned, her shoulder slid across Elias’s chest, his shirt cotton-soft and stretched tight across a frame that didn’t give. Not one inch. She exhaled through her nose. Tried to focus on the table. The butter knife. The half-finished drinks. Anything but the way both men were just sitting there—still and quiet—like they didn’t already know what they were doing.

Until it happened.

Elias shifted his weight, leaned back, and let his hand fall beneath the table. Slow. Smooth. No rush. No warning. His fingers curved wide before settling heavy right on her thigh.

Not her knee.

Not the edge of her skirt.

Her thigh. The thick, bare meat of it.

Her body jerked slightly. Gasp caught somewhere between her throat and her lips. It was soft, almost inaudible—but he heard it. He felt it. Because his hand didn’t move. Just sat there like it belonged.

Warm. Big. Familiar.

Possessive without apology.

His thumb started tracing lazy circles, slow and low, like he was drawing something sacred. Her breath hitched. Her thighs tensed but didn’t close. She could feel the heat spreading beneath his palm, the way the skin there started to thrum with awareness.

“What you doin’?” she whispered. Tried to laugh. But her voice wavered—half-giggle, half-beg.

Elias’s grin spread slow, “What you lettin’ me do?”

She opened her mouth. Thought of a smart reply. A tease. A deflection. But nothing came. Not a word. Just a breathy sound that damn near sounded like she was already giving in.

His fingers squeezed with intention. Then he started to rub again. Up and down. Thumb grazing the inside edge. Not high enough to make her shift, but close enough to make her need to. She leaned back harder now. Not to stop it. To feel it more. Her thighs pressed together, soft skin flexing. Elias’s hand didn’t stop. Didn’t rush.

He just kept touching her. Calm. Playful. Confident.

“That’s wild,” she said under her breath. Her lip caught between her teeth now, “Y’all ain’t got no sense.”

“You laughin’,” Elias said, voice dipped low, “but your legs ain’t moved once.”

She almost answered.

But then Elijah moved.

His hand came down quiet, like he’d been waiting. His palm landed on her other thigh—same spot, opposite side. He didn’t tease. Didn’t rub. He just pressed his hand flat. Claimed the space. His touch ran cooler. Firmer. No play in it. Just pressure. A quiet grip.

“Yeah,” Elijah said, voice so close to her ear it made her stomach tighten, “She tense.”

Elias let out a low laugh, “Told you.”

Elijah slid closer, thigh against hers now. His fingers flexed once. Then again. Slow. Deliberate. His thumb dragged toward the inner edge of her thigh and stopped just shy of the warmest part. Just enough to make her blink fast. To make her thighs twitch.

“She so soft,” Elijah said, his voice steady, no teasing, “Look how she leanin’ into it.”

Elias leaned in, his lips ghosting near her jaw, “This what you needed, huh? Couple hands on you. Tight little booth. Not enough space to think?”

Her breath left her like she forgot how to hold it. She was full. Caught between them. Nothing but thigh, thigh, thick thigh, and the deep, syrupy ache building right between her legs.

They talked like she wasn’t sitting there pulsing.

Like they didn’t feel her squirm.

Like they weren’t making her come apart in public.

“Bet she act shy when she get out this booth,” Elias said. His hand moved now, rubbing tighter, slower, “But I bet soon as she get home, she gon’ lay back and think on this.”

Elijah didn’t blink. His palm tightened just a little, “She already wet.”

It wasn’t a question.

She gasped, sharp and soft. Her hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles not white but clenched just the same.

Elijah tilted his head, “Ain’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Her eyes dropped to the table, chest rising and falling quick now. Both their hands were still on her. Elias tracing his circles, slow and greedy, fingertips creeping closer to the place she was trying hard not to twitch toward. Elijah’s hand holding her steady, thumb tapping once, just enough to make her swallow hard.

They knew. They always knew.

Elias leaned into her shoulder, his breath kissing the shell of her ear, “Say the word.”

She turned her head toward him, lips parting, heart racing like somebody caught in the act. She wanted to say something. Anything. But all that came out was a low sound—guttural, helpless, and real.

And both of them smiled.

Because that was enough.

Her thighs stayed open. Her back arched just enough. The booth creaked low, wood groaning beneath Elias’s weight as he leaned in. The vinyl seat gave under him, guiding her thigh right over his without permission, without apology. Just presence. His other hand pried her open inch by inch, the hem of her dress slipping higher on instinct, breath catching in her chest before she even knew what it was reacting to.

Then Elijah shifted beside her—quiet but heavy, the kind of weight that didn’t need sound to make itself known. He did the same from the other side, trapping her in place. Boxed in. Legs spread. Palms resting casual on either side of his thighs like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

But she could feel everything.

The table shielded what eyes couldn’t see, but not what she could feel. Not the way the air changed. Not the way her breath grew tight in her ribs.

Elias moved first. His hand came low and slow, fingertips dragging up her bare thigh like he had all night to get there. He didn’t rush. He felt. Sank into every curve of her skin with the kind of appreciation that felt close to hunger. His thumb rolled slow as he moved higher, brushing that tender strip of skin just beneath her panties like it was his alone. And when he pressed, it wasn’t fast or frantic. It was mean. Curious. Dirty. His thumb rolled up and traced the soft, soaked fabric between her legs like he could read it. Like her body was saying something, and he was trying to catch every syllable.

 Elijah followed, rougher but just as patient. His palm pushed her thigh wider, fingers spreading across the soft give of her skin, gripping the plush curve above her knee and dragging up. He felt for the thickness beneath his hand, rubbed his thumb over the seam of her panties and caught the way her muscles jumped. He didn’t pause.

She tried to breathe. Tried to laugh, “Y’all really wild,” she whispered, voice cracking from where it got stuck behind her teeth.

Elias didn’t laugh. He didn’t need to. He made a low sound in his throat, all gravel and approval, then dragged his thumb hard and slow across the full shape of her pussy again. “Mmm,” he grunted, voice dropped low, “You got a fat pussy.”

The words hit harder than she expected. Her laugh spilled out wrong—high and helpless, trying to escape the way her thighs clenched, the way her hips rocked forward without her consent. Her fingers twitched like she didn’t know where to place them. Lifted, dropped, useless.

Elijah’s voice stayed calm. Steady. Close to her ear like it was meant for nobody else, “That must mean you take well, huh?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer.

She couldn’t.

Her hips tilted just a little, but it was enough. That slow shift gave them everything they needed to keep going. Elias let his palm settle flat against her pussy, thumb still dragging slow lines up the soaked cotton. His hand was broad, heavy, unforgiving. His grip dared her to keep still.

“Don’t need your words,” he said, low and gravel-slick, “Your body loud enough.”

Elijah didn’t move fast. He just nudged her panties aside, slow and disrespectful. Didn’t ask or hesitate. Just let the pad of his thumb press right where she pulsed. His fingers spread across her thigh again like he was proud of what he found.

“Yeah,” he breathed, lips brushing her ear, “She feel ready.”

Her head rolled back against the booth wall. Her breath shook. The lights above blurred and scattered. She blinked, but it didn’t help. Her whole body was aware now. Too aware. Every nerve was standing up, every breath sounded too loud in her chest, and the slick sound of their hands working her over was starting to cut through the diner noise.

Elias didn’t stop. He cupped her pussy full in his palm, fingers sliding lower to press under, thumb circling up top, slow and nasty. Her thighs kept trying to close. He kept prying them back open. The strength in his hand was too much and just right. He dragged that cotton to the side harder to the point of shredding it and dipped his finger down, groaning low as he felt the mess she’d made.

“This how you act when we just touchin’? You gon’ show out when we fuckin’?” He rasped. 

She swallowed a sound she couldn’t name. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. Elijah just looked down, eyes hooded, rubbing slow with two fingers now. Middle and ring. Up and down, steady pressure, tracing the shape of her without putting them in. Teasing. Watching her hips chase his hand. Watching her lose track of herself.

“Soft,” Elijah whispered. “All this thickness sittin’ pretty. She feel like she need breakin’ in.”

Her thighs jolted. Elias grinned wider.

“Yeah she do,” Elias said, his voice tight now, like his jaw was locked. “She need handlin’. Like a big ol’ plate. Meant to be held with both hands.”

Elijah leaned in again. His nose brushed her jaw. His breath fogged the shell of her ear.

“Or shared.”

She made a sound then. A real one. A whimper choked back behind clenched teeth. Her hand dropped under the table, fingers grasping Elias’s wrist. Not to stop him. Just to hold on.

Elias dipped his finger in.

Just one. Just enough to feel the slick, hot clutch of her wrapped around him. She pulsed. Squeezed. That warm, wet flutter that made his mouth twitch in a nasty smirk.

“You hear that?” he whispered. “She talkin’.”

Elijah watched. Lips parted. One hand still on her thigh, the other creeping up now, pressing low against her stomach like he needed to hold her down while she took it.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he muttered, dragging her panties down slow. “Sit still.”

And she did.

Because she couldn’t move.

Not with Elias’s thick fingers pumping slow. Not with Elijah thumbing circles just above, steady and cruel. Not with both of them focused like that. Hungry. Calm. Dirty with it. Touching her like she was dessert and they had time.

They weren’t playing.

They were getting started.

Elias didn’t rush. His thumb worked over her pussy again, dragging lazy through the wetness that had already spread across his fingers.

“Still drippin’, girl,” he said low, voice thick with approval, “You like this nasty shit, huh?”

She clenched around nothing, her eyes fluttering half-closed.

Elijah touched next, smoother. His fingers pressed into her slick skin with a patient curiosity that made her pulse stutter. He slid upward, thumb grazing the soft shape of her lips, then dragged back down again, feeling how swollen she was. It made him shift in his seat, jaw tightening.

“My shit hard,” he said, almost to himself.

Elias grinned without looking up, “She makin’ my dick jump.”

Her thighs trembled between theirs. She tried to angle her hips, desperate for more pressure, more friction, anything. But they controlled the pace. The rhythm. They always did.

“You like fuckin’ this much?” Elias asked, voice unbothered, damn near thoughtful, “What made you like this?”

She couldn’t answer. Didn’t know how. Didn’t know what to say to a question like that with their thumbs working her slow, rubbing circles that got tighter each pass.

“Must’ve had dick so good it rewired your brain,” Elijah said near her ear, deep and calm, “Had you chasin’ the memory of that nut.”

Elias pinched lightly, right over her clit, and she jerked in place, hand slapping the edge of the table. He rubbed it right after, soothing it.

“Prolly pounded your thick ass so good,” he whispered, “left you seein’ stars. And now you out here tryin’ to find that same high.”

Her breath hitched. Her pussy ached. It throbbed under their hands, soaked through, lips plump and full against their fingers. Her head tipped back against the booth, eyes closed. They didn’t stop.

One rubbed. The other pinched. Then switched.

Elijah teased the lips now, his fingers spreading her, pressing in to feel the curve of her, the way she opened up, puffed and needy.

“Pussy got my dick on brick,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

She whimpered. Tried to press her thighs together, but Elias nudged them wider with his knee again.

“Don’t run now,” he said with a laugh that held no mercy, “You sat your ass in this booth.”

Elijah leaned forward again, his hand palming her inner thigh, “Body beggin’ for it. You hear how wet this pussy is?”

He slid his fingers down again, pushed harder, rubbed those wet lips like he wanted it to stain the seat. Elias looked at her face, her mouth open and breathing shallow. He tilted his head.

“You ain’t answer me,” he said, “What got you like this? What made you crave it so bad?”

She blinked, then looked away.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice cracking, “I just…I just do.”

Elijah’s hand slid higher. He pinched her clit softly again between his fingers and tugged, just enough to tease.

Elias pressed his thumb down hard, slow circles now, grinding steady, “Nah. Somebody started it.”

Elijah leaned in closer, speaking into her ear, “Bet you let somebody tear it up real young. Fucked the sense outta you. Made you a fiend.”

Elias grinned, “A pretty little fiend with a fat-ass pussy. Got us sittin’ here rock hard in the middle of this booth.”

She whimpered, face buried in her elbow now, her thighs shaking from how much it all pulsed—pressure building, nerves lit. They didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Didn’t let her breathe without feeling something.

Elijah rubbed lower, pressing through the folds, dragging slickness down, smearing it. Elias kept his circles going, pushing firm against that swollen spot until her body tensed all the way up.

“Don’t hold back,” Elijah whispered, “Go on. Let that pussy talk.”

Her stomach jumped. The tension broke.

She came under the table with her legs spread, hips rocking helplessly while they held her open.

Nobody in the room knew.

But they did.

And they weren’t finished.

-----

They left the diner under neon glare.

Elijah opened the door for her again. Said nothing, just stepped aside like he was used to making space for people who mattered. Elias placed a hand on her lower back. Just enough to say you feel good right here. She took the back seat without being told, thighs still humming, panties still damp from the booth.

They slid into the SUV like the night wasn’t over.

Elias behind the wheel again, one hand resting easy while the other adjusted the rearview mirror. Elijah climbed in and leaned back slow in the passenger seat, his profile catching the glow of the streetlight just enough to make her stomach flutter. The engine came alive with a low growl, and the music started up behind it—that same heavy-lidded rhythm from earlier, bass riding low, drums scattered like footsteps on concrete. Something Southern and slow. 

They pulled off smooth, no rush.

The city slid past the windows in long strokes of orange and blue. Storefronts shuttered. Neon signs blinking through half-closed eyes. A couple sitting on the curb outside a corner store passed a bottle back and forth, laughing about something that would only be funny at 1AM.

Inside the car, the silence was thick. Not stiff—just aware.

She sat still, pressed against the door, watching the lights paint the leather seat beside her. Her legs stayed closed, but her breath told the truth. Shallow. Controlled. Like she was holding something down just to make it through the ride.

She felt them both up front, even without looking. Elias tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. Elijah shifting his weight slightly, just enough for his arm to flex against the window. Neither of them talked. Not yet.

But she knew they were waiting.

Waiting to see what she’d say. What she’d do.

The memory of their hands still lingered on her thighs. On her pussy. Their voices still curled behind her ears. That booth had stripped away something quiet in her. Peeled it back, opened her up. She hadn’t stopped shaking since. Not visibly. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But inside? She was trembling.

The car slowed at a light. The red glow painted the dashboard. Her building sat four blocks away now, tucked off the main road. No doorman. No security. Just her name on a mailbox and stairs that creaked when the wind hit wrong.

The closer they got, the harder it became to sit still.

Her fingers tapped softly against her thigh.

They turned down her street.

Elijah finally looked over his shoulder. His voice was low. Steady, “This it?”

She nodded once.

The car pulled up to the curb. The engine didn’t cut off.

She looked straight ahead. Stared at the entrance. The hallway upstairs would smell like bleach and old air. Her apartment would be quiet. Dark. Still holding her heat in the sheets.

And if she went in alone tonight, she knew what would happen. She’d lie there with her thighs tight and her breath ragged. She’d touch herself again. Maybe twice. Try to remember the way Elias’s fingers had circled her through her panties. Try to recreate the pressure of Elijah’s hand pressing her open. And it wouldn’t be enough.

Not this time.

Not after what they started.

She looked down at her hands. Then up at the mirror.

Elias met her eyes there. No smile. Just stillness.

She turned her head toward Elijah. His eyes held hers for a moment. Dark. Knowing.

She took a breath.

Then another.

And said it.

“I want y’all to come up.”

No giggle. No shy smile.

Just a truth laid bare in the space between them.

Elijah nodded once. His door opened. Elias put the car in park, engine still humming.

Her heart thudded in her chest as the back door opened. Elijah reached for her hand, helping her out like they were stepping into something sacred. She didn’t look around or check to see who might be watching. She just walked.

Elias stayed close behind. Elijah beside her, silent as ever.

And when they stepped into the building—one stair creaking under Elijah’s weight, the other catching Elias’s boot—she felt it rise in her like smoke.

Not nerves. Not fear.

Just need.

Real. Present.

Ready.

And she knew before she even reached her door…nothing about this night would let her go untouched.

The lock clicked with a hushed finality as she turned the knob and stepped inside first, the quiet shuffle of her shoes brushing the worn entryway rug. It was dim, only a small light on the kitchen counter glowed warm, catching the gold trim on a frame, the curved lip of a wineglass left to dry, the amber gloss of hardwood that creaked beneath her step. She didn’t look back at first. 

She couldn’t.

Keys hit the tray on the table by the door. Her cardigan came off next, folded over the nearest chair. She walked slow, like her body had to remember it was her space, not theirs. The apartment wasn’t large, just a one-bedroom on the third floor of a brickwalk building with no elevator. The kind of spot you could fill with incense, sweat, and moans and it’d take days to air out.

But it was clean. Lived in. A throw blanket tossed over the couch, one corner half-folded. A half-dead plant leaning toward the last bit of light from the blinds. Some novels stacked on the ottoman like they’d been touched and abandoned in a hurry. There was a chipped mug on the counter. A faint scent of body lotion and something warm that clung to skin.

She felt them behind her before they even crossed the threshold.

Elias came in first, slow and wide-shouldered, eyes sweeping the space like he could already picture the places he’d fuck her. Elijah followed, silent, hands in his pockets, gaze tracking her legs as she walked toward the kitchen like they were guiding him somewhere he already knew. They moved smooth, but heavy. Like they didn’t belong inside something so soft and quiet, but they weren’t about to leave either.

Elijah pushed the door until it clicked again. Stack turned the lock. Then nothing.

No one spoke.

Just movement. Low, deliberate.

Elias slipped his jacket off. Set it over the back of the chair with hers. He scanned the space with his chin up, nostrils flaring once like he smelled her—beneath the fabric, in the air. His chain caught a flicker of that kitchen light, swinging slowly. Elijah leaned against the counter, his arms thick beneath a black long sleeve, one sneaker-clad-foot pressed to the cabinet like he owned the place.

“You live good,” Elias said after a beat. His voice held something low in it. Something that edged too close to approval.

“Cozy in here,” Elijah added, dragging his knuckles once across the counter before resting his palm flat. His eyes didn’t move from her, “Smell like you.”

Her hands reached for something—anything to do. She opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of chilled wine and held it out without turning around.

“Wine?”

Elias gave a tilt of his chin. “Yeah I’ll take some. Thanks baby girl.” 

She opened the cabinet. Pulled out glasses. Fingers trembled just slightly when they touched the base of the glass. Elijah noticed. Watched. The glasses filled, she turned, handed one to Elias, and placed the other beside Elijah. He didn’t drink yet. Just leaned closer. Close enough to smell the perfume layered in her clothes. Not sprayed. Rubbed in. Smeared into the inside of her elbow and that part behind her ear you only got close to during a kiss or while fucking.

Elijah pushed off the counter. Slow. He looked at the books. Touched the melted wax of the low-burned…light source on the shelf. Eyes landed on a framed photo, maybe a childhood shot or something sentimental. But he didn’t comment on it. Didn’t need to. He looked back at her instead.

Then he saw it.

The bedroom door.

He didn’t walk to it. Just paused long enough for her to notice where his eyes landed. And she did.

Elias caught that too. His lips curved a little.

“I been wonderin’ what it’d feel like,” he said, taking a sip from the wine glass, “Us. In a space like this. Real low. No lights. Just bodies.”

Her breath hitched. Barely.

Elijah still hadn’t said a word to her directly. The look in his eyes was doing all the work. He walked forward and leaned over the counter now, one hand down, the other inching toward her waist like he was daring her not to move. His voice dropped lower, a grind of gravel dipped in smoke.

“You nervous?”

She nodded again. Still no words.

Elias grinned like he’d won something. He came up behind her then. Not close enough to press, but close enough to feel the warmth from his chest behind her spine. His breath touched the shell of her ear when he spoke.

“We ain’t in no rush. Unless you want us to be.”

Her knees softened. She reached for the counter for balance.

“I…need to change.”

Elias stepped back slow, hands loose at his sides like they were waiting to touch something soft. Elijah tilted his head, jaw tight, eyes dragging over her like he was taking stock of everything—the sway in her hips, the bare press of her thighs, the hush of her feet against the floor as she eased away.

“Go on,” Elijah said, voice low.

She turned toward the bedroom.

Elias voice followed. Deeper. Rougher, “Leave that door open.”

She paused.

Then did.

But she didn’t need to change. For what? They didn’t come to see lace. Didn’t need no lingerie or frills. They wanted her just like this—skin bare, body honest. Whatever she had on could come off. Slow. In front of them. With that door wide open.

The space was dim. Soft light from a lamp in the corner made her skin glow deep. There was a full body mirror propped in the far corner, tilted just slightly. It caught the movement of her dress. The shape of her curves. The panic behind her eyes. The bed was king-sized. Dark gray sheets, fluffed comforter. Pillows stacked high, some shoved to the side like she’d napped there earlier. She stood in the middle, facing the mirror, breathing hard.

She paced like she couldn’t help it. Light steps at first, then a full loop near the bed. She rubbed her palms against her thighs, then pushed one hand into her hair like it might help settle her nerves. It didn’t. She kept talking. Nothing useful. A string of sentences that fell flat in the air. About the walk up the stairs. About how hot it was in the hallway. About how the wine must’ve gotten warm.

“Stop all that,” Elias said, calm but final.

They’d come in without a word.

Both of them barefoot now. Elijah’s shirt was gone. Elias had his unbuttoned halfway, showing thick brown skin and the wide shelf of his chest. They filled the doorway like a warning. Too big. Too built. Too much.

She swallowed hard.

“Go on,” Elias said behind her, “Take it off, baby girl.”

She blinked. Froze in place.

Elijah’s tone came next. Deeper. Meaner.

“You knew what it was when you let us come up.”

Her mouth parted. Then closed again. Like she was chewing on whether she could really say it out loud. She glanced at the floor. Then at Elias. Then Elijah. Like they were too much to take in at once. Like they weren’t gonna move until she did.

“I want y’all,” she said.

Low. But strong.

“I been wantin’ y’all.”

The air in the room turned dense. Every breath sounded louder. The quiet between them stretched long, thick, charged. She shifted like she wanted to walk again, wanted to hide. Her gaze slipped off their faces, down toward her feet.

Elias’ voice came slow.

“You sure you can handle that, baby?”

She nodded. It wasn’t confident, not all the way. But she meant it.

She swallowed hard.

“Go on,” Elias said behind her,“Take it off, baby girl.”

Her fingers moved slow at first. Reached behind to unzip her dress. Tugged it down her hips. The straps slid from her shoulders, and the whole thing pooled at her feet. She stood in her bra and panties, stomach rising with breath. Thick arms folded across her midsection, unsure.

Elijah moved first, “Uh uh,” he said, “Move them arms. Let us see what’s ours.”

She hesitated. Then dropped her arms.

She was thick all over. A deep brown beauty with stretch marks shining down her sides like they were drawn on. Her belly had a soft curve, a roll under the bra line and another where her panties hugged too tight. Her hips spread wide, thighs thick and touching. She had that kind of body that could ride dick without lifting a foot off the floor. Soft. Plush. Real.

Elias licked his bottom lip, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Elijah came closer, “Been wantin’ to see this body with nothin’ on it but sweat.”

Her legs pressed together, but it only made her hips bloom wider. Her panties were wet. The cotton clung to the split of her pussy like a mouth open, ready.

Elijah touched her chin. Tilted it up, “You still nervous?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared up at him, breath shallow, lips parted.

He touched the strap of her bra. Slid it down. Let it hang.

Elias came up behind her now, close enough to make her sway. His chest brushed her back. She felt his dick hard, thick, pressing into the curve of her ass through his jeans.

“You a lil’ slut, huh?” Elias whispered against her ear, “Standin’ there so quiet…drippin’.”

He ran two fingers down the center of her back.

“Go ahead,” Elijah said, still in front of her, “Take off them panties. Let big daddy see what you been hidin’.”

Her knees shook. But she obeyed. Hooked her thumbs in the sides and eased them down, slow. Her thighs jiggled. Her pussy came into view—fat-lipped, glistening. A perfect mess. Full. Bare.

Elijah grabbed himself through his pants, “Damn, mamas. You wet like this just from us talkin’?”

She looked away, embarrassed, but Stack caught her chin from behind.

“Look in that mirror,” he said, voice sharp, “Don’t run from it.”

She did.

What she saw made her gasp. Two tall, dark men on either side of her. Elias behind, dick throbbing against her ass. Elijah in front, chest bare, reaching for his zipper. Her body was thick between them. Dark thighs. Glossed lips. Nipples poking through her bra like they needed pressure.

“Say it again,” Elijah said.

“What?”

“That you want us. Say it again.”

She swallowed, “I want y’all. I want you in me.”

Elias growled low, mouth on her neck now, “Where you want us, baby girl?”

“Wherever y’all want to be.”

Elijah palmed her face, kissed her hard. Tongue deep, hand heavy on her jaw.

Elias pushed his palm down her spine. Then lower. One hand sliding between her cheeks.

“She talk like that again, I’ma nut before I even get in.”

“You gon’ get in,” Elijah said, “We both are.”

Elijah brought his hand up slow. The pads of his fingers touched her chin first. Then the rest of his hand cupped her jaw like it was made for it. His touch was warm. Steady. But his eyes? They burned.

“Look at me when you say it,” Elias said, deep and even.

She tried to blink, but he held her there. So she spoke, just above a whisper.

“I want y’all to touch me.”

Elijah made a sound behind her. Something like a groan, dragged low and heavy from the chest. She could feel him moving now. Closer. His body a slow, steady force until the front of him pressed right up against her back. His hands came to her hips, fingers spreading wide like he meant to hold her in place.

Elias leaned in closer, nose brushing her cheek, still watching her, “Where?”

Her lips parted again. Sound stuck in her throat.

“Where you want us to touch you first?” he asked, voice sticky with hunger, “Say it slow.”

Her chest rose, then fell. She breathed through it. Her legs started shaking again, but she didn’t move. Didn’t run. The words took effort. She had to dig for them. But they came.

“My titties,” she said, voice cracked open and real, “Wanna feel y’all on my titties.”

Elijah’s palm dragged up from her hip, grazing the underside of her breast. Not cupping it yet—just teasing. Elias moved his hand to the back of her neck, gripped it light.

“And after that?” Elijah’s breath hit the shell of her ear, “What you want us to touch next?”

Her eyes darted to the mirror. She could see all of it now. Her reflection between them, framed by two men with big hands and darker intentions. She saw her nipples stiff, her pussy leaking onto her thighs. She saw Elijah’s chest rising behind her. Elias’s bulge thick and long, pressing behind the zipper like it couldn’t wait to be free.

“My pussy,” she whispered, “I want y’all to touch my pussy.”

Elias exhaled, sharp and dark, “That’s right, baby.”

He stepped in, brought his mouth down to her neck. Licked slow from the edge of her shoulder to the space just under her jaw. Meanwhile Elijah’s hand moved higher, thumb brushing her nipple through the bra, then slipping under the cup. She gasped. It was rough. Not soft. Not delicate. They were done playing sweet.

“Take that bra off,” Elijah said, voice thick now, “Wanna see them titties when I suck ‘em.”

Her fingers fumbled at the back clasp. Elias helped, one hand sliding under to unhook it while his lips stayed close to her throat. The bra fell. Her breasts bounced free, full and plush, dark brown nipples stiff and swollen. Elias stepped back to look. Elijah stayed pressed against her, hands gripping both tits now, thumbs circling her peaks.

“She got fat ass nipples,” Elias said, licking his bottom lip, “They taste as good as they look?”

“Better,” Elijah muttered, then bent low and latched onto one. His mouth pulled deep, tongue swirling as he sucked hard. Wet sounds filled the room. Sloppy. Nasty. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder with a moan.

“Damn,” he breathed low, voice gravel-wrapped, dick hard as concrete behind his zipper, “These titties talkin’ to me.”

She chuckled, but it caught in her throat when he bent down.

Six feet and some change, folding at the waist, face first into her softness like he needed air and her titties were the only way to breathe. His mouth caught the left one first—wet, open, greedy. Lips pulled that areola in slow, thick and fat and sensitive. He wrapped his mouth around it, sucked until the noise echoed off the walls, let it slip out with a pop, then slapped the underside of it with his tongue. Dark brown nipple turned darker, swollen with his spit.

He took his time. Switched to the right. Left hand holding the left tit like it was his favorite dessert. He sucked hard, then soft. Fast, then lazy. Alternating patterns like a man who liked to test limits. She let out a sound that made his dick jump—deep, guttural, trembling from the base of her belly. Her thighs pressed tight. Her feet shuffled like she needed a wider stance just to keep standing.

His hand squeezed the weight of both, lifted them, bounced them just to feel the jiggle. “Shit…these titties got some bounce to ‘em. Gone make me lose my damn mind.”

He dragged his teeth slow along the curve, then bit. Not hard, just enough to make her hiss. His spit shined all over them now. He spread it with his palm, slicked that nipple up, then sucked it back down again like a man who couldn’t stay away.

“You like me tearin’ ‘em up like this?” he rasped against her skin, “Got me hard as fuck, girl. I could eat on you all fuckin’ night.”

His mouth stayed moving—sucking, licking, dragging across her chest like it was his playground. She swore, fingers trembling as they went to his head, palming the back of his head, guiding him back and forth across her breasts like she was trying to give him a map of pleasure and ruin.

He popped off one nipple and spit on it, slow. Let it drip. Watched it slide down her belly while she squirmed.

“Ain’t even slid my dick in you yet,” he said, rubbing the side of his face against her left tit, smiling lazy like a devil in the flesh, “But you drippin’, huh? Soaked already. That pussy clenchin’ on nothin’, just from me suckin’ these titties.”

She whimpered, grinding her hips on air.

She whimpered, legs tightening, hands braced against the wall behind her. Her body jolted when he tugged her nipple with his mouth and popped it free, just to lick it again in slow, wet circles.

“Damn, baby,” Elijah rasped, voice thick and low, “You feel that? Daddy suckin’ this big ass titty just like you need.”

Her head fell back. Her pussy throbbed.

Then Elias stepped in. Cool and slow, licking his lips, eyes locked on the untouched right titty like it was his turn to eat.

“You hold them titties up for us,” he said, voice deep enough to drop into her bones, “Hold ‘em up like a good lil’ thing. Let us feed.”

Her hands came up without hesitation. She cradled the weight of her tits and lifted them like an offering, her arms trembling from the size and weight of them, but more from the need. She looked down and watched both men dip low, faces vanishing into her chest.

Elijah on the left. Elias on the right.

Twin tongues—warm, slick, relentless. Suckin’ and flickin’, takin’ turns draggin’ their tongues over her swollen nipples. Long, thick lips pulled and twisted, mouths locking down with filthy, wet sounds that echoed in the quiet room. Her pussy pulsed, sticky and wet between her thighs, clenching on nothing.

“Shit…” she whispered, watching them, “Oh fuck…”

Elijah reached up, slapped the side of her thigh, “That feel good, baby?”

Elias followed it up with his own brand of filth, “These titties so fuckin’ good. Look at ‘em jump when I suck ‘em. You lettin’ both your daddies eat like this? Dirty lil’ fuckin’ girl…”

They had her trapped in the sweetest kind of way—two tall, broad-backed men bent at her chest, each with a mouthful of her. Saliva slicked her skin. Their hands came up, thumbing her nipples, pinching them while their tongues rolled across the tips again and again.

She moaned out loud, toes curling against the carpet, mouth open.

“That’s it,” Elijah growled, switching nipples with his brother so they could taste each side, “Let us feed, girl. Let us fuckin’ taste them titties. You know we need it.”

Elias licked her all the way around her areola, then sucked the nipple so deep into his mouth she cried out.

“Say thank you,” Elias said, tongue dragging wet across the underside of her tit, “Say thank you for both your daddies suckin’ on these fat ass titties.”

“Th-Thank you—fuck—thank you…”

They groaned in unison. Elijah reached down to grip her ass in both hands, fingers digging into the soft thickness there while he sucked again, hard. Elias pulled her nipple between his teeth and let it go with a pop, then dragged the flat of his tongue across both tits just to feel the weight of them bounce.

Her thighs were trembling now. Pussy soaked. Their breath hot against her skin. Her arms were getting tired but she didn’t dare stop holdin’ ‘em up. Not when they were still suckin’ her like she was dessert and they hadn’t had dinner.

“Lil’ nasty bitch,” Elijah mumbled, licking up her tit and circling the areola with slow precision, “Drippin’ all down your thighs while we feed on you.”

“You wet?” Elias smirked against her nipple, his teeth grazing just enough to tease, “You got that pussy leakin’ just from gettin’ these titties sucked?”

She nodded, helpless.

Elijah grinned, eyes sharp now, “You know what that mean, right? We ain’t even touched that pussy yet. But she ready for both of us. Ain’t that right, girl?”

Her voice barely worked, “Yes, Daddy…”

“Good girl,” Stack said, and sucked again.

her mouth parted, forming a moaning. And that’s when Elias leaned in from the right, one hand on her cheek, the other with a handful of her right titty, mouth crashing into hers with no warning.

He kissed like a man starved. No build up. No permission. Just hot tongue, lips parted, tongue sliding past hers with heat and pressure. Their mouths opened and met again—wet, sloppy, lips smacking. He licked deep into her like he wanted to taste the nut she still had in her throat. Their heads tilted, breath tangled, his hand wrapped in her curls, pulling her to stay on his mouth. She moaned into him, kissed him back messy, mouth greedy, spit thick between them.

Then Elijah grabbed her jaw and yanked her face toward him, “Uh uh,” he growled, “Mine now.”

He swallowed her mouth whole. Hot. Wet. Tongue pushing in deep, lips sealing around hers while his fingers gripped her face like he needed to hold her together. Their mouths moved fast—no rhythm, just hunger. Tongue twisting, licking the inside of her lips, lips slapping, breath hitching from how nasty it felt. He kissed her like her mouth was a pussy and he needed to fuck it slow.

Elias wasn’t having it. He grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her away from Elijah’s lips with a string of spit trailing, and kissed her again but harder.

“She mine too, nigga.” Elias said against her lips, then kissed her like he wanted to claim her taste. Mouth open. Teeth brushing. Tongue thick and wet, sliding along hers with no shame.

They kept switching her back and forth. Like a war. Like a game. Elijah slid his hand to her throat and kissed her sideways, taking her mouth from a different angle, swallowing her moan. Elias bit her bottom lip. Tugged it. Elijah sucked her tongue. Elias licked under it. Their lips kept smacking against hers, back to back to back, like a filthy rhythm section in a blues club nobody was supposed to talk about. One gripped her face. The other held her hips. One took her top lip. The other buried his tongue so deep she choked. Wet sounds filled the room—spit, lips, tongues, moans. Her mouth was soaked, her chin wet, her lips swollen.

They weren’t done yet.

Not even close.

Elijah straightened up slow, body pressed close. He grabbed his dick through his jeans, eyes still locked on her chest.

Elias dropped to his knees in front of her, hands dragging down her hips to her thighs. He spread her legs wider and leaned in close.

“Pussy still drippin’, ain’t it?”

She nodded, dazed.

“Let me see,” he said, “Let me see what kind of mess we made.”

Elijah let her go long enough for Elias to pull her forward, guiding her foot up onto the bed just enough for her folds to part. Below, Elias was already on his knees. Broad shoulders between her legs, eyes trained on the fat drip sliding down the inside of her thigh. His gold chain swung a little when he shifted, tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was staring down his next meal. Her pussy lips were thick and full, shining with slick. Cream lined the crease, dripping down to her inner thigh.

“Damn,” Elias said, “Look at all that. This shit glossy.”

He spit on it. Slow and wet. Dripping down his chin. Then rubbed his thumb through it. She jerked, almost buckled, but Elijah caught her.

“Stand still,” Elijah warned, hands gripping her waist.

Elias licked up the middle of her pussy like he had all night. Tongue flat and wide, dragging slow before circling her clit. She hissed through her teeth. His mouth locked on, sucking, licking, tongue dipping inside. Her legs trembled harder now.

Elijah held her tighter. One hand wrapped around her throat. Not choking. Just enough pressure to keep her from floating off.

He spit on it again—slow and messy—watching it roll down over her clit, catching on the curve of her pussy before dripping onto the hardwood. Thick, nasty. He rubbed his thumb right through it, pressed into the wet like he owned it, and she jerked forward. Her belly tightened, knees buckling for a split second.

Elijah gripped her harder, “Didn’t I say stand still?”

A soft whimper slipped from her lips. Her head fell back against his shoulder. His palm shifted from her throat to her chin, turning her head toward him.

“Keep your eyes open, babygirl. I want you to see what your nasty ass let happen tonight.”

Elias didn’t waste time. Tongue flat and wide, he licked her slow from the bottom up—long stroke like he was trying to taste the whole damn day off her. The tension in her belly snapped like elastic. Her hips twitched. A moan poured out, low and broken.

“Ohhh—shit—”

He licked again. This time slower. Then circled the tip of his tongue around her clit in a tight spiral, never breaking contact. His lips wrapped around it and sucked—sharp and wet—then pulled back to slap it with his tongue again. She trembled. Her legs were screaming now, body betraying her with every pulse and shake.

“Nah, keep still,” Elias said, voice muffled against her pussy, “You wanted this, right? Don’t run now.”

He gripped the backs of her thighs and pulled her down onto his face like he needed her seated there. Like she weighed nothing. Like she weighed everything. His mouth got filthy then—slurping, sucking, tongue dipping in deep and curling. He buried his nose, pushed his whole face against the fat of her pussy like he’d been starving for her. It was loud. Sticky. Echoing off the walls. That mix of spit and slick that sounded obscene, wet enough to make the room humid.

Elijah groaned behind her, “Look how she jumpin’. You feel that?”

She nodded, barely. Her throat was tight, her eyes glassy. She whimpered again, higher now. Her hands reached behind her, searching for him—fingernails digging into his wrist where it pressed to her stomach. He didn’t move. He just gripped her tighter.

“Talk to my bro,” Elijah said, voice in her ear. “Let him know what that mouth doin’ to you.”

Her lips parted. Soundless at first. Then breathy, “F-fuck, Elias. That feel so good…”

“Louder,” Elijah growled, “Let him know.”

Her stomach jumped,  “Please. Please don’t stop.”

 Elias cut in, voice slick with spit. “You gon’ stand here and take this tongue like the good girl you tryna be.”

He spit again, directly on her clit, and watched it run down like syrup. Then he closed his mouth around her whole pussy and sucked hard. Loud. The noise of it made Elijah chuckle low.

“That’s it,” Elias said, tongue darting between her folds again, “Don’t close them legs. Keep that foot up. Let me lick all this rich-ass pussy.”

He started stroking her thighs while he ate, dragging his nails gently along the crease where her body folded, tongue still swirling around her clit. Then down again. Inside. Fucking her with it. Curling it deep. Pulling moans out of her like she owed him sound.

Her eyes rolled. Her hands shook.

Elijah’s grip moved back to her throat, “Don’t you dare cum yet.”

She gasped. “But—”

“I said no.”

Her whole body was shivering now. Elias kept licking. Relentless. Like he was licking a memory into her skin. Like he wanted her body to remember this every night after. He pulled back for a moment, lips wet and glistening, beard soaked. He tapped her clit with two fingers, soft but fast, then leaned back in and sucked it hard again.

“Shit,” he groaned, “She taste like she been sittin’ in honey all damn day.”

Elijah laughed once behind her, dark and low.

“She been waitin’ for this. All that attitude, all that frontin’—this what she wanted.”

Elias eased a finger inside her—then another. Twisting them slow while his tongue teased the top. Her body stuttered. Hips jolted. She keened.

“Elijah—Elijah, please—”

He leaned in close to her ear again.

“Go ‘head, babygirl. Make a mess on your sheets. We gon’ keep eatin’ through every one you got.”

Elias buried his face again, one hand gripping her ass, the other working inside her like a key. She cracked. Her pussy fluttered around his fingers, then gushed. Hard. Messy. Loud.

She wailed.

Her knees buckled, and Elijah caught her just in time.

“That’s it,” Elias said, licking slow through her aftershock. “That’s that good girl nut.”

Elijah turned her chin toward him and kissed her lips—slow, with tongue—like he was tasting the mess on her mouth through her breath.

The room still carried the noise of her climax—wet, ragged, drawn straight from her gut. Her thighs trembled where they spread wide, and the dark brown of her skin glistened under the low gold lamp by the bed. One foot was still propped on the edge, calf twitching, nails digging into the sheets like she was scared to fall through the mattress. Elias backed up, mouth slick, beard damp, and gave her pussy one more drag of his tongue before smirking.

“She said my name,” Elijah muttered, kneeling low behind her.

Elias wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “She said it loud, too. Sounded pretty. You gon’ let her say it again, or what?”

Elijah didn’t answer. He just grabbed her hips and turned her, slow and firm, until she was on all fours. Her back dipped with the weight of what they’d done to her already, arms trembling under her. The curve of her ass rolled soft and wide, her pussy peeking back between her thick thighs—fat, swollen, and still leaking from Elias’s tongue.

“Arch that back,” Elijah said low.

She whimpered and pushed out, spine bending deeper. He gripped her ass, spread her open, and buried his face.

The first lick made her cry out. She dropped to her elbows, mouth open, body jerking forward like it was too much. Elijah held her steady, one hand wrapped around her waist while his tongue dragged from the bottom of her slit up to her clit. Long. Slow. Intentional.

“Good girl,” Elias said from the side, voice deep, low, proud, “Takin’ it like that.”

She let out a moan that broke halfway, breath hitching when Elijah pushed his face in deeper. His nose rubbed her hole, his lips wrapped around that puffy little pearl and sucked hard enough to make her ass clap back against him. He didn’t let up. Slurped loud. Ate like he was tryna make her cum again before she caught her breath.

“That’s it, eat that shit,” Elias encouraged, fisting his dick through his jeans slow while watching her melt.

Her pussy was a mess. Plump, dark lips glistening with spit and slick. Elijah tongued through every fold, licking so deep she buckled forward and tried to crawl away.

“Where you goin’?” he growled, dragging her back, “Didn’t fuckin’ say you could move.”

She gasped, knuckles white against the bed, legs trembling again.

“Keep it poked out. Just like that,” Elias told her, palming his shit and watching her arch back up like she needed it more than air. Elijah buried his face again, wet noises filling the room. His tongue pushed into her hole while his thumb rolled her clit in slow, filthy circles. Her whole body shook.

“You gon’ give me that nut, ain’t you?” he asked against her pussy, “This the one I want. From the back. Let me hear you cry when I suck it out.”

She choked on a sob, jaw hanging, body swaying. Elias got up in front of her, grabbed her chin, and made her look up, “Look at me while he suck that pussy,” he ordered. “You told me you wanted him. Say it again.”

“Elijah,” she panted, “Goddamn—Elijah…”

“That’s it,” Elijah growled, “Say my name while I drown in this shit.”

He sucked so hard she screamed. Spit ran down her thighs. Her clit pulsed like it was gonna explode. He spit on it, let it drip, and licked it back up with slow, thick strokes of his tongue. His fingers dug into her cheeks, spreading her wider.

Elias groaned and gripped himself harder, “She clenchin’ like she ready. You feel that?”

Elijah didn’t respond. He moaned into her pussy and kept sucking, tongue flicking against her clit like it was punishment. She bucked once, twice—then squealed. A high-pitched, broken sound that cracked the silence wide open. Her thighs locked around his head, her whole body convulsed, and her cum gushed straight into his mouth.

He didn’t stop.

Just stayed right there—face buried, nose pressed deep, tongue fucking her through every wave.

Elias laughed dark, “She squirted in your face?”

“Fuck yeah,” Elijah growled, pulling back just enough to talk, his mouth shiny, beard dripping, “She taste like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Flip her over,” Elias said, voice hoarse with lust, “She need dick now.”

“I want that throat first,” Elijah said, wiping his mouth and stroking himself hard.

“She gon’ take both.”

She was limp, wrecked, breath hitching in sobs that sounded like pleasure soaked in pain. But when Elias pulled her up, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “That’s my good girl,” she smiled through it.

And opened her mouth.

Elias stepped closer, his hand shooting out to grip her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

“Down, baby girl,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her core. 

She sank to her knees without a word, her heavy breasts swaying with the motion, nipples hardening even more. Her pussy throbbed, slick and aching from the way their presence filled the space, demanding her submission. Elias loomed over her, his bulge straining against his jeans, while Elijah pushed off the wall, closing in from the side, his own arousal evident in the thick outline pressing forward.

“Get to work, little slut,” Elias growled, guiding her trembling hands to his belt. 

Her fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, popping it open with a soft click that echoed in the charged silence. She tugged the zipper down slowly, tooth by tooth, her breath coming in shallow pants as the fabric parted. Hooking her thumbs into the waistband, she yanked his jeans and briefs down in one motion, his big, fat, long dick springing free, heavy and veined, the dark shaft curving slightly, the swollen head already beading with precum. It slapped against his thigh before she caught it, her palm wrapping around the girth that her fingers couldn't fully encircle.

Elijah chuckled darkly, stepping right up beside his brother, “Don't forget Daddy number two, princess.”

She turned her head, eyes wide with that mix of nerves and raw need, and repeated the ritual on him—unbuttoning his jeans with shaky precision, dragging the zipper down to reveal the matching monster beneath. His dick was just as massive, almost as thick as her wrist and stretching long, the skin smooth and taut over rigid muscle, pulsing in the open air. She pulled it out fully, both hands now occupied, one stroking Elias's length from base to tip, the other doing the same for Elijah, feeling the heat radiate into her palms as they hardened even more under her touch.

“Look at you, handling this big dick like a good girl,” Elias praised, his hand tangling in her thick curls, not pulling yet but holding firm. 

She leaned in toward Elias first, her tongue darting out to trace the underside of his shaft, licking from the heavy balls up to the flared head in one long, wet swipe. The salty tang of his skin exploded on her taste buds, making her mouth water as she swirled her tongue around the tip, lapping at the slit to collect every drop of precum. Slurping sounds filled the room as she sucked the head into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing with effort, lips stretching wide around his thickness. She bobbed slowly at first, savoring the way he filled her, her tongue pressing flat against the vein that throbbed along the bottom.

Elijah's patience snapped quick.

 “My turn, baby doll,” he grunted, fisting her hair and tugging her head sideways with a firm yank. 

She gasped, releasing Elias with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening dick, before her mouth engulfed Elijah's. She dove in deep, sucking hard on the head while her hand pumped the base, twisting slightly to add friction. Her tongue flicked rapidly under the ridge, then flattened to lick broad strokes along the length as she took more of him in, slurping greedily, the obscene noises mixing with her soft moans. Her big ass shifted, pussy clenching emptily, juices building as the tension built, her body screaming for more.

“That's it, suck Daddy's dick like you mean it,” Elijah rasped, thrusting shallowly into her mouth, watching her saggy titties bounce with each movement. 

She gave it everything, hollowing her cheeks tighter, slurping louder as she worked her way down, gagging slightly when the head hit the back of her throat but pushing through, tears pricking her eyes from the stretch. Her free hand reached back to fondle his balls, rolling them gently while she licked and sucked, coating every inch in her spit until it dripped down her chin onto her cleavage.

Elias wasn't waiting idle. He grabbed her hair from the other side, pulling her back to him with a possessive tug.

 “Share that nasty mouth, slut,” he demanded, and she switched again, her lips wrapping around his dick once more, sucking with renewed vigor. 

She licked the shaft sloppily, tongue dragging in messy circles, then took him deep, her throat relaxing to let him slide further, slurping as she pulled back only to plunge down again. The swinging of her titties grew wilder with the back-and-forth rhythm, nipples tingling, sending jolts straight to her dripping core. 

Elijah stroked himself lazily, smearing her saliva along his length, his eyes dark with lust. “Keep going, princess. Make that dick shine with spit.”

She alternated faster now, driven by their guiding hands in her hair, each tug switching her focus, her mouth a relentless machine of licking, slurping, and sucking. On Elias, she focused on the head, tonguing the slit relentlessly while her hand jerked the shaft in tight, slick strokes. Then Elijah pulled her over, and she deepthroated him as best she could, gagging wetly, saliva bubbling at the corners of her mouth as she sucked hard, her tongue undulating along the underside. Her pussy pulsed with every filthy sound, the ache building to a fever pitch, thighs pressing together for any friction. 

“Fuck, you're a messy little thing,” Elias groaned, watching her work, “Dripping all over yourself for this fat dick.”

Elijah nodded, yanking her back to him, “Suck harder, baby girl. Show us how bad you want Daddy's load.”

She obeyed, redoubling her efforts, lips sealed tight around his girth, slurping voraciously as she bobbed, her head twisting side to side for extra sensation. Her titties heaved, swinging low and heavy, brushing her arms with each eager motion. The room pulsed with their grunts and her muffled whimpers, the urban night outside forgotten in this raw, gritty haze of dominance and surrender. They kept her bouncing between them, hair pulled taut, mouths demanding more, the tension coiling tighter toward the inevitable explosion of filth.

She was on her knees, thighs spread wide, soft stomach folding just right, titties hanging free—dripping from the sweat between her curves. Her mouth was glistening, lips swollen from working Elias over like she was born for it.

Elias exhaled through his teeth, head tilted back as he grunted through the rush building in his gut. She had both hands on his thighs, digging into that muscle like she needed anchoring. But her mouth? Her mouth was a problem.

“Fuck,” he growled, jaw locked tight, “Damn, she gon’ make me nut.”

He looked down at her, watched the way she took him in slow, then pulled back, tongue slick and eyes low like she knew what she was doing to him. Like she wanted him shaking. His thighs flexed. His whole face twisted up. He gripped the arm of the chair he was in, his voice rough.

“She keep suckin’, look at her,” Elias said low, voice full of tension, “Greedy lil thing…that shit buildin’ in my balls, fuck.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t even blink. She made love to his dick like she was hungry and full at the same time. Like she was tryna prove she knew what men needed before they did. And that mouth? That damn mouth—warm, sloppy, obedient and filthy.

When she switched to Elijah, he was already standing close behind her, dick hanging heavy, glistening at the tip. He didn’t need no invitation. Just stepped forward and let her take him again. She opened wide and wrapped those lips around him like she was home.

“Damn,” Elijah groaned, his voice deep and jagged, “You can suck some dick. That what you love, huh? Love suckin’ dick? Fuck…”

He palmed the top of her head, that wide hand spreading over her scalp like a man possessed. She kept going, messier now, spit stringing from her chin down to her chest. She gagged a little but didn’t stop. Just breathed through her nose and let him push in deeper. Elijah didn’t give her no break. Not with the way she was suckin’ like she wanted every drop.

“Ain’t no way I’m stoppin’ you,” he muttered, voice shaking with need, “You want it? Here it go.”

He shoved in harder, whole dick damn near down her throat, holding her there like she was made for that. He watched her throat work, eyes damn near rollin’ back at the way she handled him. Like she didn’t need air. Like she didn’t care. He held her in place a little longer, watching her struggle and take it, eyes watering, tits bouncing from the motion.

Elias was watching the whole time, licking his lips, dick still wet and leaking from her earlier attention, “Greedy fuckin’ mouth. You suckin’ him like you sucked me. You tryna empty both us out, huh?”

She moaned around Elijah’s shaft and that shit sent a vibration straight through him. He groaned loud, hips jerking, slapping against her face. He pulled out for just a second, letting her catch one breath—just one—before shoving back in. She didn’t flinch. She welcomed it.

“Look at this nasty lil slut,” Elijah hissed, “Takin’ dick like it’s the last.”

“She don’t need nothin’ else,” Elias said, stroking himself slow, his tip still shiny, “Not when she suck like this. Got my dick twitchin’ again.”

Her knees were sore now. Thighs sticky from where her own arousal had leaked down. But she didn’t complain. Didn’t stop. Just kept working that throat like a profession. Like a mission. Like she wanted to wear them both out and still have ‘em beggin’.

Elijah yanked her off for a second, spit trailing from her lips, “C’mon now, say that shit. Say what you is.”

She looked up through those lashes, face slick, voice raspy, “I’m y’all’s nasty bitch tonight. Don’t want nothin’ else.”

Elias groaned. Elijah smirked.

“Open up,” Elijah said, tugging her hair, “We ain’t even started.”

They passed her back and forth like smoke and sin. One hand on her scalp, the other around the base of their dicks, guiding her mouth like it was theirs to use. Her throat stayed busy—raw, stretched, soaking wet—and she didn’t flinch. She took it. Jaw wide, spit bubbling, eyes glazed over like she was high off the taste of them.

Elias held her there longer this time.

Thick fingers gripped the back of her neck while his other hand rested on the slope of her back, keeping her in place. His hips rocked slow but deep, watching her throat flex around him. She gagged, eyes watering. He didn’t ease up.

“Yeah, hold that shit,” Elias growled, “Let it sit in your throat, baby. You know what you doin’.”

She whimpered around him, wet and choking, the sound only making him harder. He eased out with a groan, strands of spit clinging to the tip, and let her breathe. Just for a second.

Then Elijah stepped up. Already hard again, veins throbbing along the shaft, his whole body humming with tension. He grabbed the sides of her face, thumb rubbing a streak of wet from her cheek.

“Ain’t done with that mouth,” he rasped, before pushing in, slower than Elias but deeper.

He filled her up. Kept going until his hips were flush to her face and her nose was buried in his groin. She whimpered again, and his fingers tightened.

“Hold it,” Elijah ordered, voice low, “Greedy lil throat—keep it. I feel that shit squeezin’ me. Damn…”

She held him there. Shaking, drooling, thighs twitching. He stayed buried in her, his head tilting back as he hissed through clenched teeth. When he finally pulled out, her lips were red and swollen, chest heaving, whole face a wet mess.

Both men stood over her, breathing heavy, dicks dripping, watching her on her knees like a feast laid out and tasted, but not finished.

Elias stepped in first. Grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up to her feet like she weighed nothin’.

“Get on that bed,” he said, “Hands on the edge. Arch that big ass for me.”

She obeyed, stumbling toward the bed, legs shaky, throat sore but pussy throbbin’. Her hands braced the mattress, soft belly hanging, ass pushed out and wide like a gift unwrapped. The room was thick with breath and the musk of fuck. 

“Ain’t even gotta ask if you ready,” he chuckled, voice dark. 

------

The bed was wide, low to the ground, draped in wrinkled sheets that matched the state of her body—undone, slick, trembling. Her thick thighs trembled beneath two sets of hands. Her dark skin gleamed under sweat and spit, kissed raw from mouths that hadn’t stopped feasting.

Elijah was behind her again, kneeling deep in the dip of her lower back. His beard was glistening, gluing to her skin as he tongued the mess between her legs like he was trying to live in it. His arms flexed, forearms soaked from where her pussy kept leaking down them. He grunted into it, tongue slipping inside her, then dragging up to suck her clit hard.

“She talkin’ with this pussy,” Elijah growled, voice ragged from how long he’d been eating her, “Sayin’ don’t stop.”

Her body jolted each time he pulled her clit into his mouth again. Elias was in front of her now, holding her up by her big, soft breasts, his hands full and greedy. Her knees were shot. Her spine had no say in anything. She sagged between them, tears beading in her eyes from the intensity.

Elias let go of one tit to stroke his dick slow, watching her melt like butter. Her eyes drifted down, dazed and hungry.

“You ready to be filled, baby girl?” he asked low, his tone a warning wrapped in need.

She nodded.

He tapped the swollen head against her lips.

“Put it in your mouth then. Let daddy feel that throat again.”

She opened up for him, tongue flicking the tip first like she needed to taste every drop he gave. Then she pushed deeper, moaning softly as she let it glide across her tongue and past her lips. Elias groaned, deep and low, his hips shifting forward with rhythm, not force—just enough to sink in and stay.

Behind her, Elijah stood, eyes locked on her dripping cunt. He gripped his own dick, fat and smooth, veins like raised tracks against his brown skin. He let the weight of it drop across her back first, a thick thud that made her flinch. She could feel how solid it was—how long.

“You gon keep this pussy open like a nasty lil slut,” Elijah muttered, dragging the head through her folds, wet sounds loud in the room,,“Let me stretch you like you need.”

And then he pushed in.

Slow.

Mean.

No remorse. 

He didn’t ease up. Didn’t tease. Just slid in with a steady press, dragging every inch until his hips met the curve of her ass. 

Her walls stretched slow around him, swallowing dick like she was made for it, like her body knew exactly what to do with him.

Elijah paused once he was buried, groaning through gritted teeth as her pussy gripped him tight and hot. His stomach clenched. His jaw locked. He hissed out a breath.

“Fuck…”

Then he popped her.

A sharp smack to her ass—first one cheek, then the other. Her thick body jumped under him, skin jiggling with each slap. He did it again, just to watch the bounce. Then both his big hands came down to grip and juggle the flesh, spreading her wide so he could see the way her pussy stretched around him. Creamy and plush. Still leaking from the head of his dick.

“Goddamn, girl,” he rasped, voice getting rougher with every second, “You so fuckin thick I’ma lose my mind in this shit.” He slapped her again, rougher now, then gripped her deep, “Got this wide ass sittin’ up beggin’. Pussy all fat tryna hold daddy hostage.” He rocked into her once, just a grind, then dragged out halfway before sliding back in, “You feel me ‘bout to knockin’ a whole new hole in this pussy, huh? Stretchin’ it out ‘cause you too fine to be fucked soft. Big girl like you? You need dick that rearrange shit.”

She wailed into the sheets, body trembling. He caught her hips tighter.

“Uh huh. Take this shit. Let this dick sit up in you.”

He angled his hips and stroked deeper, long and slow, grinding at the end like he wanted to fuck her into the mattress. Like her body was a problem he planned on solving all night.

“Gon’ leave this pussy talkin’ different by the time I’m done,” he growled, balls slapping wet against her soaked folds as he started moving again.

Her throat let out a cry, muffled by Elias’s dick. Her walls clamped tight, tears slipping down her face from the stretch. Elijah hissed.

“This what you wanted?” he said, digging in deeper. “That full feelin’? All this dick sittin’ inside you?”

He started stroking, slow but with weight. Each thrust made her body rock forward, mouth sucking harder like the pleasure was too much and not enough. Elias grabbed the back of her head, moving in and out of her mouth steady, his grip firm but not rough.

Her moans were caught in both men, muffled, soaked. Elias was sweating, jaw clenched as he fucked into her throat.

“Nasty ass girl,” Elias groaned, “Letting us fuck you like this.”

“She wanted it though,” Elijah said from behind, hips slapping now, faster, “Brought us up here to do just this.”

She was gone. Eyes rolling. Pussy fluttering.

Elijah felt it.

“She close.”

“Let her cum.”

Elijah gripped her ass, pulled her back onto him harder, deeper. The sound of their bodies smacking was slick and loud. She moaned deep around Elias’s dick, body tensing. Her pussy clenched so hard Elijah stilled, teeth gritted.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “She creamy as hell.”

Elias pulled out her mouth, jerking his dick just inches from her swollen lips, watching her pant and drool.

She was bent at the center of the bed now. Arms limp. Face slick. Ass arched, spread open by the stretch of Elijah still inside her. Her pussy twitched around him, pulsing in aftershocks. His balls were sticky from how wet she was. He leaned forward, hands gripping her hips, and began to stroke again. Slow. Filthy. Deep.

Elias watched from the front, stroking himself harder now. The tip of his dick bounced against her chin, smearing precum across it. As Elijah pulled out, Elias stepped behind her, dragging the head of his dick between her folds.

She moaned, backing into him just enough to feel the weight of it.

“Hold still,” Elias told her, gripping her hips.

Then he pushed in.

All at once.

Thick, hard, stretching her walls around him, feeding her every inch like he meant to stay there. Her back arched, mouth open but no sound came. Just a sharp gasp as her pussy swallowed him whole.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling back slow then thrusting again, “This pussy too wet, too fat, fuck…”

She tried to breathe but couldn’t.

Elias had her bent just right—hands still braced on the mattress, back arched deep, stomach soft and hanging, while his thick dick dragged in and out of her with a purpose. His strokes were ruthless. No rhythm. Just raw need. Each thrust hit the back of her pussy with a sound that echoed off the damn walls. He had a fist wrapped tight in her hair, pulling her back into every stroke like he owned the whole lower half of her body.

“There you go,” he growled, sweat dripping from his neck down her spine, “Takin’ this dick like a real bitch supposed to.”

Her body rippled with every stroke—ass clapping back, thick thighs quivering, folds shaking from the sheer force of him. That pussy sounded like somebody stirrin’ macaroni in the next room. Gushy. Wet. Talkin’ back every time he slid in. She wasn’t saying much. Couldn’t. Just soft, breathless moans spilling from her lips like she was drunk on dick.

“Yes…yes…yes…”

Every word broke in her throat.

Elias leaned in, yanked her hair harder, hissed in her ear, “You feel that? That’s me fuckin’ the bottom out this big ass pussy. Tearin’ through it.”

Her eyes crossed. Her knees buckled.

But he held her up.

“Yeah, don’t run,” he said, voice heavy with sweat and dirt,  “Don’t run from this dick, mama. I’m deep in your shit.”

Elijah was still standing at the edge of the bed, stroking his dick slow. It was shiny with spit and still heavy. Her mess was on it from earlier when she choked on him, and he wasn’t lettin’ that slide.

He grabbed her jaw and guided her mouth to him while Elias kept fucking from behind.

“Clean it,” Elijah said low, “You left all your nut on me, now suck it off.”

She opened her mouth without a sound. Eyes dazed, mouth open. She wrapped her lips around him, tongue working over the shaft while Elias punished her pussy. Every push forward shoved her mouth deeper onto Elijah. She gagged, drooled again, moaned around his dick.

“Look at this shit,” Elias groaned, hips snapping hard, “She suckin’ your dick while I fuck her? Fuck.” He let out a thick grunt, voice cracking from the pressure in his body, “She gon’ make me bust so deep in her, bro. Pussy so fuckin’ good…so fuckin’ good…”

His hand slid from her hair down to her ass, gripping it rough, pulling her cheeks apart so he could see her swallow him all the way. That good fat girl pussy was creamy, stretching around him with every inch. Warm and wet like heaven if heaven had a mouth and a grip.

Elijah hissed through his teeth, “She nasty, man.”

Elias snapped his hips again. The sound of it made Elijah groan.

“Nah, she somethin’ else,” Elias said, voice thick, “This big ass fuckin’ me back. You feel that? That pussy keep squeezin’. She fuckin’ love this shit.”

She was sobbing now—but from pleasure. From being too full, too stuffed, too taken. Her moans were high and soft, broken up by Elijah’s dick in her mouth and Elias’ dick in her pussy.

“Yes…yes…y-yes…”

Elias’ hand landed on her ass with a slap so loud it echoed, then gripped both cheeks, using them to pull her back onto him deeper.

“This what you want, huh? Gettin’ your plump ass beat out in front my brother?” He laughed, wild and messy, sweat shining on his chest and brow, “You gettin’ fucked like you supposed to. Like you need to.”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even think about stopping.

His strokes were deep, punishing, purposeful enough to make her feel every vein. He watched her ass jiggle with each thrust, the bounce hypnotic. He slapped it once, the sound loud and sharp.

Elijah was watching from the side, stroking himself again, eyes locked on where Elias disappeared inside her.

“Fat lil pussy eatin’ you up, huh?” he said.

Elias grinned through his teeth, hips snapping forward, “She fuckin’ back, that’s what she doin’.”

Elijah couldn’t wait any longer.

He walked over, hand on her lower back, pressing her down so she took it deeper. Then he leaned in close, voice gravelly.

“Soon as he bust, I’m feedin’ you next,” he said, “You gon’ take both our nuts tonight. Pussy thick enough for it.”

Elias picked up pace, slapping into her loud now, sweat dripping down his chest.

“Talk to her,” Elijah said, gripping her ass while she trembled under both their hands.

“You takin’ this dick,” Elias grunted,  “Say it. Say you takin’ this fuckin’ dick.”

She cried out, legs shaking, voice hoarse. “I’m takin’ it. I want all of it.”

Elias growled, pulled her back on him harder.

“That’s it. That’s what I like. Greedy ass pussy, loud ass mouth. You gon’ get all this nut now.”

Elias let out a ragged groan, hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside her, his nut flooding her insides. His strokes got sloppier but the grip on her hips stayed firm—like he didn’t wanna leave that warmth just yet. He stayed buried, breathing hard, hands sliding up her back to palm those sweat-slick rolls with a low satisfied chuckle. He buried his face in the crook of her back, grip tight on her waist

Elias stayed in her for a beat, catching his breath, then pulled out slow. Her pussy pulsed around nothing now, fluttering from the loss of him.

“Shit…” he exhaled, pulling out slow, watching his nut spill from her like cream-filling, “Look what you done to me, girl.”

She collapsed forward, arms trembling, pussy still twitching from the onslaught. Her face was glazed, moaning soft into the sheets, legs shaking from being beat open so long.

But it wasn’t over.

Elijah was already there—grabbing her soft body with strong hands, flipping her over like she didn’t weigh a thing.

“Uh uh. Don’t get shy now,” he said, voice low, heavy, “You know what this is.”

He pulled her to the edge of the bed, hooked both thick thighs back, folding her into herself. Her knees were damn near at her chest, ass hanging off the mattress. She was all open now—pussy glistening, swollen, creamy from Elias. Elijah lined himself up and spit down on her, rubbing the head of his dick through the mess.

“You gon’ feel me now.”

And when he pushed in, it was slow and brutal. Her body stretched wide again, her mouth falling open, nothing but air leaving her lungs. Elijah wasn’t playin’. That first stroke went deep. Real deep. And he didn’t stop.

He adjusted his stance, knees bent, back tight, and drove into her.

Hard. Deep. Again. And again. And again. That pussy was warm and slippery, but he knew he had to put power behind it. She was a big girl—soft, thick, plush—and he needed her to feel everything. Every vein, every stroke, every inch like a damn lesson.

Her voice cracked under the pressure, “Ahh…ohh…yes…fuck—yes…”

She was gone. Mind gone. Just a mess of moans and sweet pussy sounds while Elijah worked her open from the inside out. Elias was off to the side, still stroking himself, watching her face, watching her body bounce under his brother’s weight.

“Look at her,” Elias grinned, “You got her folded like laundry, bruh. That’s how she like it.”

Elijah wasn’t saying much now. He was focused. Locked in. Sweat rolled down his chest, jaw clenched, brows furrowed. He was deep in it and hitting her so good she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even hold eye contact. Her tits bounced with every slam forward. Her belly jiggled and her pussy gripped like it was tryna keep him in. He leaned in, body pressing down into her, her knees still pinned back, dick plunging deep.

Her mouth trembled, “Y-yes…oh God, yes…”

“Yeah,” Elijah grunted through clenched teeth, still drilling her, “Say that shit. Love gettin’ fucked, don’t you?”

She nodded fast, voice high and thin, “I love it—I love it—please—”

Elias stepped in, leaned down beside her ear and whispered dirty, “Don’t you ever be ashamed of needin’ dick, baby. Don’t you ever hide from that. You want it, we got you.”

He ran his tongue along her throat, then sucked one tit into his mouth while Elijah pounded her from below. That dick kept hitting the same spot—deep, deliberate, controlled.

“Fuck,” Elijah bit out. “This pussy too good. She ain’t gettin’ up right tomorrow.”

Her whole body shook. She was full. Fucked. Loved the way they handled her like she was soft and strong, worthy of being devoured. Elijah’s strokes slowed just a touch, then deepened again, hips clapping against her thighs with thick, meaty slaps.

“You feel that?” he groaned, “I’m in your stomach, girl. You gon’ remember this shit.”

And she would. She’d walk different. Think different. Dream different. Because Elijah Moore fucked her folded, made her pussy sing, and didn’t let her run from how bad she wanted it. Elijah Moore was deep. Hips grinding, sweat dripping, thighs flexing. His dick stayed inside her like it belonged there. And from the way her pussy clung to him, kept sucking him back in like it didn’t wanna let go—maybe it did. Her legs started shaking. Not just from the pressure of being folded—though one leg was tucked up high, damn near to her ear, the other held back by Elijah’s hand gripping her ankle like a damn handlebar—but from what was building. She could feel it rising. That rush. That quiver in her gut. But her mouth wouldn’t move. She couldn’t talk. Couldn’t get the words out. But Elijah knew. He could feel it. The way her pussy gripped tighter, got slicker, warmer. Like it was about to erupt.

“Oh yeah?” Elijah said, voice all grit and hunger. He slowed the stroke just for a beat, then slammed in again, “That’s it, baby? You bout to squirt for me?”

She whimpered. Nothing but air and moans coming out her mouth. Her eyes rolled back.

He smiled, “Uh huh,” he growled, picking up pace, “Gimme that shit.”

He yanked her ankle higher, pushed her knee deeper into the mattress, practically folding her into a pretzel. His body dropped over hers, and his dick drilled her—deep, hard, controlled chaos. Her tits bounced against her chest, stomach rippling with every thrust, whole body giving in. And then it hit. Her whole core tensed, mouth falling open—but still no words. Just that release. A gush of wetness sprayed between them, coating Elijah’s dick, her thighs, the sheets. She twitched, legs trembling like she was being exorcised by dick alone.

“Fuuuck,” Elijah hissed, “You squirtin’, mama? Shit…”

She pushed him out, body convulsing. Her pussy fluttered, still leaking. Elijah pulled back, dick glistening, shaking his head like he just got blessed.

“She fuckin’ soaked me,” he said low, lips curling, “She squirted all over this dick.”

Elias was already on the move. Dick back up like it owed him money. He stepped up behind Elijah, licking his lips, eyes on her still-twitching, messy pussy.

“Move, bro,” Elias said, “Lemme feel that shit.”

Elijah backed up with a laugh, wiping his chest off, “She still pulsin’. She gon’ do it again if you touch that spot.”

Elias climbed onto the bed, grabbed her by the hips, and pulled her down to the edge again. Her body was limp, brain foggy, pussy still drippin’. But Elias ain’t care. He lined up, rubbed between her creamy folds, and slid in slow.

She gasped. Loud. He was thick, heavy, fresh again. And her pussy welcomed him like it didn’t just squirt all over the last man.

Elias moaned, “Oh hell yeah…this what I’m talkin’ bout. This pussy still twitchin’. I’ma make it flood again.”

He gripped her waist and went in deep. No warm-up. No hesitation. Just ownership. Elias had a fist full of her hair now. Not gentle. Not careful. He pulled her head back just enough so he could see her face. That look told him everything. Eyes heavy. Mouth open. Lips wet. Body gone loose like she didn’t have a single thought left in her head besides what was happening inside her.

“That’s it, pretty baby,” Elias said, voice low and slick, “Look how fucked out you is.”

He kept her folded tight, one knee pressed up, her body bent back on itself while he drove into her with long, punishing strokes. His hips snapped forward with intention, every thrust landing deep. He wasn’t rushing. He was aiming. Making sure his dick hit that spot over and over again until her whole body reacted without permission. Her ass bounced with every stroke. Thick. Heavy. Rippling from the force of him tearing through her. Her pussy stayed loud, wet, greedy, squeezing him back like it needed that pressure to breathe.

“Yes…yes…yes…” she whispered, voice weak, broken, barely there.

Elias grinned and tightened his grip in her hair, “That’s all you got? That’s fine. I’ll do the talkin’.” He pulled her harder into him and slammed forward again, harder this time, making her whole body jolt, “This big ass made to take dick,” he said, breath hot against her ear, “I’m in here rearrangin’ shit. You feel me hittin’ that deep part, huh?”

Her answer was a shaky moan. Her pussy clenched hard around him. Elijah stepped in closer, hands sliding over her chest. He pinched her nipples between his fingers, tugging them slow, then harder. Her back arched instantly, mouth falling open.

“Uh-huh, just like that,” Elijah said, voice smooth and approving, “Good pussy bitch. You takin’ all that dick just like you supposed to.” He tugged again and she cried out, legs shaking, “Good girl,” Elijah added, “This pussy doin’ exactly what it need to do.”

Elias felt it then. That change. That slick heat turning into pressure. Her walls tightening, fluttering, gettin’ wetter by the second, “Oh hell yeah,” he growled, “It comin’ again.”

He didn’t slow down. Didn’t pull back. He leaned over her, chest to her back, hand still locked in her hair while he fucked her harder. Deeper. Each stroke pushed her closer to that breaking point.

“I’m right on it,” Elias said through his teeth, “I’m finna make this pussy squirt again.”

Elijah kept tugging her nipples, rolling them between his fingers, leaning down to whisper praise straight into her ear, “Let it go,” he said. “Don’t hold that shit. Give it to us.”

Her body locked up. Her toes curled. Her breath stuttered. Then she lost it. Her pussy clenched hard around Elias and pushed back, releasing in a gush that soaked his dick, her thighs, the sheets beneath them. Her whole body trembled as she squirted again, crying out loud this time, voice cracking from how hard it hit her.

“Fuck,” Elias groaned, “There it is.”

He rode it out, still stroking through the aftershocks, letting her pussy milk him while she shook and leaked around him. Elijah laughed low, pleased, hands still on her chest, “That’s my good pussy bitch right there.” He gave both big titties a playful slap. 

She lay there wrecked. Open. Still dripping. Still twitching. But were they done with her? Nope. Elijah was laid back now, thighs spread, chest heaving, sweat streaking down the middle of his torso. That dick stood tall again, slick and waiting, glistening with her mess from the last round. He slapped it against his thigh once, twice, watching her crawl over to him on shaky knees.

“C’mon,” he said, voice flat, low, “Bring that big ass here.”

She moved slow, still trembling from Elias, still drippin’ from the last orgasm, but Elijah wasn’t feeling the delay.

“Nah. Don’t crawl like you scared. Sit on it.”

He grabbed the base of his dick, angled it up, and guided her over him. She hovered, thick thighs straining, trying to ease down slow, pussy lips brushing the head. Elijah sucked his teeth.

“Drop that fuckin’ weight.”

She whimpered, struggling to ease onto it—but he wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

POP. He slapped her ass hard. She jolted.

“Tryin’ to ride me like you a feather,” he growled, “You know better. Drop. That. Shit.”

She gasped, finally sinking down, that fat pussy swallowing him inch by inch until she bottomed out with a choked moan. Elijah threw his head back.

“Fuck…that’s what I’m talkin’ bout.”

She tried to bounce, but her thighs were trembling. Titties slapping together from the leftover tremors. Her rhythm was all over the place. Not enough force. Not enough pressure.

Elijah narrowed his eyes, “Aight. Bet.”

He planted his heels into the mattress, palms sliding up her sides, fingers digging deep into her waist — disappearing into the soft, slick folds of her belly and hips. And then he took over. From beneath. He fucked up. Hard. Deep. Repeated. Over. And. Over. Her mouth dropped open like she forgot what language was. Her whole body started to collapse, unable to control the shake. Elijah fucked her stupid from underneath, balls bouncing like ping pong under that phat ass, thighs slapping, bed creaking.

“This the ride I need,” he panted, jaw clenched, sweat dripping, “You feel that? You feel that dick knockin’ the soul out you?”

She couldn’t speak. Could barely sit up. Big titties bouncing wild, body jerking with every thrust like she was caught in a storm and he was the fuckin’ eye of it. Then Elias stepped in. Still hard. Still thick. Still greedy. He came around the side of the bed, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her forward. She had no choice but to open her mouth and he fed it to her.

“Put that mouth back to work,” Elias growled, pushing his dick between her lips, “Suck me while he fuck you.”

He didn’t let her find rhythm. He set it. Hand locked in her hair, he worked her head up and down, not caring how messy it got. Spit trailed down her chin, mixing with sweat and drool, while Elijah fucked her from below and Elias fucked her throat from the front.

“You hear that?” Elias said, voice full of filth, “That’s you. Gettin’ fed both ends. That’s what you need, huh?”

Her body couldn’t answer, just kept bouncing and choking and twitching. Elias stroked into her mouth slower, but deeper, letting the head hit the back of her throat over and over.

Elijah’s voice was darker now, guttural, “I feel her squirt buildin’ again.”

She started to shake. Again. That pressure building fast. Wet sounds. Moans. Slapping. Her body being used and praised and devoured like it was built for this exact moment.

Elijah pulled her down hard, “Gon’ make this pussy leak all over me again. Go ‘head, baby. Gimme that mess.”

And she did. Her body snapped, her pussy squirted again, flooding Elijah’s lap, soaking his abs, her thighs, the sheets, everything.

Elias pulled his dick from her mouth and groaned, “Fuck. She a fuckin’ fountain.”

Her body was trembling, soaked with sweat and spit and squirt, but something shifted. Something snapped. Like a switch flipped in her chest and lit up every muscle she had left. She was still on top of Elijah, his dick still deep, twitching, wet from the flood she’d just given him. But now? She started riding him like she was possessed.

No more slow. No more shy. She gripped the sheets with one hand, planted the other on his stomach, and bucked.

Hard. Over and over.

That fat pussy dropped down with weight and intent, clapping against his pelvis, wet and loud, thighs slapping, body rocking. Her stomach rolled with the rhythm, titties slamming together with every grind.

Elijah’s head snapped back. His jaw clenched. His hands gripped her ass, but he wasn’t controlling a damn thing anymore.

“Nnnghh—fuck,” he choked, voice rough.

Elias stood behind her now, one hand on her hip, the other raised high—smack—he slapped her ass, hard and sharp, watching that shit jiggle in time with her strokes.

“Goddamn,” Elias breathed, watching her bounce, “Look at this big bitch go…”

She gasped, still tossing that pussy down like it owed her money. Her knees burned. Her core screamed. Elijah was twitching inside her, hands now slipping from sweat and lack of control.

That’s when he sat up.

Smoke.

Elijah.

Whatever name she had in her throat—it didn’t matter.

He came forward, big hands gripping under her ass, helping her bounce while his mouth latched onto one of her soaked, bouncing titties. He sucked hard. Bit it. Growled into it. Then moved to the other. His tongue circled the nipple, then he looked up.

His eyes locked on hers.

Dark. Wild. Close.

“Pussy so good,” he said, voice shaking, “I’m right fuckin’ there.”

She rode him harder. He gripped the back of her neck, lips brushing her chin, his voice raw with filth.

“You want me to nut in this shit, don’t you? Want me to fill it.”

She moaned—loud.

“Yeah,” he hissed, licking sweat from her collarbone. “Gon’ be both our seed swimmin’ in there. You don’t even know which one of us knocked that ass up.”

She clenched hard around him. His whole body twitched. He pulled her down flush and held her there, dick buried to the base, thighs shaking under her weight. Eyes still locked on hers. Breath caught. Then—he came. Hard. With a deep, guttural grunt that dragged from his chest to her ear, he spilled inside her. His whole body rocked. Muscles clenched. Arms shook.

She could feel it. The throb. The warmth. The stretch.

Elias leaned in behind her, breath hot on her neck, voice slick and cruel.

Elias sat on the edge of the bed, jaw locked, running a palm over his face.

He wasn’t tired anymore.

That image of Annie, rich brown skin all bare and soft, body thick and glistening in the kitchen light, had branded itself into the back of his eyes. She was all hips and full tits, stomach soft, ass sitting high like it was carved just to make a man weak. Not even trying. Just breathing, reaching for coffee, bare as the day she was born.

And he saw it. Every damn inch.

The roundness of her ass as she stretched. The deep curve of her waist. The underhang of those heavy titties swaying when she turned fast, clutching the towel like it could do a damn thing.

He’d caught the glint of a chain between her breasts. A little silver one that Smoke must’ve left on her. Something about that made Elias twitch under his sweats.

He shouldn’t have stared. But he did.

Not once.

Not twice.

He saw too much, and now he was hard—full, fat, and pressing thick against the fabric like it needed air. He shifted, huffing, trying to ignore it. Palming it didn’t help. Thinking of something else didn’t help. All he could see was her.

Then he heard it.

The door next to his cracked just slightly, voices leaking out.

“Elijah, baby—”

“You walk your ass out like that again, we gon’ have a real problem.”

“I didn’t think he’d be up. I was gon’ come right back. Just wanted tea—”

“Walkin’ round like you forgot who put that arch in your back. Like that pussy don’t stay full off me.”

Annie giggled. Low. Breathless.

It punched Elias in the gut.

Then came the sound of lips. Wet, open kisses. Her whimpering. That kind of laugh that meant her robe had just come undone.

He blinked.

The bed dipped as he leaned back and slid his hand down, gripping himself through the fabric. Hard already. Could feel his own pulse in the way it throbbed up thick and long in his palm. He dragged his sweats down slow, freeing it, his chest already rising faster.

The next sound made him suck his teeth and lay back fully.

Slap.

Again.

Slap.

Annie gasped, loud enough to hear through the wall.

“You so damn disrespectful. Got my brother waking up to see what’s mine. You walkin’ around like your pussy don’t belong to me.”

“You—ahh—Elijah, wait—”

He was fucking her now.

You could hear it.

Annie was moaning, trying to hush herself but not really trying. And Smoke wasn’t quiet either.

“That’s what you wanted, huh? Wanted him to see what you got. You needed me to show off what I be workin’ with?”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Her cries echoed through the wall. Elias gripped himself harder, eyes shutting tight.

Her voice hitched in a way that made it clear he just bottomed out.

The bed next door was squeaking now. No rhythm. Just chaos. Like Smoke was fucking her in punishment. Long, rough strokes. Using that weight. Making her take it.

Elias stroked slow. From the tip to the base, dragging his palm over the fat vein running along the side. Thick. Slick. His thumb swept across the top. Already wet. He bit his bottom lip, heart knocking.

Smoke kept going, “Sound like you creamin’ all over me. Pussy too good to be actin’ this dumb, Annie. I gotta fuck the sense back into you?”

Annie cried out. That high-pitched sound that came right before a squirt.

Elias’ eyes rolled shut. He pumped faster. Groaning.

“You like that? Huh? That what you needed? Dick so deep you can’t even talk?”

“Yes—yes—f-fuck, right there—don’t stop—”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t even right.

But Elias couldn’t stop stroking.

Not when he could hear every bounce of her ass against Elijah’s lap. Not when he could picture it in detail—her bent over, robe hanging off one shoulder, hair a mess, face twisted up in pleasure while Smoke dug in deep, working her slow and deliberate, not letting her breathe. Holding her down, whispering filth in her ear.

She was mine first. I laid eyes on her first

That thought didn’t help. It made him grip harder.

He stroked from base to tip, squeezing, imagining what she looked like from the front. Her belly rippling from impact. Her eyes dazed. Her thighs trembling.

Smoke’s voice dragged him back, “Tell me whose pussy it is. Say it so my brother can hear you.”

Annie’s moan was long. Shaky.

“Yours—Elijah, baby, it’s yours—”

Elias groaned low. Gripped the base. Squeezed the tip. Rubbed slow with his thumb, making his own precum bead. It was leaking down his hand, sticky, warm. His breath sped up. He didn’t care how wrong it was.

He wanted to hear her break.

And she did.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Oh my god—it’s so deep—I can’t—Elijah—”

“You can take it. You gon’ take all this dick since you wanna act like a lil’ naked bitch in my kitchen.”

The clapping grew louder.

Faster.

The sound of her ass bouncing, wet and heavy, every slap echoing.

Then Annie’s voice again, breaking into ragged whines.

“I’m sorry! I’m—oh my god—I’m so sorry, baby!”

Smoke chuckled low, “Nah, you ain’t sorry yet.”

Elias fucked his own hand to that. Balls tight. Muscles clenching.

He was getting close.

Next door, the bed hit the wall.

Again.

Again.

He bit his lip hard enough to leave a mark. Groaning through his teeth. Eyes squeezing shut.

And then he heard it.

The telltale gasp. That choked-off cry from Annie that meant she squirted.

Wetness.

Soaking everything.

Smoke laughed again. Dark. Triumphant.

“That’s what I thought. You ain’t got no fuckin’ sense. Creamin’ all over me like you was beggin’ to get caught.”

Elias pumped faster. Legs tensing. Chest rising. His other hand gripped the sheets tight, fighting the urge to grunt too loud. He pictured Annie—body a mess, face in the pillows, juice on her thighs. He imagined being in the room, watching.

Then he came.

Long strokes. Slow release. Hot. Messy.

All over his abs.

All over his hand.

And still Smoke kept going. 

 Annie was still moaning.

Like she could take another round. Like she wanted it deeper.

Elias laid back. Breathing hard. Sweating.

Smoke grabbed her by the hips and folded her without warning.

Annie yelped as he flipped her onto her back, dragging her ass to the edge of the mattress. Her belly sat round and soft, folding into herself when he pushed her thighs up. Thick legs spread wide, trembling. Her titties spilled up under her chin, heavy and full, brown areolas stretched tight, nipples hard and aching as they brushed her throat with every breath.

Her pussy was wrecked. Shiny. Swollen. Cream smeared along her thighs and soaking the sheets beneath her. Every shift made it slicker.

Smoke climbed over her slow and deliberate.

Toes dug into the floor. Thighs flexed. He planted his fists into the mattress on either side of her head and leaned down until his chain slid forward, lodging right between her tits. The weight of it pressed into her skin, cool metal against hot flesh.

He shoved back into her in one sharp stroke.

Annie cried out, sound breaking from deep in her chest as her body jolted up the bed. Her ass slapped down hard against the mattress edge, the sound loud and wet. He pulled back and drove in again, just as rough. Just as deep.

Her mouth fell open. Breath punched out of her with every bottomed-out thrust.

“That’s it,” Smoke said, voice low and tight, “Folded up just like I want you. Look at that body shakin’ when I hit you.”

He snapped his hips again. Harder.

Her eyes dropped between them, watching his dick split her open over and over, thick and shiny, disappearing deep inside her. Each thrust pushed her further back on the bed, made her stomach jump, made her tits bounce heavy and slow.

“I’m sorry,” Annie gasped, biting her lip hard, eyes glassy, “I’m a nasty bitch. I don’t think right. I like bein’ checked.”

Smoke laughed under his breath and slapped her tits, palm flat. The sound echoed sharp. Her nipples jumped. She whimpered, chest heaving.

“You like daddy puttin’ you in your place,” he said, “Like me remindin’ you how you supposed to act.”

Another thrust. Deeper. Slower. Mean.

Her thighs shook around his hips. Her pussy clenched hard, pulling him in like she needed it.

“Yes, daddy,” she breathed, voice breaking, “I need it. I like it when you discipline me with your dick. I like when you mad and still fuckin’ me.”

He leaned down and bit her lip, not gentle. Tugged it between his teeth until she hissed. His forehead pressed to hers.

“You a bad girl,” he said quietly, “Walkin’ around showin’ off what ain’t for everybody. You know better.”

He slammed into her again. The bed knocked the wall.

Her ass bounced hard, jiggling with every stroke. Her belly rippled. Her tits slapped against her chin, nipples brushing her mouth. She moaned through clenched teeth, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“I do know better,” she panted, “I just like bein’ bad. I like when you punish me for it.”

Smoke growled and grabbed her thighs, pulling her tighter, folding her more. He fucked her harder now, sharp strokes that made her voice stutter and shake. Each time he bottomed out, a sound tore out of her throat, raw and helpless.

“Say it again,” he ordered, “Tell me what kind of bitch you are.”

“I’m nasty,” she cried, “I’m greedy. I like dick too much. I like bein’ put on my back and fucked till I apologize.”

He slapped her tits again, harder this time. She sobbed out a moan, back arching even though she was already folded tight.

“That’s my girl,” Smoke said, “That’s how you take it.”

In the other room, Elias had pushed himself back up on his elbow.

He had already spilled once, but his dick was still thick and heavy in his hand, standing proud like it hadn’t learned a lesson yet. He stroked slow at first, spreading what slick was left along the length, breathing through his nose.

Then Annie moaned again. Loud.

Elias cursed under his breath and tightened his grip.

He could hear the wet slap of skin. The bed rocking. Smoke’s voice low and commanding. Annie’s broken responses spilling out between gasps.

He pumped harder now, hand sliding smooth and steady, wrist flexing. His hips lifted off the mattress as he chased it again, jaw tight, eyes screwed shut.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice rough, “She soundin’ like that on purpose.”

The image burned behind his eyes. Annie folded up. Ass bouncing. Mouth open. Taking it deep. Being told exactly what she was.

Elias groaned and stroked faster, thighs tense, breath ragged. His dick twitched hard in his palm, ready to spill again just from the sound of his brother tearing her up through the wall.

“Flip me,” Annie said, voice wrecked and breathy, fingers clutching at Smoke’s forearms, “Please. I need it again.”

Smoke stilled for half a second, eyes dark, chest heaving. Then he laughed low.

“You beg pretty, baby.”  he said

He grabbed her thigh and rolled her fast, dragging her hips up until her face hit the mattress. He yanked her ass high, forcing her knees under her, belly hanging heavy between her legs. Her back arched deep. Ass lifted. No hiding. No closing her legs.

“Hands back,” he ordered.

Annie reached behind herself, palms shaking as she spread her cheeks open wide, fingers digging into her own flesh. Her ass sat high and full, jiggling with every breath. Her pussy was slick and swollen, lips parted and shining, leaking down onto the sheets.

Smoke stepped back and planted his feet.

“Stay just like that,” he said, gripping her wrists and pulling her arms straight back until her shoulders tightened, “Don’t you fucking move.”

Her voice came out wrecked. Soft. Ruined.

“I won’t,” she whispered,“I swear. I want it. I want you to make me squirt again. That’s why I needed to be turned. I needed it deep.”

Smoke groaned and shoved into her hard.

Her ass jumped forward like she got hit. The sound was loud, wet, obscene. He pulled back and slammed again, feeding her pussy with sharp, punishing strokes. Her ass ricocheted, flesh clapping against his thighs, belly swinging under her with each hit.

“That’s what you wanted?” he growled, “Pussy stuck in the air with nowhere to go but take dick?”

“Yes,” Annie cried, face buried in the bed, “I’m sorry. I’m greedy. I needed it again. I needed you to fuck it outta me.”

He tightened his grip on her arms and leaned forward, hips snapping harder now. Each stroke drove deep enough to punch broken sounds out of her throat. Her body shook from the force. Her legs trembled like they might give out.

“You ain’t got no shame,” Smoke said, “Ass up like this. Pussy open. Askin’ to get split again.”

“I like it,” she sobbed, “I like when you don’t let me move. I like when you make me take it.”

Her ass bounced violently now, cheeks spreading with every thrust. Wetness dripped down her thighs. Smoke slapped her ass once, sharp and loud, and she cried out, whole body jolting.

“Hold it open,” he ordered, “Wider.”

She obeyed, fingers shaking as she pulled herself apart further. Her pussy clenched hard around him, milking, desperate. Smoke cursed and drove in deeper, slower now, making her feel every inch.

“That’s it,” he said, “Let it go again.”

Her legs locked. Her back bowed. A broken cry tore out of her as her body seized, slick spilling out of her, soaking the sheets beneath her knees. She shook hard, ass still high, arms pinned back, pussy pulsing around him.

Smoke fucked her straight through it, not easing up, riding it out until she sagged against the mattress, gasping.

In the other room, Elias had his back against the wall, dick thick in his hand, breath coming short.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “I know he breakin’ her ass.”

He stroked slow, talking himself through it, eyes squeezed shut. His hand slid heavy and slick over his length, balls tight and full beneath his palm.

“She take it just like that,” he spoke low and wrecked, “Ass up. Greedy. Let him tear her up.”

The sounds through the wall drove him wild. Her cries. The wet slap. Smoke’s voice steady and mean.

Elias pumped harder, hips rolling into his fist.

“He fuckin’ the life out her,” Elias breathed, stroking slow, “Got her locked in, squeezin’ all over him. I know she wet as hell. Can hear it in how loud that shit clap.”

His grip tightened. His breathing went ragged.

“Wish she was on her knees right now,” he groaned, “Wish she could suck all my nut off me. Balls too. Make a mess of herself.”

The image hit him hard. Annie’s mouth. Her lips slick. Her tongue dragging slow.

Elias cursed and stroked fast, muscles locking up, dick twitching hard in his hand.

Annie’s body sagged into the mattress, arms shaking. Legs trembling. Slick everywhere. She could barely breathe.

But Smoke wasn’t done.

He grabbed her by the waist and flipped her again—hard. She landed on her back with a gasp, belly rippling, legs open, pussy still pulsing. Her chest heaved, titties jumping with every breath, nipples dark and stiff, glistening with sweat.

“Get on top,” he ordered, voice low and mean, “Right fuckin’ now.”

She scrambled up, climbing over him, thighs wide, sinking down on him slow. That stretch pulled another sound from her throat—raw, fucked-out—but she didn’t stop. She took every inch, bottoming out with her nails digging into his chest.

Smoke slid down just enough to plant his feet into the mattress, knees bent. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them flat against his stomach, locking her in place.

Then he fucked up into her.

Hard.

Sharp thrusts that bounced her thick ass off his thighs. Titties clapped against her chest. Her belly jiggled with every slam. She couldn’t move, couldn’t ride—just took it. Her moans came in broken gasps, head falling forward, lips parted, chain swinging between them.

“That what you wanted?” Smoke grunted,  “Huh? Wanted to get flipped? Want to be my lil’ bounce toy?”

Annie nodded, gasping, whining like she couldn’t find words.

Smoke hit deep again, slower this time. Letting her feel every inch on the way in.

“Say it,” he hissed, “Say why you wanted it like this.”

“I—I knew he could hear,” Annie whispered, voice cracked, “I wanted him to. I wanted your brother to listen to how you fuck me.”

Smoke growled. Hips snapped harder.

“Say that shit louder.”

She arched back, let her head drop. She was gone. Slurring now. Soaked.

“I wanted Stack to hear me,” she cried, “Hear how nasty I am. Hear what this pussy sound like when you fuck it right.”

Smoke slapped her ass from below, then drove up again, lifting her with the force.

“You hear that, Elias?!” he barked, loud enough to shake the goddamn wall, “She want you to listen while I fuck her through the floor!”

Annie screamed into her next orgasm, body jerking. But Smoke didn’t slow.

“You hear these thighs clappin’?! This pussy gushing?! She bounce on me like she don’t need air. Pussy greedy as fuck."

He grabbed her throat and made her look down at him, those eyes wild.

“Now tell him.”

Annie trembled, tears slipping down her cheeks from too much pleasure.

“This my daddy’s dick,” she moaned, “He the only one who make me squirt. He the one diggin’ it out. He the one this pussy belong to.”

Smoke grunted, planting his feet harder, slamming up into her with force that made the bed knock.

“Say my fuckin’ name.”

“Daddy,” she cried, “Fuck—Daddy Smoke!”

Meanwhile in the other room…

Elias was damn near on the floor, one foot braced against the wall, stroking his dick with a slick, tight grip. His thighs twitched. His abs clenched.

He heard his name. He heard her say it. He heard her call Smoke daddy.

And he still couldn’t stop.

His voice broke into a rough whisper:

“She talkin’ to me like that on purpose. Pussy sound like it’s grippin’ the fuck outta him. She a fuckin’ mess…”

He groaned as precum spilled again. His hand never stopped moving.

“Bet her throat would feel so good right now. Suck me clean. Take it all like a nasty lil mouthpiece.”

He cursed again, breath catching.

“Fuckkkk.”

The head of his dick flinched in his hand. He wasn’t done either.

Elias sat up on the edge of the bed, legs spread, hand slick and slow on his shaft. He was edging now. Letting that dick go so it could stand up all the way—dark, thick, twitching with need. Veins bulged along the length. His balls were tight, drawn up close. He exhaled slow through his nose.

She sounded too good.

Her voice was breaking. Her moans were higher. That wet clapping echoing through the damn wall like it was meant for him. He could hear her body lifting and dropping, that pace changing, like she took control.

He wanted to hold that nut. Savor it. Let it burn.

So he gripped the base of his shaft and let it throb. Dark. Glossy. Hard like it needed somewhere to be.

Annie was riding now.

Not bouncing.

Not easing.

Riding.

Full body commitment. Throwing her ass down on Smoke’s lap like it was the only way she knew how to breathe. Her lip was caught between her teeth, eyes heavy, brows pulled tight like it hurt to feel this good. She looked over her shoulder, hair wild, and moaned from the pit of her stomach.

“Don’t pull out,” she begged, voice broken and fucked up, “Don’t take it out—please—I love how it feel slidin’ in and out like this. It’s so fat—so thick—I need it.”

Smoke let her go. Just rested his hands behind his head and stared.

That ass was clappin’.

Full cheeks bouncing.

Throwin’ that pussy down on him like she needed to fuck the air out his lungs.

He popped her on the ass once. Then again.

“Ride that shit, then,” he growled, “Fuck me. Ride this dick like you mean it.”

She whimpered and ground down on just the tip, rolling her hips, making it nasty. Her ass moved in slow circles, grinding low, creamy and wet. She pulled up until just the head stretched her, then dropped again fast, making the whole bed shake.

“Like that,” Smoke hissed, sitting up to watch, “Fuck the tip. Ride it right. Throw that ass.”

She did it again. And again.

One hand planted on his thigh for balance. The other on her own stomach. Her tits bounced wildly. Her belly rippled. Her pussy kept talking.

“Daddy,” she whined, drunk on it now, “I’m fuckin’ addicted. I don’t even know who I am no more.”

Smoke grabbed her waist and held her in place while he just watched her fuck herself on him.

“You done lost your mind, huh?” Smoke teased, voice gravelly, “Ridin’ like that pussy tryna prove somethin’.”

Annie gasped.

Her face flushed deeper. Her movements slowed to grind mode again, dragging that slick slit over the tip and pushing it back in inch by inch.

She whispered, low and ragged, “You gon’ make me squirt again…”

Next door, Elias was biting his damn knuckles. Dick standing proud. Angry.

He was stroking now but only halfway, stopping before the edge.

“Shit,” he growled, “She ridin’ like she possessed. I know that shit slippery as fuck. Gushy.”

His hand trembled a little. Not from nerves.

From trying to keep that nut locked up tight.

“Bounce on it, baby,” he whispered to himself, “Make him feel that grip.”

His toes curled. Thighs flexed.

He still wasn’t ready to let it go.

Annie was unraveling.

She had no rhythm left. Just chaos. Pussy gushing, thighs shaking, ass bouncing out of control. She ground down hard one more time—and it happened.

Again.

Her breath caught, hips locked, and a high, broken sob tore from her throat as she squirted again, soaking his lap. Her whole body trembled from the release, cunt pulsing in aftershock, slick running down his thighs.

Smoke groaned. Loud. Sat up fast, “Move,” he barked.

She barely had time to breathe before he flipped her—manhandled her right into a new position.

Smoke pushed her thighs up, wide, until her knees nearly touched her shoulders. “Grab ’em,” he growled, “Hold them legs just like that.”

Annie obeyed with a shaky whimper, folding open for him completely.

He settled between her legs, thick arms anchoring him as he gripped her titties like handlebars, palms full, thumbs brushing her nipples. His gold chain swayed between them. His eyes dropped to her swollen, glistening pussy—already fluttering, already wet.

“You feel that?” he rasped, dragging the tip of his dick up and down her slit, teasing her entrance.

Then he slammed in, deep and raw.

“That’s me hittin’ the back, huh?” he groaned, watching her mouth fall open.

He pulled out slow, letting her feel every inch, then shoved in harder.

“Feel how I do it like that?”

Annie moaned loud, toes curling, hands shaking as she held her feet. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Just gasped and nodded, her pussy making those slick, obscene sounds every time he pumped back in.

Smoke leaned in, breath hot and filthy against her cheek, “This where I’m bout to empty my fuckin’ balls. Right here in this big, fine ass pussy.”

He pulled out again, slow and wet, letting the suction pop. Smirked at the noise. Did it again. And again. Watching her cream cling to him each time he withdrew.

Then he snapped his hips and drilled her.

Fast. Deep. Ruthless.

Still grippin’ her titties. Still leaned in like he was claiming her soul.

Her legs started to shake. Her voice got high. Her eyes rolled.

He fucked her through it, whispering, “You gon’ take this nut, mama. You hear me? You gon’ let Daddy bust all up in that pretty pussy. Gimme all that fuckin’ cream. Let me feel it.”

Toes curling tighter, her calves tensed, pulling her knees up instinctively to take him better.

“Yeah, that's my girl. You gon’ squeeze this dick till I empty every last drop in this pussy. Milk me dry with that wet ass pussy—show Daddy how much you need it”

“Yessss, keep putting that big dick in me,”  she gasped, voice trembling, her pussy clenching around him in response, coating his length in fresh slickness as he pulled out and slammed home again.

The rhythm built, his thrusts turning punishing, each entry forcing her mouth agape in ecstasy, lips slack and inviting. Droplets of sweat trailed down her neck, her breasts jiggling in his grip with every impact. 

“Fuck, listen to that pussy talkin’. You want Daddy's load floodin’ you out, don't you? Beggin’ for it? gimme that cream, baby, soak my balls,' he growled, leaning in to bite her earlobe, his breath hot against her skin.

Annie moaned louder, the affirmation breaking into a cry as he drove in relentlessly, her body jolting with the force. Her mouth dropped open wide on the next entry, a choked cry spilling out as he bottomed out.

“Damn, look at you takin’ it so good. You want this load, don't you? Say it louder—beg for Daddy's cum in that big, hungry pussy, baby.'

"Please, Daddy, I'm your nasty bitch—use my pussy, breed me deep! I wanna feel you throb and shoot inside, make me leak. Fuck, I'm so wet for you, gonna cum so hard on this big dick—”

She came undone on that fat dick, gushing hot and messy, her juices squirting out around his plunging shaft, drenching his balls and thighs in a slick flood. Mouth wide in a silent scream that broke into nasty whimpers, toes locked in a rigid curl, she shook violently, pussy milking him with rhythmic pulses.

In the other room, Stack finally broke.

His legs snapped straight, hips lifting as that nut chased him down and caught him in one heavy wave. His fist tightened around the base, stroking through it slow and tight.

“Fuck…fuuuckkkkkkk.” 

He came hard across his stomach. Hot. Messy. Stripes of it landing on his abs, hand shaking. His head fell back, lips parted.

“Annie…”

It slipped out rough. Damn near a moan.

She had him sayin’ her name now.

Back in the bed, Smoke’s body locked up.

His grip around Annie’s titties  turned steel.

His strokes went erratic—deep, fast, brutal.

“Keep that shit open,” he growled, “You gon’ take every drop. You understand me?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Annie whimpered. “Please cum in it. Fill me up—”

Smoke growled low and buried himself to the hilt, holding her body tight as his nut snapped through him. Deep. Hot. Flooding her.

He stayed there, throbbing inside her.

Annie was twitching in his arms. Legs trembling. Breath hitched. Her pussy still pulsing, still messy, still full of him.

Smoke let out a low grunt and finally pulled out slow—his dick thick, glistening, streaked with slick and cream. The second he slipped free, her pussy opened up around the emptiness and let out a slow, wet push of his nut.

He stared.

Watched it drip, thick and warm, trailing down to her ass.

“Look at this shit,” he muttered, voice raw, “You gon’ pull that stunt again?”

Annie tilted her head back onto his chest, smiling lazy, lips shiny with sweat.

“Maybe,” she whispered with a giggle.

Smoke grunted, “Keep playin’.”

But he didn’t sound mad. Just wrecked. Possessive. Drunk off her.

She reached between her thighs, fingers gathering the mess he left inside her, spreading it up and around her swollen lips with slow, teasing circles. Her voice was soft. Smug.

“Don’t waste none,” she said, rubbing it in like lotion, “Daddy gave me all this. I’m keepin’ it.”

Smoke just laid back and watched. His chain tangled between her tits. His nut leaking down her thighs. Her pussy glistening and ruined.

Smoke spoke, breath thick, voice low, “What I give you?”

Annie grinned, still catching her breath, “All your thick nut Deep.”

“Mm.” Smoke’s hand slid over her thigh, “I see that.” 

“You made a damn fool outta me.” Annie spoke breathlessly. 

“No, baby…I made you mine again.”

Annie giggled,  “Hmph. You always say that after you fuck the soul outta me.”

“Because it’s the truth. You feel full?”

 “Leakin’. So yeah.”

Smoke chuckles dark, “That’s how I like it.”

“Mm. You like makin’ a mess in me.”

“I like claimin’ you. Again and again. Til you forget anybody else ever fucked you.”

“Then don’t stop.”

Smoke leans in, mouth brushing her ear, “I’m not done. That was just round one.”

In the other room, Elias was a goddamn mess.

His chest was heaving. His stomach, covered. His fist, still tight around the last stroke.

The nut he just let go was the biggest he’d ever had.

Thick. Endless. Hot. Rope after rope painted his own skin, dripped off his abs, smeared across his knuckles.

And it wasn’t for just any girl.

It was for her.

His brother’s girl.

Annie.

His mind went blank. No shame. Just need.

She sounded too good. Took it too well. Looked too soft. And now, after hearing that? Smoke would just have to kill him.

Because Elias needed her bad.

And next time? He wouldn’t be on the other side of the wall.

Erik sucked his teeth, sat up a little more, thighs tensing beneath her hands. He looked down at her with her messy hair, and need all over her face and reached out to grab her jaw with one hand, thumb sliding across her lips. 

“You wanna ride me?” 

Sanaa nodded, lips parting around his thumb. She sucked it slow with her eyes locked on his. 

Erik let out a low breath, nostrils flaring. His dick twitched hard in her hand. “Aight then,” he said. “Get up here.” 

The way he said it wasn’t a request. Sanaa didn’t hesitate. She threw her leg over and straddled him, hands planted on his chest for balance. Erik leaned back on his elbows, watching her like a man possessed, eyes dragging from the sway of her hips to the heavy breath in her chest. He reached down, wrapped that big hand around his dick, and held it steady, thick and gleaming, the tip pulsing. 

“Come get it.” He said with a low rasp.

Sanaa lifted just right, body knowing what to do like this wasn’t her first time begging for it. She lined herself up with the head, hips hovering, teasing his tip with slick little circles. Just working it in slowly, letting that first stretch send a shiver through both of them. Sanaa moaned airy and breathless, rolling her hips while Erik was only halfway inside. Erik’s head tipped back, jaw tight, watching her get herself ready for the full thing. 

Then, she sank. 

Her breath caught as she sank down, thighs trembling while his dick pushed up through that tight, sloppy grip. Sanaa couldn’t help the way her mouth fell open, tongue peeking out against her top lip, eyes half-closed like she was somewhere between begging and backing out. She lifted, rolled her hips again, and slipped out with a slick sound that made her flinch. 

“Come on, ma,” Erik whispered, voice low and gritty, his hips flexing up. “Put that shit back in. Don’t play.” 

Sanaa reached behind her, fingers wet as she guided him back. His tip slipped past her folds, thick and glistening, dragging slick through her creamy pussy before sliding home again. Her back bowed, belly tensed, she took it inch by inch, breathing sharp through her nose like she was bracing for a stretch that hit deep every single time. Sanaa’s body paused like it was stunned by the depth, a little tremble shaking through her frame. But then, she started moving. 

“There you go,” Erik said, voice like gravel on velvet. “Keep that arch for me. Just like that. Let me open this lil’ pussy up.” 

She rode him like she was made for it. 

Slow motion. Rolling her hips, arching her back, catching that stroke right where it made her eyes flutter and her breath skip. Her ass popped on the up stroke, then clapped softly when she dropped back down, thick and perfect against his thighs. Every grind pulled a sound out of Erik, deep in his throat. Low curses. Grunts. Praise. 

Sanaa leaned forward, hands planted on his chest, his keloid scars slick beneath her palms. His pecs flexed under her touch like he was holding back from grabbing her and flipping the whole thing. 

Sanaa whimpered sweet and buried like she was tryna swallow it down. Her knees dug into the mattress, feet braced over his thighs, ass lifting just enough to let him drive up harder. Erik didn’t even need to thrust far. He had her right where he wanted her. Just enough space for that big dick to pull back, then stroke up slow, deep, and firm. No air between them. Just desire. A vice grip. The sound of his dick stirring through slick like a slow churn. 

Sanaa rocked and rode and lost herself in it, pausing only to lean down and kiss him slow and nasty, tongue sliding deep, lips parted like she needed his mouth to survive the high she was chasing. Then, she sat back up, arching again, going back to the motion. Deeper. 

The way she stared down at him? It was like she owned him. Sanaa bit down on her bottom lip harder, breathing ragged. Her body twitched when he spread her ass wider, one hand gripping a cheek, thumb resting where her back curved into the dip of her spine. The other hand slid between her thighs and tugged her folds open on one side, just enough to feel how fucking tight of a squeeze it is to fit his dick in her. Just enough to feel the way she swallowed him each time he came back in. The flesh of her tight hole gliding smooth over veins and a thick pole. 

Erik…loved it. That thick dick throbbed inside her. The hand on her back slid up and down, gripping her waist, helping her pace. 

“Good girllll,” Erik praised, his voice deep and ragged. “Just like that pretty girl. This why you been actin’ up?” Erik whispered. “This what you needed? You needed daddy to fuck you quiet like this?” 

Sanaa’s head dropped, her breath catching in her throat. She nodded, still rocking soft but getting fucked harder than she meant to. Each time Erik asked her ‘this what you needed?’ The tempo increased. That dick curved up right into her, hitting that spot that made her legs shake and her face twist up. She didn’t mean to roll her hips like that or let the creamy mess between them get louder. It was as if her body didn’t belong to her anymore. An object to be fucked by Killmonger like it asked for.

And this wasn’t even his final form. 

Erik’s palms slid over her ass and held her open while he kept stroking. Sanaa’s body jolted every time his tip kissed the back of her pussy. It felt like pressure and a tickle all at once. Slipping out, sliding back in. Circling on the up stroke, sliding out slowly on the down stroke. Cream clinging to him. Her walls tightening to keep him in. But Erik’s dick is so thick. Long. And her pussy couldn’t help but give him room. 

It shocked her. Sanaa was a brilliant girl but it never crossed her mind that a dick that’s equal parts thick and long could open her pussy up like this. Penetrate her and make her pussy cream and flutter like it had its own heartbeat. 

“I should keep you up all night doin’ this shit. Fuckin’ you ‘til that walk change.” 

“Daddy—”

“Shhh. Shut the fuck up. The only talkin’ I wanna hear is this pussy.” 

Erik pressed his lips to her temple. His hands made its way to her waist, holding her still. Steady. On that dick. His hips drove up with a slow torture, punishing strokes and heavy weight like he was tryna leave the shape of his dick in her forever. 

“You tryna wake her up?” Erik warned with a threatening whisper. “You tryna let her know how nasty you been behind her back?” 

“No—no, I’m not—”

“Then Shut that shit up and ride this dick like you supposed to.” Erik spoke rough in her ear. So low it sent shivers down her spine. 

And she gave it to him. All of it. 

Sanaa bit the corner of her lip again, trembling, eyes almost rolling up. His dick stroked through the grip of her pussy with steady weight, gliding smooth and tight, dragging against her walls. The sound was slick and wet, sticky and clinging, layered with the subtle knock of his heavy balls brushing her ass when he dropped her down just right. Sanaa’s toes curled against his thighs. Her belly fluttered. She could feel him in her gut. Sanaa dragged her nails down his pecs and tried to lift her hips a little but Erik is stronger. 

“Feel all that up in you, huh?” Erik said. “That’s what you was fiendin’ for, baby? Fat dick pressin’ your stomach? Stretchin’ your shit out. Don’t you move, now.” His tone was taunting; teasing.

Erik’s hands slid down her waist, wide palms smoothing over the curve of her hips before gripping the underside of her ass. He let her work. Let her grind slow like she had all day. But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her something extra. After all, he’s extra. 

Pop. 

A gentle slap to her right cheek made her gasp and bounce a little harder. Then, he rubbed it, smoothed his hand over the sting. 

“Yeah,” Erik said low, looking up at her like she was art. “That’s it, baby. Ride that shit.” 

Sanaa was in another dimension. Dick drunk. Eyes low. Mouth slick and almost drooling, whispering nonsense that didn’t make full sense but still sounded sexy as hell. Sanaa’s hands went to fist the sheets. Her thighs spread over him. The stroke was making her dizzy. Erik slid both hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, holding her in place while he started fucking up into her with slow, mean precision. Each thrust was full. The bed barely moved but the air between them thickened with sweat and secret moans and groans swallowing into the backs of throats. 

Erik bent his knees, driving up from the base, hips angled just right so his whole length stroked through the grip of her pussy like he was molding her insides with every pass. Sanaa’s breath stuttered. Her mouth hung open. She tried to hold it in. Tried to be good. But that shit felt so fucking good. 

“I—mmh—this dick feel so good,” she breathed, grinding with slow, wet rolls. “Might start crying on it…I’m not even playin’…”

Erik laughed but dropped off into a groan when she clenched on him mid-roll. Erik gave her left cheek a light slap, then grabbed it, pulling her down harder. 

“Don’t play then.” Erik warned. “Go head and cry.” 

Sanaa was in the zone. One hand drifted up his chest again, Palm gliding over his scars, fingertips teasing his nipple just to make him twitch. The other hand braced on his thigh behind her for balance. 

“I could live on this dick.” She whispered with a shaky laugh, voice floaty. 

“You already do.” Erik shot back. 

But Sanaa didn’t hear him. Or maybe she did and ignored it. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered shut. Her hips paused at the base of his stroke. Then…

She started bucking. 

No warning. No ease into it. She just popped her hips and that bubbly ass back and up, then dropped down on him with force. That wet clap echoed between them. 

“Shhhit—” Erik grunted, jaw locked. He sat up fast, his hand flying to her waist to ground her, but she was already in the zone. 

“Uh uh,” Sanaa panted, riding that dick like she had a point to prove. “Don’t stop me now, I’m on a mission, daddy.” 

Erik’s hands tried to slow her, but every time he gripped her waist, Sanaa twisted and bounced harder. Her ass smacked against his thighs, wild and filthy, her head thrown back as she whimpered with a bite of her lip softly and moaned out his name with an airy breath like it was her favorite song. 

“Sanaa—”

She reached up, palmed the back of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. “Loose control, daddy.” She breathed, voice wrecked but still taunting. “Come on. I want it.” 

That was her plan the whole time. To ride him until he couldn’t think straight. To fuck him until his voice broke and he forgot every rule he made about control. And judging by the way his fingers dug into her flesh and those muscles flexed…

It was working. 

Sanaa leaned her weight forward, kept that nasty dance, and added something new to it. Her hand—small, delicate, manicured fingers with her name on her gold necklace glinting between her tits—wrapped right around Erik’s throat. Just enough pressure to make his head tilt back and his eyes lock onto hers like she had him pinned in place. Like he belonged to her now. 

And then she rode him. 

From tip to base. Working every inch of that thick ass dick like it was hers to break in. Her body rolled in perfect time, ass popping up, then dropping back down to the back with a wet clap again and again. Sanaa stayed eye to eye with him the whole time. 

Erik’s mouth fell open. A low, guttural sound came from his chest, his hands gripping her thighs like he was hanging on for dear life. His nostrils flared, his gold canines flashed as his top lip curled to fight the urge to groan so loud he wakes the whole building up. His whole body tensed underneath her like he was fighting the urge to flip her over and wreck her. But he didn’t. He let her have it. Let her take that power. 

His expression was war. Tight jaw. Eyes dark and ablaze. Clenched abs. Fists flexing on her skin. Eyes damn near desperate. Breathing hard. 

“Sanaa…” Erik grunted, voice all gravel and restraint. “Fuck, baby.” 

Sanaa smiled. A slow, wicked, bratty smile. She rolled her hips in a circle while still sitting in him full. She was gon’ milk him good. Then, she leaned in close, mouth at his ear, whispering low, breathy, slick. 

“What’s wrong, Killmonger?” 

Erik twitched. His grip on her thighs got tighter. That name hit different coming from her mouth. Especially with her sitting on his fucking dick like that. Dripping and talking her shit. 

“You supped to be the big bad soldier, huh?” She panted, riding again, faster now, breath hitching between words. “Don’t tell me I got you foldin’…”

Erik growled low in his throat. His eyes snapped to hers, wide, wild, hungry. “You wanna play like that?” He said, voice hoarse. 

Sanaa kept bouncing. Let her hand tighten just a little more on his throat, thumb pressing under his jaw while her pussy clamped down and stroked him from base to tip like a goddamn vice. Like he was her personal toy. Her toy soldier. 

“Mmhm,” she whispered. “Killmonger can’t take it…”

And that was it.

Erik’s hand shot up, yanked her wrist off his neck, and pinned it to the bed beside him. His other arm wrapped around her back, locking her down. 

But Sanaa was still grinding. Still riding that big thing. Erik’s arms caged her in—thick, strong, immovable. Erik shifted under her, sitting up in one powerful motion, his chest pressed to hers, their breaths tangled. Sanaa barely had time to blink before his hands slid beneath her thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms, palming the underside of her ass with a grip that meant business.

Then he stood up. Taking back his power. Ain’t no way some lil’ girl was gonna grab him by the neck and ride his dick and talk shit in his ear like she in charge. Fuck that. 

That big dick never slipped out once. Erik rose with her still fully seated on him, buried to the base, his muscles flexing all down his back and arms. Sanaa gasped, arm’s flailing for his shoulders before clutching tight. He made that shit look so effortless. Erik adjusted his hold, tightening his grip on her thighs, locking her in against his chest. 

And then, he bounced her. 

Not wild. Not frantic. But deep. Firm.

Erik dropped her down on that dick, letting the full weight of his body take him. His grip under her ass controlled every motion like she was a workout, a blessing, and a punishment all rolled into one. Her pussy opened for him every time, swallowing that big dick whole, her walls fluttering with every single drop like that pussy was talking to him, begging Killmonger to murder her shit. 

Sanaa couldn’t catch a breath. Her body tensed and softened all at once—overwhelmed, overstimulated, taken. He was using her like she belonged in his arms getting fucked like this. She was made to be lifted and held and fucked. Her pretty head dropped back, those glossy lips parted, that tiny breath hitching. She had never been handled like this before. Ever. Then here comes this big, strong, soldier with scars and a lethal dick to rewrite everything the thought she knew about getting fucked. 

“Erik—”

Sanaa moaned his name once, sweet and quiet. But it turned to something else. Something filthier. More desperate. Like her body knew what she needed before her mind caught up. 

“…Monger…K-Kill…Killmonger…Kill…Killmonger, fuck…mm, Monnie…”

It spilled out of her in waves, soft, breathy, cracked around the edges. Her thighs trembled against his arms, her nails clawing at his back, and her pussy was dripping. Soaked and sucking him back in with every controlled thrust. When Sanaa caught their reflection, her eyes went round. Her small frame folded in the air around his big, muscled, scarred, tall body. She looked helpless, caged, locked. 

She just raised his number to 2,208. 

Pick yourself up Bri—oh, wait—you’re stuck in the air bitch how you gonna flip it on him again? 

Damn, he all up in this pussy.

Why he fucking me like this? 

Erik looked up at her face, lips swollen, hair clinging to her cheek, eyes fluttering with every drop. “You wanted it,” he said, low and steady, sweat beading on his neck. “Now take it.”

Then, he bounced her again, slow and punishing, that big thing pushing her to the brink.

All Sanaa could do was hang on. Fall apart. Moan his name. Her toes curled right in the air, ankles flexing with every drop. She was about to tap out. But that would make her look like a weak bitch. Her whole body tensed like a struck cord, arms wrapped tighter around Erik’s shoulders as she dropped her head to his neck. She pressed her nose into his skin, right where the warmth gathered, where his clean scent lived. Masculine mix of sweat, lotion, and something earthy that was just him. It made her dizzy. 

Erik was in it. He was bouncing her just right on that thick dick. He switched it up. Started feeding her. Rolling his hips upward as she came down. Rocking into her slow and deep, hitting that spot every single time. The control he had over his body was insane. Like he had power running through his veins. Inhuman. He adjusted mid-thrust, tilting her hips, locking her tighter against him so her clit dragged across his pelvis just right. 

She was unraveling from the inside out. 

“…Killmonger…yes…baby…”

The name barely left her lips before Erik’s jaw clenched. He adjusted his stance, braced one foot back to keep his balance, then slammed her down deeper, held her there, let her feel all of it.

“You wanted Killmonger?” he breathed against her ear, voice low and gritty, laced with dark amusement, “Huh?” He bounced her again, the sound of her moaning his name fed something carnal in him, “Say it again, Princess.” 

Sanaa shook her head, biting her lip, but her pussy clenched hard around him, giving her away.

“Nah,” Erik growled. “You been talkin’ all that shit now you gettin’ it.” Another thrust. Deep. He rocked up into her and held, “Say. That. Shit.”

Her breath caught, “…Killmonger…” Sanaa’s voice barely made it past her lips. “Don’t stop fucking your pussy, Killmonger…”

That was all Erik needed.

His arms flexed tighter beneath her knees, locking Sanaa in. Her back was flat against the wall now but her hips were tipped—cocked up perfect and wide. That pussy sat right on his dick like it was made to fit him and only him. Swallowing all that thick pressure with every pump of his hips. Erik didn’t slam into her, he stroked. Sanaa looked down and her breath hitched with surprise at how her hips jerked involuntarily every time he pushed in and how her hips chased the sensation again when he slides back out. 

“Mmm. There she go,” Erikk growled low against her throat, breathing in her scent, teeth grazing her skin, “You feel that? That stretch right there?” 

Sanaa nodded fast, lower lip trembling but the only sound she could make was a tight little gasp. Her acrylics dug onto his shoulders and her thighs quaked over his arms. 

Erik held her there and made her feel it. 

“Yeah.” he said, that voice low and deep, “That’s what I thought. Pussy talkin’ now.” 

And it was. 

Every time he rolled his hips forward, that slick, soaking grip of hers let out a wet little squelch. A pop as air got trapped and pushed back out. That tight little pussy started queefing loud and messy between them. Sanaa’s whole body tensed in embarrassment. She’d NEVER done that before. She shut her eyes and tilted her face away, trying to stop herself from doing it again but nope. It kept happening.

What the fuck? 

But Erik loved it.

“Nah, don’t hide,” he grunted, dragging his dick out slow until just the tip sat at her entrance, then pushed right back in with a deep, thick stroke that made her head knock against the wall with a soft thud, “Let it talk. Let me hear how tight that shit is.” 

“E—”

Sanaa was trying to hold it in, but Erik didn’t give her the chance. Erik snatched it from her chest with the next thrust. Smooth and deep again. Long strokes. Pussy gripped him so snug it felt like it was sucking him back in. Her arousal was dripping down his ball now. Every time he pulled out, his dick glistened with it, creamy at the base. Wet and shiny all the way up to the head. 

Then it happened. That change. That little flutter deep inside her. 

Sanaa’s walls started twitching like they were confused. Like her pussy didn’t know if it wanted to clench him or release. It pulsed around him, and she gasped again, harder this time. 

“Fuck—”

“Yeah…” Erik grunted, “she feelin’ it now.” 

Erik adjusted his stance. He took one small step forward so her back pressed tighter to the wall, and then he angled his hips downwards. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was chasing her spot now. And when he found it? Sanaa had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a loud moan. Her whole body jerked in his arms. Her mouth dropped open, closed in a pout, eyes crossing, breath catching. Her pussy squeezed so hard around his dick it made his knees buckle. 

“Damn, there she go. That’s what I wanted from that pussy.” 

Sanaa didn’t even know if she could ever speak again after that. But a sound came out of her. A mix of a cry and a moan and a choked little please. All the things he watched from her, every thrust hit that spot. She started having the most intense orgasm she’d ever had and she couldn’t run. She could feel it. A warm, milky wave gushing out of her, coating his dick, her thighs, dripping to the floor of. It made everything wetter. Nastier. Louder. Pussy slipping and gripping around him. Erik licked his lips as he watched her face twist up. 

“Creamin’ on this dick, baby?” Erik spoke soft, biting her earlobe, “That’s what happen when you fuck wit’ a grown ass man.”

Sanaa whimpered. Bit her lip.

His dick dragged through her like he was reminding her who owned that pussy. Like he knew it better than she did. Rubbing her walls raw in the best way. Grinding into that tender, aching spot inside her that had her leaking again.

Do that again, Daddy that feels so good, she thought. 

His voice was a low growl now, filthy, dark, right in her ear.

“You gon’ take this dick. Just like that. That’s what you wanted, ain’t it? That what you beggin’ for?”

Erik snapped his hips into her so deep her eyes rolled. 

She was cumming again. Not from clit play. Not from fingers.

From dick.

Thick, deep, grown man dick.

Sanaa moaned—low-pitched, pretty, almost sobbing—and Erik smiled against her neck. 

“Uh huh…that’s right,” he said, “Let me hear it.”

He rolled his hips again, just right. And again. Stroking deep and smooth. Not stopping. Her walls squeezed so tight around him he could barely move. 

“Damn, baby…this pussy tryna keep me in…” His voice dropped even lower. “You want me to cum in it, don’t you?”

Her body jumped.

Sanaa shook her head weakly, but he saw the way her pussy clenched again. She couldn’t even lie. 

Erik laughed under his breath, “You came beggin’ for this dick again I don’t know, Bri. Might not get this nut tonight.”

Then he did something that wrecked her.

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

Held her up, eyes locked to hers, and gave her one… slow…deep grind.

His dick dragged against every inch of her walls. Pressed to her spot. Stretched her from the inside until her whole body arched and her face twisted in pure pleasure. 

“Ain’t nobody ever fucked you like this…made you cream like this…” He kissed her jaw, “Nah…they was playin’ wit’ it, wasn’t they baby? Huh? Daddy got you…”

Another thrust. Another cry. Sanaa’s head hit the wall again. Her nails scratched down his back. She was shaking so bad he had to grip her tighter. 

He groaned through gritted teeth, “Keep moaning like that and I’ma fuck around and nut in this tight little pussy…just might give you your present.” 

She just nodded, moaned, and melted around him—completely fucked. Her walls fluttered again, and he knew…

She was about to cum AGAIN. 

Erik rolled his hips again, one long, smooth stroke that had her gasping into his neck. Her body arched. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs twitched where they were locked over his arms.  Erik could feel how open she was now. How she’d molded to him. Wrapped around him so tight and juicy and so fucking wet, it sounded like syrup every time he sank back in.

Slrp…squelch…slrp…

“Shhhhit,” he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, breath hot. “That sound makin’ me crazy…”

He shifted just slightly, angled deeper. Lower. Found that spot again.

Sanaa opened her mouth but no sound came out. Then, her head dropped back and her face…

So damn pretty.

Lips parted. Brows pinched. Skin flushed and glistening. She looked like she didn’t know whether to moan or cry.

Erik watched her, mesmerized, “Look at you…” he muttered, eyes dropping to her mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”

She bit her lip, hard. Her fingers clawed into his back. Erik pulled her away from the wall. He grunted, bounced her again, then rolled his hips so perfect her eyes damn near crossed. Sanaa pressed her lips to the curve of his neck, panting softly, her nose buried in his scent. Her body was wrung out, pussy soaked and fluttering around him, but she gave him what he wanted. 

His grip on her thighs tightened, “Yeah,” he said, rocking up into her again, slow and deliberate, “you wanted Killmonger…”

Erik fed it to her just like that. Deep strokes that made her press her forehead to his jaw, made her toes curl again in the air. Erik backed towards the bed, still holding her while deep inside, until the backs of his legs hit the edge. Then, he eased down, his arms guiding her down with him like she was something precious. He settled back against the pillows, legs spread wide, hands gripping beneath her thighs while she adjusted. 

Sanaa didn’t waste time.

She rose up into a squat, planted her feet firm on either side of his thighs, and lifted herself until just the tip of that thick dick stayed inside. Then, she dropped. The sound it made—the wetness, the weight of her ass clapping down, the deep breath Erik took through his nose—fills the room. 

Sanaa did it again and again. Her curls fell into her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck, sweat rolling down her chest as her body took over. She was on a mission now. Squatting low, bouncing on him with that juicy grip, swallowing every inch. Her thighs flexed, that ass jiggled with each drop, and her moans came out like breathy spells. 

“Mm…fuck, it’s too deep…I can’t even breathe right…you feel that? You feel that, daddy?” 

Erik didn’t answer. He leaned in, mouth hungry, and caught her nipple between his lips, sucked it, tongue circling the tip before letting it pop free. Then, he moved to the other, licking and teasing until her back arched and her pussy pulsed hard around him. 

Sanaa’s hand went to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer, grounding herself against the flood of pleasure. She didn’t wanna stop riding. She didn’t wanna stop grinding. She started rolling her hips, slow figure eights while still deep in that squat, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted around a soft moan, chest heaving. 

It was a sight.

Her curls framed her face wild and damp. Nipples hard and pointed. Mouth glossy with spit. That slim-thick body was glistening everywhere—down her neck, across her stomach, where Erik’s hands slid to grab her waist. Every bounce, every grind, made her gasp. Made her sigh. Made her shine. 

Erik breathed heavy, eyes locked on the way she moved, “Fuckin’ beautiful…”

His thighs were tight, muscles straining as he held himself back, eyes locked on the sight above him. Sanaa’s hips were working overtime, slow then fast, smooth then nasty. She was riding him like it meant something. Like she needed that dick to breathe. Her palms braced against his chest as she worked her body over his big dick, up and down, clenching him so tight he could barely think. Erik’s hands had nowhere to go but up—one locked around her waist, the other scrubbed up her stomach, over the curve of her breast, and finally up to her face. His thumb traced along her jaw before sliding to her cheek. He was stuck. Couldn’t stop looking at her. That lil’ face twisted in ecstasy, mouth open, eyes fluttering every time she sank down on him and took it all like a good girl. 

“Give it to me…” she begged, voice sugar-slick and whimpering, “Give it to me, please.”

Erik grunted low, chest heaving, lips parted like the air got caught in his throat. He could feel it rising, the rush, the heat in his spine, the clench in his gut. Her pussy was too tight. Too wet. She gripped him and made a mess on him every time she bounced. 

“I’m bein’ good,” she said through breathy moans, her ass slapping against his thighs. “I’m riding daddy’s dick good.”

He could barely hold on. His head dropped back against the pillow, jaw tight, sweat slicking the cut of his collarbones. “Fuck, lil’ mama…”

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. She wanted all of him. And she was gonna get it. Sanaa dropped her hips faster, harder, like she knew he was right on the edge. 

“Fill me up.”

Erik looked up at her like she was unreal. A fantasy he accidentally pulled out of his dreams. Her titties bouncing with every move. The roll of her hips was deadly. The wet sounds between them only made it filthier. She arched her back, leaned forward, and started grinding instead of bouncing. That roll she did with her hips? That shit broke him. 

“Unh…yes,” she panted, nails digging into his chest. “Give me that Killmonger dick.”

Erik growled, deep and guttural, reaching ip and grabbing the back of her neck, dragging her face close to his. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot, lost in her, “You gon’ make me bust up in this pussy, girl…”

“That’s what I want,” she said, breath all over his lips. “I want it. I want you to nut in this pussy. I been so good. Look how I take it. Look at me…”

Erik looked. Couldn’t not look. Her pussy was swallowing him. Gripping every inch like it was molded for him. 

Taking every inch of his daddy dick like her little pussy was made to do it. The way her body arched, the curve of her back, the wet slap of her ass meeting his lap—it was obscene, nasty, and perfect. And every time she rode down, her breasts bounced like they were cheering her on. 

She put her hands on his chest, leaned forward just enough to whisper in his ear, “Look how I ride it, Daddy,” she panted, voice low and slick, “Look how I take it in my little pussy like a big girl supposed to.”

Erik’s eyes snapped open. That shit hit him like a shot to the chest. His nostrils flared. It was the kind of reaction a man had when he was trying not to bust too soon. Erik frowned hard at her, like her words had personally disrespected him. 

Sanaa smirked, proud of herself. She swiveled her hips slow, teasing him with it, making sure he could feel every slick roll of her walls dragging over him.

“Oh yeah…mmm…” she moaned, drawing out the sound like it was syrup on her tongue. Her hands slid up his shoulders, “Such a big dick. You handsome and your thing big. So disrespectful.”

Erik’s hands flew to her ass, palms spread wide as he cupped her cheeks and started bouncing her harder. Sanaa gasped, lost her groove for a second as he took over. Her hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails pressing into his skin. Sanaa looked down at him and the way he stared up at her—eyes dark, lips parted, sweat on his temples—she knew. 

He was about to lose it.

That’s right Bri. Bury that nigga. 

“Shit,” Erik growled low, his voice breaking apart from how deep it hit. His hands dragged her down and lifted her up, over and over, using her body like it was his personal addiction. His grip got tighter, more demanding, like he needed her to keep going, to stay right there.

Their eyes locked. Sanaa’s mouth parted. She could see it in his face, all over it. That look. That edge. He was right there. Right on the fucking edge of letting go.

His chest rose quick, muscles flexing. His brows pulled in tight and his gold slugs flashed beneath clenched teeth. His hips stuttered, bucking up into her, and he let out this low, primal sound like he was trying to hold back a flood.

Sanaa was taking that dick like she owned it—slow and deep, then fast and filthy, grinding into Erik’s lap with that little arch in her back that always made him twitch. His hands were locked on her ass, pulling her down, forcing her to take all of him. His mouth hung open as he breathed through it, face twisted up like he was trying not to explode.

But Sanaa wasn’t done.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Erik grunted, trying to hold himself back, but his body was betraying him. Thighs flexing. Chest rising. That big dick of his twitching so deep inside her, begging for release.

“Whose big dick is this?” she asked, breath sweet and soft but commanding as hell, “Who’s big dick this belong to?”

He almost choked on his own spit. His grip on her ass tightened, fingers digging into the flesh like he was trying to keep her there. “It’s yours,” he rasped. “Fuck, it’s yours—”

She tilted her head.

“It’s mine? Huh, Killmonger?”

His whole body jerked. He stilled. He was about to fill her up. He wanted to. Needed to. He was locked in, ready to drown in her.

“Shit—” he breathed, jaw locked, legs tense as hell, “Take this nut, daddy’s girl—”

And that’s when she did it.

Sanaa hopped off. Quick and clean.

Erik let out a deep, wrecked growl as his big dick bounced up, angry and wet, pulsing without a home. His eyes went wide, stunned, and before he could get his bearings, it was already happening. That first thick spurt shot up and landed hot on his lower abs. Another followed, streaking his thighs. His hips bucked helplessly as more of his nut spilled out, messy and hot, painting his skin. He looked down at himself, then back up at her, brows drawn in deep like did you really just hop off my dick?

Sanaa stood at the edge of the bed like a goddess fresh off her throne. Her body glistened in the dim light, skin warm, inner thighs shiny with her own climax. She took her time picking up her T-shirt from the floor, slipping it back over her head like nothing happened. Just tits swaying soft beneath cotton. Then she stepped in front of his full-length mirror and fluffed her curls, satisfied.

Erik watched, still leaking, dick twitching on his stomach, mind blank.

Sanaa giggled to herself, caught his reflection behind her in the mirror, then turned and faced him.

“Now lay in it.”

She blew him a kiss, walked to the door, and slipped out without another word.

And Erik—naked, breathless, covered in his own nut—could only lay there. Speechless. Destroyed. Worshipping her with his eyes while she took all the power with her.

______

Erik stayed frozen. His chest heaved and his lungs burned as he fought for air. The silence that followed Sanaa’s exit was deafening, leaving him stranded in the wreckage of a ruined orgasm. He was vibrating, every muscle in his large, scarred frame coiled tight, trapped in that agonizing limbo between peak pleasure and a sudden, jarring stop. 

He looked down at himself, his gaze heavy and dark. His abs were slick, coated in a sheen of chaotic mess that consisted of her juices and the cum he’d leaked while she’d been grinding her pussy on his dick. It was a smeared, translucent map of her greed and her cruelty. Erik reached down, his thick fingers dragging through the wetness on his stomach, swirling her cream into his skin. Erik didn’t wipe it away. He smeared it, feeling the tacky mess against his keloid scars, the scent of her pussy filling his nostrils and fueling the fire in his gut. 

Erik’s mind was a loop of the last twenty minutes. He could still feel the exact pressure of her thighs gripping his waist, the way her soft curves collided with his hard muscle. He replayed every bratty, teasing thing she’d whispered in his ear, the way she’d looked down at him with that confident, challenging smirk while she rode him. Like he didn’t fold her little ass in half against the wall. She had known exactly what she was doing. Pushing him to the very edge, making him ache, making him crave the release that only she could trigger, and then simply sliding off right before the explosion. 

Erik looked at his dick. It was half-hard, a thick, vein-riven, pole that refused to fully go soft. It was twitching. Pulsing with a frustrated dance. A thick, pearly bead of cum leaked from the tip, dripping onto his thigh. It was the seed that should have been buried deep inside her. The load he had been ready to pump into her until she was overflowing. Right up against the posterior fornix. Seeing it waste away on his own skin made his jaw clench so hard his teeth groaned. 

The frustration wasn’t a clean anger. It was a dark, suffocating obsession. He felt a possessive hunger clawing at his insides, a need to reclaim the control she’d snatched away. He stared at the door she’d walked through, his eyes narrowing. The fact that she could leave him like this—wrecked, leaking—didn’t make him want to pull away. It made him want to hunt her down, pin her to the nearest surface, and fuck the bratty attitude right out of her. 

Erik touched the leaking tip of his dick, smearing the wasted cum across his thigh, breath hitching. He wasn’t just horny. He was consumed. He wanted to feel her clench around him again. To feel her shake as he finally took what was his. Leave her just as ruined as he was right now.

His mind was a storm. Racing with a volatility that usually only surface in the heat of a kill zone. He was Erik N’Jadaka Stevens. He was a mercenary nicknamed Killmonger. He was a ghost. A weapon. A man who had navigated the darkest corners of the globe as a Navy SEAL and a Black Operative. HALO jumped from war planes. Witnessed the unthinkable. Looked death in the eye and didn’t blink. He had a tally of 2,207 lives extinguished by his own hand. Each one a testament to his precision, his ruthlessness, and his absolute control over every environment he entered. 

Erik almost dismantled an entire empire, fought his way through his bloodline and walked away from it all because he was the only one strong enough to do so. He was a man who commanded respect through fear and dominance. He wasn’t someone to be played with, let alone fucked with. 

And yet, here he was.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw locked, feeling the phantom weight of Sanaa pressing into him. The sheer audacity of it burned in his chest. This little brat—this slim-thick, espresso brown, teasing woman—had just flipped the script on him. She had ridden him with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, pushing him to the absolute precipice of his sanity, and then she simply vanished. She had left him stranded in the wreckage of his own desire, lying in the ruins of a ruined orgasm. 

How? The question echoed in his head, fueling a dark possessive fire. How was it possible that Sanaa held this much power over him? He was the one with the muscle, the experience, the sheer physical presence that could crush her. He was the one who should be dictating the terms of their surrender. But in her absence, he felt the weight of her influence like a collar around his neck. She didn’t need a weapon to disarm him. She just needed to know exactly where his breaking point was and then step away from it. 

Her thighs. Thick, soft, warm…grown-woman thighs. That’s the part that hits him in the chest. She sits on the sofa with them pressed together and he can’t stop looking. She walks around the apartment in those tiny shorts and his mouth goes dry. She crosses her legs slow and he feels that twitch in his sweats every damn time. 

Her taste. Erik knew she’d be sweet. He knew it. But he didn’t expect that. That flavor. That warmth. That addictive, met-on-his-tongue sweetness that ruins men. She tastes like warm skin, slick heat, something naturally sweet, something that coats his tongue and stays there. Something he wants more of every second. He became obsessed with it. So much so that it started haunting him. He’ll be sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water, thinking about the taste between her thighs. He’ll be trying to sleep but he keeps remembering the way his mouth got messy on her. He’ll be in the shower, jaw clenched, palm on the tile, replaying the sound she made when he spread her open with his thumbs and dragged his tongue across all that wetness. Her taste is the reason he stops pretending she don’t got a hold on him. Because once he found out what that pussy tasted like…

He can’t not want it again. And again. And again. He’s calling her greedy but ain’t no way her greed matches his. Erik is hungry for that pussy. Possessive over that pussy. 

Sweetest pussy I ever had. You know I’m comin’ back for that. Don’t give that flavor to nobody else….

How tight her pussy is. When he slid in the first time? Erik damn near forgot his own name. She’s so goddamn right he gotta breathe through it. Gotta hold still. Gotta grip her hips and talk her through opening up because if he move too fast, too soon, he gon’ bust right there. That warm clench around him…the way she hugs every inch…how her pussy tries to pull him deeper…how her walls flutter when she moans…how she get tighter when she says his name. That’s why he gotta fuck her lil’ ass slow sometimes. 

The breathy moans. Oh my god. The softness…the shaky ‘mmm’ when he moves just right. The whisper of ‘Erik” when she’s tryna hold on but can’t. Erik could write whole chapters about that sound. Soft. Breathy. Pretty. Innocent but filthy underneath. The sound of a good girl losing her mind for a grown man. That’s what makes him nuts. That innocence melting. And every time she let out one of those little whimpers? He feels it in his spine. In his chest. In his dick. Her moans are what make him emotional about the sex. The thing he didn’t plan on. The part that binds him to her. That’s why he keeps coming back. Why he can’t leave it alone. Because her body talks to him. Her thighs…her taste…her tightness…her voice. And every part says the same thing.

It’s yours.

Erik’s gaze dropped back down to his lap. His dick was a thick, pulsing column again. Just the thought of her got him standing at attention again. He reached down, his massive, calloused hand wrapping around the girth. He could feel a pulse against the pad of his fingers as he pumped the veiny, rock-hard muscle. He watched the way the skin stretched over the thick veins. With every squeeze, more of that wasted seed spilled out. Thick, pearly ropes of cum leaking from the tip, coating his fingers and smearing across his palm. It was a lot of cum. A heavy load that had been built up through minutes of agonizing torture. 

Erik gripped himself tighter, a low growl vibrating in his throat. This shit should have been buried inside her. He should have pinned her legs back and sat this dick right against the bottom of her pussy, pumping every single drop of this wasted nut with a pulse of his groin until she was overflowing. Hear those pretty little whimpers as he stuffed her full. 

Instead, he was cleaning himself up. 

Erik didn’t just want her back. He wanted to reclaim the dominance she had stolen. He pumped his dick one last time, smearing the excess cum over his tip in. Rough, frustrated motion. He wasn’t just horny. He was hunting. 

The soldier in him had taken over, and Sanaa had just become the most high-priority target of his life. 

5:18 A.M.

The gym lived in a different world before sunrise. No conversations. No crowds. Just steel, rubber flooring, and the steady percussion of plates crashing against barbells. Fluorescent lights reflected off rows of mirrors while the smell of chalk and disinfectant lingered beneath the sharper bite of sweat. 

Erik preferred it this way. 

Nobody asked questions. Nobody recognized him. Nobody expecting anything except another man putting in work. 

He stood at the squat rack rolling his shoulders beneath a fitted black compression shirt that clung to every line across his chest and arms. Dark charcoal shorts stopped just above his knees, revealing powerful quadriceps crisscrossed with veins before the workout had even begun. Black crew socks disappeared into worn training shoes that had seen enough miles to mold themselves around his feet. His locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, thick ropes hanging between his shoulder blades with a few shorter pieces escaping near his temples. Sweat had begun to gather along his hairline despite the hour. 

Erik’s headphones sealed the world away. 

Mona Lisa.

Lil Wayne’s voice filled his ears. 

Erik ducked beneath the loaded barbell and settled it across his back. Four plates. The weight felt familiar. Comfortable. He stepped back, braced, then dropped. The squat was deep enough that his hips disappeared below parallel before he exploded upward again. One. Again. Two. Again. Three. Every rep clean. Every rep angry. Every rep supposed to empty his head. Instead…

Sanaa. 

The first time she says his name. Her scent after a shower. Her laugh. Her eyes rolling whenever he said something she ain’t like. The way she’d glance at him before pretending she hadn’t. Those glasses. The bow-legged walk she does with the little switch in her hips.This the same girl that used to sleep over in Aaliyah’s room? The one that would eat cereal cross-legged in the living room? The shy girl that could barely look at him? 

“Damn.” 

Erik racked the weight harder than necessary. 

She had Jim tripping. Actually tripping. 

Erik pulled one side of his headphones back long enough to catch his own breathing before shoving it into place again. His thumb pressed the volume buttons. 

Louder. Wayne. Kendrick. 

The bass vibrated against his skull. 

It didn’t matter. She was still there. 

Erik walked toward the leg press, loading plate after plate until most people would’ve needed help moving the sled. But Erik was a different breed. His knees folded toward his chest. 

Push. 

The sled climbed. 

Lower. Push. Again. Again. Again. 

His thighs burned. 

Good. 

Maybe pain would do what music couldn’t. Maybe exhaustion would finally knock her loose.

Nope. 

Because there she was again. In her oversized t-shirts she’d somehow managed to make look better than anything designed by a fashion house. With those glossy lips looking at him because she knew the effect she had. Staring at him like she wasn’t scared of him. That sas the dangerous part. Most people kept a healthy distance, but Sanaa kept getting closer. 

Erik finished the set until his legs trembled, then sat forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, breathing through his nose. 

You gotta get it together, he thought. 

Erik stood before he could think too hard about the words. 

Walking lunges came next. Heavy dumbbells. Eighty pounds in each hand. 

Step. Lower. Drive through the heel. Step. Lower. Drive. 

His forearms tightened around the knurled handles while every muscle below his waist demanded mercy. Erik welcomed it. The mirror caught him halfway across the turf. Broad shoulders. Compression shift darkened by sweat, revealing the raised scars along his torso and arms. Gold chain tucked beneath the collar. Locs swinging lightly with every stride. A man who looked completely in control. 

Only he knew better. Because everytime his mind cleared…there she was. Her voice. Her smile. The little crease beside her nose whenever she tried not to laugh. 

This don’t make no damn sense. 

Romanian deadlifts. Hamstring curls. Bulgarian split squats. Calf raises until his calves cramped beneath his own bodyweight. An hour became an hour and a half. Then two hours. His legs felt like concrete. His shirt clung to him like a second layer of skin. Sweat traced the tattooed landscape of his arms before disappearing beneath the compression fabric. 

His phone vibrated inside his gym bag as he reached for his towel. 

One notification. 

Aaliyah: Can you be our designated driver tomorrow night big bro? The girlies wanna hit these D.C streets and drinks will be in rotation so I’m tryna be responsible. Please and thank youuuuuuu ☺️ 

His heartbeat had betrayed him before he looked and realized it was his little sister. For one ridiculous second, he hoped it was her. 

Erik shook his head at himself, grabbed the phone. And laughed under his breath. 

Damn, lil’ mama. What you doin’ to me? 

Erik slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the locker room. 

Erik: Aight 🙄

______

Sanaa stirred in her bed, sheets twisted around her legs, body aching deep, thighs trembling as she moved. A whimper slipped out before she could catch it. She blinked awake, the soreness hitting her all at once. Her hips. Her ass. The tender spots between her legs that pulsed from the night before. She lifted the hem of her oversized tee with shaky fingers, marks blooming across the curve of her waist, dark little reminders pressed into her skin. She traced one with her thumb, biting her lip when the pressure made her thighs twitch again. 

Killmonger had her going stupid on the dick last night. 

Flashes of memory shown behind her closed lids. 

Her bouncing. Him picking her up in the air to drop her down in his dick. The slow grind-thrust he did that made her dizzy. How she came more than three times and still had the drive to ride him. Not once. Twice. The look of defeat in his eyes. The way he said her name all weak and pussy-drunk. How his big, strong hands gripped, pinned, caressed, and stilled her body. It was addictive fucking Erik. 

Sanaa rolled over until her feet dangled over the side of her bed. She braced herself before pushing off, knees weak. She needed to stretch. There was no was she would be going out tonight in heels and twerking if she couldn’t even stand on two feet. She walked over to her walk-in closet and grabbed her yoga mat. She got into her first position. Her elbows pressed gently against the insides of her knees, easing them apart while she rocked from side to side, loosening joints that still carried last night’s workout.

She flowed into a ninety-ninety hip stretch next, one leg folded in front of her, the other tucked behind. Her fingertips rested lightly on the mat as she leaned forward until she felt the stretch bloom through her glutes and hips. She lingered there, breathing evenly before switching sides. Cat-cows followed, her spine rolling one vertebra at a time, then slow world’s greatest stretches that opened her hip flexors, hamstrings, and thoracic spine all at once.

By the time she finished with a few kneeling ankle rocks and controlled knee-over-toe lunges, warmth had replaced stiffness. Her hips felt lighter. Her knees tracked smoothly. She rose from the mat with an easy smile, bouncing once on the balls of her feet feeling stronger than she had fifteen minutes before. 

Sanaa could almost see him. The massive, scarred warrior reduced to a shaking mess. The memory of it sent a fresh throb between her thighs.  She had ridden him. Every inch of that thick, veiny dick stretching her open, pushing her to the brink. She had felt his control slipping, heard the way his breath hitched and his voice grew ragged. Begging to fill her pussy up. And then, at the absolute peak, when he was practically sobbing for it, she had simply slid off him. 

Sanaa remembered the look of sheer, stunned betrayal on his face as she stood up, leaving him stranded. He had cum so hard just from the sudden loss of her gushy pussy, his nut erupting in thick, wasted ropes that coated his own stomach and thighs. He had been left to drown in his own cum, a ruined man, while Sanaa fluffed her hair and walked away without a backward glance. And she was glad she didn’t. Because she may have caved. 

In that moment, Sanaa had felt an intoxicating surge of power. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was the psychological victory. She was a petite woman. A slim-thick frame that he could practically snap in half if he wanted to, yet she had brought him to his knees without lifting a finger—well she did lift that pussy up and down his dick. She had made a man of his stature, a ruthless killer and a dominant force of nature crumble. It made her feel like a goddess. A true woman who knew exactly how to wield her sexuality as a weapon. The contrast—his raw, masculine aggression versus her soft, bratty rigor—had been the ultimate aphrodisiac. 

The triumph began to morph into a delectable, trembling anticipation. 

Sanaa knew Erik. She knew that a man like him didn’t just take a loss. He planned a counter-attack. By leaving him like that, she hadn’t just won a round. She had issued a challenge. She could almost feel his possessive rage simmering. The dark, hungry fire that would be waiting for her the next time they were in the same room. 

Her thoughts went from ‘that dick is the reason I keep playing with myself’ to ‘that dick is the reason I’m scared to let him fuck me’ to ‘that dick is the reason I keep letting him fuck me.’ 

A shiver ran down her spine, her pussy quivering instinctively. Sanaa was practically craving the moment he would decide he’d had enough of her games. She imagined his massive hand wrapping around her throat, pinning her down with a full weight of his muscular body, his voice a low, dangerous growl in her ear telling her exactly how he was going to punish her for her audacity. She wanted him to tame her. She wanted to feel that dominance return with a vengeance. To be stuffed full of his cum. To be gagged by his dick. A physical reminder that while she could play with fire, he was the one who owned the flame. The thought of being completely overwhelmed by him, of having her bratty confidence crushed under all that muscle, those scars, those tattoos, made her ache. 

She was just about to go and take a shower when a knock hit the door. Before she could answer, Aaliyah pushed it open and stepped inside. 

“Gurl. You still sleep? It’s almost twelve in the afternoon, sis.” 

“I could have been in here flicking my bean.” Sanaa throws back, rolling her eyes. 

Aaliyah flopped down at the foot of the bed, phone in her hand. 

“Jordan been blowing me up all morning talkin’ ‘bout he sorry. I got his ass blocked so fast he prolly still typing. I ain’t got time for that nigga and his weak-ass bars or that dusty podcast he keep pushin’. He can keep that energy over there.” 

“For how long before you end up taking him back, Liyah?” Sanaa replied with amusement. 

“I swear I’m not this time. Plus, I’m leaving for my fellowship in three days. I wanna turn up and forget his ass. Maybe I’ll run into a new man and have a little fun. Who knows.” 

Aliyah poked her tongue out. Sanaa laughed. 

“Naima coming over to stay the night. The other girlies will be here tomorrow. And I texted Erik to ask if he can be our bodyguard for the night. He said aight.” 

Sanaa had a visceral reaction to the sound of his name. She played it off with a chuckle and a shoulder shrug.

“That was sweet of him. Maybe he can have some fun instead of staying cooped up in here.” 

“Gurl, I can say the same for you.”

“What?” Sanaa looked over at Aaliyah. 

“Nothing.” 

Aaliyah stretched out, back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Sanaa pretended to scroll through her planner on her iPad, but every slight movement of her weight sent a fresh ache rolling through her pussy. She pressed her knees together under the desk, trying to breath steady. 

Aaliyah’s silence made Sanaa glance over to her best friend. She had this look on her face. Her usual chattiness halted.

“You good, Liyah?” 

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, but her voice dragged a little. She looked like she had more sitting on her tongue, something heavy, but she just sat up instead. “I gotta get ready anyway.” 

She stood, crossing the room, and reached out to squeeze Sanaa’s shoulder—hard. The way she always did when she was feeling playful. Sanaa shoved her in return. 

“Don’t be all day in here, bitch. I ordered us breakfast from that corner bakery we like. And some macha!” 

11:08 A.M. 

Washington, D.C. 

Maple syrup. Butter. And fresh matcha. 

Aaliyah had ordered breakfast from the little bakery around the corner that everyone on campus swore by. Empty brown paper bags sat folded on the kitchen island beside two half-finished iced matches, their cups beaded with condensation. Flaky crumbs from croissant breakfast sandwiches littered white napkins, evidence that neither woman had been particularly concerned with eating neatly. Sanaa leaned against the island, one hip resting against the quartz countertop while she absently stirred the last bit of ice in her drink. 

Fresh out of the shower, she looked nothing like the woman she’d become once makeup and a dress entered the equation. Her dark curls were piled into a messy bun high on her head, loose ringlets escaping around her temples and the back of her neck. Gold hoops decorated her ears. A pair of turquoise tortoise shell glasses rested low on her nose while she scrolled through her phone. She wore charcoal yoga leggings that hugged her hips down to her calves, igniting her curves, a matching sports bra, and soft cream house slippers. Her lips glistened with caramel gloss and her skin still carried that fresh-out-the-shower glow because of the shower oil she’d used. Saltwater Vanilla. Comfort looked dangerously good on her.

Across from her, Aaliyah looked equally at home. She’d pulled on an oversized Howard University T-shirt that swallowed her frame and. Pair of black biker shorts. White crew socks disappeared into fuzzy tan slippers, and her hair had been gathered into a sleek puff. Her face was completely bare except for mascara and lip balm, making her look younger than twenty-two. She took another sip of her macha and sighed dramatically. 

“I don’t even wanna get dressed.” 

Sanaa laughed without looking up. “You literally planned this.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah frowned into her cup. “Planning it and participating are two different things.” 

“You got a whole fellowship to celebrate, sis. Then, you graduate. Be happy.” 

“I know.” Aaliyah said. 

“You begged us to come.” 

“I know, bitch.” Aaliyah said.

“So…”

“I still don’t wanna put on lashes.” 

Sanaa shook her head. “You don’t wanna sit and get your lashes done. And you don’t wanna put on the strip. Lazy.” 

“I’m preserving my energy.”

Sanaa scuffed. “You sound eighty.” 

“I feel eighty.” 

A knock sounded through the apartment. Three quick raps. Before either woman could move, Erik stepped into the hallway. 

He’d already showered too, but it seems he forgot to put on a shirt. And why are his athletic shorts dangerously low on his waist like that? The locs gathered up into a messy bun? A silver cross sitting between his pecs? 

What the fuck? 

“I got it.” He said. 

He started toward the front door. Then, he looked up. 

His eyes landed on Sanaa. 

Everything inside him stalled for half a heartbeat. She wasn’t dressed up. She wasn’t even trying. She was standing there with messy hair, glasses, slippers, and gloss, lazily drinking matcha while sunlight poured across her skin. 

Cute. Comfy. Entirely too familiar. 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to notice. She looked up over the rim of her glasses. Their eyes met. The corner of her mouth threatened to lift. Just a little. 

He recovered first. 

“I’ll get the door.” 

His voice sounded perfectly normal. 

Erik turned the handle. A delivery driver stood outside holding an oversized edible arrangement. 

“Delivery for…Sanaa Carter?” 

“Yeah. Thanks homie.” 

The driver handed it over, offered a quick you’re welcome, and disappeared down the hallway. Erik nudged the door shut with his foot while balancing the arrangement in one hand. Chocolate covered strawberries. Pineapple flowers. Melon. Grapes. The whole thing sat in a decorative brown container wrapped with a bright green bow. As he walked toward the dining table, he spotted the small white envelope tucked between the fruit. 

He pulled it free. Read it. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Hm.” 

He set the arrangement down. 

Both women immediately wandered over. 

“Oooo,” Aaliyah sang. “Who got an Edible Arrangement?!” 

Sanaa laughed. “Jordan with his sympathy gift.” 

Erik looked at her. Then at the card. Then back at her. He held the card out. A slight curl of his plush top lip. 

“It’s for you, Bri.” 

Sanaa accepted it. Her brow lifted as she read it allowed.

“A sweet bouquet for a sweet girl. I hope this brightens your day, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Signed…Nathan.” 

She smiled. Just a little. “Oh.” 

Aaliyah gasped so dramatically she nearly dropped her drink. “Oooooooooooh!!!”

Sanaa rolled her eyes. “Girl.” 

“No.” Aaliyah pointed at the arrangement. “Not him sending you and Edible Arrangement, bitch!” 

Sanaa laughed. “He’s thoughtful.” 

“He tryna say you edible, sis.” 

Sanaa burst into laughter, nudging Aaliyah out of the way with her hip. “Aaliyah!”

“I’m serious! What he tryna say you taste like pineapples?” 

She leaned closer to inspect one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “Mhmmmm. You left your mark on him, Bri.” 

Wanna shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It is kinda sweet.” 

“It is sweet. Thoughtful.” Aaliyah said. 

She carefully lifted one of the pineapple flowers by the stem, admiring how it had been carved. “This is actually really pretty.” 

Across the table, Erik stared at the arrangement like it had personally offended him. There was silence. Long silence. Then…

“…Fruit look old.” 

The women turned toward him. Sanaa blinked. Aaliyah fought back a laugh. 

“What?” Sanaa said.

Erik pointed. “That grape wrinkled.” 

“It is not.” 

“It definitely is. You got glasses in you can’t see that?” 

Aaliyah squinted. “It kinda…” 

Sanaa immediately defended the fruit. “It is not wrinkled.” 

“It look tired.” Erik said. 

Aaliyah giggled, staring between them. 

Sanaa had to laugh herself. “Fruit get tired, E?” 

Erik put his hands up, biceps flexing in a way that almost broke Sanaa’s composure. 

“I’m just tellin’ you what I’m seein’.” He leaned slightly closer. “And then flowers…”

“What flowers?” 

“The pineapple.”

Sanaa looked. “They’re cute.” 

“They look like they wiltin’.” 

Aaliyah turned away laughing quietly to herself. 

“It’s carved fruit.”

“Mm.” Erik nodded once. “Cheap-ass edible plant.” 

Sanaa folded her arms. “You a haterrr.”

“I ain’t hatin’.”

“You absolutely hatin’. On fruit though? If you wanted some all you had to do was ask, E.” 

Aaliyah laughed so hard she grabbed the counter. “Oh my God.” She dabbed her eyes. “Whew! Ya’ll funny!”

Erik continued studying it with the same expression someone might reserve for a suspicious car engine. 

“I’ve seen better strawberries.”

“You are ridiculous.” 

“I’m honest.” 

Sanaa picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and held it toward him. “You want one, meany?” 

“Nah.” 

“You sure?” 

“I’m positive, B–” he caught himself. “Bri.” 

“You don’t even know if it’s good and you judging.” 

“I know enough.” 

Sanaa took a bite instead. The chocolate cracked softly. Her eyes widened. 

“Mmmm.” 

Aaliyah immediately reached for one too. She took a bite, eyes widening. “Oh, that’s good! Fruit taste fresh to me.” 

Erik watched both of them eating. Still unimpressed. 

“…chocolate doin’ all the work—”

Sanaa laughed so hard she nearly choked. “You are a professional hater.” 

“I call shit like I see it.” Erik fired back. 

“You jealous of fruit, big bro?” Aaliyah teased.

“I ain’t jealous of shit. Give me a reason to be.” 

“You sound jealous, E.” Sanaa said.

Erik looked at the arrangement one last time before shaking his head. “Hope the nigga kept the receipt.” 

With that, he turned and walked into the living room as if the conversation had exhausted him. Behind him, the girls dissolved into another fit of laughter. From the sofa, Erik could see Sanaa on her phone. She brought it to her ear, and the minute she spoke Nathan’s name Erik’s jaw ticked.

He leaned back, picked up the TV remote, and stared at the blank screen without turning it on. 

An Edible Arrangement? Out of everything that man could’ve sent…fruit. 

Erik rubbed a hand over his beard.

Ain’t even send her flowers. 

His eyes drifted toward the dining room where Sanaa was still smiling with the phone pressed to her ear while Aaliyah teased her. 

His mouth flattened. 

Cheap-ass fruit.

Another knock echoed through the apartment. Aaliyah looked up from the edible arrangement and grinned.

“That gotta be Naima.”

She hurried to the front door and pulled it open. Naima stepped inside with an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in an oversized white linen button-down over black slim-fit jeans and clean white sneakers. Her twist-out framed her face perfectly, her large almond eyes immediately finding the people gathered around the dining table.

“There she is,” Aaliyah said, wrapping her in a quick hug.

“Congratulations again, Fellowship Girl.”

“You gon’ make me cry.”

Naima smiled before making her rounds. She hugged Sanaa tightly.

“Hey, pretty.”

“Hey, Nai.”

She lifted a hand toward Erik. “Hey, Erik.”

He nodded once. “Naima.”

Her attention drifted to the centerpiece on the table.

“…Hold on.” She leaned in. “Who sent that?”

Aaliyah didn’t even give Sanaa a chance to answer. “Nathan.”

Naima’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, he trying.”

Sanaa laughed, turning the little card over in her fingers. “I told you he’s sweet.”

“Mmm.” Naima examined one of the chocolate-covered strawberries. “He definitely scored some points.”

Aaliyah sighed dramatically, the smile slipping from her face.

“Meanwhile…” She folded her arms. “I’m officially done with Jordan.”

Naima’s expression softened immediately. Without saying a word, she rubbed slow circles across Aaliyah’s back.

“I know.”

Aaliyah let out a long breath. “I’m over it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“This time I mean it.”

Naima studied her for a second before hooking an arm through hers. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“I need details.”

Aaliyah groaned. “I knew you was gon’ interrogate me.”

“Damn right.”

The two disappeared down the hallway toward Aaliyah’s bedroom, their voices fading behind a closing door. Sanaa watched them go with an amused smile before reaching for another chocolate-covered strawberry. From the living room, Erik glanced toward the edible arrangement again.

He still looked unconvinced.

______

Sanaa was sitting at the dining table, talking to Nathan on the phone. She had it on speaker, completely aware of Erik sitting in the living room. This felt like déjà vu. The last time she was talking on the phone with Nathan, she had a mouth full of Erik’s dick.

“Mhm. I wanted to tell you thank you. It was really sweet.”

“I’m glad it made it.”

“It definitely did.” Sanaa walked over and plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry from the arrangement. “Aaliyah and I have already been picking at it.”

“So it passed inspection?”

“It passed with flying colors.”

She bit into the chocolate strawberry, eyes flicking over to Erik. He sat back, legs wide and swinging, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that did the opposite of what he intended it to do. It only made her pussy wet. When will he realize that those looks don’t get the reaction he’s looking for? 

“I was hoping you’d like it.”

“I do. I really do.” Her voice softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Ya’ll going out tomorrow night right? For Aaliyah?”

Erik isn’t saying a word to her, but his eyes are locked on her, dark and tracking the way she smiles. The way she makes her voice all sweet. He grabs his phone beside him quick. 

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Erik: Come here Miss Carter. 

Sanaa glances at him, a bratty smirk playing on her lips. She doesn’t move an inch, keeping her gaze fixed forward as she responds to Nathan. Sanaa smiled to herself before taking a bite of the strawberry.

“That’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“You getting thoughtful this early.”

Nathan laughed. “I didn’t realize kindness came with a waiting period.”

“I’m just saying…now you’re setting expectations.”

“I can live with that.”

She shook her head, smiling wider.

Buzz.

Erik: I ain’t gon ask you again. Get over here.

Sanaa bites her lip, feeling the heat radiating off him. She types back quickly, her thumb flying across the screen while Nathan continues to ramble. 

Sanaa: Sorry daddy. Aaliyah and Naima. We can’t do nothing 😔 

Erik’s expression doesn’t change, but his jaw tightens. He don’t give a fuck who in the apartment. The only thought running through his mind is her disobeying him. 

Erik: I don’t give a fuck about that, Bri. If you don’t move that ass over here right now, I’m a come get you. And I won’t be gentle about it.

Sanaa shivers, her pussy giving a sudden, wet throb. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her chest, imagining those huge, calloused hands gripping her waist and tossing her over his shoulder. 

Sanaa: You so damn dramatic lol. All because he sent me fruit 😂. Mad you got competition? 

Erik lets out a low, silent huff of a laugh. He shifts his weight, the fabric of his shorts straining against the thick, heavy length of his dick. He remembers last night clearly. The way she’d taken him, the raw, desperate energy of it. The bounce of that ass. The creamy mess. Nathan ain’t got shit on him. 

Erik: Since you wanna play...tell me something. Why you ride my dick like that last night? Huh? 

Sanaa’s breath hitches. She almost forgets to answer Nathan. 

“You know,” he continued, “I remembered you saying you liked fruit more than candy, so it seemed like an easy decision.”

“You remembered that?”

“Course I did.”

“See…” she teased. “Now you showing off.”

“Nah. I just pay attention.”

Sanaa: I don’t know what you’re talking about 😇 I’m innocent. 

Erik: Stop fucking playing. You was shaking. Taking every inch of this dick like you was starving for it. You rode me until I was seeing stars, then you just...left.

Sanaa: I didn't leave. I just finished.

Erik: Finished? You left me leaking all over myself. My chest, my stomach...just a fucking mess of cum cuz you decided you was done. 

Sanaa feels a surge of power, remembering the look on his face—the ruthless soldier reduced to a shaking, overstimulated mess because of her. She types back, her voice sounding breathy as she tells Nathan, “Well…thank you. Seriously. It made my day.”

Sanaa: You liked it. you loved how much of a mess I made of you. Let’s not play pretend Killmonger. 

Erik:Thing is I ain’t gotta pretend. I loved it. Now I wanna do it back. I wanna see you dripping. 

He watches her, his eyes dropping to her legs. He knows exactly what she’s wearing—or rather, what she isn’t. Them yoga pants and got no panties underneath. 

Erik: Stand up.

Sanaa: what? Nathan is still talking 😒

Erik: Fuck that nigga. Stand up and put some shorts on. 

Sanaa looked back at Erik. The risk of Aaliyah walking in is high, but the look in Erik’s eyes tells her that if she don’t obey, he’s going to stop texting and start taking.

Sanaa: you a menace. 😩

Erik: And that pussy wet. Now move.

Sanaa slipped into her room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She took off her yoga pants and grabbed a pair of thin, grey cotton shorts. Exactly what Erik wanted. Way too small, the fabric stretched tight over her curves and designed to ride up the second she moved. She slid them on, completely bottomless underneath. Waxed pussy lips against the crotch of the shorts. They clung to her hips and barely covered the swell of her bubble booty. 

On her way out of the room, she could have sworn she’d heard a sharp intake of breath coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

Sanaa brushed it off as she walked back out into the living area, her walk nothing but bow legs and cheeks swaying, knowing exactly how the fabric was hiking up. Erik was waiting, his massive frame lounging back, but his eyes were like lasers, tracking the way her cheeks peeked out from under the hem.

On the speakerphone, Nathan’s voice was smooth, oblivious. 

“So,” he asked, “does this mean I earned another date?”

She laughed. “You asking or assuming?”

“I’m asking. Confidently.”

“You coming out tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

The moment the words “see you tonight” left Nathan’s mouth, Erik’s expression darkened. A flicker of pure, possessive rage crossed his face. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording. He didn’t like the idea of Nathan touching what belonged to him, especially not when he had her dripping and desperate right here. Wearing the shorts he told her to put on. Looking down at him like she knew who lap she was sitting in. 

Without a word, Erik reached out and gripped her hip, yanking her forward with a strength that left no room for argument. He guided her to straddle his right thigh. He was wearing loose athletic shorts, the fabric thin enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the rock-hard density of the muscle beneath. As she settled onto him, Erik ain’t waste a second. He brought both of his massive hands up, cupping the cheeks of her ass and squeezing the flesh with a bruising grip. He started to rub, his palms kneading her curves, pushing the thin fabric of her shorts deep into her crack. He was marking her, claiming every inch of her skin while another man’s voice filled the room.

"Sanaa? You still with me?" Nathan asked.

Sanaa gasped, her voice hitching. “Yeah...yeah, I–I’m here, Nathan.”

Erik leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, then his tongue darted out to flick her earlobe, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that only she could feel. “Don’t let him hear you shake, you just might hurt his feelings, baby,” he whispered, the command cutting through her.

He shifted his grip. He took one large hand and pressed it firmly against the small of her lower back, pinning her against him. With the other hand, he kept a tight, controlling grip on her hip. He didn’t just want her to move, he wanted her to work for it.

“Roll your spine,” he breathed into her ear, his voice thick with authority. “Grind it. I wanna feel every bit of that wet pussy rubbing against me. Right fuckin’ now. Before I let your little nigga know his crush gettin’ slutted out by her best friend brother.” 

Chills.

Sanaa obeyed, her body trembling. She began to arch her back, rolling her hips in a slow, circular motion. Because he was wearing shorts, there was almost no barrier. The hard, ridged muscle of his quad pressed directly into her clit and the opening of her pussy. It felt like rubbing herself against a warm, living pillar of granite. Every time she rolled her hips, the friction sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core, making her internal muscles clench violently.

Erik watched her face with a sly smirk. The one with the single dimple peeking. The one that drove Sanaa crazy. He loved the way her eyes fluttered, the way she bit her lip to keep from moaning. But even in the height of the grind, the soldier in him remained vigilant. His eyes flicked toward the hallway, scanning for any sign of Aaliyah or Naima, his instincts honed for stealth and surveillance. The risk of being caught only added to the filth of it.

“Sanaa, you sound...distracted. Everything aight?” Nathan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“I’m—I’m good. What were you saying?” 

“Nothing important, just saying shit. Hahaha…so uh…what you doin’?” 

Mm—uh, reading. Reading—uhhh, sorry the words are like bluring together right now I think I might need a nap.”

Erik quietly laughed, then whispered. “Nasty ass Edible Arrangement.” 

Sanaa’s giggle was muffled against Erik’s neck. 

“I don’t want you falling asleep on the phone, Sanaa. Get your beauty rest, baby girl.” 

Erik presses his lips to her ear. “Listen to him...talkin’ all that sweet shit. Does he know you shakin’ for me right now? Does he know how wet you are for a real man?” Erik kissed along her jaw. “Answer him, Sanaa. Tell him you’re ‘just relaxin’ While you grindin’ on my thigh...tell him how relaxed you are.”

“I’m just really relaxed right now.” Sanaa watched Erik’s hands smooth up her thighs to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through her sports bra. “Really…I…mmm.”

“Mmm? What type of relaxin’ you doin’, girl?”  Nathan chuckled. 

Erik’s hand on her back pressed harder, forcing her to grind deeper, more aggressively. He flexed his thigh muscle, the hard mass pulsing upward, driving directly into her sensitive spot. But right there. Beside his thigh. His dick that’s equal parts long and thick, pulsed and jumped. This lil’ freaky bitch get him so fired up. He flared his nostrils, eyes fixed on her with that low, hazy look, high off her body working his thigh. 

Sanaa looked down at his dick. Her breath hitched.

“Woah…Sanaa?”

“Mhm.” Sanaa buried her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Are you…I don’t wanna assume shit but uh…are you…touching yourself?” 

“Go ‘head, baby. Tell him you’re thinkin’ about him. Tell him while you feel my dick twitch against your leg...tell him he’s the only thing on your mind.”

He was really playing right now. Sanaa wasn’t about to back down. She licked her lips, her gaze locked with Erik’s while she spoke. 

 Sanaa bites her bottom lip. “You’re the only thing on my mind, Nathan…” her fingers crept down until they settled on the stiff pole sitting between his legs. He was hot to the touch. “I’m thinking about you…”

“Damn…really? And what are you doin’ that got you thinkin’ about me?” 

“You shakin’, lil’ mama. Is that for him? Or is it ‘cause you know I’m about to make you leak all over these floors the second you hang up?”

“Sanaa?” 

“Ride it for real,” Erik whispered, his breath hot against her neck. "Put your weight into it. Show me how much you want this. Who you think you is teasing me? Huh? Nah…you teasing him. Got him thinkin’ you touching yourself to thoughts of him…ttsk…such a bad girl, Sanaa…”

Sanaa let out a muffled whimper, her hips jumping in a desperate effort. She was riding his thigh like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, her pussy soaking the thin fabric of her shorts and moistening his thigh. The feeling was overwhelming. The combination of his commanding presence, the rough texture of the shorts, and the sheer power of his leg beneath her. She felt small, fragile, and completely dominated.

Sanaa tried to lean away for a second, her bratty instinct wanting to tease him, but Erik’s grip tightened, snapping her back against him. He placed both hands on her waist and repositioned her on his thigh. 

“I ain’t tell you to stop,” Erik growled softly, his voice a warning. “Keep grindin’. Every time he speaks, you move faster. You my little toy right now, and you gon’ do exactly what the fuck I say.”

“I’m thinkin’ about what I’d let you do to m–me when I see you.” Sanaa managed to stammer out to Nathan, her voice trembling.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Erik accelerated the pace, his thigh flexing upward in a punishing motion that forced her to bounce. She was jumping on his thigh now, her pussy slamming against the hard muscle with every movement. The friction was intense, bordering on too much pressure, but it was the kind of ache that made her crave him more.

She was right on the edge, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. She looked into Erik’s eyes and saw the absolute control he held over her. He wasn’t just fucking her with his leg. He was breaking her will, reminding her that no matter who she talked to or where she went, she belonged to the soldier.

Sanaa’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, bratty spark. She didn’t just want to be dominated. She wanted to push Erik until he snapped, to see that disciplined soldier persona crumble into raw, possessive rage. With a sudden, fluid movement, Sanaa lifted off his thigh and straddled his lap completely. She sat down heavy on him, her pussy pressing directly against the massive, rock-hard bulge stretching the fabric of his shorts. She leaned back slightly, her chest heaving, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice changed. It became honeyed, dripping with a fake, innocent sweetness that was designed to drive Erik insane. 

“I can’t wait to get you back to my room. I really want to see what you’re working with…see if you can handle me.” 

As the words left her lips, Sanaa began to move. She didn’t just move, she started pressing her weight down, rotating her hips so that her clit rubbed directly against the thick, veined lengths of his dick through the cloth. She was grinding her pussy over his fat bulge, seeking every inch of that hard pipe, her eyes locked onto Erik’s. 

Erik went completely still. His body became a statue of coiled muscle, his hands gripping the edges of the seat so hard his knuckles bulged like they were trying to break skin. He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes—dark, hooded, and burning—were fixed on her face. He watched her lips move, heard her offer herself to another man, all while she used his own dick as a rubbing post. The mixture of rage and arousal in Erik’s gaze was suffocating. He looked like he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into a fucked-out coma right there. 

On the other end of the line, Nathan’s voice came through, sounding warm, eager, and completely oblivious to the filth happening on the other side. 

“You killin’ me, Sanaa,” Nathan chuckled, his tone respectful but clearly aroused. “Trust me, I can handle you. I’m gonna take my time with you…make sure you’re completely taken care of. I wanna make you feel everything.”

Sanaa let out a soft, shaky moan, one that sounded like it was for Nathan, but was actually a reaction to the way Erik’s dick twitched beneath her. She increased the pace, grinding harder, her hips snapping forward to rock her pussy against the tip of his dick. She was practically begging for him to break, her eyes challenging him, daring him to drop her or take her. 

“Mmm, you sound so confident,” Sanaa whispered into the phone, her voice breaking as she felt Erik’s hardness pulse against her. “I hope you can keep that same energy when I’m under you. I’m a lot to handle, Nathan…I don’t know if you’re ready for me.” 

Nathan let out a low, breathy laugh. “Try me. I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of. I’m counting down the hours until I can get my hands on you.” 

Erik’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in his temple. He could smell that wet ass pussy leaking through her thin shorts and soaking into his own. The fact that she was using his dick to get herself off while promising herself to that little nigga was a level of disrespect that made his blood boil.

She was selling him a false story because ain’t no fucking way Nathan getting his hands on Sanaa. 

Erik’s hand suddenly shot up, his thick fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. His grip was a silent command. He pulled her head back slightly, forcing her to look down at him while she continued to grind on his bulge. His eyes told her everything: you think this a game? You think you’re in control? Just wait until I get this phone out of your hand.

“I’m gon’ fuck the memory of that nigga right out your head. You won’t even remember how to spell his name by the time I’m done wit’ you.” Erik whispered.

On the other end of the line, Nathan was completely caught in her web, his voice thick with a hunger he didn’t realize was being fueled by another man’s dick. 

“Sanaa…damn, I can practically feel you, baby,” Nathan groaned, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m literally counting down the seconds. I’m gonna make you scream my name tomorrow night.” 

Sanaa let out a shaky, breathy laugh, her hips rolling in a slow, agonizing circle over Erik’s bulge. The sheer size of him stretching the material of his shorts. She looked Erik dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of bratty defiance and raw lust. 

“Mmm, I wish I could stay on the phone, Nathan,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a fake regret that made Erik’s grip on her neck tighten. “But I gotta hang up now. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Already?” Nathan sounded genuinely bummed, his disappointment palpable. He was clearly hard as a rock on the other end, left hanging by the very woman who was currently using a soldier’s dick as a rubbing post for her kitty. “You’re killing me, Sanaa. Seriously.” He paused, his tone transitioning to something more possessive. “You owe me for this. Big time.” 

“I know I do,” Sanaa cooed, and then she clicked the phone off. 

Sanaa tossed her phone quick fast and with a renewed hunger she crushed her pussy against the thick ridge of his dick, tilting her pelvis so that her clit could get most of the friction. 

Erik’s voice came out as a low, dangerous growl, vibrating against her chest. “You a little liar, ain’t you?” He hissed. “Lying to that lil’ nigga, telling him you gin’ give him some pussy…knowing damn well you ain’t giving him a fucking drop of what belongs to me.” 

“Oh, so this pussy belongs to you now? Since when?” 

Erik brought his hand around to the front of her neck now. Sanaa gasped, her back arching as she rolled her hips, feeling the head of his dick press firmly against her clit each time she drew her hips back. The sensation was electric. 

“Tell me the truth, you fuckin’ brat,” Erik commanded, his other hand gripping her waist with a bruising force. He dug his fingers into her hip, anchoring her. “Who…” Erik rolled his hips up. “Pussy…” he did it again, his dick sliding between her pussy lips through her shorts. “Is…” when he did it again, Sanaa’s breath caught. “This…”

Sanaa bit her lip, eyes fluttering as she ground down harder, pussy clenching in a desperate need to be filled. “Yours,” she whimpered, the word barely a whisper. “It’s yours, Killmonger…”

His nervous system shifted to DEFCON without asking his permission. The sensation hit him the way a snapped tripwire hits a man who’s survived enough war to know the explosion always comes a heartbeat later. 

“That’s right,” he grunted, his voice getting nastier. “Grinding that lil’ pussy on this dick so good like that. Fuck…you ridin’ my lap like you need me to nut just like this…”

“You tryna stop me or you tryna fuck me, Mr. Killmonger?”

His dick was so hard. So hard. Erik couldn’t even remember being dry humped. But the way she was doing it…

“You talk tough but this pussy got you holdin’ your breath.” She leans in, tongue darting out to lick the side of his face, “This the part where you grip me, bend me, and fuck the brat outta me, right? You don’t gotta pull it out yet…let me tease it a little first…”

“You know what you doin’. That’s the part that fuck me up.” Erik whispered. 

Sanaa didn’t answer with words, she answered with a deep roll of her pelvis, sliding her wetness across the length of him. She could feel the way his dick jumped against her clit. 

Erik stared at her, his eyes a dark mixture of lust and genuine disbelief. “I don’t even know how the fuck you this fine.” He muttered, his voice raw. “It don’t make no fucking sense how you look this good while being this nasty.” 

Sanaa leaned in closer to his face, her lips almost brushing his, tilting her head with a slow blink and a bite of her lip. 

“I know I’m special…you remember how it sounded the first time I creamed on your dick, daddy?” 

Erik’s jaw flexed and his nostrils flared. “I laid your little ass out. That was supposed to be the only time you get this dick…” 

“If it was only supposed to be one time…why your dick tryna talk to me again?” 

Inside his own body, the pressure was building to a breaking point. Erik could feel the blood gorging his dick, making it feel oversized and tight, the skin stretched to its absolute limit. Every time she dipped her hips, pressing her weight down on him, he felt the blunt force of her pelvic bone hitting his pubic bone, a heavy thud that vibrated through his entire body. The stiffness was an ache, a demanding, throbbing need to burst through the barrier and bury himself deep in her little pussy. He felt pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating the friction, making the slide of her pussy against him feel smoother, filthier, and more urgent. 

Erik watched her face—the bratty, confident look she wore—and it only made his dick twitch harder. He could feel the pulsing of his own heartbeat in his dick, a heavy, thumping cadence that matched the pace of her grinding. The sensation of her radiating through the cloth, the way she seemed to mold herself perfectly to the curve of his dick, made him feel like he was being consumed.

“You feel that, daddy?” Sanaa whispered, her lips grazing his earlobe. “You feel how fucking wet I am for you? I want you to stretch me out again…say the word and I’ll slide this pussy on, daddy…real slow. Or you scared of it now?”

Erik’s eyes flicked toward the hall when he heard faint laughter coming from Aaliyah’s room. 

“Sanaa…you don’t want this smoke. Say one more thing, I swear to God—”

Sanaa spread her legs wider to get a deeper, more direct friction, her pussy gripping the bulge of his dick through the barrier of her shorts and his. She let out a soft, shaky moan, her eyes locking onto his with a bratty glint.

“Nathan thinks he’s getting this pussy tomorrow night,” she breathed, a cruel, sexy little smile playing on her lips. “He’s probably sitting there right now, thinking about my pussy… not knowing that it’s been stretched out by your dick. Not knowing that I’m grinding on you so hard I can feel your heart beating in your balls…” She rolled her hips in a tight circle, making sure he felt every inch of her soaking heat. She leaned back, her spine curving, her glossy lips parted as she looked down at him, her voice becoming a provocative command. “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love knowing that I’m lying to that nigga just so I can feel you inside me. You like knowing that I’d rather have this big, mean dick than anything he could ever give me, don’t you?”

Erik’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, but Sanaa didn’t flinch. She leaned back in, her voice dropping even lower, becoming a seductive poison.

“I can feel you shaking, Killmonger. You’re so fucking hard for me. Does it drive you crazy? Knowing that I’m your little slut, but right now…right now I’m the one ruining you? I’m the one making you lose your fucking mind while I just… slide…right…here.”

Erik grunts deep in his throat. She whispered against his skin, her voice thick with lust.

“You scared of gettin’ caught or you scared you’ll nut in your shorts? Don’t front, daddy. You need this more than I do.” She nipped at his earlobe, her breath erratic. “I’m such a little slut for you, aren’t I? Just a little wet, needy slut who needs her Daddy to take control and fuck the lie right out of her. Do it, Erik. Tell me how much you hate that I’m this fine. Tell me how much you want to punish me for teasing you. How much you wanna break this young pussy open—”

He couldn’t bring himself to lift her ass off his lap. He could have her on her back in seconds. Folded. Pinned. But he couldn’t move. Erik couldn’t. 

“Aw…Killmonger don’t talk now? This all that death name come with?”

Erik’s eyes were like missiles aimed at her. Dark pools of primal energy. But the way his brows pinched. The way his lips poked out. The shaky exhale. He was close. 

He stopped letting her do all the work. Erik moved, his powerful thighs flexing as he began to thrust upward, meeting her downward grinds with a punishing force. Now they were humping each other, a frantic collision of cloth and flesh. The friction was intense, the desire between them building into a fever pitch. 

Sanaa leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and erratic. She let out a muffled moan, trying to stay quiet but failing as the pressure on her clit became unbearable. 

“Oh god, daddy…that big dick feel so fucking good against me,” she whimpered into his ear, her voice a seductive poison designed to ruin him. “I’m so happy…I finally have the dick I’ve always dreamed of. I don’t want that other shit. I want this…I want your big, thick dick stretching me out until I can’t walk.”

Erik let out a guttural grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was shaking, his muscles coiled like a spring, the sheer audacity of her words pushing him to the absolute edge. He gripped her waist even tighter, lifting her slightly so he could slam his bulge upward into her pussy with a heavy, calculated impact that made her vision blur. His face contorted into a mask of pure, unfiltered need. A look Sanaa began to crave ever since she rode his dick. Those lips parted. His eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure on her face. His locs framing his jaw, giving him a rugged look. Then he sank his teeth into his lower lip. 

The friction between them is pushed them both to the edge. Their mouths locked in a filthy, wet collision, tongues tangling and fighting for dominance as they kiss like freaks, swapping saliva and breath in a frantic battle. Every slide of their bodies, every press of cloth against cloth, only heightens the agony of the barrier between them.

Sanaa breaks the kiss just a fraction, her lips still brushing against his, her breath hitching. “Please...Killmonger," she whispers, her voice a broken, needy wreck. “Make me cum. Please make my pussy cum.”

Erik answers with force. His large, calloused hands snap shut around her hips, fingers digging into her skin to still her frantic movements. He takes total control, repositioning his weight to align his thick, stiff dick perfectly against her clit. He gives one heavy, punishing grind, the sheer size of his dick pressing through the fabric and crushing into her sensitive nub. The way his biceps flexed and his thick forearms corded with veins maneuvered and controlled Sanaa’s little frame over his dick made her feel small and fragile. She had no choice but to give in, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

Sanaa lets out a muffled cry, her face buried against his neck while he palms her ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh tight and forcing her to grind down hard against him. He’s not letting her just ride the wave, he’s driving her into it. He forces her hips to rotate, ensuring every inch of his length rubs against her, the friction creating a searing heat that makes her vision blur.

“That's it, lil’ freak bitch.” Erik groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering. “I’m a drag this pussy all on my dick…give you what you need…spread your legs…nah…spread ‘em…”

As he continues to grind her into him, Erik feels the pressure building in his gut, that familiar, lethal tension that signals the end. He’s too far gone, his own pleasure spiking into something aggressive and overwhelming. He leans in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, telling her exactly what's happening.

“I’m ‘bout to bust, Sanaa. I’m right there,” he pants, his breath hot and ragged. “You makin’ me lose it. I’m ‘bout to nut all in these shorts...soak through everything just for you.” 

The verbal confirmation is the final trigger. Sanaa’s walls tighten, her pussy clenching violently as a massive, shaking orgasm rips through her. She collapses against him, her body vibrating in his lap, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she peaks.

“Damn, girl—fuuck—”

The sight and feel of her cumming sends Erik over the cliff. He erupts. The orgasm is a violent, pulsing explosion that rocks his entire frame. As the first thick jet of cum slams into the fabric of his shorts, the intensity is so sharp, so overwhelming, that he instinctively snaps his jaw shut, biting down on the meat of her shoulder to stifle the guttural roar that threatens to tear from his throat.

He holds her there, pinned and shaking, his dick twitching against her as he pumps load after load of hot, sticky cum into his shorts, the fabric becoming heavy and soaked between them. He stays buried in her neck, teeth still grazing her skin, breathing like a wounded animal while the aftershocks of the nut leave them both completely wrecked.

The friction had been relentless, a grinding war of hips and heat that left them both breathless. For a few seconds, they just breathed, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Then, with a playful, feline smirk, Sanaa slid off him. She didn’t longer, she simply stepped back, the wetness between her legs clinging to her shorts, and started walking away down the hallway. 

Erik blinked, his chest heaving and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. The sudden lack of her warm, wet pussy left him wired and agitated. 

“Where the fu k you going?” He called out, his voice commanding and laced with a hint of disbelief. 

Sanaa stopped and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and teasing, a bratty glint in her gaze. “To my room, Erik.” She answered simply, her voice a soft, provocative slur.

Erik stood and walked up on her in that hall. The tension snapped back into place instantly. 

“You got me doing risky shit. I don’t move like this.” Erik whispered, looming over her like the JSOC Ghost he is. 

“I’m a rare soul, Erik. You don’t just enter my life the same. That’s the kinda effect I have.” Sanaa cooed. 

Sanaa leaned against the wall, her gaze dropping to the front of his shorts.

“Let me see,” she whispered, her voice dripping with curiosity. 

Erik reached down, grabbing the waistband of his shorts and pulling them forward. The athletic fabric was drenched, a heavy stain of cum spreading across the inside crotch and clinging to the shape of his dick and the buzz cut of his pubic hair. Despite having just finished, he was still brick hard. A thick, veiny pipe straining against the wet fabric, twitching with a life of its own. 

Sanaa’s breath hitched. The sight of his masculine power, even in the aftermath, sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to her pussy. 

“You do things to my body I can’t even shake,” Sanaa whispered with a soft sigh. 

Erik stepped into her space, his large frame looming over her, erasing the distance. He reached down, his hand sliding firmly down the front of her loose shorts. He didn’t tease, he pressed his palm flat against her pussy, rubbing her soaked folds and teasing her clit. He withdrew his hand, fingers glistening and dripping with her cream. Without breaking eye contact, Erik brought his fingers to his lips, slowly sucking the mess off them, his tongue swirling around his fingers so filthy. 

Sanaa whimpered, her legs turning to jelly. 

Erik leaned in, crashing his lips onto hers in a kiss that tasted like her pussy. His tongue invaded her mouth with the same aggression he used in every other part of their dynamic. 

Suddenly, the sound of loud laughter at the door to Aaliyah’s room broke them apart instantly, the spell shattered by the threat of discovery. Erik’s eyes darkened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but his instincts kicked in. He stepped back, glancing toward the bathroom. 

Go in your room.” He commanded in a low, urgent whisper. 

Sanaa slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her. Erik vanished into the bathroom, leaving the hallway empty just as the door to Aaliyah’s room swung open.

______

Aaliyah’s room was a scene of girly chaos. They’d set up a makeshift hairdresser. Hair serum, edge control, moose, brushes, and Bobby pins. It also gave the cluttered energy of a college dorm. Aaliyah was draped in an oversized Howard University sweatshirt that swallows her frame, paired with tiny sleep shorts and thick, fuzzy socks that keep her toes warm. She’s sitting on the floor between Naima’s legs, watching Dream Girls on her iPad while played in the background. Naima was focused and meticulous, wearing a pair of loose pajama pants and a tight baby tee. Her fingers are nimble, weaving and Styling Aaliyah’s hair into a sleek low bun for their night out tomorrow. 

The door creaks open and Sanaa slips in, radiating a fresh, clean scent. She needed another shower after cumming all in her shorts. Her skin is glowy and damp. She’s swallowed up by an oversized Mindless Behavior T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, her wilds curls gathered and held in place by a bright, hot pink claw clip. Her turquoise tortoise shell glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and her bare feet pad softly across the floor. She drops in the center of the room, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a look of playful suspicion. 

“What ya’ll plotting in here?” She asks, her voice teasing as if she knows there’s some secret being kept. 

Aaliyah laughs, glancing back at her in the mirror. “Girl, please. Naima is just trying to make sure I don’t look like a mess tomorrow. Come sit your ass down.”

Sanaa chuckles and drops onto the edge of the bed, kicking her feet back. The three of them settle into comfortable conversation, drifting through the usual chaos of campus drama—who was seen with who at the library, which professor is failing half the class, and the latest tea from the sorority row. The vibe is relaxed. That only comes with close friends.

Suddenly, the playlist on the speaker goes from soulful to ratchet. The heavy, distorted bass of “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion kicks in, filling the room with its aggressive, explicit energy. Aaliyah doesn’t miss a beat. She starts rapping along, her voice getting louder and more confident as the lyrics get filthier. She’s leaning into it, using her hands to emphasize the lines about wet ass pussy and doing kegels while it’s inside, her energy matching the song’s unapologetic sexuality. Then a dance breaks out. And it’s nothing but ass shaking. Aaliyah on her knees popping booty while Naima stands with a brush in her hand and her tongue poked out, bending over to shake her little cheeks. 

Sanaa, seeing the opportunity for future blackmail, quietly pulls out her phone. She keeps it low, angled just right to capture Aaliyah’s passionate performance, a smirk playing on her lips as she records the whole thing.

As the song fades out, Naima looks over, noticing the phone in Sanaa's hand. “Wait, did you get that? Let me see!”

Sanaa, still riding the high of the song and not thinking twice, hands it over to Naima. Naima starts scrolling through the camera roll to find the video, but her thumb freezes. Her eyes widen, and she stops dead in her tracks. She ain’t looking at a video of Aaliyah rapping. 

On the screen is a crystal-clear, explicit video of Sanaa on her knees, her eyes staring up into the camera as she greedily sucks a thick, hard dick, her cheeks hollowing as she takes as much of the shaft as she can handle. Then there’s the voice of the man that carries all that dick coaching her in the back. 

Naima’s jaw drops, and she snaps her head up to look at Sanaa, her voice exploding in a mix of shock and hilarity.

“BITCH!” Naima screams, holding the phone up like a piece of evidence. “You got a video of you sucking dick in your phone?! You nasty bitch!”

 “WAP” suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Naima is frozen, her eyes glued to the screen of Sanaa’s phone. On the display, the image is raw and unmistakable. Sanaa, her head tilted back, her eyes blinking in a trance of pure pleasure, her mouth stretched wide as she greedily takes a massive, vein-riven dick into her throat. The video captures the wet, sucking sound of her lips gliding over a spit-covered dick and the way her cheeks hollow out as she sucks the thick beast. 

Sanaa’s heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped bird. A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through her veins, turning her blood to ice. For a split second, she forgets where she is, her mind flashing back to the way Erik stretched her mouth for the first time. The panic hits her instantly—a visceral, choking wave. If Aaliyah sees this, it’s not just about the act; it’s about who it is. 

Sanaa lunges. It’s a blur of motion, the oversized Mindless Behavior shirt fluttering around her thighs as she dives across the bed. Her fingers scramble, clawing at Naima’s grip, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. 

“Give it back! Naima, give me my damn phone!” Sanaa hisses, her voice strained and bordering on a plea. She isn’t playing anymore; the playful suspicion from earlier is replaced by a genuine, wide-eyed terror. She can’t let Aaliyah see.  

Naima, caught up in the shock and the thrill of the find, holds the phone just out of reach, gawking at the screen one last time. She’s mesmerized by the filth of it, the raw sexuality of her friend being completely undone by a man’s dick. 

But Sanaa is faster. With a desperate swipe, she manages to snatch the device from Naima’s hand, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline. She pulls back, her chest heaving, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose.

Aaliyah is sitting still on the floor, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seen the video, but she saw the reaction. She saw the panic in Sanaa’s eyes. A look that didn’t match the confidence Sanaa usually wore like armor. Aaliyah slowly turns her head, her gaze locking onto Sanaa.

“So…” Aaliyah starts, her voice low and calculating. “Nathan was over here then?”

There is a suspicion in Aaliyah’s eyes, a silent realization that there is a side to Sanaa’s life that is far more secretive and intense than a fintech worker from Bowie could ever provide. Sanaa doesn’t respond. She can’t. Her throat feels tight, her mind racing. She just stands there, the phone still pressed against her heart, the secret of Erik Killmonger burning a hole through the screen.

Naima, sensing the tension shifting from hilarity to something more serious, rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively. She leans back, trying to break the spell.

“Girl, please,”Naima says, glancing at Aaliyah. “It’s just a little dick sucking. Since when did we become the morality police? How many times have we exchanged photos asking if our nudes were sexy enough to send? We all get it in. Sanaa just happened to record the evidence.”

Naima laughs, trying to bring the vibe back to the casual, sisterly bond they shared minutes ago. Sanaa slowly exhales, but she doesn’t let go of the phone. 

Aaliyah giggles, the tension from a moment ago dissolving back into the easy, chaotic energy. She shakes her head, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she watches Sanaa clutch the device. “You hanging on to that phone for dear life, girl,” Aaliyah jokes, her voice light but still carrying a hint of curiosity. “Is Nathan’s dick that big, sis?”

Naima bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unfiltered, and Aaliyah joins in, the two of them sharing a moment of sisterly mockery. 

Sanaa feels the adrenaline finally begin to recede, though her heart is still drumming a frantic beat against her ribs. She knows she’s walked a razor's edge, but she’s a master of the pivot. She lets out a forced but convincing laugh, leaning back and finally loosening her grip on the phone, though she keeps it firmly tucked away.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sanaa quips, her voice regaining that bratty, confident edge.

Aaliyah’s eyes widen, her jaw nearly dropping. “SINCE WHEN?” she exclaims, leaning forward. “Since when did you become the vault? Give us the tea!”

Naima, ever the instigator and still buzzing from the visual she just witnessed on the screen, clears her throat loudly. She looks at Aaliyah with a look of pure revelation. “Well, if you must know, Liyah...the dick Sanaa was sucking is fucking HUGE—”

“Girl, hush!” Sanaa cuts her off sharply, her voice a mix of a laugh and a command. She can’t let Naima describe the sheer, vein-riven scale of Erik’s dick to his sister! No. No, no, no, no way. Quick as a flash, Sanaa scans the room for a distraction, her eyes landing on the nightstand. A mischievous glint enters her eyes as she spots a familiar shape and the crisp, fresh look of the bedding.

“Can we change the subject?” Sanaa asks, her tone shifting to one of playful accusation. “Like, why is your rose vibrator just sitting out in the open? And why the hell do I see brand new bed sheets?”

The room goes dead silent. The laughter vanishes instantly, replaced by a heavy, awkward stillness. Naima and Aaliyah freeze, exchanging a wide-eyed, look that speaks volumes. They don’t say a word, their silence acting as a loud, vibrating confession.

Sanaa looks between the two of them, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She lets out a loud, knowing laugh, leaning in with a smirk. “It’s no secret y’all been bumping coochies—”

“SHUT UP, BRI!” Naima and Aaliyah scream in perfect unison, their faces flushing a deep shade of red.

The absurdity of the moment breaks the dam, and all three girls collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter, the secret of the video momentarily buried under the weight of the new, scandalous revelation. Sanaa laughs the hardest, feeling the thrill of the diversion, though in the back of her mind, she can still feel the ghost of Erik’s dominance, knowing that while she’s laughing with her friends, she belongs to a man who would ruin her for even thinking about sharing him.

The thoughts that ran through her mind…

“Just let him hit it once…just once…” “I bet he’d talk me through it…say all that nasty shit while I cum on him…” “He probably strokes slow, deep…makes you say thank you when he nut…” “That dick would make me cry…and I’d say thank you for it.” “Please, Erik…please fuck me…”

To actually live in that reality now was an understatement. 

The only thing missing…is “I wonder if he can make me squirt?” 

The sound of footsteps through the hallway immediately made Sanaa’s pulse spike.

Erik stepped into the doorway, filling the frame with his massive presence. He looked effortless but lethal, dressed in a matching grey hoodie and sweats that left the hard, expansive lines of his muscles to your imagination. His locs were tucked neatly beneath the hood, framing a face that looked tired but remained intensely focused. A black duffle bag was slung carelessly over one shoulder, his weight shifted onto one leg, sporting a fresh pair of Jordans.

“Ya’ll eat yet?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in Sanaa's chest. “Cuz I was thinkin’ ‘bout orderin’ in.”

“Yes! We got food already. Some pizza.” Aaliyah said. 

“I just ate that leftover chicken and rice we made earlier in the week.” Sanaa replied. 

“Bet,” Erik’s eyes scanned the room. “You don’t clean up in here at all, do you?” 

Sanaa was frozen, her turquoise glasses sliding slightly down her nose as her eyes dragged over him with hunger. She traced the breadth of his shoulders, the way the grey fabric stretched across his chest, and the sheer size of him compared to the room. She felt a familiar, hot ache bloom between her thighs, her pussy clenching just at the sight of him.

Naima, always the curious one, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the glimpses of rugged skin peeking from his collar. “Erik, what do those scars actually mean? Like, where’d they come from?”

Aaliyah let out a short, knowing laugh, leaning back against her pillows. “Don't bother, Nai. He won’t tell you. He’s too mysterious for his own good.”

Erik’s lips quirked into a sharp, knowing smirk. He didn’t even look at Naima, his gaze was locked onto Sanaa, pinning her in place. “What she said,” he spoke, his voice dripping with a playful, dangerous confidence.

He turned to leave, but he didn’t just walk away. He began backing down the hall, keeping his eyes locked on Sanaa’s. The moment he was far enough that the other girls weren’t focused on him, the energy changed from familial to filthy. 

Erik slowed his pace, his expression darkening. He slowly flicked his tongue over his top lip, a wet motion that told Sanaa exactly what he wanted to do to her. Then, with a slow, calculated movement, he reached down and gripped the hem of his grey hoodie.

He lifted the fabric, pulling it up high enough to reveal the sculpted, rock-hard terrain of his stomach and the deep, V-taper of his hips. The sight of his scarred skin and the power of his core made Sanaa gasp silently. Tucked firmly into the waistband of his sweats was the matte black grip of a pistol, the weapon adding a raw, dangerous edge to his sexuality that sent a shiver of pure arousal straight to her clit.

He held the pose for a heartbeat, letting her soak in the image of his strength and his lethality, before letting the hoodie drop. As he reached the corner of the hall, he didn't say a word. He simply mouthed two words, his eyes burning into hers:

“C’mere.”

Sanaa felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to bolt from the room, to throw herself onto him and feel that heavy weight pinning her down, but she was trapped between Naima and Aaliyah. 

Trembling, she grabbed her phone and shot him a quick text. 

Sanaa: why you always doing this to me 😩

A second later, she saw him stop. Erik looked at his phone, then looked back at her. He let out a sharp “tsk,” kissing his teeth in a gesture of pure, exaggerated annoyance. He gave her a look—one part disappointed daddy, one part ruthless conqueror—that was so intensely focused on her defiance that it almost made her laugh out loud.

Her phone buzzes.

Erik: Don’t think I ain’t see you come out that shower earlier without a bra. You do that shit on purpose, huh?

She bites her lip.

Sanaa: I’m cold. Maybe you should come warm me up.

Erik: I’d fuck the warmth back into you right now. Two fingers in while I suck on that pretty mouth. You’d try to keep quiet, wouldn’t you?

She exhales slow, adjusts her position.

Sanaa: Wouldn’t last a minute. I get loud for you. You know that.

Erik: That pussy get loud too. Keep talking and I’m a take my phone to the bathroom and beat this dick thinking about how you creamed on me earlier.

Her thighs press together. Her phone buzzes again.

Erik: You dripping right now? Tell me the truth.

Sanaa: Ruined my panties twenty minutes ago. Wanna see?

He shifts in the hallway. Back against the wall. Adjusts his joggers. Keeps a straight face. He didn’t argue. He just gave her one last, lingering look that promised a very heavy price for her disobedience before he disappeared into her room, leaving Sanaa drenched and anxious for the retaliation she knew was coming.

Sanaa lingered in Aaliyah’s room for a while longer. Every time she glanced down the hall, she could still feel the ghost of Erik’s gaze on her, the mental image of that matte black pistol against his skin and the way he’d flicked his tongue over his lip burned into her mind. Her pussy was throbbing, a heavy, insistent ache that made it hard to focus on whatever Naima was saying.

Eventually, the heat became too much to ignore. With a playful excuse about needing to wind down, Sanaa finally slid out of the room. As she walked down the hall, she passed the spot where Erik had stood, imagining the scent of him still clinging to the walls. Oud, clove, and something woodsy. Expensive and dark. He doesn’t spray it heavy but it lingers. On pillows. On shirts. 

Once inside her own room, she shut the door and leaned against it for a second, letting out a shaky breath. She stripped off her T-shirt  with hurried movements, her skin tingling. She slid into her bed, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth of her body. She pulled on her silk bonnet, tucking her curls away, and sprawled out across the mattress.

She lay there in the silence, staring up at the ceiling, her mind racing. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his dominance, the way he’d mouthed “C’mere” with that look of absolute ownership. She rolled her hips, rubbing her thighs together, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to her clit. She was trapped in a state of agonizing anticipation, knowing that Erik was just a few walls away, likely thinking about exactly how he was going to punish her for saying I can’t.

There was a distinct click of a door closing. It was Aaliyah’s door. 

Sanaa froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The sound signaled that the coast was clear. The barrier between her and Erik had just vanished, and the sudden silence of the apartment felt like a countdown. 

Buzz buzz

Erik: You in your room?

She didn’t reply. Just smirked. Another buzz.

Erik: I’ma slide over

Then a soft knock. Real soft. 

Sanaa tiptoed to the door and cracked it, whispering, “Aaliyah still awake.”

“I know,” Erik said, already stepping in.

He didn’t push the door open hard, just eased through it like a shadow, shutting it with barely a click. The room was dark, save for the TV glow across her bed.

“Why you lookin’ like that?” he asked, eyes dragging over her titties and the peaks of her nipples. Then lower, to those cheeky, red panties that didn’t even pretend to cover her ass.

Sanaa curled her lip. “Like what?”

“Like you wanted me to see all that.”

She walked backward to the bed, slow. “Where you been at with a gun?” she teased.

He followed. “Out.”

“Why you can’t tell me?” Sanaa said with a pout. 

Erik exhaled, “Gun range. This…hidden spot I go to when I’m in town to get a few rounds in.” 

Sanaa smirks. “Can you take me next time?” 

Erik gives her a stern look. “No.” 

Sanaa rolls her eyes. “I been here thinking about how you made me cum in my shorts earlier.” 

“I see that,” he whispered, eyes dropping to her thighs. “You take that big ass T-shirt off ‘cause you knew I was coming over.”

She smirked, pulled one leg onto the bed. “So?”

Erik  just stared at her for a long moment. Then he crossed the room and leaned over her, both palms pressing into the mattress, caging her in. That scent hit her—cologne, leather, and a little sweat. His lips brushed hers. Then deeper. Tongue and spit. His kiss stole the air right out her lungs. A kiss that tasted like he missed her even if he just saw her minutes ago.

Erik pulled back just enough to whisper, “I came to taste somethin’ sweeter than attitude.”

Sanaa bit her lip, thighs squeezing together out of reflex.

“Get up,” he said low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

“Sit on the edge. Bring them knees up.”

The tone in his voice? Left no room for play.

Sanaa did what he said, backing up and sitting on the edge of her bed. She brought her feet up beside her, knees wide open. Those panties pulled tight, then gave way, pussy peeking through and sitting fat.

Erik sucked in a breath. “Damn, mama…”

He dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs spreading her open like he’d done it a hundred times. He curled his fingers into the side of her panties and pulled them to the side. Her pussy lips slipped out with a jiggle. The amount of wet slick that clung to her fat lips and the crotch of her panties? 

Erik didn’t waste a fucking second. 

Sanaa gasped the second his mouth met her. Tongue warm. Wet. Slipping between those folds like he knew exactly where she needed it. Those lips?! 

Oh my Goddddddddddddd

“Oh—shit. Erik…” she whispered, hands gripping her sheets.

He groaned against her, licking deep, slow. Then fast. Then back slow again. That slurp and the smack of his lips filled the room, nasty beneath the TV noise. His hands hooked behind her thighs, holding them wide as he buried his mouth in her. Sucked on her clit until her whole body bucked.

“You hear me?” he growled against her pussy, lips wet with her. “Don’t make a fuckin’ sound.”

Her hand flew up, covering her mouth. She was shaking. Moaning behind her palm. Eyes rolling. Erik was sucking on her pussy like a hungry fucking beast. Sanaa didn’t know what felt so different this time around. But the sucking and licking had her feeling like she was gonna burst. Her stomach fluttered. 

But then it hit.

A tightness that started at the base of her spine. Crawled through her belly. Her thighs trembled.

“Erik—baby—wait—wait.”

“Nope,” he grunted, licking harder, faster. Sucking. 

She tried to close her legs. He shoved them back open.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, voice deep and ragged. “Let it go.”

Her stomach seized. Eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth opened in a silent cry behind her fingers as it happened. 

A rush. Warm and wet. A sudden gush that poured out of her, all over his mouth. Her thighs. The edge of the bed.

“Oh my God—” she gasped, embarrassed, stunned.

Erik didn’t stop. He licked her through it, eyes locked on her, tongue curling and dragging and sucking up everything she gave him. He loved that shit. Loved how she fell apart.

Loved how she tried to hold it in.

Sanaa was shaking when he finally slowed down, licking her clean with long, slow strokes. Her panties were ruined. Her bonnet was crooked. Her chest was heaving.

He kissed up the inside of her thigh and looked up, smirking. “Next time, don’t wait up for me,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just lay here and get ready.”

Her eyes were glassy. Her legs still open.

“And Sanaa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You taste even better when you squirt.”

Erik left her sitting on the edge of the bed stunned.

1:35 A.M.

She couldn’t sleep.

The sheets were still damp at the edge. Her thighs sticky. Her pussy pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own. Every time she moved, she felt the aftershock of its that warm gush, that thick wet mess Erik pulled out of her like it was nothing. Like her body had always been capable of that, but nobody ever took the time to find it. Nobody ever made her feel that good. That open. Now? She wanted it again. Her pussy ached for it. Throbbed hot and twitching like it remembered his tongue and missed it bad. She pressed her hand between her legs, trying to soothe it, but it wasn’t the same. Her fingers weren’t wide enough, strong enough, dirty enough. Her mouth went dry thinking about how Erik looked after. Wet beard, greedy tongue, hands keeping her wide like she belonged to him.

Sanaa bit her lip and grabbed her phone.

Sanaa: You up?

She barely had time to blink before her door eased open.

Erik stepped in shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Heavy-shouldered. Locs loose and swinging with the motion of his body. 

“You text me like that,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “You already know what I’m comin’ in here for.”

She pulled the covers back, heart in her throat. Fresh pair of panties on but still no T-shirt. 

“I been thinkin’ about it,” she admitted, cheeks warm. “What you did to me.”

His eyes dropped between her legs. “You want it again.”

She nodded.

He stepped close, leaned down, lips grazing hers without kissing. “You gon’ stop runnin’ from it this time?”

“I ain’t run.”

He smirked, dimple peeking. “You tried.”

And before she could sass him again, he was pulling her new panties off—slick with fresh arousal—and crawling onto the bed like a man starved. She didn’t even have time to get nervous. To prepare for that feeling as if a pipe was set to burst behind her navel. He laid her flat, bent her knees, and pulled her thighs apart like pages in a book he already knew how to read. Then he started like he never stopped. 

Again.

Tongue warm. Mouth wide. Slurping. Sucking. Spelling his damn name in cursive across her pussy. Sanaa gasped, back arching, fingers smoothing down his keloid-laden arms, eyes focused on the top of his head. His cross chain was cold and tickling her ass from how low he was between her legs. 

Her pussy was soaked. Dripping. He loved that. Erik fucking loved it. 

“Yeah,” he groaned, lapping her up. “You already close, huh?”

She whined. “Erik, please—”

“You don’t need to beg,” he said, voice thick and sweet between licks. “Just don’t run from it this time.”

She tried to breathe. She tried to brace. But the pressure built faster now. Her body recognized it. Started chasing it before she even meant to.

“Ohmygod—Erik—I’m—wait—wait—”

He didn’t wait.

He locked his arms under her thighs, anchored her to his face and ate her like a goddamn meal. His mouth sealed around her clit and sucked. The way he sucked, it felt like he was drawing the liquid from her through a straw.

H-H-How is he d-d-doing that?

That was it.

Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled. And then—

Splash.

Another rush.

Thicker this time. Wetter. Her thighs shook hard as the gush poured out of her, soaking his face, the sheets, everything. She gasped, stunned. Whimpering. But Erik didn’t come up for air. He licked through it, drank it, then started again. And when he started again, he sank two thick fingers in her pussy and curled his finger tips upward. 

Squelchsquelchsquelchsquelch—

Sanaa tried to squirm.

“Stay still.”

“Erik—it’s too much—”

“You gon’ take it ‘til your body stop bein’ scared of how good this feel.”

And he kept going.

She whimpered—biting her pillow this time—pussy throbbing like it was addicted now. That orgasm came quicker, stronger. Another messy release that made her whimper and twitch.

He made her do it.

Again.

And again.

By the time he finally pulled back, Sanaa was breathless. Legs trembling. Sheets drenched. Her mouth open but no words coming out.

Erik kissed her thigh. Smirked. “You mine,” he said, voice hoarse, chin hair and mustache soaked. “Ain’t nobody ever gonna eat this pussy like I do. Especially not that lil’ nigga.” 

She nodded slow, dazed.

And in the back of her mind, she already knew. She’d be texting him tomorrow night.

And the night after that.

Because now she needed it.

That tongue. That grip. That splash.

Erik had turned her out.

Turned her into a squirter.

With nothing but his mouth.

The speaker thumped against the cluttered dresser, vibrations through every inch of Aaliyah’s room. Loose clothes were everywhere. A carry-on half-zipped. Shoes tossed across the rug. Outfits draped over the desk chair and mirror. It was chaos but a cute, girly chaos. Sanaa was behind her, hands working fast, fingers gathering Aaliyah’s curls into a soft, high updo. She left a few spirals loose to kiss the sides of her face and neck, swooping the edges into delicate baby hairs with her pinky and a bit of edge control.

Baby we tried to fight it…we all been there some days…thought i needed something else and acted like I was okay…we just had to work it out…and baby, I needed space…ain’t nobody ‘round here on your level you’re so far away…

Aaliyah hit the high notes like she meant ‘em, holding her phone like a mic, eyes closed. Sanaa laughed behind her, doing backup vocals while pinning the last piece into place.

“Girl, you not gon’ be able to sing once you out with Jordan tonight,” Sanaa teased, “He gon’ have you losing your breath.”

“Please.” Aaliyah smiled but tried to play it cool, “He better act like he got some sense tonight. Or I’ll just Uber home and call it a day.”

Sanaa raised her brows in the mirror, “And have Erik spazz out?” 

“Exactly why I need to look good,” Aaliyah said, twirling a curl around her finger, “If I’m gonna have to fight for my date, I wanna at least be fine doin’ it.”

“You so STUPID!” 

The girls laughed again as Sanaa fluffed the final piece into place. The style was soft, romantic, and full of volume, her curls pinned up just right, with a few framing tendrils that made her look ethereal.

“You cute as hell,” Sanaa said, stepping back to admire her work, “Like…damn near ethereal. Floatin’.”

“Okay, floatin’!” Aaliyah grinned, turning her head side to side in the mirror, “All I need is that lil’ lip tint—what’s the name of it? The peach one.”

Sanaa nodded, already walking toward the door, “Yeah, hold on. It’s in my room—I’ll grab it.”

The music kept playing. Aaliyah kept dancing in the mirror. Sanaa opened the door and stepped into the hallway, her body still buzzing from the energy in the room, hair swaying across her upper back like a mane’s tail, jeans riding low on her slim waist. That shirt of hers hugged her torso just right, rising a little too high when she moved.

She was humming the lyrics under her breath.

Like you…like you…like you, ooh…

Not knowing that just a few steps down the hall…Erik was about to stop fighting it. And he was about to show her exactly what he meant when he said she was a problem.

Sanaa didn’t mean to take her time, but she did.

She bent over when she reached for that tiny-ass lip tint, back dimples popping out. Erik was nowhere in sight. She assumed he was still in his room, probably back on that game again or scrolling through something that didn’t include her. But it didn’t stop her from glancing toward his cracked door as she passed. Didn’t stop her from swinging her hips just a little harder, letting that tantalizing denim ride low. She grabbed the tint, popped the cap, and started to slick it on in the hall. Thought maybe she’d linger long enough to catch his shadow in the doorway. But nothing.

Not until her phone buzzed.

She glanced down.

A text from Erik.

Then the photo dropped in.

Her heart stuttered. Fingers froze. Lips parted mid-swipe. The pic loaded slow, and it wasn’t because of Wi-Fi, it was because the universe knew what it was doing. Knew how to make her squirm. He was laid back on his bed. Dark sheets beneath him. His thick, muscular thighs stretched out, sweatpants loose but not loose enough. The fabric clung like it knew it had a job—to hug that dick and show out. And baby…it showed out.

Sanaa’s breath caught.

That print was aggressive. Damn near 3D. The outline of him long and thick, stretching down the left side, pushing heavy through the fabric like it was trying to make contact. You could see the whole thing, even the way the tip curved a little along his thigh. A thick, high rise of flesh full and unmistakably real. That kind of print that made your mouth water and your knees forget how to function.

And he knew what he was doing.

Because the waistband was tugged down just low enough to show the trail of hair leading there. That little line that had her thighs pressing together every damn time he walked around shirtless.

The next text slid in.

Erik: You sure you can handle this dick, slut?

No emoji. No cute follow-up. Just that. Straight to the point.

Sanaa blinked. Felt heat crawl up her chest. Her thighs clenched and her pussy pulsed, fast and hot like it was answering for her before her brain could catch up.

Another text.

Erik: I know you think you grown…but you keep testing me. You want daddy to stretch that lil pussy out, huh?

She swallowed hard. Backed into the wall. Still staring at the screen like it was hypnotic. Like the print itself had a grip on her. 

Then he sent another. This one a close-up. A zoomed crop of just the bulge. You could see the ridge of the head now. Thick and proud, fighting through the fabric like it needed air. She could imagine exactly what it would feel like, dragging over her lips. The weight of it. The warmth. The way his dick would hit her deep, then deeper, making her gasp before she even realized he was all the way in. She squeezed her thighs again. Pressed the gloss tube against her lips just to keep from letting out a sound. Biting the end of it to muffle a faint whimper.

Another text.

Erik: You gon’ let me fuck that attitude off your face? Or you still wanna play?

She didn’t type back. Sanaa didn’t trust herself. Her fingers hovered. She thought about sending a cute reply. A selfie. A smart-ass remark.

But she couldn’t stop staring.

Another ping.

Erik: Slide them jeans off. Right now. Take a pic of them panties you tryna keep dry. I know you wet.

Another beat.

Erik: Matter fact…pull em to the side. Let me see what I’m finna ruin.

Sanaa’s whole body prickled. The heat between her legs surged so fast it scared her. Her panties already damp, already clinging. And he knew it would be. And she knew if she took them off, that wetness would leave a trail down her thighs. Her hand shook as she reached for her waistband. Phone still in the other. Her reflection in the mirror looked flustered, guilty, wrecked. And all she’d done was read his texts. All she’d done was look at the print of that dick.

Erik sent one more.

Erik: You takin too long, Bri. Want me to come do it for you?

She hesitated. Not long but it was long enough to decide she was gonna be bad about it. Sanaa stood there in the hallway, one hip leaned against the wall, phone in her hand like it weighed too much. Her other hand dipped slow, smooth, hooking into the waist of her jeans and easing them down over her hips. Not all the way. Just enough. She let the denim bunch at the top of her thighs, soft curves spilling above the waistband, brown skin glowing under the hallway light. Her panties were black, thin, silky, clinging to her fat pussy like they knew how good she looked. The outline was obscene. The damp spot even worse. That pretty little pussy soaked, lips full and pressed up tight behind the fabric, looking like it was begging for attention.

But she didn’t pull ‘em to the side or spread shit. Didn’t give him what he wanted like he commanded. She snapped the pic like that. Jeans mid-thigh. Panties stretched tight. A flash of her hand at her stomach, holding the phone down at an angle that showed everything but what he was asking for.

Still teasing and playing. And that was the point. The point was to drive him crazy to this very moment.

And she succeeded.

She hit send, pulled her jeans back up with a cute little shimmy of her hips, let them hug her again like nothing happened, and walked her ass back into Aaliyah’s room. The door creaked open and Aaliyah was in the bathroom, face close to the mirror, blending out her contour like she was late for a photo shoot. She had her robe tied loose, lashes half-on, and was already rambling like her best friend wasn’t spiraling inside.

“Ugh, I shoulda told Jordan ten minutes later,” she complained, “He always pullin up early like I don’t need a full beat.”

Sanaa gave a tight smile, “You look fine.”

Aaliyah scoffed, “Bitch, duh. But I wanna look good. Like, ‘can I suck your dick in the car before we get there’ good.”

Sanaa let out a short breath through her nose, pacing slowly toward the edge of the bed. She sat down, careful, like if she moved too fast, her body might give her away. Because she was nervous now. Heart tapping faster. Mouth dry. Stomach aching in that weird, fluttery way, like something was lowkey crawling behind her navel. Because Jordan pulling up meant Aaliyah would be leaving. And if Aaliyah left…she’d be alone in the apartment.

With him.

With Erik.

With that dick print still burned into her screen.

With that last text still hanging in the air.

Her phone vibrated again. She snatched it quick, face tilted away from the bathroom, thumb opening the thread before she could change her mind.

Erik: That lil’ drip don’t scare me, Bri.

Erik: Shit look perfect. Fat ass pussy lookin like it need to be ate through the fabric.

Sanaa felt her breath catch. Spine straightening. Another one came through right after.

Erik: You got all that pussy sittin up pretty and you still playin like I won’t put you on ya back and feed. I’ma lick it till you cry, slut. Then fuck you so deep you forget your name.

Her legs crossed tight. She folded over just a little, pretending to reach for something in her bag. In truth, she just needed to breathe. She could feel the heat rising again, thick between her thighs. Her panties clinging worse than before. Every word from him sent sparks through her chest, straight down her belly.

She whimpered under her breath low and weak.

Aaliyah’s voice floated from the bathroom, still talking shit about Jordan’s playlist and how he always played the same Gunna song on repeat. Sanaa barely heard her. She was staring at her screen like it had her under a spell. Her lips parted, breathing shaky, one hand pressed flat against her stomach like she could hold it all in. But she couldn’t. She wanted him bad. Bad enough her whole body was pulsing for it.

Sanaa felt her phone buzz again.

Another text.

She knew it was him before she even looked. Her hands were already shaking. The ache between her legs had gone from something faint to something deep. Her whole body felt wired, charged, too aware of the man just a few steps away behind that bedroom door. Erik wasn’t teasing anymore. He was taunting now. And she was the one who started it. She sat on the edge of the bed while Aaliyah kept rambling from the bathroom about lashes and lip combos. Sanaa barely heard a word. All she could focus on was the little text bubbles on her screen.

Incoming video from Erik. She tapped it. And baby…that shit opened like a floodgate. 

Erik was in his room, lights low. The TV in the background still glowing, 2K music faint under it, but all the attention was on him. He stood in front of his full-length mirror, one hand holding the phone low, filming himself from the perfect angle. His tank was lifted halfway up with his other hand, exposing his hard stomach, deep-cut abs flexed, muscles twitching every time he moved. Locs hanging in his face, jaw tight like he was trying not to say what he was really thinking.

Then he gripped it.

Right through the fabric of his grey joggers, his hand wrapped around that thick ass dick print like it belonged on display. He tugged at the base, squeezing through the material, and it only made that dick print bolder. It rose up heavy. You could see the whole length, thick from the root, wide and long, curving slightly as it swelled against the soft cotton. The shape of it clear as day. That dick that made you question if you were even built for it. The kind that pushed back. That moved when he touched it. It jumped once in his pants when he flexed, and she gasped. Couldn’t stop herself. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes low in the mirror. Then he looked into the camera, and that’s when it hit her in the chest.

That stare.

Dark. Primal.

He could see right through her. He said nothing in the video because that look said it all. That look said: You wanna play, baby girl? Bet. He kept rubbing that dick through his pants, slow strokes that showed just how long and heavy he was. The camera dipped a little lower to catch the way the fabric stretched tight over the tip, swollen and pulsing like it was trying to punch through.

And then the video ended. Just like that.

Sanaa was trembling.

A mess.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, the heat in her panties had become unbearable. Her pussy was slick, no, wet. That good wet. Sticky. Her thighs pressed together in a panic and it only made it worse. She wanted to squirm. To grind. To touch. But Aaliyah was still in the bathroom, talking, moments from walking out and leaving Sanaa completely alone.

With him.

Another message popped through.

Erik:Yeah you still playin’. Drippin for me, ain’t you? You not ready. Not for this dick. Not for what I’ma do when I get my hands on that lil pussy.

She whimpered again. This time, too loud.

Aaliyah paused, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Sanaa choked out, clearing her throat, “Just… stomach cramp.”

“Mmm. Prolly hungry. You be forgetting to eat.”

Sanaa kept her head down, hair falling around her face as she clutched her phone to her chest, her other hand pressing down hard against her stomach, trying to soothe the ache that wasn’t from hunger. She needed to get it together. Fast. Because Erik wasn’t letting up.

Aaliyah spun once in front of her mirror, curls pinned up in a soft, coiled halo. Her shoulders were bare, dusted in cocoa shimmer, the neckline of her sweater dress dipping just enough to be flirty but still dinner-appropriate.

“Okay, okay,” she said, turning to Sanaa, “Be honest. Is it givin’?”

Sanaa looked her up and down from the bed, chin in her hand, “It’s givin’,” she nodded, “Soft serve caramel dream. You good.”

Aaliyah grinned, “Thank you, bitch.”

Then—

Knock knock.

They both froze.

“Oh God,” Aaliyah panicked, grabbing her compact, “That’s him.”

Another knock, this one firmer.

Then Erik’s deep voice called from down the hall: “I got it.”

Aaliyah’s eyes widened in alarm, “No, no. Sanaa—go with him! Make sure he don’t try nothin’. You know how he is!”

Sanaa stood, already feeling the heat crawl up the back of her neck, “Ain’t my job to babysit—”

“Sanaa,” Aaliyah whined, eyes pleading.

She rolled her eyes, but her feet were already moving. Each step down the hallway made her skin feel tighter, her chest heavier. And there he was, already unlocking the front door, joggers slung low on his hips, body radiating that heavy, hot, quiet he always wore when he didn’t like something.

That door creaked open. Then came him.

Jordan. 

Tall. 6’1”, maybe 6’2”. Warm bronze skin, lined-up fade with neat braids tied back. Sharp cheekbones, a watch that said money but humble. Button-up and slacks. Smooth smile with a dimple just beneath his left cheek.

Sanaa clocked all of it in one sweep.

He stepped forward, “Hey,” he greeted, voice low, polite, Then he turned to Erik, “You must be Erik. Jordan Taylor.”

He extended a hand. Erik stared at it like it was a disrespect to invade his space and expect to be dapped up. He took it, and he didn’t give him a shake. It was a vice grip squeeze. Sanaa saw the subtle flex of Erik’s forearm. How Jordan kept it calm, not backing down. The silence between them was louder than the knock had been.

Erik’s voice came low and gravel-thick, “You pick her up, you bring her back. Same way.”

Jordan gave a single nod, “Of course. Got her the whole night.”

Erik’s jaw ticked, “You better.”

Jordan looked at her, expression shifting softer, “You must be Sanaa?”

She tilted her head, smiling just enough, “Guilty.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said with ease.

And then Aaliyah appeared. The effect was instant. Jordan’s whole face softened. Eyes swept over her like he forgot how to blink.

“Damn,” he exhaled, “You look…”

Aaliyah laughed, touched his arm, “You too.”

They left out together, light on their feet. Jordan’s hand brushed Aaliyah’s lower back as she stepped ahead of him, laughing at something he said under his breath. She looked like she knew she was the main character. Like the city lights outside were hers to walk into.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Alone.

Sanaa stood near the arm of the sofa, phone still in hand, pulse tickin’ too fast in her neck. Erik stood out like a damn silhouette in that tank top. Still brooding. He was by the window now. Arms crossed over that thick chest, jaw set. His locs hung just enough to shadow his eyes, but she didn’t need to see ’em to feel it. That look was already on her. Slowly, he turned. His stare dragged over her like it had weight. Sanaa was frozen.

Erik’s eyes dropped once. To her mouth. Then lower. Then back up. Still not a word. And just when she thought he might speak—might finally say some slick shit to push her over—he turned.

Walked off without a glance.

Broad back disappearing down the hallway. Heavy steps. Calm like a storm moving in. Sanaa just stood there, breath shallow, heart knocking.

Then her phone buzzed. And she knew…he wasn’t done

Erik:  I’ma fuck my name into that pussy.

Erik’s door was shut.

That alone made her nerves scream.

Sanaa walked past it slow, every step deliberate like the apartment might hear her thinking too loud. The air itself was waiting on something to pop off. She didn’t look at his door when she passed it. The heat coming from behind that wood. The weight of him on the other side, knowing she was there. Knowing she was alone now.

She slipped into her room and shut the door behind her.

Click.

The sound landed heavier than it normally would.

She leaned back against it for a second, eyes closed, chest rising and falling too fast. Her phone was in her hand, screen dark. No texts. No commands. No permission. And that almost made it worse. She peeled her clothes off slow. Jeans first, sliding them down her hips, stepping out of them like she had all the time in the world. Her wet panties clung in that needy way she hated and loved at the same time. She left them on. On purpose.

Sanaa pulled on an oversized tee. Old. Soft. A vintage rock band shirt that used to belong to somebody else, sleeves stretched, hem falling mid-thigh. It slipped off one shoulder when she moved, exposing smooth brown skin and the strap of her bra. The fabric brushed against her nipples every time she breathed and they were tight, sensitive, betraying her. She sat on the edge of the bed and bounced her knee, restless. Hands fidgeting. Fingers digging into her thigh, then her stomach, then her chest like she didn’t know where to put them.

Her body felt loud. Her pussy felt louder.

A deep ache sat between her legs, low and constant, not sharp but heavy. Like something was pressing from the inside out. She was full of anticipation instead of anything solid. A slick heat between them making her suck in a breath through her teeth.

She’d been waiting for this. That truth settled in her chest and didn’t move.

Waiting since the first time she caught him watching her from across the room. Waiting since the first time his voice dropped when he said her name. Waiting through every almost-touch, every too-long stare, every moment she pretended she wasn’t thinking about how he’d feel on top of her. Inside her. Over her. Making her behave.

This was her moment. And she was scared as hell.

Not scared of him. Scared of herself. Of how bad she wanted to walk down that hall, open his door, and offer herself up just like he said. Knees soft. Head tilted. Mouth ready.

She stood up. Her heart thudded hard, heavy, like it was trying to talk her out of it and failing. She smoothed the shirt down, pushed her shoulders back, lifted her chin. Took a breath that didn’t steady her at all. Then, she walked to her bedroom door. Her hand wrapped around the knob clammy and slightly slick.

She opened it.

And he was right there.

Close.

Too close.

Sanaa gasped before she could stop herself. The sound caught in her throat, sharp and soft all at once. Her body reacted faster than her mind. Chest jumping. Body shaking. That ache flaring hot and needy. Erik stood in the hallway like he’d been waiting the whole time, locs loose around his face. His presence filled the space between them instantly, heavy and undeniable. His eyes dropped to her shoulder, the way the shirt slipped, the bare skin offered up without her meaning to.

Then his gaze lifted. Locked on hers. Her breath shook. She didn’t step back.

The door behind her was still open. Her room exposed. Her bed visible over her shoulder. Everything about her right there for him to take in. And the silence between them was thick enough to choke on.

She swallowed.

He didn’t touch her, but the way he moved toward her felt like contact all the same.

Erik stepped in close. One step. Another. Measured. Calculated. His shoulders filled the narrow space and everything seemed to fade under the weight of him. She backed up without thinking, breath catching low in her chest until her spine met the cool wall.

He kept walking.

Not rushing or crowding her clumsily. Closing in at a pace that said he already knew she wasn’t going anywhere. His eyes locked on hers the entire time, a low heat building the longer neither of them spoke.

Sanaa felt her pulse throb at the base of her throat. Erik lifted his arms, planted his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head, and that simple motion swallowed the rest of the hallway. The muscles in his biceps flexed. His scent curled into the tiny pocket of space between them. She could feel the heat coming off his chest even though they weren’t touching.

A small, stunned breath slipped out of her.

He didn’t move closer or lean all the way in. Erik didn’t even let his body graze hers. He just stood there, caging her in, staring down at her like he was deciding what to do with a temptation he had tried too long to ignore. Heat wound through her ribs. Sanaa lifted her chin a little, eyes meeting his with the same guarded intensity he came in with, but it didn’t hold. Not against the way he looked at her or the quiet storm rolling behind his eyes. Her composure began to soften, the edges of it loosened. Her lips parted. Her gaze slipped from his eyes to his mouth, then back up again.

Erik saw every shift. Every twitch.

His chest rose slow, fell slow, like he was working to keep himself steady. The lights overhead cast a warm glow over his face, highlighting the sculpt of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the tightness around his eyes where control sat heavy. His height boxed her in. His presence pressed against her without a single point of contact. Sanaa’s breath quickened. It wasn’t frantic breaths. She was aware of him. Aware of the heat rising low in her stomach. Aware of the subtle ache forming before he ever laid a finger on her. Her back stayed flat against the wall. Her thighs eased together for no reason except the way he looked at her.

His eyes dipped slow down her face, over her lips, then back to her gaze like he wanted to see if she’d break.

She did. Just a little.

Her lashes lowered in a slow blink. Her lips stayed parted. Her heartbeat pulsed all through her, tightening, waiting, wanting something she wasn’t going to say first. Erik shifted his weight slightly forward, and the change in proximity alone sent a warm rush down her spine. He still didn’t touch her. But his presence filled her senses so completely that her body reacted as if he had. Her throat bobbed in a swallow. Her voice didn’t come. The air felt too charged to cut through with anything foolish like a word.

Erik stayed like that, looking down at her while the tension built between their bodies. That subtle, slow pull that crept from silence to desire. Her fingers curled against the wall. Her breath brushed the front of his shirt. Her pulse fluttered wild beneath her skin. And Erik let the stare hold. So heavy. So intense. So hypnotic that it pulled her deeper into it, inch by inch. Her face shifted again, the last bit of resistance slipping. Desire sat openly in her eyes now, warm and unguarded. Her gaze traced his lips again before settling back on him. Her chest lifted in a small inhale that pressed her body closer to the invisible line between them.

Erik’s jaw tensed. That was all he let himself show. But it was enough for her to feel it. Their breath mingled. A quiet, electric charge coiled in the center of that hallway like something ready to strike if one of them leaned even an inch closer. But he dipped his head, lowering it until his locs brushed the side of her cheek like a dark curtain falling around them.

Sanaa’s breath stuttered.

He exhaled slow. Steady. A breath that felt like it traveled straight through her skin. Her knees threatened to give just from the heat of it. Her pulse fluttered wildly against the wall behind her spine.

Then, right against her ear, low enough to curl her toes, he confessed.

“I want you.”

Low, yet powerful.

Sanaa shut her eyes because her body reacted before she could stop it. A shiver climbed her back, small and sharp, as if those three words reached places he hadn’t even touched.

He waited for that reaction. Savored it. Then his voice brushed her again, deeper now, “But you already knew that, huh?”

Her mouth didn’t move to give him a reaction. Her lips parted, but the sound didn’t come. Her chest rose in a trembling breath, the silence itself exposing everything she thought she was hiding.

Erik angled his head a little, eyes on her like he could see straight through her, “You ain’t even gotta say it,” he said, voice thick with heat, “Cuz you want me too. That’s why you teasing me so much, right?”

Sanaa’s teeth caught the corner of her lip. Almost like a plea disguised as hesitation. Her gaze lifted, locking with his, and the look she gave him was the closest thing to surrender without a single word spoken.

Erik leaned in until their faces were almost touching, breath mingling, both of them pulled tight into the moment, “Worked so hard to break me,” he spoke low, voice steady and low as his eyes dragged over her mouth, “And it worked.”

Her stomach fluttered and clenched.

He dipped closer, bringing his lips to the point where she could feel the warmth of them without contact. Her breath caught with a shaky sound as he continued, “Because now…” The words ghosted her mouth. His breath slid across her lips, light enough to set off sparks under her skin, “…now I’ma show you what happens when you provoke me, lil miss ‘I want my best friend’s older brother to fuck me.’”

Sanaa’s expression changed instantly. Desire pulled her features soft and dreamy. Lips parted. Eyes low, heavy-lidded, almost dazed like he’d taken her legs out from under her.

Erik watched that look spread over her, studied it like he wanted to memorize every shift. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if considering her, “Now…” he said quietly, “what to do about that…”

His gaze dropped down her body, slow enough to make her breathing quicken, then back up. He lifted his hand a fraction, not touching her, just bringing it close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his skin. His voice deepened, “These scars?” His free hand rose between them, palm turned slightly so she could see the patterns carved into his skin, “Each one for a kill.”

Her breath hitched hard, chest lifting in a trembling inhale.

“You sure you wanna go there with me?” he asked, tone steady as a pulse, “Cuz I don’t fuck like them lil niggas you prolly used to.” He bent a little closer. Close enough that her lips grazed his breath again, “That jackhammer shit?” His eyes lowered to her mouth, “Nah.” His voice dropped to something dark and dangerous and it wrapped around her spine and pulled her forward, “I’ma leave my dick print in your guts for the rest of your fuckin life, girl.”

Sanaa’s body trembled with a reaction she couldn’t hide. Shock. He could feel her answer in the heat between them. Erik let a faint chuckle slip out of him. It carved into the tight space between them and hit Sanaa right in her stomach. His single dimple dipped into his cheek, that little flash of cuteness wrapped around something entirely unsoft. He licked his lips once, a slow sweep of his tongue across the bottom one, gold slugs glinting under the hallway light.

Then he spoke, “You ever heard of a grind, baby girl?” His voice rolled over her skin, “Ever seen it? I’m sure you have…girl like you prolly got a whole bookmark saved on your Twitter…”

Her reaction was instant. Immediate. Almost physical in a way that made her embarrassed to breathe. A pulse throbbed between her thighs so sharp she nearly whimpered. Heat flooded her underwear so fast she felt it soak straight through the cotton, sticky and warm against her skin. Her nipples tightened under her tank, pushing hard against the fabric, so sensitive they tingled at the slightest shift in air between them. Goosebumps rose along her arms and belly, a shiver rolling up her spine like a slow electric climb.

And all he did was talk.

Erik watched the way she reacted, watched the tension in her throat, the small way she pulled in a breath she couldn’t hide. He leaned closer, his words dropping lower, “I fuck to make you feel me,” he said, that deep timbre sinking into her bones, “And I don’t rush it. I ain’t chasing a nut. I’m aiming to make you melt, baby.”

Her thighs pressed tight together.

“That’s what a grown man do.”

Sanaa’s lips parted again, barely a sound leaving her. Erik lifted his hand slowly, so slow she felt each inch of anticipation travel up her nerves. He used a single knuckle and stroked her cheek with a touch so careful it sent a hot, aching wave straight through her middle.

He bit his bottom lip as he looked at her, “You so damn pretty, Bri.”

The nickname hit deeper because of the way he said it. Like he owned her. Like she had no idea what she was doing to him.

“Had a nigga shook when you walked out with them lil ass shorts on.” His eyes darkened, “I was like mmm…fuuuck. This Sanaa? Lil shy, quiet, hiding in the corner Sanaa?” His gaze swept down her body, slow enough to make her stomach clench again. He took in every curve, the way her nipples pressed hard against her top, the way she couldn’t keep her thighs still anymore. His voice dropped to something that touched her like a hand, “Thoughts ran through my mind…” He took one breath. Let it sit, “Like damn. I know she taste real good.”

Her knees almost buckled.

“I’d slurp her up. Dip my tongue in that pretty pink puss…”

A soft sound escaped her throat, almost too faint to hear, but he caught it. Her eyes went dreamy, unfocused, pupils blown wide. Her lips stayed parted. Her chest trembled.

She was ruined.

Standing there with her back against the wall, sweating under the intensity of him, panties soaked through, nipples hard enough to ache, breath coming in shallow, shaky pulls because she had never been this turned on without a single touch.

“You like the way I’m talkin’ to you, lil baby?” His voice was dark silk, slow and dragging, dipped in something slick that made her toes curl. Sanaa nodded, slow and dazed, her body answering before her brain could catch up. Erik tsk’d. A low sound of disappointment that made her shiver, “Uh-uh,” he said, tilting his head slightly, eyes burning into hers, “Open your mouth. Don’t act mute now. You had a lot of shit to say earlier.”

It took effort to speak. Her lips parted around a tiny whisper, “Yes.”

He smiled at that. Not a kind smile. Not a gentle one. It was a smile that showed he had her exactly where he wanted her. Made her panties feel wetter than she even thought possible.

“Why you want me so bad?” he asked, licking his bottom lip slow, “Tired of the same old sorry ass dick?”

Her mouth fell open slightly, eyes heavy-lidded. He saw the answer before she gave it, but he wanted to hear it anyway.

“You wanna see what I can do to that pretty pussy?”

Sanaa shifted where she stood. Her hips rocked forward a little, like her body needed to move, needed to do something about the ache pooling in her core. She bit her lip, then nodded once—then again, slower, “Yes.”

Erik’s voice dipped lower, rougher now, dragging the words out like he wanted her to feel each one between her legs, “Want me to open you up?”

Sanaa’s back arched slightly, nipples hard as diamonds beneath her shirt, brushing against the fabric with every breath she took.

“You ain’t scared it’s gon’ be too much?”

She tilted her head the tiniest bit, tongue resting in the corner of her mouth, her expression hazy and thick with heat. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze dropped, then lifted back to his, “Mmm mmm.”

His eyebrow arched, “What’s mmm mmm?” he asked, smile deepening with a hint of threat, “I don’t know what that is. Words.”

Sanaa blinked slow, eyes low, lips wet, “No, daddy.”

Erik’s jaw twitched. He bit down on his bottom lip, those gold slugs gleaming just behind it, nostrils flaring slightly as he inhaled through his nose. Her calling him that—soft, sweet, no hesitation—sent a pulse straight to his dick. She dripping, trembling, got her mouth half-open like she’d been fucked already.

“Oh,” he said, voice rough and low, “Shit…so you ain’t scared then?”

Sanaa’s lips parted again, breath fogging between them, chest rising, “No, daddy.”

The way she said it? Soft but certain. Sticky sweet like syrup down the back of his throat. Her pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-swollen, and the front of her panties now damn near ruined—wet enough she’d have to peel them off. Erik pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and bit down on his lip again, hard this time, fighting the urge to devour her right then and there. She was ready. He could see it in the glassy look in her eyes. He could smell it between them. Could feel it in the heat she was radiating off her skin like steam rising from a kettle.

All this?

Just from his voice.

Erik’s fingers hooked in the hem of her shirt. Slow. Intentional. He lifted it just high enough to expose the waistband of her panties—black, flesh-hugging, soaked straight through in the center. His eyes lingered. He just looked. Took his time like a man admiring something he already knew he was about to own.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, “Got this lil’ pussy cryin’. She know who it belong to.”

Sanaa’s tied to ease the ache, squirming, but it only made it worse.

“Uh uh,” he said, nudging her thighs apart with just the press of his knee between hers, “Don’t hide that shit. Lemme see what I did.”

She didn’t move away. Her body didn’t resist. She let him part her legs, just slightly, standing in front of him like a girl about to be unwrapped.

He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear, voice thick, “I’m gon’ stretch you, Sanaa. Real slow. Real deep. Make sure this tight lil’ pussy remember me.”

She whimpered. Actually whimpered. It spilled out unplanned, soft and sweet, like her body responded before she could stop it.

Erik grinned against her jaw, grazing her skin with the tips of his teeth. “Yeah,” he drawled, “you gone learn tonight.”

Then he stepped back just a little. He ran his thumb over one hard nipple slowly, watching the way her lips parted like it shocked her, how her hips tilted like her pussy was clenching again.

“You this sensitive?” he asked, low and amused, “Wait til’ I taste this pussy. You gon’ melt when I do.”

Sanaa nodded, lips glossy, voice barely a whisper, “Please…”

He smirked, eyes still locked on her, “Please what?”

She swallowed, “T-Touch me…”

Erik’s head tilted, tongue dragging slow across his bottom lip, “Where you want me to touch you, baby?”

Sanaa’s lips quivered. Her body leaned into his like she couldn’t hold herself upright anymore.

“My pussy,” she whispered, followed by a soft whine.

“Mmm.” He let out a low hum, eyes never leaving hers, “Say it louder. I need to know you mean that shit.”

She hesitated, only for a second. Then she looked him dead in the eye and said it again—this time stronger. Hungrier.

“Touch my pussy, daddy.”

His hand was on her before she finished the word. One broad palm slid down the front of her panties, cupping her through the soaked fabric. Warm. Heavy. In charge. His fingers pressed in, just enough to feel the heat, the pulse, the mess she’d made. He groaned low in his throat.

“Goddamn, girl…you wet like I already been in it.”

Sanaa’s eyes fluttered.

He slid a finger beneath the waistband, dipped in slow and deep until he touched her bare. Wet and slick. His finger slid through the mess she’d made, knuckle deep, and her mouth dropped open in a silent cry.

“There it go,” Erik rasped, “Told you I was gon’ open you up.”

Sanaa whimpered again, thighs shaking, her body trying to close around his hand, but he held her still. His finger worked deeper, curved just right, and her back arched, hands gripping his forearms like she needed to hold onto something solid.

“You feel that?” he said, voice thick, “That stretch?”

She nodded fast, moaning through clenched teeth.

“Don’t run,” he warned, voice a deep growl, “I’m not even two fingers in. I’m just warmin’ you up.”

Sanaa was panting now. Sweating. Dripping, “Erik…”

He kissed her neck. Then sucked it. Let his teeth graze her skin as he slid another finger inside.

She gasped, loud this time.

He smiled, “There she go.”

Her body jerked. She was clenching around his fingers, wetness coating his palm now, and Erik just kept working them in slow, deep strokes. It was pressure and rhythm and filth.

“You said teach you how to take it, right?”

She nodded, desperate, whimpering.

“Say it again,” he growled in her ear, thumb now circling her clit slow.

“Teach me, daddy,” she cried, voice shaking. “Please—show me how to take it.”

“Oh I’ma show your greedy ass. And you bet not forget a single stroke.” He pulled his fingers out, soaked and shining, then brought them to her lips, “Taste what I do to you.”

She didn’t even hesitate. Mouth opened. Tongue out. She sucked his fingers clean while moaning, eyes rolling back just a little from the taste. Erik’s dick jumped hard in his sweats.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice low as hell, “You mine now.”

Sanaa whimpered.

Erik’s dick brushed her belly through his joggers, thick and heavy, and her breath hitched on impact. She felt it, hot through the cotton, thick enough to make her blink slow and look down. The print was obscene. Long, fat, with the kind of weight that made her thighs tense again. Her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth like instinct, lips parting on a shaky breath. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Erik saw the way she looked. The way her gaze dropped and stayed there.

“Go ‘head, miss greedy. Rub me.”

Sanaa’s hand moved on its own. She brought it down between them and pressed her palm against the thick ridge stretching his joggers.

The heat met her first.

It was warm through the fabric—almost hot—and stiff as hell. Thick. Her fingers trembled when they brushed the full weight of it. Not just long but wide, heavy, meaty in a way she wasn’t used to. It curved slightly to the left from being trapped and she could feel the exact shape of it pressing into her palm even through the joggers. Her whole hand didn’t wrap around it at first. She had to adjust her grip, slide her palm across the length of it and back again.

“Shit…” she moaned. 

She hadn’t meant to say it. But it slipped out anyway, whispered under her breath as her fingers stroked over the bulge again. She applied more pressure. Felt it throb in response. The whole thing jumped against her hand and she froze for a second, thighs clenching, her pussy clenching too. Sanaa stared, mesmerized. Watching the way her fingers moved over the thick ridge, seeing the way it swelled, how the head of it sat high and proud against the front of his joggers. That tip had a little dent where the fabric gave in, already damp from the precum leaking steady beneath. She gave a slow stroke up, then back down, palm flat. Then she did it again, this time wrapping her fingers just a little, rubbing it like she was warming it up. The way it twitched told her everything. That dick was alive. Pulsing in her grip. Hard as hell and still growing.

“This dick big as fuck…” she whispered, eyes wide, lips parted.

Erik grinned, head tilting just enough to let her see the glint of gold across his teeth, “Uh-huh,” he said, deep and smug, chest rising slow, “And that’s before I even pull it out.”

Sanaa just kept rubbing. Her thumb traced the vein she could feel through the fabric. Her fingers closed tighter, sliding down toward the base. He was thick all the way through. No taper. No mercy. The feel of him in her hand was almost too much. Panties growing uncomfortable and sticky against her folds. Every slow drag of her hand across him made her clench tighter, made her want more. Her body reacted on instinct, hips shifting, breath catching.

She wanted to see it. Needed to see it.

She let her fingers linger low, pressing just under the head. The wet spot was bigger now. She felt it with her thumb and let out a soft breath.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

Erik watched her, eyes dark with amusement, “That wetness yours or mine?”

She blinked. Looked up at him with that same dazed heat in her eyes.

“Both,” she said, almost too quiet.

That made him smile harder. He reached down and gripped the waistband of his joggers, “You wanna see what you been rubbing on?”

Sanaa nodded, hand still holding him.

“Say it,” he said, “Ask for it like a good girl.” 

She hesitated only a second, then licked her lips, “Lemme see your dick, daddy.” She damn near begged, slightly tugging downward on his length. 

He dragged his joggers down halfway low enough to free the monster she’d been teasing.

And there it was.

It dropped out, heavy and thick, no underwear in the way. Thick at the base, even thicker near the middle, and the head was fat and flushed dark with blood. A glistening bead sat right at the tip.

Sanaa’s breath caught in her throat.

It was the kind of dick that made you pause. Long and pretty, veins rising along the sides like a roadmap for the way he was about to rearrange her guts.

She stared. Couldn’t look away.

“You still greedy?” Erik asked, Brow arched. Lips slightly parted and gold slugs peaking. 

Sanaa nodded slowly. Her hand moved again, fingers wrapping around him bare this time. The difference was insane. She felt the skin glide under her palm. The heat of it. The throb. She gave one slow stroke down and felt the weight pull. Another stroke up. Her thumb swiped the leaking tip. His whole body flexed.

“You sure?” he asked again, eyes steady on hers, “Cuz once I put this dick in you, you not gon’ be the same.”

Sanaa moaned, low and desperate, “I don’t wanna be the same…”

Erik grinned, “Say less.”

Erik brought his hand up and wrapped it around the side of her neck. His palm was warm against her throat, thumb resting right beneath her jaw, fingers spread behind her ear, holding her still. Sanaa’s breath hitched when he leaned in close, his face inches from hers. So close she could feel the heat of his breath, the slow drag of it over her mouth. His nose brushed hers—once, then again—and she let her eyes flutter closed. His lips hovered over hers, soft but never touching. The anticipation made her knees weak,

“Breathe,” he whispered.

She did. Shaky and shallow.

Their mouths finally touched—barely. A soft graze. A tease. Sanaa’s lips parted with a soft gasp. Her body leaned into him more, anticipating the connection. He held her there, right on the edge, the tension sharp enough to snap. Then—slow—he stuck his tongue out and dragged it across her lips. Just once. Just enough to make her moan. The sound came from her gut. A low, feminine ache slipping past her throat like her body couldn’t keep it in.

Erik chuckled low. The sound rumbled between them. His thumb lifted slightly, tilting her chin, “Open.”

That one word held weight. It rolled off his tongue like a command.

And she obeyed.

Her lips parted, her mouth pliant and waiting. She just gave herself to it—whatever this was. The gravity between them. The way it pulled. Erik’s lips met hers in full this time. Hot and slow. Tongue first, pushing past the seam of her lips, tasting her, pulling her under.

Sanaa melted.

Her mouth opened wider to meet his. Their tongues met in the middle—slick and slow, sliding over each other like silk. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like he was determined to make her feel every second of it. Their lips smacked softly in the quiet of the hall. A slow grind. Deep pulls of breath between them. Sanaa’s hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into his tank top. Her head tilted to the side, and Erik followed her movement, adjusting the angle like they were dancing.

Because that’s what it felt like.

A dance.

Their mouths moved like partners—tilting, swaying, deepening. Every time they came up for air, they went right back in. Lips brushing, then sealing. Tongues swiping, teasing, pressing. His hand never left her throat. His thumb stroked slow under her chin while his other hand slid down her waist and pulled her closer. Her body molded against him now. She kissed him like she’d been waiting years for it. He tasted like power and something a little risky. Sanaa moaned again, louder this time. Erik swallowed it. Kissed her harder. He deepened the kiss, sucked her bottom lip, then dragged his tongue along it again. Her knees buckled, and he caught her with a firm hand around her waist.

“Uh uh,” he whispered into her mouth, “I got you.”

He kissed her again before she could answer. Tongue diving, then pulling back, then diving again. He kissed her like he was mapping her, like her mouth had secrets only he could read. Every soft moan, every tremble, every breath she took, she gave it to him. Their foreheads touched for a moment when they finally broke the kiss, breath mingling, lips still brushing.

Neither of them spoke. The kiss said it all. Sanaa couldn’t breathe right.

Her lips were swollen from the kiss. Her chest heaved in soft, shallow bursts. She tried to steady herself, tried to blink the haze away, but her body betrayed her. Her hands trembled. Her knees? Useless. She was trying to keep it together, but the pressure between her legs was unbearable now. It throbbed—hot, slick, begging. And she ain’t even had the dick yet. Her pussy already felt like she’d been touched and worked over and left wet and needy for more. She took a step back, hoping it would help her catch herself, but that only brought her closer to the wall and Erik followed. Didn’t even give her space to speak. He saw her trying to breathe through it. Saw her lips twitching like she wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out. His gaze dipped to her chest, watching the rise and fall. Then back to her lips. His jaw ticked.

That was all the warning she got.

Suddenly, Erik’s arms were around her, solid and sure. He picked her up like she weighed nothing, gripping her thighs and hoisted her clean off the ground.

All muscle. All power.

He handled her like his arms were made for it. Because he’d been waiting for the moment he could lift her, press her against something, and kiss her breath away again. Sanaa gasped, arms wrapping around his shoulders on instinct. Her legs spread and clung around his waist, locking behind him.

“Erik—”

She barely got the name out before his mouth crashed back into hers.

This kiss wasn’t gentle.

This one was hungry.

Messy.

Hot.

Lips sliding, tongues dancing, breath stealing. He kissed her like he was feeding off her. He needed the taste of her just to breathe. Her back slammed gently against the door to her bedroom. The sudden jolt made her moan against his mouth. He gripped her tighter. One hand under her thigh, the other sliding up her back to hold the back of her head as he kissed her deeper. Tongues tangled. Lips smacked. She was losing track of where her body ended and his began. Her pussy pulsed hard behind her panties, slick and ready, soaking through the fabric and no doubt pressing into the front of his joggers. She was riding that line between need and madness now, whimpering into his mouth, clinging to him like she couldn’t get close enough.

His voice broke through the kiss in pieces, heavy against her lips, “You tryna hold it together?” he asked, his mouth brushing hers, breath hot.

Sanaa nodded against him, then shook her head, then nodded again. She didn’t know. Her brain was gone. He kissed her again. A deep, slow drag of tongue that made her stomach flip and her toes curl behind his back.

“Nah,” he breathed, “Don’t fight it. Let that shit go.”

Erik grinded against her as he said it. Letting her feel every inch of that heavy dick pressed against the throb between her legs. Sanaa moaned into his mouth again. Her legs tightened around him like a vice. She tried to hold back, tried to stay quiet, but it was impossible. He kissed her again and again and again, each time deeper, messier, wetter. Their mouths didn’t separate for more than a second. They kissed like they were possessed. Both starving and just found their first meal. The door behind her rattled. Her bedroom. She reached back blindly and fumbled for the handle. Erik chuckled against her lips, still kissing her, and grinding that big dick against her soaked core through their clothes.

“Go ‘head,” he said, dragging his lips down her jaw, “Open that door and show me where I’m ‘bout to fuck your lil’ ass up.”

Sanaa’s fingers shook as they found the handle.

Click.

The door swung open behind her. And Erik walked them in. Still holding her and kissing her like he owned every breath in her lungs.

He didn’t slam it.

He cracked it. Left it open just enough. He wanted the night to hear what was about to happen. He needed the air to move around them, carry the scent of her arousal into the walls. Sanaa’s back hit the bed gently as he laid her down. His hands lingered, holding her there for a second, palms wide on her thighs like he wasn’t ready to let go. Her chest rose, lips plump from all the kissing, her body twitching beneath him like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

She was breathless. Eyes glassy. Skin hot.

“Damn…” she whispered, blinking slow.

Erik stood over her, tall and dark in the shadows of her room, chest rising as he took in the sight of her laid out like that—hair fanned against the pillow, shirt tugged up just enough to show a strip of brown stomach, panties sticking to her soaked pussy like a second skin. He licked his bottom lip and shook his head once. Then he stepped between her legs.

She opened for him without thinking.

He reached down and grabbed her calves, both hands gripping firm, thumbs brushing over the curve of her legs. Then his hands slid lower—one to her ankle, the other to her foot. He lifted her legs gently. Set one foot on his chest. The other he held in his hand, thumbing the arch slow while watching her.

Then he kissed her ankle.

Once.

Then again.

And on the third kiss, he looked down at her and spoke.

“Why you play in your pussy and not ask for help?”

The question hit like a thud in her chest.

Sanaa’s breath caught. Her ankle twitched in his hand and her toes curled against his abs. She gave a soft smile, trying to hide the way her pussy felt like it had a heartbeat of its own.

“How would you have helped?” she asked, voice low, teasing.

Erik leaned forward, bending her legs back as he closed the space between them. His mouth hovered near hers. He spoke it, voice dragging like it was made to melt her.

“I would’ve instructed you on how to stroke it…what toy to use…how to make yourself cum.” His lips brushed hers on the last word, then trailed down to her jaw, “And when you were done?” he whispered, “I would’ve cleaned up the mess with my tongue.”

Sanaa whimpered, mouth falling open. Her hips lifted slightly, grinding up without her even meaning to. Her panties clung to her like a wet towel and Erik could feel it—smell it. It had him rock hard, that big, fat dick of his pressing heavy against the damp cotton at her center. He leaned down between her legs, thighs spreading wide around his hips as he kissed her again. Deeper this time. Sloppier. His body settled against hers. That heavy dick dragging up against her slit, the pressure making her moan into his mouth.

Sanaa arched up into it.

She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him in, her hands sliding everywhere. Over his arms—thick, veiny, strong. Over his chest—broad and warm beneath his fitted tee. Up the back of his neck—fingers slipping under his locs, rubbing slow at the base of his scalp.

“I love your body,” she said it like a confession.

Erik pulled back just enough to look down at her.

That look he gave? Made her clit jump.

He cocked his head slightly, smiling like he knew he had her trembling and couldn’t wait to make it worse.

“What you love about it, baby girl?”

Sanaa sat up, chest pressed to his, legs still parted wide around his hips. Her hands traced the dip between his pecs, then slid across his chest—her nails soft against his tank, then down to his waist. She reached beneath the fabric and slowly lifted it up, revealing the warm brown muscle beneath, the ridges of his abs, the sharp taper of his V-line. She pulled the tank over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Then she touched him again.

This time with both hands, tracing the scars that ran across his torso and arms. Her fingers moved gentle over them, no hesitation. She looked up at him the whole time—eyes low-lidded, mouth parted, her voice still that sexy hush that wrapped around him all velvety smooth.

“I love the way you move,” she said, “How strong you are. How your arms feel when you carry me.” Her palm slid across his shoulder, then down his side, “I love your scars…they feel like stories.”

Erik swallowed, jaw flexing.

Then she leaned up and kissed one of the scars near his ribs. Her lips lingered, “And I love how dangerous you are.” Her eyes rose to meet his again. Slow. Steady. Full of something that made his dick twitch between her legs, “You don’t talk much. But I can feel it…all that heat underneath.”

Erik’s breath caught in his throat. His adam’s apple bobbed.

Sanaa tilted her head, voice even softer now. Sultry. Laced in that siren energy that made men forget who they were, “You’re the kind of man who ruins a woman right. That’s why I wanted you. Why I touched myself thinking about it. Why I waited for you to make the first move.” She leaned in close, lips brushing his, “You feel like danger,” she whispered, “And I wanna feel all of it.”

Erik’s hand wrapped around the side of her neck again. Gripped it firm, thumb brushing her jaw. He kissed her. Hard this time. Hungry again. Their bodies pressed close. That thick dick grinding right against her clit through the soaked barrier of her panties. Her back arched, moaning into his mouth.

Erik pulled back for just a second. His voice dropped, “You sure, princess?”

Sanaa smiled. And said the only word he needed to hear, “Fuck yes.”

Erik kissed her like he was claiming breath from her lungs, then finally pulled back just enough to look down at her. Sanaa lay beneath him on the bed, chest rising, lips wet, eyes heavy with that quiet hunger that made him lose focus. He placed one palm flat on her stomach. Firm. Commanding.

“Take this off,” he said quietly.

But he did it for her. 

His fingers hooked into the hem of her shirt. He didn’t yank it. He lifted it slow, letting the fabric drag over her skin, letting the cool air kiss each inch that he revealed. Her stomach tensed. Her nipples hardened before he even reached them. The shirt rose up to her ribs. He leaned in and kissed the exposed skin there, soft at first, then deeper. His mouth trailed across her side, right beneath her breast. She gasped as he nipped lightly, then soothed the spot with his tongue.

He lifted the shirt higher. Her breasts spilled free.

Erik froze.

His eyes darkened, scanning every curve, every soft rise, every warm brown inch of her. He touched one breast with his fingertips, tracing the slope from the top down to her nipple. The touch was light but it woke something deep in her belly.

He brought his mouth down.

He sucked her nipple slow, drawing it between his lips. His tongue circled it. Pressure first, then a gentle pull. It made Sanaa arch, a tight breath escaping her throat. Her hands gripped his arms, fingers digging, nails dragging. Erik switched to the other nipple. He teased it with the tip of his tongue, then sucked harder. Sanaa whimpered, her thighs rubbing together, trying to calm the throb between them. He peeled the shirt off the rest of the way and tossed it aside. Then he looked at her body fully. Stretched on her bed. Glowing. Breathing fast. Ready for whatever he wanted. He slid down her body and kissed her collarbone. Then her shoulder. Then the soft spot where her neck met her shoulder. His lips lingered there, sucking gently until her breath hitched. His mouth lowered again, kissing down the center of her chest. He kissed under her breasts, along the edge of her ribs. Then he moved to her stomach. He kissed the top of it. Then the center. Then lower. His lips were warm and full against her skin. The glide of his mouth made her toes curl.

He dipped his tongue into her navel.

Sanaa moaned. A soft little sound she couldn’t hold back. Her fingers slid into his locs, gripping the thick, twisted cords, rubbing his scalp as he continued moving downward. Erik kissed the soft flesh just above her panties. His breath brushed the damp cotton, and she shivered. He kissed the left hip. Then the right. Then the inside of her left thigh. He didn’t just kiss her thighs. He worshiped them with his mouth. He opened her legs wider and kissed slowly, all the way down to her knee, then back up, tracing the line of her inner thigh with the flat of his tongue. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably. He looked up at her, saw her chest rising sharp and quick, saw her lip caught between her teeth.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I see how bad you want it.”

He kissed the right thigh the same way. Long, wet, dragging kisses that made her hips jump. Her hands tightened in his locs. She tugged at the roots. Scraped his scalp lightly with her nails. He groaned into her skin. When he lifted his head, his mouth was inches from her center. He pressed his face there, right against her pussy through the fabric.

And inhaled deep like he wanted her scent in his lungs. Sanaa let out a broken sound, her hips rising into his face, needing more contact.

“Smell so damn sweet,” he said against her. His warm breath spread through the soaked cotton, “you been wet long enough. Marinated long enough,” He chuckled softly. 

She moaned again, fingers tightening in his locs.

Erik hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties, “Lift your hips.”

She obeyed instantly. Like her body was wired to follow directions.

He pulled the panties down slow. Painfully slow. The fabric peeled away from her pussy, sticking slightly from how wet she was, stretching, then snapping free.

He froze.

The panties stayed between his fingers, hanging useless, because he could not look away from what he saw. Her pussy glistened in the low light. Warm brown lips full and soft. Slightly parted from how swollen she was. Her inner lips peeked out, darker, slick with clear arousal. A drop fell as he watched. Another followed behind it, sliding down toward the curve of her ass.

He raised his brows, “Goddamn.”

His voice was low. Rough. Real.

Her pussy looked tender and inviting. Puffy with heat. Shiny and wet. Beautiful in a way that pulled his breath straight from him.

He looked up at her before he spoke, “You this wet for me?”

Sanaa nodded, eyes glossy. He let the panties fall to the floor. Erik slid his hands under the backs of her thighs and lifted them, opening her wider, exposing everything.

He stared.

Then he spoke it, “This the prettiest pussy I ever seen.” His voice dropped lower, almost like he was confessing something he couldn’t hold, “Puffy. Look at how it’s glistenin.” He ran one finger along her outer lips, barely touching, watching the wetness coat his skin, “You stayin wet like this for me…” He shook his head. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ drip like this.”

He pressed two fingers to her entrance. Her pussy opened for him.

Stretching.

Welcoming.

Sanaa gasped.

Erik licked his lips, “Yeah,” he whispered, “You perfect. A nigga could lose his mind between these legs.” He lowered his head until his mouth hovered right above her center, “Spread yourself for me, baby,” he said, “Lemme see you open.”

Sanaa’s hands trembled as she reached down and parted herself.

Erik inhaled again.

Then his tongue slowly descended.

Erik lowered his head and let the tip of his tongue barely touch her. One flick. Right over the top of her clit. Not a lick. A wet flick. A warm, precise, taunting stroke that sent a sharp jolt through her hips. Sanaa gasped, thighs twitching. Her back arched off the bed just enough to chase more contact, but Erik pulled back.

Just like that.

He bit his lip and sat back on his heels, eyes glued to her pussy like it was his favorite thing he’d ever seen.

And honestly? It might’ve been.

That drip…fuck...

It slid from her again. Clear. A warm, sweet string of arousal that leaked from her swollen folds and shined in the low light like melted sugar. He reached up, scrubbed a hand down his beard, jaw tight, eyes heavy with lust. His lips parted slightly, tongue peeking out to taste the last of her off his mouth.

Then he exhaled, real low, “Shit.”

His voice had that Oakland weight to it now—gritty, smooth, full of bass and control. He leaned in just enough to speak against her slick lips, breath hot and filthy.

“How you touch this pretty pussy, baby?”

Sanaa didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to.

Her hands moved down between her thighs, slow and deliberate. French-tipped nails—soft pink, perfectly shaped—grazed her inner thighs first. Then she reached lower and spread herself open again.

Her fingers were glossy within seconds.

She slid two over her clit in slow, small circles, eyes never leaving Erik’s. Her head tilted slightly to the side, mouth open just enough to breathe. She rested on her elbows, legs bent, toes curled. Her body moved with the rhythm of her own fingers. Gentle rolls of her hips, each one drawing a soft sound from her throat. Needy. Angelic.

“You watching?” she whispered, voice sticky with heat.

Erik’s jaw clenched. His eyes stayed on her hand. The way her fingers moved, the way she pulled her folds apart, then spread the wetness down and circled again for a slicker glide. It was a performance, but not for applause.

It was for him. All for him. Fot thr man she'd daydreamed would see her spread open and waiting. wanting. Like she was his ultimate present.

“Mmm,” he growled low, “That’s it. Rub on that clit, greedy girl.”

Sanaa moaned.

She tilted her hips again, her fingers stroking tighter circles now, teasing the peak, pressing into it like she needed to cum from just that alone. Her thighs trembled slightly. Her breaths came quicker; faster.

“There you go…” Erik said, voice full of grit, “Make that pussy feel good.”

Her brows pinched like she was already close. Her other hand came up to cup her breast, pinching the nipple, lips parting in a breathy moan. Eyelids fluttering soft.

“Look at your fine ass…” he said, licking his lips slow, “This what you do when you think about me?”

She nodded, eyes hazy, locked on his like she was drunk off lust. Her fingers never stopped moving.

“Yeah, you be playin in that pussy, huh?” Erik grinned, watching her squirm, “All quiet in the house, rubbin on that clit thinkin’ bout this big dick?”

“Uh huh,” she moaned, rolling her hips again.

He leaned in slightly, close enough to feel the heat off her, “Show me more then ,” he said, “Spread that fuckin' mess. Let me see how wet you stay for me.”

Sanaa’s fingers dipped down, slid through her folds, then up again. The shine on her hand was ridiculous.

“Good girl,” Erik praised, voice heavier now, “Good girllll…yeah, that’s it. That's it good girl...mmm...”

His eyes dropped back down to her center, lips parted. He dragged a hand over his mouth again like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His tongue peeked out and ran across the edge of his lip.

“Goddamn.”

She was dripping. Actively. Wetness gliding over her fingers. Gliding over her folds. Thick, warm, glistening. Her pussy looked edible. Fat, warm brown lips parting just enough to reveal the deeper blush of her inner folds. Everything was glossy. Her clit was peeking, swollen, begging for more pressure. Her fingers spread her open again, and Erik let out a groan from deep in his chest.

“You got the prettiest fuckin pussy I ever seen, girl.” He shook his head again, breathing heavy, “I’m talkin’…this shit got character to it” He reached out and pressed two fingers gently against her thigh, steadying himself like he needed to ground his body before he lost it, “Pussy got some memory. I can tell. won't ever forget this”

Sanaa’s breathing turned shaky, her lips parting again as she kept rubbing soft and slow.

“You tryna make me eat it or what, huh?” he asked, voice all gravel and temptation.

She nodded, biting her lip.

He smirked, “Nah,” he said, “You ain’t askin’ right. What I tell you ‘bout that? open your mouth”

Sanaa locked eyes with him, still rubbing, voice barely there, “Eat it, Daddy. Please eat it...”

Erik’s face changed.

Sanaa’s fingers were still glistening when she pulled them from between her thighs. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air now—sweet and warm, dripping with heavy lust, the kind of wet-wet that left streaks on her inner thighs and sticky glimmers on her skin.

Erik didn’t even have to ask.

She raised her hand to his mouth, still leaned back on her elbows, hair falling over her shoulder in that silk-pressed curtain that framed her face just right. Her lips parted, teeth catching the corner of her bottom lip. That quiet freak energy wrapped around her like perfume. No theatrics. Just power. And that power was real.

She held her fingers out to him. Shiny. Wet. Beautiful.

“Come get it,” she whispered softly.

Erik leaned forward, gaze locked on hers. His mouth opened slow. He pulled two of her fingers between his lips and sucked.

His tongue glided between the pads of her fingers, tasting the mess she made for him. He moaned low—barely audible but heavy with need—and closed his eyes for a second like it was better than anything he’d ever had on his tongue.

“Shit,” he spoke with a low rasp under his breath when her fingers slipped free.

Sanaa just smiled. Bit her lip again. Her legs spread wider. She lay back, still propped up on her elbows, legs bent at the knees. Her pussy glistened like a flower blooming in sunlight—folds soft and full, parted just enough to show off the glossy blush of her inner lips. It looked kissed already. Sticky and warm. Nectar pooling and dripping down like a puddle.

Erik slid down the bed and settled between her legs.

He didn’t dive in. He had a routine. A rhythm. A way he did this that couldn’t be rushed. He didn’t eat pussy like a boy still trying to impress. He ate it like he knew the power of it—how to control it, how to command it, how to unlock the kind of orgasm that rewired a woman’s brain. The shit was an art form.

He started with kisses.

Not just kisses—ticklish kisses. Featherlight. Barely there. The type of kiss that made goosebumps rise over your skin. The first one landed just above her clit. Not on it. The next? Just to the side. Then another on her inner thigh. Then right at the curve of her folds. His lips moved like he was tracing the shape of her pussy with his mouth. Each kiss sent sharp little sparks dancing down her thighs, curling into her toes.

Sanaa gasped. Then whimpered. Her thighs jerked, “Baby…” she moaned out.

Erik smirked against her skin. He kissed her clit next. Not a suck. Not even pressure. Just a warm, slow peck.

Then another. Slower.

Sanaa’s stomach clenched. Her elbows dug into the mattress, trying to keep her grounded.

Then came the licks.

His tongue flattened and dragged upward, slow and wide, collecting every drop of wetness from the bottom of her slit to the tip of her clit. He tasted her like he’d been waiting months. The sound of his tongue sliding through her folds was filthy. He ain't wanna miss a drop.

And she was soaked. Dripping wet. It didn’t matter how much he licked—there was more. Every time his tongue made contact, a new stream coated her lips. It was like her pussy was responding to him directly. Like it knew he was worthy and wanted to give him everything. Her folds opened more under his tongue. Swollen. Shiny. Beautiful. Like butterfly wings slick with nectar. Erik couldn't believe how good she tasted.

He pulled back for a second just to look. Licked his lips slow, “Fuck…”

Then he leaned in again. He parted her with his thumbs, exposing the soft pink flesh beneath. Then he sucked.

Soft. Tight. Right on the clit.

Sanaa’s entire body twitched. Her hips tilted off the bed like she was trying to get more of it—trying to grind into his face.

“Unh…” she moaned, voice all air and ache.

Erik held her thighs steady. Gave another slow, wet suck.

“You like that, huh?” he asked, voice low and gritty, “When I suck you like that? Right on that clit?”

Sanaa’s lips curled into a half smile. She bit her bottom lip again, chest heaving, legs trembling, “Yes, daddy,” she said, soft and sexy, hips tilting toward his mouth.

He chuckled deep, “I could suck all this wet off you and it’ll just come right back, huh?”

Sanaa nodded. Licked her lips. Her voice was like silk, “Cuz you make my pussy so wet,” she whispered, “It’s crazy…”

Erik sucked again. Softer this time. Slower. The sound of it echoed in the room—wet, filthy, perfect.

“Ain’t gotta worry if this dick gon’ slide in,” he said against her clit, “You already know it is, don't you?”

“Mhm…” she breathed, hips rocking gentle now. Her hands gripped the sheets, fingers twitching.

He kissed her again. Licked again. Sucked again.

Real slow. Real patient.

He was edging her. Dragging her to the edge then pulling back. Letting her drip. Letting her cream. Letting her feel every bit of it until her thighs were shaking and her voice was catching in her damn throat.

He wasn’t in a rush. He was about to teach her what it really meant to be eaten. Cuz ain't no way she knew. And her body told on her.

Sanaa didn’t know how long he’d been eating her. It could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time melted the second Erik laid his mouth on her pussy. And now she was shaking. Soft moans spilling from her lips like her breath couldn’t keep up. Her body was right there—right on the edge—but Erik refused to let her go over. Edging her until he was satisfied.

He kept switching it up.

One moment, he was sucking—slow, wet, focused right on the hood of her clit. Soft pulls that sent heat zipping down her thighs, into her spine. Then he’d pause. Lick along her folds like he was just tasting for fun, dragging his tongue flat from bottom to top, barely touching that swollen center. Then he’d pull back and let her feel that absence. That ache. That almost.

Sanaa was trembling.

Her thighs kept clenching. Her hips couldn’t stay still. Her clit was throbbing—tight and swollen and begging for pressure. But Erik wasn’t giving in.

She whimpered. Rolled her hips again. Tried to catch his mouth. He pulled back and looked up at her, lips glossy, beard wet. His locs brushed her thighs as he shook his head slightly, “Ain’t had it like this before,” he said, voice low, gravel thick in his throat, “Look at the way you feedin’ this pussy to me.”

Sanaa moaned again—long, high-pitched and helpless.

Erik’s voice dipped even deeper, teasing and demanding all at once, “Grab me by the hair and feed me then…since you wanna be so fuckin’ greedy, girl.”

Sanaa’s hands dove into his hair like it was instinct. Both palms spread across his scalp, fingers gripping thick locs and pulling him into her pussy with a desperation she couldn’t hide. She tilted her hips just right, parting her thighs wider, shifting her center until her clit was perfectly seated against his mouth.

Erik groaned into her. Deep. Primal.

Then he licked. Not just a flick. Not a tease. He dragged his tongue up her slit in one long, firm stroke, then did it again—steady pressure, no breaks, no games. His hands grabbed her thighs and held them in place while he worked. Mouth open, tongue flattened, licking her from the inside out.

Sanaa gasped.

Then she started to ride.

Little movements at first. Hips lifting, rocking slow against the line of his tongue. Erik let her. He kept his mouth open, his tongue steady, letting her rub that clit wherever she needed.

And when she started grinding harder? When that pussy dragged with more force?

He slurped. Wet. Loud. Nasty. He wrapped his lips around her clit mid-grind and sucked.

Sanaa cried out. Her back arched. Her thighs shook.

“Keep eating my pussy…” she whimpered, voice high and broken. Needy. Desperate. 

Erik sucked again, messier this time. His beard was soaked. His jaw flexed with every pull of her slick folds into his mouth.

Sanaa whimpered again. Then whispered, “Couldn’t wait for you to put those lips on me…”

Her voice was soft. Shaky. Full of that quiet ache that only came when a woman was losing control. Erik groaned against her. The vibration made her hips jerk. Made her legs try to close around his head. Made her breath hitch.

He held her open. Firm. Kept licking. Kept sucking on everything he could. Kept pulling those breathy moans right out of her chest like he was making music from her body. Sanaa’s head fell back. Her moans didn’t stop now. They were continuous. Light and airy, one after the next, like she couldn’t catch her breath between the waves of pleasure.

Her toes curled. Her fingers twisted in his locs.

And then she felt it. That creaming feeling.

It didn’t crash into her like an orgasm. It crept. Slow and intense.

A slow roll of warmth that started deep inside and spread outward. Her pussy started leaking thicker. Wetter. The glide against his lips turned slippery and heavy. Her clit swelled even more, and the pressure built like a drumbeat in her lower belly. Her pussy fluttered. She felt herself cream. Her muscles felt as if they were locking. Warm and thick, coating his mouth, his tongue, her own thighs.

She was still being edged and held on the brink. But her body didn’t care. It started giving him everything anyway. Giving in.

Erik pulled back just an inch. Just enough to let the mess drip down. Then he looked up at her again, eyes half-lidded, full of heat, “You feel that, baby girl?” he asked, licking his lips slow, “You creamin’ for me, greedy girl?”

Sanaa moaned so loud it turned into a broken whimper. She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks from the intensity, “I need it…” she whispered. “Please.”

Erik’s lips curved into a slow, filthy smile. Then he lowered his mouth again, “Say less, lil’ mama.” 

Sanaa’s body was trembling.

She had one fist tangled in Erik’s locs, the other gripping the sheet beside her like her life depended on it. Her thighs wouldn’t stay still—kept flexing, twitching, trying to close around his head. But he had her. One thick arm slung across her lower stomach, holding her down. The other? He slid his fingers in. Slow. Two of them. Thick fingers that stretched her out like a dick. Her pussy swallowed him easy, wetness dragging down his knuckles before he even got halfway. That first push had her moaning—soft and high, like it caught her off guard.

But then he curled them.

Just right.

His fingertips pressed deep against her front wall, slow, measured strokes that dragged across her most sensitive spot like he knew exactly where to touch. The angle. The pressure. The rhythm.

Sanaa choked on a moan. Her back arched. Her breath stuttered. Her thighs started shaking harder. Erik smirked against her skin. He licked her clit once. Then again. Then again.

And then sucked.

All while his fingers pumped deep, curling every time he pulled back, like he wanted to draw her orgasm out by hand. The sound between her legs was filthy.

Wet. Sloppy. Creamy.

Every stroke made that mess louder. Slick fingers gliding in and out, dragging her cream with them, strings of it clinging between his knuckles and her folds. Her pussy pulsed around his fingers like it was begging to be filled and stetched.

“Yeah,” Erik rasped, licking her clit again, “You hear that shit?”

Sanaa moaned long and cracked, like her breath gave out halfway through.

“You fuckin’ creamy, baby,” he whispered against her, “Drippin all on my hand.”

He sucked her clit again but slower this time. Then he curled his fingers harder.

Sanaa yelped.

The sound shot out of her throat, then dissolved into a breathy moan. Her eyes rolled, mouth falling open, lips slick with spit. She was losing it. She tried to speak. Tried to say his name. But all that came out were broken little whimpers and gasps. She bit her lip hard. Tried to focus. But she couldn’t. Not when his fingers were stroking that spot like a rhythm, a pattern, a pressure designed to ruin her and her only. Not when his mouth was glued to her clit, tongue flicking in circles, then flattening, then sucking her swollen bud while his fingers fucked her. Especially not when her pussy was making a mess all over his hand, his mouth, the bed beneath her.

She whimpered pathetically.

Erik chuckled, tongue teasing again, “Aww,” he cooed, “My baby can’t talk?”

Sanaa shook her head, tears in the corners of her eyes. He kept going. Fingers pumping, curling. Tongue licking.

Then his voice dropped into something darker, “Say you want it.”

She tried. Her lips moved. No sound.

Erik kissed her clit, then pressed deep with his fingers, “Uh uh…say it with your pussy then.”

Her body responded.

Hard.

She clenched so tight around his fingers it made his breath catch. Cream poured out around them, sticky and wet, dripping down her crack, smearing across his palm.

Erik groaned into her, “Shit, baby…this pussy talk better than your mouth. Ain't that some shit?”

She squealed. Eyes crossing. Legs jerking. She was stuck. Sanaa was right there. Right there. Her clit pulsed under his tongue. Her pussy clenched around his fingers like it was starving for release. Her legs wouldn’t stop shaking, her stomach was tight, her moans were high and strained, leaking out one after the next like she was breaking apart breath by breath.

And Erik knew it.

He felt it in the grip of her body. He felt it in the thick cream sliding down his hand, in the way her pussy clutched and fluttered, trying to force the nut out without permission. He pulled his mouth from her clit, let his breath run hot over it instead. His fingers didn’t stop moving—but they slowed. Deep curls now. Pressure. Precision. Just enough to make her lose her damn mind without pushing her over the edge.

“Open your mouth,” Erik said, voice low and sharp, “Tell me what you want.”

Sanaa whimpered. Eyes glossy, face twisted in agony. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She was shaking her head, trying to breathe, trying to speak—but her body was wrecked.

“You been wantin’ this, right?” he continued, fingers still stroking,  “Been rubbin that pretty pussy thinkin’ about this tongue? This dick?”

Her lip trembled. Tears welled up and slipped down the sides of her face.

Erik kissed her clit again. Once. Real soft. Then he growled, “Open that mouth and say it. Closed mouths don't get fed.”

Sanaa’s breath hitched. Her hips jerked. She grabbed the sheets with one hand and covered her mouth with the other, trying to hold back the sob bubbling in her throat. But it was too much. Too much pressure. Too much edging. Erik saw her body start to seize, felt her cunt tighten hard around his fingers.

He stopped. Froze. And gave her a warning with a brow lifted.

“You push that nut out,” he said, deep and deliberate, “I’ma spank that ass.”

Sanaa whimpered again. A high-pitched sound full of pain and need. She clenched everything—legs, pussy, jaw—trying to fight it.

But she was desperate. So fucking close. She dropped her hand from her mouth and finally begged.

“Please,” she cried, voice cracking. “Please let me cum—please, Erik—Daddy—I need it—oh my God—I need it so bad—please don’t stop—please, I’ll be good—I’ll say whatever you want—just please…”

It came out all at once. Pathetic. Broken. Slurred through moans and sobs. Tears rolled down her cheeks now. Her mouth stayed open, shaking with every breath. She didn’t care how she sounded. She didn’t care how she looked.

She was begging for real.

Erik exhaled through his nose and leaned over her, voice low, close, thick with control, “Damn, mamas…” His fingers started moving again. Deeper. Slower. Curling right into that soft, soaked spot that had her clenching all over again, “I’m diggin in this pussy good, huh?”

Sanaa cried out—high and breathy. He slid back between her legs, kissed her clit softly while his fingers stroked slow and deep.

“That’s a good girl, That's my good little slut,” he whispered, tongue flicking her clit just enough to make her back arch, “Keep your legs open. Let me give you what you want.”

Her legs parted wider. Her hips tilted up. Her breath caught. And then...

“Cum for me,” Erik said.

And her whole body snapped. Her back arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry. Pussy clenching so hard around his fingers it pushed cream out in waves. Her thighs trembled. Her clit pulsed beneath his tongue. Her moans were messy, unfiltered—one long stream of 

“ohmygodohmygodohmygod—Daddy—yes—fuck—yes—”

She came like her body couldn’t hold it anymore. Like the climax of an electric guitar.

Hard. Deep. Shaking. Her cream coated his fingers. Her pussy pulsed around them, wetness gushing, soaking his palm, the sheets, her thighs. And Erik just kept licking. Slow. Gentle. While she fell apart beneath him.

It was still happening. She was still cumming. Body shaking. Still losing herself in wave after wave of heat, pressure, release. Sanaa curled in on herself without meaning to—knees drawn in, arms folding across her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. But her body betrayed her. Her thighs trembled. Her feet flexed, pointed, curled again. Her back arched slightly, then trembled as it fell. Her hands opened and closed against the sheets. Her lip was quivering, bitten raw, and her eyes were squeezed shut like she was trying to survive something or remember it forever. Her moans had quieted. But her body was still screaming. Tears dried on her cheeks.

Erik didn’t say a word. He just looked at her. Looked down on her with an intensity so raw.

Looked at the way her legs twitched every time her pussy fluttered. Looked at the way her nipples stayed pebbled, trembling with the rise and fall of her breath. Looked at the tears streaking down her temples, the wild scatter of her silk press, her thighs glossy with cream, her lips parted but speechless. She looked ruined. Pretty. Small. Shaken. Like she had just been unlocked from the inside and didn’t know how to settle back into herself. Her pussy clenched around nothing, fluttering open and closed, messy with his saliva and her wetness, folds gleaming and tender.

Erik sat back on his heels. Silent. Watching. Breathing steady. His dick was so hard. Thick and pulsing and curved up in his joggers like it was ready to take what his mouth had primed. He didn’t even touch himself. He wanted to watch. He wanted to see what it looked like when his baby girl broke. When all that wet and all that cream came to the surface and shattered her. And he loved the way she tried to hide her face in the crook of her elbow. Cute. Real cute.

He reached forward and gently pulled her arm down, “Let me see you.”

She opened her eyes slowly. Glassy. Glowing. Doe eyed.

“Breathe,” he said.

She did. Barely. And Erik just watched her come back to earth. One breath at a time. He picked her up like she weighed nothing. All that slim-thick softness trembling in his hands, limp and light now that her body had been emptied out. Erik sat down at the edge of the bed and brought her with him, settling her in his lap, straddling him. Her legs draped over his thighs. Her bare, glossy pussy rested right against the thick ridge of his dick still straining inside his joggers. Sanaa’s arms hung loose around his shoulders. Her head leaned forward. She was still dazed. Trying to breathe. Her heart fluttered against his chest.

He kissed her, slow pecks to her lips. One. Another. Then another, right at the corner of her mouth. Big hands glided up and down her sides, from her waist to her thighs to her ass, grounding her. Stroking her like she was still coming down from a high and she was. Her skin was warm, flushed. Her mouth slightly parted. Her lashes fluttered low like she could barely keep her eyes open. She could hardly keep her head balanced.

“Catch your breath,” he said low, Another kiss, “Good girl…”

She inhaled like her lungs just started working again. Her eyes blinked open. Her mouth twitched into a hazy, breathy smile. Erik’s hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb stroking softly under her cheek.

“Wasn’t prepared for that, huh?” he said with that slick, knowing tone, “I know it. You ain't even gotta tell me.”

Sanaa whimpered in response. A breathy sound. Embarrassed. Wrecked. She shook her head just a little, but her body stayed slumped against his chest. Erik looked at her like he had every right to. Like she was his. Because he just unlocked something he knew nobody else had ever touched. He slid his thumb over her bottom lip and dragged it slow.

“What I tell you ‘bout all that tough talk?” he asked.

Sanaa didn't have the words. Her eyes were low. Lips swollen. Chest rising and falling with a shaky inhalation. Erik tilted her chin up just enough to make her look at him.

“Hmm?”

She blinked. Then finally, her lips curled, “…I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ else.”

He chuckled, low and deep, dimple's slightly peeking, “Yeah, aight.”

Then he kissed her again. But this one lingered. It was open mouths, warm tongues, his hand on the back of her head, holding her close. And when she moaned into his mouth, it was soft. Grateful. Weak. Like she was thanking him without saying a word. He could feel her pussy. Still blazing. The wet between her legs pressed right up against him. Bare pussy soft and creamy on the thick print of his dick through those joggers, still hard, still untouched. Erik didn’t move or grind up into her. He just held her in his lap and let her feel it. Let her sit right on it. One big hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb sliding slow along her nape. The other stroked down her spine, all the way to the small of her back. He kissed her again. Just lips brushing hers, lazy pecks, like he had nowhere to be but here.

Sanaa let out the quietest sigh.

Her body was still trembling a little. Her muscles tender. She was too sensitive. Her clit still tingled. She didn’t know if she could take more, but she wanted it, wanted him. She wanted to feel the weight of him inside her. And now the ache was growing again. She shifted in his lap. Just a little. Just enough to feel that pressure tease her slit. That thick ridge nudging her folds through the fabric. It made her pulse deep in her core. Her lashes fluttered. Her arms tightened faintly around his shoulders.

Erik smirked, “You tryna get it started again?” His voice was smooth, rich. Teasing.

Sanaa shook her head once, but it was a lie. The kind of soft, guilty lie that showed all over her face. She glanced down, like she couldn’t meet his eyes. Her lip was caught between her teeth again. Her thighs squeezed just slightly around him, embarrassed. Because she was dripping. Again. Wet all over his clothes. The mess between her legs was so obvious. Sticky, warm. And he ain't get in her pussy again.

He stroked her waist with both hands now. Then leaned in, nose brushing hers, “You just came, pretty girl,” he whispered, his lips hovering, “Body still shakin’…pussy still twitchin’…and you want more?"

Sanaa let out the smallest whimper.

He kissed the corner of her mouth again. His hands slid down to her hips. Held her there. Right above his dick. But didn’t let her grind. He just held her still.

“You want more, huh?”

She stayed quiet.

He tilted her head with his thumb under her chin.

“I said…you want more?”

Her eyes met his.

They were so pretty. Glazed. Her lips parted. Her voice was the quietest it had ever been.

“…yes.”

Erik grinned. That smug, deep grin like she just gave him the world. But he still didn’t move.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning in slow, lips brushing her cheek, “You was talkin’ all that big girl shit earlier. Got real quiet now.”

Sanaa let her head fall forward to hide against his neck. She nodded against him, lips pressed to his skin.

“Say it then,” he said, voice dropping. “Say what you want.”

She shook her head again, giggling soft in that breathless, bashful way. Too embarrassed to say it out loud.

He gripped her ass tighter.

“Open that pretty mouth and ask for it, baby.”

She lifted her face. Looked him dead in the eye, still shy, “I want it,” she whispered, “I want you.”

Erik leaned in closer, lips grazing hers. His hands slid up her back, fingertips teasing her skin, “You want this dick, huh?” he rasped.

Sanaa nodded. But that wasn’t enough.

He pulled back just enough to see her mouth move, “I wanna hear you say it. Say it like a good girl.”

She swallowed. Her voice was like syrup now. Sweet, needy, “Please, Erik…I want your dick.”

He kissed her once. Deep. Then pulled back and whispered against her lips.

“Good girl.”

By the time Erik pushed her back onto the bed, Sanaa was already shaking with need.

From the way his hands handled her like he’d been starving and she was the first real meal he’d seen in years. He slid her down the mattress until her ass was right at the edge, thighs spread wide. Her pussy was open and slick, lips swollen and shining, already overstimulated from what he’d done to her minutes before.

She had already came once. Twice. Lost count. 

Hard.

Her body still buzzing from it. Legs weak. Core trembling. That aftershock warmth still rolling through her like heat trapped under skin.

And Erik wasn’t satisfied. He needed more.

He dropped to his knees slow, big body lowering between her legs like it belonged there. His hands grabbed her thighs, thick fingers digging in, scars catching the light as he spread her wider. He leaned in close, breath hot against her pussy, close enough that she could feel him smile without seeing it. His beard tickled her.

“Aww, this lil pussy still jumpin? You that fuckin needy, huh?” Voice low, lips wet, tongue already sliding again like he ain’t give a fuck about her being overstimulated, “I just made you nut, and you still twitchin like you ain’t had enough. Greedy girl... so greedy.”

His tongue flattened out and dragged up her slit, slow and thick, from bottom to top, collecting everything she had to give. Sanaa cried out, hips jumping forward on instinct.

He caught her.

Strong hands pinned her thighs back, folding her open even more, holding her exactly where he wanted her. His mouth went right back to work, tongue circling her clit, slow at first, then tighter, firmer, like he was drawing patterns just to see how loud he could make her.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, fingers tangling in his locs.

He groaned into her pussy, the sound vibrating through her, making her thighs shake harder. He sucked her clit into his mouth, lips closing around it, tongue flicking fast now, mean and precise. Like he was mad at it. Like he was taking something out on her. Stealing her soul through her slippery tongue.

“You thought I was gon’ let shit slide?” he said against her, voice muffled, nasty, “After you had me hard like that? After you teased me? Like I wasn’t gon’ get you?”

She tried to pull away, the sensation too much, her body begging for mercy even while her pussy clenched around nothing.

He followed her. Stayed right there.

Kept his mouth locked on her, tongue deep, lips slick, sucking and slurping like he was trying to drain her. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her just enough to keep her right where he wanted her, sliding her closer to the edge when she tried to scoot back.

“Nope,” he said, calm as hell,  “Where you goin? Didn't I say I was gon' get you?”

She sobbed, back arching, legs trembling in his grip. Her pussy throbbed, oversensitive, aching, begging for another release even though her body was still recovering from the last one.

“I’m tryin’—I’m tryna take it, I swear I am…” she cried. 

“That’s fear talkin’. Pussy know better.” He tongued her like she owed him rent, “You started this. Now take what’s comin’.”

His tongue moved lower, dipping into her, licking her wet, greedy ass pussy like he was tasting her for the first time and the last time all at once. He ate her like he hadn’t had pussy in years, like he was trying to make up for lost time, mouth messy, sounds obscene, saliva mixing with her slick until everything was wet and loud.

Sanaa screamed.

Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling hard, but he didn’t budge. Flinch. Just tightened his grip on her thighs and kept going, scarred arms flexing as he held her open and helpless beneath his mouth.

“Still fuckin cryin. Still needy. That lil pussy talkin like she want another one. So I’ma give it to her.” he said, voice low and filthy. 

Her pussy clenched hard, body betraying her again, another wave building too fast, too strong.

“Please,” she whimpered, barely a word, “P-P-Please…”

He smiled against her.

“That’s it,” he said, “Say it like that.”

Then he went back in, tongue ruthless, mouth full of her, sucking, licking, slurping like he was trying to pull her soul through her pussy. Her legs locked around his shoulders as she came again, harder this time, body going tight then loose, a broken sound tearing out of her chest.

He dragged it once through her slick, tasting her again like he wanted to remind her whose mouth this was. Sanaa gasped, a sharp sound tearing out of her chest as her hips levitated off the bed without permission.

Then he found her clit.

And that’s when she damn near lost her mind.

His tongue flicked over it precise. Strong. Controlled. Each stroke purposeful and full of intent, like he knew exactly how much pressure to use to make her unravel. He hit it again. Same spot. Same rhythm. Then switched it up just enough to keep her from getting used to it.

“Ooh, fuuuuck,” she cried, voice cracking, eyes squeezing shut.

He groaned low, mouth never leaving her. His tongue moved with gusto now, fast flicks followed by slow, heavy presses. He circled her clit tight, then flattened his tongue over it and dragged it back and forth with purpose, like he was trying to rub the sound out of her. Her legs shook hard in his grip, muscles trembling like they were about to give out.

“Ain’t even fuckin and you breakin. You sure you built for this?”

He sucked her clit into his mouth for half a second, just enough to make her yelp, then went right back to flicking it, tongue snapping over that little bundle of nerves with strength that made her whole body jolt. Sanaa sobbed, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, chest heaving, “I can’t take it,” she whined, hips rocking desperately into his mouth.

He didn’t let her move. His scarred arms locked her in place, palms pressing her thighs back, holding her open like this was exactly where she belonged. Every time she tried to squirm away, he followed her without missing a beat, tongue staying right on her clit like it was magnetized. Like it was glued to it.

“Nowhere to go,” he told her calmly, “You stay right here and feel this.”

His tongue worked her relentlessly. Flick. Flick. Slow press. Flick again. He switched the rhythm just when she thought she was about to explode, teasing her on purpose, keeping her right on the edge. The sensation was sharp and overwhelming, her clit pulsing under his mouth, begging for release even while it burned from how sensitive she was.

She cried openly now, soft broken sounds spilling out of her as her body shook beneath him, “Please,” she gasped. “Please, Erik.”

He groaned deep in his chest and went in harder, tongue moving faster, stronger, flicking her clit with strokes that made her vision blur. He licked her like he was angry at the time he’d gone without, like he was reclaiming something he’d already decided was his.

Her pussy clenched hard. Her back arched. Her cry turned loud as another orgasm ripped through her, body locking up, thighs shaking uncontrollably in his grip. Erik stayed right there on that spot, tongue still working her through it, jaw damn near locked, not letting up until she was completely undone, sobbing and shaking at the edge of the bed.

Her whole body was vibrating from the way he tore her up with that mouth. Sanaa had never been ate like that. Like he meant it and he was on a mission to take her apart and leave nothing behind but trembles and whimpers.

But it was what she saw next that really fucked her up.

Erik stood tall at the edge of the bed, his body carved like sin. Muscles tight. Scarred. Every inch of him looked like something designed to be feared and fucked. Deep ridges of healed wounds cut across his chest and abs, trailing down in chaotic beauty. His skin was rich—dark, smooth, gold-toned in places where the light caught him, that brown so pure it made her mouth water. A walked god.

And then he slid those damn sweats down.

Sanaa sat up fast, breath catching in her throat.

That dick…It was stupid.

Thick and long, heavy, the kind of dick that made you stop and blink just to make sure your eyes weren’t lying. The base was wide, sitting on a smooth trim of dark curls low cut, clean, just enough left to make it masculine. A faint scent of his skin, sweat, and that deep musk from his body hit her nose and made her clench all over again. The shaft was darker than the rest of him, with veins running up the sides, thick and raised, pulsing. He was hard. Rock hard. And the tip?

Sanaa damn near whimpered.

The head was plush, flushed deep burgundy, almost swollen from how hard he was. A thick drop of precum sat right at the tip, glistening, heavy, already threatening to spill down. That shit looked edible. Glossy. Beautiful. It curved just a little to the left, mean and perfect, the kind of dick you dreamed about but didn’t believe existed in real life. She was at eye level now. Kneeling on the bed, lips parted, dizzy from everything. Dizzy from the taste of herself still on her tongue. Dizzy from the fact that this dick—that big dick—was hers now. To play with. She couldn't be more excited.

Erik grinned down at her, lazy and cocky, his voice low, “Yeah?” he said, eyes locked on her, “You like this dick?”

Sanaa nodded, couldn’t even lie. Her mouth was already watering. He gripped the base with one hand and slapped the tip against his abs once, then let it drop—heavy—the weight of it alone made the air shift.

“Bigger in person, huh?” he smirked.

Her thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

“You want it?” he asked, “Come talk to it. Put it where it belong.”

She crawled closer, hands shaking, one rising to touch the thick base of him, fingers wrapping around but not quite meeting. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.

He tilted his head, “Open that pretty mouth.”

She obeyed. Tongue out. He tapped the tip against her tongue once. Precum smeared on her lips, salty and warm, and her eyes fluttered.

“Good girl,” he said low, “You ready to learn?”

She nodded again, whimpering now.

“I’ma teach you how I like it sucked,” he said. “Take your time on my shit, girl. Slow.”

She wrapped her lips around the head, careful. Tucking her lips. The warmth of him filled her mouth, the size of it pushing her jaw wide already. Her tongue circled the crown, teasing the slit where he was still leaking. She moaned, loved how he tasted—clean, masculine, deep. She sucked slow, hollowing her cheeks, eyes fluttering shut as she took more in.

He groaned above her. A deep, rumbling sound from his chest, “Yeah… just like that,” he whispered, “There you go, baby. Suck it slow. Feel all of it.”

She eased down further, struggling a little with the stretch, but her hand stroked the base where her mouth couldn’t reach. Her spit dripped down the shaft already. She pulled off, let the head pop free with a wet sound, then licked up the underside, tongue tracing that vein like she was memorizing it.

Erik’s hand came down, gripped her head firm, “You want me to fuck your throat?” he asked, breath ragged, “Slow?”

She whimpered, nodding fast.

“You take this whole dick, I’ma lose my mind, Bri. I swear.”

She opened wide again, let him guide her back down, slower this time. Her lips stretched, jaw aching in the best way. He let her take control for a moment, let her find her rhythm—messy, wet, devoted—before he rocked his hips once, just a little, and her moan vibrated around him.

“Damn,” he hissed, “You tryna make me nut already?”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy, spit dripping from her chin. His dick slid out, covered in it.

He slapped it against her tongue again, “Keep goin’,” he growled, “I’m not done teachin’ you how to take me.”

She was takin’ her time with it.

Lips wrapped slow around the thick head of his dick, tongue moving like she was scared to miss a spot. Sanaa’s eyes fluttered open, big and glossy, locked right on his. She blinked up at him soft, all that pretty need showing in her face like she was trying to be good for him. Real good. Erik groaned low, hand resting heavy on her head, letting her work him.

Her lips popped off with a soft wet sound, a string of spit following before she wiped it away with her fingertips. She was breathing hard now. Mouth shiny. Face flushed. Then, like she was remembering something—something nasty—she whispered.

“Wait…”

He raised a brow, watching her crawl back toward the edge of the bed where her phone sat. The movement alone had his dick twitching again. She was down on her knees, just smooth brown skin, thighs glistening, and that pretty little pussy still wet and shining from how he ate her. Tits swaying softly with every breath, nipples tight. Hair hanging over one shoulder. That body? That body looked criminal. Like he should be arrested for the way he was about to fuck her face. She grabbed the phone and crawled back tantalizingly slow, hips swaying just enough to drive him out his mind. When she reached him, she sat back on her knees again, looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

Her lip caught between her teeth. Her voice was sugar, “Can you record me?”

His head tilted, smile curling slow, eyes darker now, “You want me to put you on camera?” he asked, biting his bottom lip.

Sanaa gave a breathy little laugh, nervous and nasty at the same time. Her tongue slid across her top lip, catching the taste of him still there. She looked like a wet dream. Like a dirty little angel.

“I like it,” she said, eyes still on his, “More so when I don’t notice but…yeah.” Her lashes fluttered, “Please?”

Erik chuckled low, thick fingers reaching for her phone, “You somethin else,” he unlocked the camera, switching it to video. His dick stood tall and heavy between them, wet with her spit, “Aight then, freak.”

She smiled. Bit her lip again. He hit record. And she sank right back down.

“Yeah…” Erik said, voice low behind the camera, steady, “That’s it. Go slow. Take your time on daddy’s dick.”

Sanaa did exactly that. Mouth open, tongue out, she let the head of his dick slide back in like it was routine. She moaned soft, slurping up the precum leaking heavy from the tip like it was honey made just for her.

“That’s my girl,” Erik praised, his voice rich, close, like velvet on the speakers. “There you go. Keep suckin just like that. Pretty lips stretched all over me.”

She bobbed her head, spit coating the shaft. Her hand stroked what she couldn’t swallow yet. She was tryin. Workin' her jaw, cheeks hollowed, tongue swirling. The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and addictive.

“You look so damn good like this,” he said, angling the camera low to catch her face and the way she handled him, “Got my whole shit in your mouth like you ain’t just cry all over my tongue five minutes ago.”

She moaned around him. He caught it on camera.

“Yeah, let ‘em hear how messy you get. That’s right. Let that spit fall. Don’t clean shit up.”

She pulled off slow, letting the head pop out with another loud, nasty sound. Her chin was wet, lips puffy. She looked straight at the camera and licked the tip once—soft, seductive. Then whispered, “This mine now, huh?”

Erik’s voice dropped, “Yours to suck, mine to own. Keep goin’, Bri,” he growled, bringing the phone closer. “Show me how nasty you really are.”

And she did. Eyes up, lips wide, throat relaxing. She slid deeper this time, slow and skilled, sucking him like she wanted to stay there all night. Steady. Watching. Capturing every drip, every moan, every choke of spit sliding down her chin while she sucked him like her life depended on it. Erik had the phone angled just right. One hand holding the camera low, catching the sloppy view of her full lips wrapped around that fat dick, the other dragging slow through her silk press. Fingers gliding through the sleek strands like he owned every inch of her because right now, he did. She was on her knees between his thighs, head bobbing, spit dripping from her mouth, tears clinging to her lashes, that back arched, lifting that ass high off the bed. Sanaa was deep in it. Gagging sweet, eyes watery but focused, trying to take him slow like he asked. Hair swaying with the motion of her head bobbing. Gold hoops swinging pretty. Her hand stroked what her throat couldn’t swallow yet, and she moaned real soft around him when his thumb grazed her jaw. That shit had Erik losing his mind.

“Yeah…” Erik said low, voice thick with that gritty Oakland bass. “That’s how you fuckin’ eat it, nasty girl.”

She whimpered around the shaft, tongue flexing as she sucked deeper, the stretch of it making her jaw ache. And he felt all of it.

“That pressure good, huh?” he asked, tilting the camera down more, “You like suckin this big-ass dick, don't you?”

She pulled back, gasping, chin glossy. Then went right back down on it without hesitation, slower this time, more focused.

His voice dropped another octave, “Don’t run, baby. Take all that shit. I want it nice and wet. Make that shit glisten for me.” His thumb swiped her cheek, then tapped her jaw, “Look in the camera,” he said calmly, “Show everybody how you behave when this dick come out.”

She peeked up with those big, glossy doe eyes, lashes wet, pupils blown. And he grinned—that slow, evil grin that meant he was trouble.

“Good girl,” he said, breath thick, “That’s what the fuck I’m talkin 'bout. Pretty lil’ slut just made for head.”

She moaned again and he caught it all. The sound, the suck, the spit. His hand stayed in her hair, palm warm against her scalp, holding her in place. He wasn’t forcing shit. Erik really didn't need to. Sanaa wanted this. Needed it. She was putting in real work, tongue swirling, throat flexing, mouth loud and messy.

“Keep suckin, baby. You doin good. Real good.” He licked his lips, “Make love to that dick. I want it slow.”

She pulled off with a pop, lips red and glistening, panting through her nose.

And that’s when he hit her with it.

“Who dick you suckin’ on, slut?”

Sanaa blinked slow, pupils glassy, spit still clinging to her lips. She bit her bottom one, smiling like she wasn’t two seconds from choking on him.

Then whispered, “Killmonger’s big dick.”

Erik groaned low. Damn near laughed through it, “Aww, shit. That’s right.” He palmed the back of her head, guiding her back toward the tip, his voice deep and filthy, “Now shut up and show that camera how you love daddy’s dick.”

Erik’s palm slid to the back of her head, heavy and sure.

Commanding.

“Keep still,” he said, voice low, calm, that Oakland grit threaded through every syllable, “Let me do the work.”

Sanaa whimpered around him, lips already stretched, jaw aching sweet as he guided her down slow. His dick filled her mouth inch by inch, thick and warm, veins pressing against her tongue. She gagged softly when he pushed a little deeper, breath catching, eyes squeezing shut.

“Nah,” he said quietly, watching her, “Eyes open.”

She forced them open, tears clinging to her lashes, staring up at him while he eased his hips forward again. Slow thrust. Controlled. He wasn’t chasing nothing. He was taking. Her hands lifted on instinct, fingers twitching toward his thighs.

He caught it immediately, “Hands in your lap,” he ordered. “Don’t touch shit.”

Her hands dropped, trembling, palms pressing into her thighs like she was trying to ground herself. That made his chest tighten. Made his jaw clench.

“Good,” he said. “That’s better.”

He rocked his hips again, shallow thrusts at first, letting her mouth adjust, letting her tongue learn the shape of him while he stayed right at the back of her throat. She gagged again, wet and broken, spit spilling down the corners of her mouth and onto her chin.

“That’s it,” he said, eyes dark, watching her struggle in the prettiest way, “Take it. Don’t fight it.” His breathing changed. Deepened. Chest rising slower but heavier now. He rolled his hips back and then forward again, just enough to make her choke, just enough to make her moan around him, “Look at that,” he said, tone slick, satisfied, “On your knees like this. Mouth full of dick. Can’t even grab on for help.”

He pulled out slowly, the length of him sliding past her lips inch by inch until the head popped free with a wet sound. He didn’t give her a second to recover.

He slapped his dick against her lips once.

Twice.

The head smacked wet and loud against her mouth, leaving her lips glossy, swollen, stained with spit and precum.

“Open,” he said.

She did.

He tapped it against her tongue, smearing that slick heat across her mouth while she breathed hard through her nose.

“Yeah,” he continued, voice thick now, “This what you wanted. Got you on your knees suckin daddy dick?” His eyes dropped to where his scars cut across his chest and stomach, down to the way his dick rested heavy between them. He watched the contrast like it did something to him. Taut muscle. Ritual wounds. Thick, leaking dick. Her mouth waiting, “Pretty as hell like this,” he said, jaw flexing, “All quiet and obedient.”

He slid back in, deeper this time. His palm stayed firm on her head, fingers spreading through her hair, keeping her right where he wanted her while he fucked her mouth with controlled strokes. Each thrust was measured. Each pullback purposeful. He wasn’t losing control. He was enjoying it. She gagged hard this time, throat flexing around him, eyes watering bad. A broken sound came out of her chest and he felt it wrap around him.

“Shh,” he said softly. “Breathe through it. You doin good.” His hips kept moving, shallow to deep, slow to slower, a pace that made her body melt even while it overwhelmed her. Spit ran freely now, coating him, dripping down onto her chest, “Damn,” he breathed, biting his lip, “You see that shit? That’s your mouth workin exactly how I like.” He pulled out again, slapped his dick against her lips once more, then let it rest there, heavy and slick, “Stay right there,” he said, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “You ain’t done til' I tell you to.”

Erik pulled back just enough to look at her.

Really look.

Her mouth was wrecked. Lips swollen and shiny. Chin slick. Eyes glassy and obedient, breathing heavy through her nose like she’d been holding herself together on willpower alone. He liked that look on her. Liked that he put it there.

“Stick your tongue out,” he said all calm like he knew she’d listen.

Sanaa did it immediately. Tongue extended, trembling just a little, glossy with spit. Pretty. Pink. Waiting.

He slapped his dick against it.

One heavy slap.

The weight of it made her gasp. The head pressed flat against her tongue, warm and leaking, precum smearing across it. He did it again. Slower this time. Let it rest there for a second so she could feel how heavy he was. How real.

“Yeah,” he said low. “Just like that.” He slapped it again, firmer, the sound wet and obscene, watching her tongue flatten under the weight of him, “Open wider.”

She did. Jaw dropping, tongue still out, eyes flicking up to his face like she wanted approval. His hand slid to the back of her neck. Fingers spread. Grip solid.

“Now show me,” he said, “Show me you want my nut.”

He guided her forward and she took him back in, lips closing around the head, tongue working immediately, slow and focused just like he told her. She sucked like she had something to prove. Drew him in inch by inch, throat relaxing, mouth warm and slick, spit coating him thick.

Erik groaned. Not a word. A sound. Low. From his chest. Like he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.

“That’s it,” he said, breath heavier now. “Yeah. Fuck. Just like that.”

He started moving his hips. Slow at first. Shallow thrusts, letting her mouth adjust to the rhythm. His hand stayed firm on her neck, guiding and controlling the pace. She moaned around him, the vibration shooting straight through his body.

“Mm,” he sounded, eyes narrowing, “You feel how you pullin it outta me?”

She did. She knew.

Her mouth got sloppier. Wetter. She pulled back just enough to drag her tongue along the underside, then swallowed him again, deeper this time. Her throat flexed around him and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he said, hips stuttering for half a second before he steadied himself, “You doin that on purpose.”

She was. She bobbed slow, steady, eyes locked on him, hands still obedient in her lap. She let him thrust now, matching his movement, letting him slide in and out of her mouth while she kept her tongue working the head every time he pushed back in. His breathing got rougher. Chest rising faster. His free hand clenched at his side, fingers flexing like he was holding himself back from grabbing her hair harder.

“Yeah…that’s it,” he said, voice thick, strained now, “You draggin that shit outta me.”

She moaned again, tears slipping free from how full her mouth felt. How deep he was. How badly she wanted to finish him.

“Keep suckin, slut. You look real cute when you don’t think—just choke.” He grinned down at her, “That’s all you good for right now.” He thrust a little deeper, a little slower, savoring it. The sounds she made were obscene. Wet. Desperate. Perfect, “That’s my nut you workin for,” he said quietly, “Don’t rush. I wanna feel every second.”

And the way his hips kept moving, the way his voice shook just a little now, told her she was doing exactly what he wanted. To make his thighs tighten and his voice start slipping into that ragged, desperate edge even he couldn’t hide. His grip stayed locked at the back of her neck, anchoring himself in the wet heat of her mouth while she kept sucking like she needed it. Slow strokes. Controlled sucks. But his body was rolling now. Sanaa had her tongue working that underside with purpose, lips locked tight, cheeks hollowed every time he pulled back. And when he slid back in, deeper, letting her throat hug the head, her moan vibrated so deep around him it made his stomach jump. Erik’s eyes fluttered. He bit down on his bottom lip hard. Head tipped back. Shoulders flexing. His whole body rippled, abs twitching under the tight strain of control he was seconds from losing.

“Fuck…stay right there. Don’t move. Don’t fuckin play wit’ me now.” His voice hit her like weight, low and feral.

Her pace stayed nasty and obedient. Sloppy. And when his knees started to tremble, she knew it. Felt it. That thick dick was swelling even more in her mouth, leaking like crazy now, salty and heavy on her tongue.

“Fuckin’ mouth feel too damn good…” he choked out, hips stuttering, voice low and wrecked.

He looked down at her, head falling forward, eyes wild. Sweat beading at his temples. Veins thick in his arms.

Then he groaned.

Loud. Raw.

“Shit—Bri…” And with a slow thrust, balls snug to her chin, he lost it. “Empty my fuckin balls…” he gritted through clenched teeth, breath snatching, “Empty my balls, slut…suck it outta me.” His hips rocked into her mouth, slow but deep, dick  jerking on her tongue with each pulse of release. Cum spilled thick, hot, flooding the back of her throat. She moaned around him, not pulling back, not flinching—swallowed every drop, “Take it,” Erik groaned, voice shaking. “Take all that shit…yeah…”

His hand held her there because he wanted to feel her throat working while she drained him. She stayed there while he spilled. Stayed there while his thighs flexed, chest heaved, abs clenched with every twitch of pleasure rolling through him. Only when he finally pulled out, slow and spent, did he look down fully and let his eyes take her in.

Face wet. Mouth open. Breathing hard. She licked her lips. And he grinned. Still high off the nut. Watching her like she was a dream with a mouth built for destruction.

“Damn,” he panted, voice rough, “You really mine now, huh?”

Sanaa was already open before he ever put it in her.

That was the part that shook her the most.

She lay back on the bed, silk-pressed hair spread smooth beneath her head, gold hoops warm against her neck, chest rising fast. Her skin glowed. Brown. Soft. That deep, rich tone that caught the light like polished wood. Her pussy was slick enough to feel the air hit it when her thighs parted. Wet enough to shine. Tight enough to throb. Erik kneeled between her legs, towering, solid, body made to fold bitches up. Scars ridged over his chest and arms, catching the light as he flexed. His locs brushed his shoulders. Gold canines flashed when he smirked, slow and dangerous. That big, thick dick sat heavy in his hand, already hard and leaking. Veins thick along the shaft. Heavy head. Fat. Balls tight. He dragged the head of it through her slick, slow. Let it slide between her lips without pushing in. Just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Mm,” he said low, “That pussy talkin’.”

Sanaa whimpered, hips lifting without permission. She reached down, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow like she needed something to hold onto. Her toes curled, thighs trembling.

“Hold your ankles,” Erik told her.

She did it instantly. Hands slid down her legs. Ankles in her grip. Wide open. Exposed. Vulnerable and ready. Her mouth fell open as she breathed, chest heaving.

They locked eyes.

Erik leaned forward just a little, dick still rubbing through her slick. He tapped her pussy with it once. Twice. A wet, teasing slap that made her gasp. Kissed her lips sloppy like he was sucking the breath out of her.

“You ready to get fucked?” he asked, voice calm but heavy with promise.

Her fingers circled her clit faster,  “Yeah,” she breathed, “Yeah.”

“I’m ready to fuck you, I know that,” he said, rubbing the head of his dick right at her entrance, letting it press there without going in, “Tired of playin’. ‘Bout to dig you out, girl. Give you what you always wanted.”

Her whole body buzzed. Like static. Like she was plugged into something too strong. Her pussy clenched around nothing, slick dripping down, soaking the sheets beneath her. Erik angled his hips, lined himself up, and pushed the head in just a little.

Just enough.

Sanaa’s eyes rolled. A broken sound fell from her lips. Her toes curled so hard they damn near cramped.

“Shh,” he said, watching her face closely, “Breathe. Let that pussy relax. You want it. I feel you.”

He pushed again. Inch by inch. That fat head stretching her open, slow and deep, her tight walls gripping him like. She was holdin’ that dick like it owed her somethin'. She gasped, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, staring straight at him.

“Oh my—” Her voice cracked into a moan.

“That’s it,” Erik said, jaw tight, teeth flashing as he watched her swallow him, “That’s how you take a big dick. Slow. Let it open you.”

Her fingers rubbed her clit harder now, breath shaky, little sounds slipping out of her with every inch he sank in. Her pussy was tight. Tight as hell. Hot. Wet. Pulling him in because it needed him.

“Damn,” he groaned, “You tight as fuck. Grippin’ me like you been waitin’ your whole life.”

He paused halfway in. Just sat there. Let her feel it. Let her body adjust around him. Let her pussy throb and flutter and leak. Sanaa was shaking. Legs still wide. Ankles in the air. Eyes locked on his because she didn't wanna miss a second of this. Her lips parted. Chest heaving. Sweat starting to gather at her temples.

“Move,” she breathed, barely louder than air.

Erik tilted his head, smirk deepening, “Nah. Sit wit’ it. Feel that stretch. Feel what you been askin’ for.”

He rolled his hips just a little. Enough to make her gasp again. Enough to make her pussy clamp down.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, toes curling again, “It’s so big.”

“Yeah,” he said, finally pushing deeper. Slow. Controlled. Taking his time sinking all the way in until his hips met her thighs. Until she was full. Stuffed. Opened up around him, “That’s daddy dick,” he said quietly, “Ain’t rushin’. Just sittin’ where it belong.”

She cried out then. A real sound. Raw. Her body arched, fingers still working her clit as her pussy clenched hard around him, creamy and dripping.

Erik stayed still, buried deep, watching her face twist with pleasure and shock and need, “Now,” he said, voice low and steady, “Now I’ma fuck you.”

The first stroke took her breath. deep. And so slow. Erik dragged out of her inch by inch, dick thick and heavy, every ridge of his shaft pulling against her walls like he was scraping the memory of anybody else out. Her pussy clung to him, creamy and tight, pulsing around that slow exit like it. That pussy kept catchin’ his dick on the way out, holdin’ him right at the base. Sanaa’s mouth fell open, lips parted in shock. Her hips tried to lift with him, like her body was chasing what was leaving. He stopped right at the tip. Let it rest there. Slick and twitching.

Then he slid it back in.

One long, smooth push. Deep. Full. Her pussy stretched again, swallowed him whole. That grip got tighter every time he pulled out, like her pussy was beggin’ to stay full. A messy whimper slipped from her throat, back arching, legs trembling as she held her ankles just like he told her to.

“Right there?” he said, voice deep and calm like a threat, “Here?” He pulled back again. Slow. Let her feel the drag. That stretch. That pressure. All that thickness working her from the inside out. Then pushed back in. Another slow grind. Deep. Deep, “How you like it?”

Sanaa’s answer was a cry, broken and high, her voice cracked open from the inside. Her hands barely held onto her legs now. Ankles shaking in her grip. Titties bouncing soft under the rhythm he set.

“You feel all that?” he said, lips barely moving, eyes locked on her face, “Feel how I’m fuckin’ this lil’ pussy?” He moved again. Same speed. Same power. That controlled thrust that kissed her spot and punched a gasp out her lungs at the same time. Her eyes rolled. Sweat broke out across her chest. Her thighs quivered, “Say it,” he growled, hips rocking, “Say what you need. Talk to me.”

Sanaa was breathless, voice caught in her throat, fingers slipping from her thighs just long enough for Erik to grip the backs of her knees and press them toward her chest, folding her even deeper. Pussy opened up wider. Gripped tighter.

“Push it in,” she whispered, eyes glossy, “Please—”

Erik laughed. Low. Nasty.

He pulled back again. Dick dragging slow, thick veins rubbing all along her walls. Cream shining on him when he looked down. Then he rocked back in deep, pelvis kissing hers, thighs clapping soft.

“This what you been wantin'? Want this dick pushin’ up in you? Stretchin’ this tight lil’ thing out?”

She nodded fast, mouth open, whining now. Body shaking under him.

“Want this dick slidin’ up in you? Stuffin’ this tight lil’ pussy full?”

Sanaa’s back arched, head tipped back, mouth open. “Nnngh—f-fuck…”

She moaned loud, fingers clawing at his back, trying to grind, but he pinned her with his weight.

“Stop movin’. This pussy gon' get this work. You feel that pulse in your stomach? That’s your pussy holdin’ me in. I can feel it…beatin’ on this dick.”

She bit her lip, head rolling, helpless.

He bent down just enough for his chest to brush her tits, still rolling his hips, smooth and deep, “Yeah, you like that,” he said into her ear, “You been actin’ like you ain’t ready, like I’m too much…but this pussy takin’ it. All of it. She know who she belong to.”

He straightened up again, gold shining in his mouth as he licked his lips. He was breathing harder now, sweat sliding down the middle of his chest, scars flexing across his arms. And he was still in control. Still feeding her slow, powerful strokes that rocked her whole body, that made the bed creak and her hands claw at the sheets.

“You makin’ a mess,” he grunted, “Drippin’ all on me. Fuckin’ cream just pourin’.”

Sanaa could barely speak. Her face said everything. Eyes low, mouth open, a whimper riding each stroke. Her body was begging. Pussy wetter, messier. Squeezing tighter every time he pulled back.

“You gon’ cum like this?” Erik said, voice dark, “I can feel it. She twitchin’. That creamy lil’ explosion waitin’ for me.” Another thrust. Then another. Each one dragging her closer, “You ready?” he whispered, “Ready to let that pretty pussy bust all over me?”

And the way her body shook said yes before she could even speak it.

Sanaa let out a broken sound, halfway between a whine and a moan, fingers twitching uselessly in the air. Her clit throbbed. Her pussy fluttered hard around him like it was begging to be let loose.

Erik reached down and took her ankles again, firm hands wrapping around them. He lifted her legs and rested them on his shoulders, one smooth motion. Her small feet dangled against his broad back, toes curling as he leaned forward and tilted her hips just right.

That angle hit different.

So deep it made her gasp sharp, eyes flying open.

“Fuck,” she breathed, staring down between their bodies, watching his dick disappear into her. Watching her own slick stretch around him. Cream shining.

"You got me so open," she spoke soft and breathless.

Erik started moving again.

Not wild. Not sloppy. Just a quicker pace. Steady. Relentless. Each thrust deep and sure, dragging through her slow on the pull back, then pressing right back in where she needed it most.

“There,” he said, voice low and steady. “Right there. You feel that shit?”

Her answer was a soft cry, lip caught between her teeth as she nodded, eyes locked on where he was fucking her. She couldn’t look away. Sanaa couldn't believe how full she looked. How much of him was inside her. How her body took it.

“I know you feel it,” he went on, breath heavier now, “This dick sittin’ all up in you. Spread open wide now, huh? Got you laid out lookin’ real fuckin’ good.”

The bed creaked under the rhythm of his hips. The wet sound between them got louder. Slicker. Every thrust pushing air out her lungs. Her titties bounced with the motion, nipples tight and aching. Sweat rolled down her chest and between them. Sanaa’s hands fisted in the sheets. Her stomach tightened. Her toes curled again, feet flexing against his shoulders.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, voice shaking, “Oh my—”

“That pressure hittin’ you right?” Erik asked, thrusting again, a little harder now, “Got you starin’ down at it like you can’t believe what it doin’ to you.” He leaned in closer, chest hovering over her legs, dick still sliding deep and slow-fast, that perfect in-between pace that made her whole body buzz, “Pussy just openin’ up for me,” he said, “Squeezin’ when I pull back. Clutchin’ when I push in. You feel how deep that shit go? shiiit”

She whimpered, eyes glossy, jaw slack. Her body rocked with every stroke, ass lifting just a little off the bed when he sank all the way in.

“I see you,” he said, “I see that look on your face. That ‘I ain’t never felt no shit like this’ look.”

Her lip trembled as she bit it again, trying not to make too much noise, failing every time he hit that spot that made her pussy jump.

“You not cumming yet,” Erik told her, voice like gravel soaked heat, “I’m holdin’ you right here. Letting this dick sit. Letting you feel what it mean to get fucked for real.”

He kept that pace. Deep. Measured. Consistent. Filling her over and over again until her thoughts blurred and all she could focus on was the way he felt inside her. Sanaa stared down at their bodies moving together, chest rising fast, eyes wide with disbelief.

She had never imagined it would feel like this.

And Erik could tell.

He smiled slow as he fucked her, knowing exactly what he was doing to her.

He felt it change in her.

That moment when her body stopped fighting the feeling and started chasing it. Erik pulled out slow just enough to make her gasp, then hooked an arm under her thighs and dragged her closer to the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked as he stood tall between her legs, feet planted wide. One big hand came up to cradle the back of her neck, fingers spread, firm but steady, keeping her bent just right. Curled beneath him like a fuck doll.

Her head tipped forward. Chin slightly tucked. Chest caving. Legs wide open and shaking.

“Stay right here,” he told her quietly.

Then he pushed back in. Harder this time. All hips. All big dick from tip to base.

He fucked her standing up, deep strokes snapping into her with sharpness. Every thrust dug into her pussy like he was carving his name in it. The sound changed immediately. Wet. Heavy. Nasty. Her ass slid just a little on the sheets with every drive of his hips. The bed thumped softly against the wall. Her breath came out in sharp, broken moans she didn’t even try to hold back. Erik leaned forward, hand still at her neck, thumb pressing just enough to keep her right where he wanted her. His other hand grabbed her thigh, spreading her wider, giving himself more room to work her.

“This how you get fucked,” he said low, voice tight now, “Ain’t none of that playin’ shit no more.”

Her body responded instantly. Pussy gripping him harder. Cream slicking up his shaft, making each thrust glide smoother, deeper. He could feel how tight she still was even after taking him. How every stroke made her clench. Sanaa dragged a hand down his chest, fingers splayed over raised scars, nails dragging slow across his abs like she needed something solid to hold onto. Her brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open as sound after sound spilled out of her. No words now. Just moans. Real ones. Loud and shameless. Gasps. Strangled cries.

Her toes curled. Thighs shook. Her head pressed back into his hand as her whole body rocked with his rhythm.

Erik watched her fall apart.

Watched the way her lips parted. The way her chest rose and fell fast. The way her pussy sucked him in every time he pulled back and begged him back when he pushed in.

“I know,” he said, eyes locked on hers, pace picking up, “I know what this dick doin’. I know I’m stretchin’ you deep. Breakin’ you in right. I know baby girl.” 

She moaned louder, hand sliding down his stomach, gripping his hips now, nails biting into his skin as her body tried to meet every thrust.

“Yeah?” he groaned, “I know. I feel you squeezin’ me. Tryna pull me deeper. Daddy know, baby.”

He fucked her good. No rush. No wasted movement. Just deep, clean strokes that made her body jolt and her pussy throb around him. Sweat dripped down his chest, spotted her skin. His breathing got heavier, chest flexing with every thrust.

Sanaa couldn’t think.

Couldn’t compare this to anything she’d ever had because nothing came close. This wasn’t just sex. This was control. Weight. Pressure. The type of dick that made your legs weak and your mind go quiet. Her moans filled the room now. Pretty and broken. Her body answering him before her thoughts ever could.

“You ain’t used to this,” he said, “That’s why you actin’ out. Why you so fuckin’ loud right now. This dick hittin’ different, huh?”

Her mouth trembled beneath his grip. She tried to moan but it came out shaky, broken. Just a mess of sound, face twisting as her pussy pulsed again, creamy and loud between them. Wet. Soaking wet. Erik pulled back just an inch, then slid right back in at a snails pace—deep. Her body jolted. She clawed at his abs, nails dragging across scarred skin, searching for something to hold on to.

“I said look at me,” he growled, giving her jaw a squeeze, “You takin’ it so good. But you gon’ remember this stroke.” He rolled his hips again. Slow grind. All of him inside. Her moans hitched, “Yeah…uh-huh.” he whispered, kissing the side of her mouth, still fucking her slow and deep, “That’s it. Let me see what a good girl sound like when she get ruined.”

And she did. All moans now. Loud, messy, undone. Pussy soaked. Face caught somewhere between disbelief and addiction. She didn’t even know how to ask him to stop—because she didn’t want him to. She wanted him to live in her pussy. It was that good. Good enough that words couldn’t even describe.

“Uh uh,” he said low, hips rolling again, pulling out slow just to sink back in, “Ain’t no escape in this room. Just me givin’ you some shit you don’t know how to handle yet.”

Sanaa’s head was tipped back, mouth open, eyes unfocused. She couldn’t even make words—just breathy gasps, little “uhh—uhh—ohh” sounds, tears caught in the corners of her eyes. That dick was fat. And it felt like it reached every inch inside her. Like he was claiming shit. Bruising pleasure into her walls. He dropped one fist and palmed her throat, not squeezing, just holdin’ it while he fucked her slower, deeper. His thumb under her chin to make her look at him.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head like she was pathetic for what she’d become under him, “Pretty lil’ thing. Can’t even talk. Can’t even move. All that mouth you had… now I’m in it, huh? In that sweet, warm, squeezin’ ass pussy?” He leaned in, lips brushing her cheek as he fucked her slow, but hard. Real strokes. Deep dips. His abs flexed. That sweat from his chest dripped onto her titties, slid down between them, “Gon’ make a mess all over me,” he whispered against her ear, “I feel that pussy twitchin’. You ‘bout to squirt? Cream? Gimme that shit then. Let it go. Gimme all that sweet lil’ mess. You nasty fuckin’ slut—”

Sanaa tried to hold it, tried to breathe, but her body had other plans. Her pussy clenched up on him, hard. That creamy wet exploded in a rush. Her whole body shook. Back arched. Toes curled. She screamed loud. A long, dragged out moan that had her damn near crying, “Daaaaddy—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, biting his bottom lip hard as her cream gushed around him. “There she go. So fuckin’ messy. That’s mine. All that shit belong to me. Mine. My pussy—”

He didn’t stop. Kept stroking. Controlled. Deep. Watching the way her body seized up with every thrust. The way her face crumbled, lips parted, eyes crossed just a little. She was spent. Fucked dumb. But he wasn’t done.

She had been asking for it. The teasing. The walking past him in them little ass shorts with no bra. The smart-ass grin, the way she bent over slow like she ain’t know he was behind her. Like he wasn’t built to catch that shit. Built to correct it. Put her lil’ ass in her place.

Now she was where she needed to be.

Bent at the edge of the bed, back dipped low in a deep arch, slim thick body laid out perfect. Espresso brown skin already kissed up with sweat, glowing under the low lamp light. Long silk press damp and clinging to her spine, gold hoops swinging every time she breathed too hard. Her hands gripped the sheets in front of her like she was bracing for impact, thighs twitching already from anticipation. She wasn’t saying much now. Just soft little whimpers, little gasps, trying to hold still while Erik stood behind her, letting that heavy dick drag over her soaked lips like a warning.

He was tall, solid, strong in a way that made everything feel smaller around him. That skin of his golden brown, gleamed with sweat across scarred shoulders and cut arms, every muscle flexing in slow control. His locs hung wild, swaying with each breath he took, some brushing against his cheek as he rolled his hips forward just enough to tease her slit. His jaw was locked tight. Dimples barely showing under the shadow of his beard, lips full and parted, watching her with heat in his eyes. That look he got when he was done playing.

The room was heavy with that tension. That wet, nasty tension that made you sweat before the fuck even started. The sound of her breathing came in soft stutters, then caught sharp when he eased the tip of his dick in, slow, just enough to make her feel the width. That first little push pulled a moan straight out her chest—high-pitched, pretty, needy.

“Nnnnnhhh—”

Her thighs shook. Her hips twitched. He gripped them firm and kept her still.

His dick slid in deeper, inch by long inch, slow and controlled. Thick, veined, heavy with heat. Her pussy welcomed it, parted soft and creamy, sucking him in greedy. The sound was nasty—wet, slick, obscene. Skin to skin contact filled the room in low slaps as he sank into that tightness. She gasped loud when he bottomed out, pussy clenching, juice spilling out and down his dick, running slick down to his balls.

“Ahhh—fuck—”

Her back dipped harder, ass bouncing from the force, body trembling as he held still, buried deep. Letting her feel the weight. Letting her feel how deep it went. The pressure in her belly was immediate, hot and thick like she’d been split open from the inside. She whined again, softer this time, body trying to pull back but his grip stayed firm. Erik leaned over her, chest hovering over her back, heat rolling off his body. Sweat dripped from his skin to hers, mixing where their bodies touched. His lips brushed her shoulder as he sucked a slow breath through his nose. His locs swayed forward, brushing her neck. She could hear his breath now—heavy, steady, that deep male grunt rising in his chest as he pulled back halfway and pushed in again, slow but harder. Purposeful.

“Unhhh—”

Her moan cracked open in her throat as he started moving. Deep strokes. Slow drag out, then all the way back in, hips snapping against her ass with a sharp clap. The bounce of her cheeks echoed through the room, flesh meeting flesh, wetness coating everything. Her pussy clenched again—tight, messy, too responsive—and that just made him go harder.

She cried out again, hands bunching the sheets, gasping loud as her body rocked forward with every thrust.

“Ahhh—ahh—nnnnn—”

Erik’s hand slid from her hip to the front of her throat. Not choking. Just holding. Making her feel how deep he was, how controlled he was, how owned she was. He bent his head, kissed her jaw, bit it slow, sucked on her skin until she shivered and clenched even tighter around him. His other hand slid up, grabbed a handful of titty, squeezing her soft brown flesh, palm wet with sweat and cream.

Then he popped her ass—sharp, loud.

She squealed, whole body jumping as he slammed into her deeper. The pressure started building before she even realized he was changing pace. His thrusts stayed deep, thick strokes dragging through all that creamy wet, but there was something in the way he paused—right there, buried inside her. Like he was deciding how bad he was about to break her down.

Then his voice cut through the slick sound of skin and sex, “Sit up.”

Just like that. Blunt. Firm. No softness in it. That deep, calm tone that left no room for hesitation. Sanaa’s breath caught in her throat, and she pushed up slow on shaky arms, her back still arched, ass still high. Her long hair stuck to her shoulder and chest now, damp from sweat, sticking to the curve of her breasts. She tried to breathe, but that dick was still buried so deep, all she could do was pant. She knew her pussy hole had to be stretched to capacity with how stuffed she felt.

“Sit…up,” he repeated, voice tighter now, hand gripping her hip, “Arch that back. Stay just like that. Don’t make me say that shit again, Bri.”

She obeyed, gasping when he rolled his hips again, slow at first, the weight of him grinding right into her from behind. She whimpered when his hand slid up her back, gripped the nape of her neck.

Then came the next command, low and rough behind her, “Look back at me.”

She turned her head, eyes fluttering open through the haze, lips trembling as she looked over her shoulder. And there he was. Erik. Sweaty, scarred-up motherfucker with that big dick sitting inside her.. His locs swung loose around his face, clinging to the thick muscle of his shoulders. Sweat ran in slow trails down his chest, catching the shine in the light. His lips were parted, that sculpted jaw clenched tight. And his eyes—locked on hers, low and dangerous. Sanaa whimpered, her face twisting as another slow, hard stroke made her body jolt forward. That dick dragged against her walls so deep and thick it felt like it was curving inside her, making her pussy clench down again, hard. She couldn’t hold it.

“Mmmf—ahh—fuck… Erik…”

He smirked, then popped her ass again—sharper this time. The clap echoed through the room, “Don’t run now, lil’ slut. You wanted this, right?”

And then he started fucking her for real.

Hips snapping forward with sharp, Erik drove into her with hard, grinding thrusts, dick drilling through wet, creamy heat like it owned her insides. The sound was filthy—wet slaps, heavy balls smacking against her clit, the sharp clap of flesh to flesh every time her cheeks bounced back on him. Her pussy gushed around him, creamy and hot, dripping down to the bed, mess soaking everything under them.

“Ahh—ahh—uhhh—f-fuck—”

She was breaking, voice stuttering, face twisted up, brows tight, lips trembling as she tried to keep her eyes on him. He grabbed her jaw from behind, fingers strong and possessive on her face, turning her chin even more so she had no choice but to stare at him while he kept pounding.

“Keep them eyes on me,” he growled, voice deep and close, his lips at her cheek now, “You feel this dick? That’s what you get for playin’ in my face. Now you gon’ learn.”

She cried out again, soft and desperate. Her body trembled with every stroke, thighs shaking, nails digging into the mattress. Her tits bounced with every hit, back dimples flexing. Erik’s hips moved fast now, but still controlled, like he knew exactly how deep to go to make her lose her mind. His thrusts hit that swollen spot inside her over and over, his thick dick pushing against her walls so deep her whole pussy fluttered in response.

“Unghhh…Daddy—please—”

He grunted low, rough, grinding in deeper.

“Nasty lil’ thing,” he said right in her ear, voice ragged now, his breath hot on her neck, “All that attitude. All that mouth. Now you over here whimperin’, creamin’ all over me like a good lil’ slut.”

She gasped, crying out again, that pleasure bubbling high and fast inside her. Erik didn’t let up. He kept her head turned, kept his body crashing into hers, all muscle, all grit, sweat dripping onto her back with every stroke. Both of them breathing heavy, biting their lips, eyes locked.

Sanaa stayed right where he put her—back arched, hands down, head still turned, mouth parted on a whimper. That dick had her wide open. Her whole body felt like it was on fire now, tingling from the inside out. She could feel every part of him—every thick inch, every slow drag, every deep slam that pushed up into places she ain’t even know could feel that good. Her thighs were shaking, hips twitching with every thrust. But Erik wasn’t letting her go nowhere.

He had her by the shoulders now, those strong-ass hands gripping tight, thumbs pressed into the back of her traps, arms flexed as he used his whole body to pull her back into each stroke. Feet planted. Muscles locked in. That perfect stroke rhythm starting to build again—steady, brutal, unrelenting.

No words now.

Just dick.

Just that thick, wet clap of his hips smacking against her ass over and over, the sound getting nastier, wetter, louder with every bounce of her cheeks. Just his grunts—low, throaty, deep in his chest. And that smug-ass “mhmm,” that came out when he bottomed out so hard she let out a full cry. That sly ask smirk coupled with that bite of his lip.

“Auhhh—uhh—daddy—fuck—”

Her voice broke every time he hit it. Her pussy clamped down again, tight and fluttering around him, slick coating his dick in warm cream that spilled with every deep thrust. The pressure inside her was swelling fast, like her body was trying to catch up to what he was doing to it—like her nerves were sparking all over. That dick was heavy. Thick as hell. Every push sent heat rolling through her belly, made her gasp, made her grab the sheets like she could anchor herself against it. He gripped her harder. Pulled her back harder. Snapped his hips forward and made that ass bounce harder.

Her titties swung with every stroke, sweat rolling down her chest, her back, between her thighs. Her whole body was shaking now, nerves on fire, pussy so wet it sounded like he was fucking straight into a bowl of honey. The slick was everywhere—coating him, dripping to the bed, making a mess of her thighs and the back of her knees.

And Erik was loving it.

Didn’t say a word. Just kept watching her. Kept them eyes on her like he was memorizing how she looked with his dick buried in her. Lips slightly parted. Jaw clenched. Locs stuck to his shoulders and jaw, swaying with every hard stroke.

“Unnnh…mmmh…uh-huh…”

Those cocky-ass grunts and hums kept falling out of his mouth, like her pussy was answering a question he ain’t even ask. That deep, wet squeeze her body gave every time he drove in. The flutter when he slowed up. The shiver in her legs when he picked the pace back up and pounded harder. Sanaa tried to reach back, tried to brace herself on his thigh, but he wasn’t having that. He let go of one shoulder, grabbed her wrist and planted her hand back down. Grabbed her hip again and took her right back into that stroke. Deep. Fast. Wet.

“Auhh—uhhh—uhhhhnnnn…”

She was gasping now, moaning with every single thrust. Her pussy started convulsing again, leaking more, pulling at him because it didn’t want him out. That heat between her legs turned molten, had her legs trembling under him, had her thighs slick and trembling.

Still pounding. He was still controlling. Dickin’ her down like she was built to take all of him and only him.

“D-don’t stop… I need it like that…" "Right there, oh my god…keep fuckin’ me, just like that…” “You feel how deep you in? I’m so full… I can’t take it—no, wait—I want it…” “Talk to me while you fuck me like this…tell me it’s yours…” “This dick feel so good, daddy…you tryna make me lose my mind?” “You fuckin’ me dumb…I swear I’m finna—oh my god—Erik…” “Look what you do to me…look at how I’m shaking…you proud of that?” “Don’t slow down—uh-uh, no—keep goin’, fuck me open…” “I want all of it…don’t hold back…tear it up.” “Mmmf…I’ll take all that dick, just keep giving it to me…make me remember.”

Sanaa was begging. Nonstop. On a never ending loop.

Voice all breathy and broken, words spilling out between moans like she couldn’t help it. Like she needed to be fucked. Needed to be filled. Saying anything, everything—just to keep him deep inside her.

“I’ll be g-good…I swear…” “I won’t run no more…you can do whatever you want…” “I’m listening, I’m listening…I promise I’m listening…” “Please, I’m tryna be good for you…ain’t I being good?” “You got me, daddy…you got all of me, I swear…” “I won’t move, I’ll stay right here…just keep fuckin’ me…”

She started begging while throwing it back, Erik talking her through it. 

“I’ll be good…I swear…I just—I need it—”

“Then take it. Show me how bad you want it.”

“I’m tryna be good…tryna take it all—”

“You doin’ good. Now stay right there and keep archin’ that pretty back.”

“You fuckin’ me so good, I can’t think straight—”

“Good. That’s the goal. I don’t want no thoughts in that head. Just me.”

Her back dipped low, arms trembling where she gripped the edge of the bed, face buried in the pillow. Erik had her locked in, one hand braced heavy on her lower back, the other gripping her hip, pulling her into each stroke. He wasn’t slamming into her. Nah. He was drilling her. Real slow. Real deep. Erik was laying pipe in her soul. She was throwin’ it back in broken stutters, thighs shaking, sweat sliding down her spine. Cream slicked his dick, thick and wet, strings of it gluing to the base. He could hear it every time he sank back in. That nasty, obscene squelch that made his jaw clench.

Schhlllk—schlckk, shhcccclik

“You close?” he asked, voice low and dark behind her.

She nodded fast, whining. Couldn’t get words out. Just gasps and soft cries.

Erik leaned in, hips still grinding, still pushing all the way in. Then he slid two fingers into her mouth. Right between her lips. Like a pacifier, “Suck,” he said, “Be my good girl.”

And she did. Moaning around his fingers. Eyes rolling. Drool sliding down her chin as her body locked up. Her orgasm hit like a fucking car crash. Sanaa’s eyes crossed, jaw slackening around his fingers. Her legs gave out beneath her, back bowing as her body seized, pussy gripping and milking his dick. She screamed around his hand, whimpering and twitching, hips caught in the middle of the thrust.

“There you go,” Erik grunted, “That’s it. Cum on this dick just like that.”

Her cream spilled down his shaft in a thick, hot wave, soaking her thighs and the sheets beneath her. Erik didn’t slow. He fucked her through it, holding her mouth open with his fingers, thumb stroking her bottom lip. She sucked like she needed it to breathe. Eyes wet. Breath hitched. Body quivering like she had no control over her basic motor skills.

“You feel that?” he growled, stroking deep again, “You still cumming, baby. Let it out.”

Her moans were high and muffled, body twitching as he stayed buried inside her. Still fucking her and making her feel everything. No breaks. No mercy.

“You want daddy to stop?” he asked again, pulling her head back by the hair, “Or you want more?”

She tried to answer, but all that came out was a choked moan around his fingers.

“Mmhm. Thought so.”

He pulled his fingers from her mouth slow, strings of spit still clinging to them, and dragged the wet trail across her ass. Sanaa was trembling, cheeks flushed, pussy leaking from the last orgasm. But Erik gripped her waist again, pulled her back against him, and slid all the way in.

“Mmm…this lil’ pussy still wet for me?” he growled low behind her.

She whimpered, back arching. She tried to move but he pinned her down.

“Nah, keep still. I’m bout to fill you up.” His voice dropped, heavy and slow like a threat, “You feel that?” This me. All this dick. Stuffin’ this tight lil’ pussy.”

He started stroking again, deeper now, slow and punishing, his balls slapping against her soaked folds. Sanaa was crying into the sheets—moaning, choking, cumming all over again. And Erik was chasing his nut now.

“I’m gon’ breed this pussy.Drop this nut so fuckin’ deep, you’ll feel it in your stomach.” His hand slid up her back, gripped the nape of her neck, pushed her face down into the bed, “You hear me, baby? I’m the only one who get to fuck you like this.” He thrust harder now, hips slamming, the sound filthy. The sound of skin, of heat, of him claiming her. Possessive. Focused. Mean with it, “This slutty lil’ pussy… so good. Good pussy. My pussy. So fuckin’ tight I can barely breathe.”

Sanaa was gone. Babbling. Creaming again. Arching back into him even as her legs shook. And Erik was right at the edge. He grabbed both her hips, held her in place, and pushed all the way in—balls deep—and held it.

“Fuck…fuuuck—there it go—”

He groaned hard through clenched teeth as he nutted. Thick, hot, flooding her. Long spurts. Over and over. His dick twitched inside her as he emptied himself so deep, so full, he knew she’d be leakin’ when he pulled out.

“Mmm…there you go. Take all this nut, just like I taught you.” He leaned down, pressed his chest to her back, lips brushing her ear, This the only dick you know, baby. The best dick you ever had. And the last dick you gon’ ever get.”

Erik finally pulled out, slow and heavy, his dick slick with her cream and his nut. Sanaa whimpered at the emptiness, her thighs twitching. A thick stream of cum dripped from her used pussy, pooling between her legs, then more spilled when she arched slightly and pushed it out, her body still fluttering.

He watched it, eyes dark.

Then he leaned over her back, one hand spreading her ass, the other braced beside her head. His lips brushed her ear.

“Say my name.”

She swallowed a moan, still dazed, open, used.

“Killmonger…” she breathed.

If she tries to run from Smoke dick:

Smoke wouldn’t let her get more than an inch. The moment he feels her hips shift or her body try to re oil from the sheer size and thickness of his dick his reaction would be instantaneous and physical. He wouldn’t shout or ask why, he would simply react.

He’d reach out with those large, calloused hands and seize her hips in a vice grip. He would haul her back against him with a brutal, singular motion, pinning her firmly against the mattress or the wall. He’d lean in close, his chest hard against her back because we know this man love to bend you over. Then he would speak in a low gravelly rumble against her ear or her neck.

“Where you think you goin’?”

He would use his weight to anchor her, ensuring she feels every inch of that dick pressing into her. He’d slowly drive that thick dick back in her. Smoke doesn’t do “gentle” when he feels her slipping away or trying to run. He takes control. There is no exit until he’s finished.

He’s keeping that stroke, he wants you crying on the dick.

When she presses her palm against his stomach or chest to push back:

It’s a signal, her saying “daddy, it’s too much.” Or “I can’t take it.” When he’s stretching her past her limit.

Smoke don’t react with hesitation he only gets triggered by her body fighting the girth and length of him. It makes his deepest, most possessive instincts come to life. Smoke ain’t a man of many words, and he isn’t one for gentle reassurance. To him, her resistance isn’t a request to stop it’s a sign that he successfully claimed every single inch of her.

Smoke will lean his full, heavy weight forward, pin her deeper into the mattress or the wall with either his hands on the backs of her thighs/knees. He may even bear hug her while he in it. He catches her wrists in one of his large hands with a steel grip and pin her arm above her head or firmly against his own chest.

Smoke would say little to no words. He’ll grunt, growl, breath heavy through his nose. He’ll look down at her his expression hard and neutral (😩😩😩) though the intensity in his gaze is scorching! He wants her to see that he knows exactly what she’s feeling.

“You mine…take it.”

He would hold her there, frozen and stretched, letting her feel the thickness of him pulsing deep inside her. Then with a slow, brutal efficiency, he would begin to drive back into her, he’d use his hips to grind his dick directly against her most sensitive spots, forcing her body to accommodate his size. Every thrust is a heavy, thudding impact that reminds her exactly who owns her. He won’t stop until her nails start to claw at his shoulders, his chest, his abs.

If she tries to run or pull away from his dick:

Stack wouldn’t react like Smoke. Instead, he’d treat it as a challenge, a playful game of cat and mouse. The moment he feels her recoil from his big dick he wouldn’t just grab her he’d tease her about it.

He might let her slide back just an inch, only to catch her by the waist with a low, melodic chuckle. He’d pull her back toward him with a sliding, sensual friction that makes her skin tingle. He’d lean in, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice a smooth, honeyed tone that vibrates through her entire body.

“Now, where you goin’, sugar? We just gettin’ to the best part,” he’d whisper.

Stack uses his charisma to coax her back, kissing her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers to distract her from the intimidation of his size. But once he had her settled, the “pretty gangster” disappears and the predator emerges. He’d grip her thighs, hoisting them higher over his shoulders to open her up completely. He would slide back in her with a slow, agonizing pace, watching her face with a smug, knowing grin. He wants her to feel the stretch to feel the way his dick sits perfectly against her spot.

When she presses her palm against Stack’s stomach, that frantic, trembling push that tells him it’s too much:

That his girth is stretching her to a breaking point. Stack don’t react like Smoke. Instead, he’d react with that chuckle and that smirk. To Stack, her resistance isn’t a signal to stop it’s a compliment. It’s the ultimate validation of his masculinity. He treats her struggle like a game he’s won.

Stack doesn’t pin her down with force he uses his charisma to dismantle her panic. He leans back just a fraction to look in her eyes. He’s got that predatory grin with deep dimples popping as he watches her expression of overwhelming desire. He’ll let her hand stay there for a moment, feeling the heat of her hand against his flexed muscles before slowly wrapping his fingers around her wrist and kissing the inside of it with his eyes still locked. Then he makes his voice sound all smooth and sexy.

“Now, baby…you know you want every single inch of this. Don’t lie to me. I can feel how tight you grippin’ me. You just a little overwhelmed by how big I am, ain’t you?”

Then he’ll guidance her hand down from his stomach, sliding her palm over the hard ridge of his hip and then directly into the base of his dick, forcing her to feel the thick, pulsing vein and the heavy weight of him as he remains buried deep inside her. He wants her to acknowledge the size of him, to feel the way his dick sits deep.

Then he moves, driving that dick at a slow pace. He pulls back until he’s almost out to tease her with the sensation of emptiness then he’s sliding back in with a steady pressure that makes her toes curl. All while watching her face and savoring every reaction.

“Just breath for me…open up for daddy. Take it all. I’m gon’ fill you up so full.”

The car drops her a half step past the entrance like the driver doesn’t want to block the curb too long. Zariah steps out into a slice of low overhead light and the door shuts behind her with an expensive thud. The building doesn’t announce itself. There was no line, no loud music spilling out. Just a matte black door and a man who looks like he’s part of the wall until you meet his eyes. 

Zariah gives her name. The man checks it once, then again without looking like he’s checking anything at all, and opens the door. 

Inside, things felt different. Not quite the music, more like a pulse under everything. Velvet seatings. Dark wood. People who speak in half-voices and don’t repeat themselves. 

Zariah pauses just inside, long enough to take it in. It was just a breath, nothing obvious. Her shoulders settle into their usual line, chin level, eyes forward. Zariah belongs in rooms. That part is muscle memory. 

A hand touches her elbow lightly, her spine goes rigid. 

“Saint-James.” 

Zariah turns. Malik. He’s familiar enough to ease the first second of it. Zariah’s seen him at fittings, at a campaign wrap, once backstage where he talked too smoothly to be anyone’s assistant. Tonight, he looked sharper, but same smile though. Same confidence that assumes a yes before it’s given. 

“You made it,” he says. 

“Mm.” A small nod. “For a minute.” 

Malik steps in beside her, hazel eyes boring into hers, not blocking, just aligning. 

“Come on. I’ll show you around.” 

Zariah lets him guide the direction not the movement. There’s a difference. He knows people here. That’s useful. He speaks in low tones as they move, greeting without stopping, names traded like small coins. When he introduces Zariah, his hand rests at the small of her back for a second too long, then lifts. 

“This is Zariah. Saint-James.” 

Heads turn. Not many. Enough. 

She offers the version of a smile that doesn’t invite questions. 

“Hi.” 

A woman in a silk slip dress made by some foreign designer studies her, then softens, “I know your face.” 

Zariah dips her chin once. “That happens.” 

A glass appears in her hand without her asking. She doesn’t drink it yet. She holds it, lets the cool settle into her palm. Malik leans in to say something near her ear. His breath brushes too close. Zariah tilts her head just enough to hear without giving him the rest of the space. 

“Good room,” he says. “Keep your face around.”

“Mm.” She takes a small step forward, easing the distance. “I’m not staying long, Malik.” 

They drift to a cluster near the bar. Four men, maybe five. Conversation tight. Phrases that loop around meaning instead of landing on it. Numbers, but not spoken like numbers. Very mysterious in a way that makes you wonder. Zariah listens without looking like she’s listening. That’s a skill she learned early. One of them glances at her, then at Malik. A beat. A question that never becomes a question. 

Malik answers it anyway.

“She’s good,” he says, easy. “She with me.” 

One of the men drags their eyes over Zariah.

“This you, Malik? Whatever happened to that French model you had on your arm during fashion week?” 

“You know that was all business,” Malik leans into Zariah, placing his hand on her lower back. “This is Zariah Saint-James. She’s gonna be the new face taking over the fashion industry. Ain’t that right, baby?” 

Hums of approval circulated.

Zariah stills. Not a freeze. A correction. She turns her head, just enough to catch his eye. Her voice stays light, even.

“I came by myself, actually.”

It lands clean. No edge. No apology. 

A couple of the men look away first. Malik’s smile doesn’t falter, but it tightens at the corners. 

“Yeah,” he says, like he meant it that way. “For a minute.” 

“For a minute,” she repeats, and lifts the glass to her lips without drinking. 

Zariah notices the details in the room now. How people stand angled instead of square. How no one laughs too loud. How eyes track movement without turning heads. This isn’t a creative room. Not really. It wears the shape as a disguise but the weight under it is something else. Something she clearly didn’t prepare herself for. Because this space was dressed up like any other she’d been in. But clearly, this room full of powerful people was another side of stardom she didn’t understand enough.

Malik introduces her again, this time to a man in a dark suit with a watch that probably costs more than what Zariah is worth. Older. White. The man’s gaze rests on her a fraction longer than it needs to. 

“Pleasure,” he says. 

Zariah meets it, steady. “Mm.” 

He smiles like that answer told him something. Zariah blinks away quickly.

Malik’s hand returns to her waist, guiding her half a step closer to the circle as if to anchor the introduction. She lets it sit there for a second, then shifts her weight, a small turn of her hips that leaves his hand with nowhere natural to land. It falls away. 

“I’m gonna grab something,” she says, already moving. Heart racing.

Stay,” Malik whispers, soft enough that it could pass for a suggestion. 

Zariah doesn’t stop. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

At the bar, she can breath better. She sets the glass down untouched and rests her fingertips on the smooth marble of the bar top. Her reflection glides along the surface, broken by light. Zariah smoothes the line of her dress at her hip, more to ground herself than to adjust anything. 

Her phone buzzed once. Zariah glanced at it. A text from a stylist about a call time tomorrow. She types back a quick answer, then locks the screen. Behind her, the private lounge continues like it didn’t notice her stepping away. 

Malik returns, closer than before. Zariah stiffens.

“You good?”

“I’m fine.” Zariah keeps her gaze on the bar, then turns to Malik. “I’m heading out in a second.” 

“Already?” Malik smiles, but there’s something under it now. “You just got here, baby.”

“I said a minute.”

Malik leans in again, voice low. “Don’t do that, Zariah. It’s a good look for you to be seen here. I called some connects. Got you on the list…the least you can do is play along. Don’t you want that Vogue spread?”

Zariah holds his gaze. 

“I’ve been seen.”

There was a pause. Malik’s eyes search her face like he’s trying to decide how far to push. It was making Zariah feel uncomfortable. 

“Come meet one more person,” he says. “Then you can go.” 

Zariah considers it. Quick. The room presses at the edges of her awareness. 

“One,” she says. 

Malik nods like he won something. They cross the floor again. This time, the path feels longer. Or maybe she’s more aware of it. The man Malik wants her to meet stands near a corner where the ambiance is softer. He looks up as they approach, already informed. 

“Saint-James,” Malik says. Like he’s placing a piece on a board. “Told you.” 

The man’s eyes take her in without apology. Dark. Unreadable. A face so chiseled it could only be described as a plastic surgeon’s work. 

“I’ve seen you. That shoot with Alberto Rodriguez. Stunning. Versace.”

“Thank you.” Her tone stays even.

“I’m Westley.” He smiles. “You’re in the right room.”

Zariah meets that without returning it, “I’m in the room I walked into.” 

Malik laughs under his breath like she said something charming. The man doesn’t laugh. 

For a second, no one speaks.

“…well. It’s nice to finally meet you, Saint James. Hopefully the next time we meet, It’s us working together.”

Zariah lets it sit. Then, she inclines her head, gives Westley a faint smile, small and final.

“I’m heading out.”

Malik’s hand ghosts at her back again, then stops when she doesn’t slow. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, you’re good.” Zariah turns slightly, enough to keep it polite, not enough to invite him to follow. “I got it.”

Zadiah moves toward the door with the same pace she walked in with. Composed. The man at the door opens it before she reaches for the handle. 

Outside, Zariah exhales, a real one this time, and steps onto the curb. For a second, she stands there, looking back at the black door like it might explain itself if she gave it long enough. 

It doesn’t. 

Zariah pulls her phone out to call her driver, thumb hovering over the screen. Then, she stills. 

A small thought crosses her mind. 

I should’ve said something.

The ride back felt longer than it should have. Zariah sits angled toward the window, city lights dragging across the glass in streaks of gold and white. Her phone sat in her lap, the screen dark. She picked it up once, unlocked it, then locked it again without doing anything. Her reflection stared back at her faintly in the window. Same face. Same poise. But there was something tighter around her eyes now. 

She exhales and leans back. 

By the time the car pulls up, most of the lights in the surrounding units are off. Her driver tells her goodnight. Zariah answers without thinking and steps out, her heels landing soft against pavement. Inside, the elevator ride was short. Too short. She watches the LED numbers climb, arms folded loosely, thumb brushing over her wrist. Not nervous. Just…aware. 

The elevator doors open. The hallway leading into the hall of her apartment building is dim, lined with soft recess lighting along the ceiling. Her steps are steady and cloaked by the hand-tuffted carpet runner in dark green as she walks to her door. Zariah reaches into her bag, pulls out her keys, and unlocks it. 

The door opens with a hiss. 

And the first thing she notices is the light. It’s already on. It wasn’t every light, but enough. The living room. The kitchen. 

He’s here. 

Smoke is sitting on one end of her sectional, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. No TV. No phone. Just him. And that was enough to make her pause. 

He looked up when she stepped in. Zariah pauses just past the foyer for half a second. Then, she sits her bag down on the coffee table. 

“When did you get here?” She asked, proceeding to take off her heels like everything is normal. 

Smoke doesn’t answer right away. His eyes stay locked on her. 

Then—

“Where you come from?”

Flat. No extra weight in the words. That’s what makes it land hard. Zariah slips her other shoe off, placing them beneath the coffee table. 

“Out.” 

A beat

“With who?”

Zariah straightens, smoothing her dress down at her hips before turning to face him. 

“Some people from work.” 

Smoke’s gaze doesn’t break. 

“What people?” 

Zariah tilts her head slightly, studying him now. 

“Why you askin’ like that?” 

Smoke leans back just enough to rest against the sectional, but his eyes remained glued to her like he was seeing past the guard she was trying to obtain.

“Answer the question.”

Zariah’s jaw sets for a second. 

“I told you. Work people.”

Silence. It stretched just enough to be felt. 

Then—

“You was at that lounge on Mercer.” 

It wasn’t a question. Zariah’s eyes flicker once. She wasn’t surprised. Just confirmation that she knew he would be keeping an eye on her location. 

She folds her arms loosely. 

“…Yeah.”

“Who took you there?”

“My driver dropped me off. I went by myself.”

Smoke’s gaze sharpens just a fraction. 

“Don’t do that.” 

Zariah’s brows pull together. “I just told you—”

“Who brought you in?”

His voice doesn’t rise. It just tightens. Zariah exhales through her nose.

“A creative I know. Malik was there.”

Smoke leans forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees again. 

“Malik.” 

Smoke repeats it like he’s placing it somewhere. Then, he looks back at Zariah. 

“And you thought that was somewhere you should be.” 

There was no question in it. Zariah shifts her weight onto one leg. 

“I’ve been in places like that before.” 

“No,” Smoke says, cutting through it. “You haven’t.”

That hit. Zariah’s arms drop from where they were closed. Her posture straightens. 

“You don’t know every place I’ve been,” Zariah replies, voice firmer now. 

“I know that one.” 

Zariah studies him, eyes narrowing slightly. “You actin’ like I walked into something crazy, Smoke.” 

He holds her gaze. “You did.” 

Zariah’s lips press together. For a second, she looks like she might push back harder. 

“I was fine,” she says instead.

Smoke’s expression doesn’t change. “No, Z. You wasn’t.”

Short. Final. 

Zariah’s breath catches slightly, more from the certainty than the words themselves. She looks away for a second, then back at him. 

“I handled myself. Like I always do.” 

The corner of Smoke’s mouth twitched. Enough to part his full lips and reveal silver slugs. He watched her with a slight squint of his eyes. Because he knew. He always knew. 

“I’m sure you think you did, baby.”

That stung more than anything  else he’d said. 

Her chin lifts just a touch, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Silence again. This time more overbearing. Smoke leans forward more, closing some of the space between them without standing. 

“Look at me.”  

Zariah’s eyes snap back to his. She holds it. 

“I am.” 

Then, Smoke asks, calm and direct. “He put his hands on you?” 

Zariah stills. Her fingers curl slightly at her sides. 

“It wasn’t like that.” 

That’s not an answer. 

Smoke’s gaze doesn’t waver. 

“Did he touch you.” 

Zariah exhales. “…Yeah.” 

Another pause. 

“Where.” 

Her jaw tightens. 

“At my back. My waist. He was just—guiding me.” 

Smoke nods once, slow. “Guiding you.” 

He repeats it, but it wasn’t like he agrees. 

Zariah shifts her weight again. “I moved. I corrected it.”

“I know you did.” 

That catches her off guard. Her brows lift slightly. 

“You know?” 

“I know how you move.” His tone hasn’t changed, but something underneath it has. “And you still stayed.” 

There it is. 

Zariah’s shoulders drop just a fraction. 

“I was trying to leave without making it a thing.” 

Smoke sits back again, dragging a hand over his face once before letting it fall.

“You already was a thing the second you walked in there.” 

Zariah’s gaze softens, just a little. She looks at him for a long second, then speaks quieter. 

“I didn’t know it was like that. That he…that it was more than making connections. Helping my career. I–I didn’t realize he was tryna push up on me, Smoke.”

Smoke watches her. And for the first time, something shifts in his expression. Edged with something else. A softness rarely seen.

“I know you didn’t, Z. That’s the problem. Because he could have taken advantage. Like that nigga always do.”

Zariah exhales, slow. Her shoulders ease. She steps a little closer now, enough to close some of the distance. 

“I hear you.”

It’s quieter than anything she’s said so far. Real. Smoke holds her gaze a moment longer. Then, he leans back against the sofa, one hand resting on his jaw.

“Next time,” he says, voice steady, “you tell me where you goin’.” 

Zariah nods once. “…Okay.”

She means it, but she looks away right after she says it, eyes drifting toward the kitchen like the conversation might loosen if she doesn’t hold it. 

It doesn’t. 

The sofa creaks as Smoke Stands. He steps toward her, closing the space she left between them. Zariah’s shoulders tighten just a fraction as he stops in front of her. 

“Don’t look away.” 

Smoke’s voice stays low and firm. Her eyes lift back to his, slow and steady. Smoke studies her for a second. Then, his hand comes up, fingers settling under her chin, thumb along the side of her jaw. 

“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.” 

Zariah’s breath shifts. She doesn’t pull away. 

“Mkay,” she replies with a soft voice. 

“You walked into a space where nobody in there is who they say they are,” he says. “Not to you.” 

Zariah watches him, listening.

“…That wasn’t no industry lounge,” Smoke continues. “That’s a place people use to meet when they don’t want nothin’ traced back to ‘em. Deals get made in there that don’t got nothin’ to do with clothes or cameras. People walk in there one way and come out different. This industry will chew you up and spit you out, baby. I know it.”

Zariah’s brows pull together slightly. “I didn’t hear anything like that.”

“You wasn’t supposed to,” he answers, just as even. “That’s the point.” 

Zariah’s lips part, then press together again. Smoke’s thumb shifts against her jaw, grounding her attention back to him. 

“And that nigga, Malik?” Smoke goes on. “He ain’t no creative you just ‘know’. He move with people who use faces like yours to get in rooms easier. To make things look clean.”

Zariah’s posture straightens. She exhales. 

“He didn’t do anything to me. I wouldn’t have let it get that far, Smoke. I had it under control,” she says, a little firmer. “And I didn’t even expect to see him tonight. A friend of mine put in a word. I…I just…I figured it was just some exclusive party for A listers and I could—I could walk in there and—”

“I didn’t say he did anything.” Smoke cut her off. “I said he put you somewhere you shouldn’t have been. And that friend? I wouldn’t be surprised if they a part of it. So you need to cut them off.” 

Zariah’s gaze flickers, then steadies again. 

Smoke leans in just slightly, enough to make sure she’s locked in with him. 

“I’m in this enough to know how that goes,” he says. “I seen how fast it turns. You walk in thinkin’ it’s one thing, and next thing you know you tied to somethin’ you don’t even understand yet.”

Zariah swallows lightly. Smoke’s eyes stay on hers. 

“And I don’t play about what’s mine.” 

There’s no rise to his voice. No dramatics. Just fact. Zariah feels that one’s it sits heavy on her chest. Her fingers curl slightly at her sides, but she doesn’t break eye contact. Smoke lets that hang for a second before continuing. 

“So listen to me,” he says. His hand drops from her chin, but his presence doesn’t pull back. “When you go somewhere, you let me know first.” 

Clear.

“You don’t just show up anywhere off impulse. I don’t care who invited you.” 

Zariah nods, lips scrunched up. “Okay.” 

“If you walk into a spot and somethin’ feel off,” he continues, “you don’t stand there tryin’ to figure it out. You leave.” 

Zariah’s lips part slight like she’s about to speak but she lets him finish. 

“You call me,” he says. “I’ll come get you. I don’t care where you at.”

Certainty. 

“And if somebody put their hands on you,” Smoke adds, voice still low, “or make you feel any type of way…”

He paused, enough to let Zariah know he’s dead ass serious. 

“You tell me. And I’ll handle it. My way.” 

Zariah’s breath slows. “I will.” 

Smoke studies her, making sure. 

“Say it again.” 

Zariah’s eyes stay on his. “I’ll tell you.” 

Smoke hums, then he nods his head before leaning down to kiss her forehead, then her cheek, and ending with her lips. A soft peck that stirs her. Zariah breaks the kiss, exhales, then she looks at him. 

“I didn’t know—”

“I know, baby girl. Just…listen to me, okay? You know this shit triggers me when you go off doin’ shit that make me worried. I’m serious, Z. Don’t do this shit again.” 

She purses her lips, but ultimately gives him another kiss, falling into his big embrace that swallows her.

Correction. 

Weeks pass. At first, Zariah tells herself Smoke is just being attentive. Protective. Present. 

After the lounge incident, Smoke starts rearranging his life around hers in ways that don’t announce themselves immediately. It begins small enough to almost feel thoughtful. He starts picking her up from late shoots instead of sending a driver. He waits outside fittings in black SUVs with the engine running while she changes out of couture and campaign makeup under bright studio lights. When she lands in another city for a show, he’s already there before she reaches baggage claim, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup, eyes scanning the terminal before they settle on her. 

Smoke never makes a scene. Never acts possessive in public. That’s what makes it harder to argue with. To everyone around her, Smoke looks dependable. Solid. The type of man women brag about having.production assistants smile when he takes garment bags from their hands. Publicists relax when he quietly checks exits and entrances before an event. Designers greet him like they trust him instinctively, even when they don’t know why. 

And Zariah hates that part a little because he’s so good at it. Too good at it. 

Her world keeps moving at full speed while his begins orbiting around it with frightening precision. Editorial spreads in Paris. Beauty campaigns in New York. Fashion week dinners packed with actors, athletes, stylists, investors, people who speak in air kisses and coded conversations. Zariah is everywhere lately. Her face is in windows three stories high. Magazine covers. Digital campaigns looping across giant screens downtown. And somehow, Smoke is always there now too. 

Not beside her. Near her. Outside the room. At the car. 

Watching. 

Waiting. 

The first few times, Zariah lets it go. She tells herself it’s temporary. That he’s going to go back to work doing what he does that’s so top secret and get bored of all the glitz and glam. That he’s trying to make a point after what happened with Malik and the lounge. But the weeks stretch and instead of easing up, Smoke becomes more involved. 

More structured. 

He starts asking for schedules in advance. What event. Which hotel. Who invited her. Who’s attending. What time she expects to leave. 

Not interrogations. 

Expectations. 

And that’s what starts irritating her. Because Zariah has spent her entire adult life moving independently through spaces exactly like these. She built her career on instincts, timing, reading energy, staying graceful under pressure. Men in fashion flirt. Men in entertainment hover. Wealthy people invite you places with hidden motives attached to every smile. She learned how to survive that years ago. So when Smoke starts appearing downstairs before she even calls for a car, something in her begins pushing back automatically. 

She stops texting updates as quickly. Leaves details out. Answers questions vaguely. 

“Just work.”

“A dinner.” 

“Somewhere in SoHo.” 

Nothing technically disrespectful. But it was enough for Smoke to notice she’s testing the edges of what he said in that apartment weeks ago. And Smoke noticed everything. Especially patterns. Especially when someone starts moving different on purpose. 

The irritation builds on both sides slowly, layered beneath long workdays and late nights. And the worst part is she can’t tell where protection ends and control begins anymore. 

Zariah’s up early, wrapped in a robe, hair slicked back into a bun, glass skin and fuzzy Louis Vuitton slippers on her pedicured feet. She’s standing at the kitchen counter with her phone propped against a glass of hot water with lemon and ginger. A call time gets pushed. A fitting added. A dinner penciled in. Her voice stays even, professional, the version of her that never slips. 

“Yeah, I can make that,” she says. “Send me the address.” 

She doesn’t mention it to Smoke. Not when she hangs up. Not when she toasts her sourdough bread to add slices avocado and sliced smoked salmon. Not when she walks past the living room where Smoke is sitting, reading. 

He glances up when she crosses. Zariah doesn’t stop. 

“I got a dinner tonight,” she says like it’s an afterthought. “Brand people.” 

Smoke nods, “what time?”

“Eight.” 

“Where.” 

Zariah takes a sip of her water. 

“I’ll text it.”

Smoke studies her for a second longer than usual. Then, nods again. 

“Aight.” 

And Zariah doesn’t text it. Not at eight. Not at nine. She’s already dressed and out the door by the time the reminder crosses her mind, heels clicking down the hallway, phone buzzing in her hand with another message that isn’t his. 

When she comes back, Smoke’s in the same spot. That’s the first thing she notices. Not the fact that he’s there. The fact that he hasn’t moved much.

Zariah steps in, sets her bag down, slips her heels off. 

“You been sittin’ there all day?” Zariah asks, light, like she’s asking about the weather. 

Smoke’s eyes lift to her. “Where you just come from, Zariah.” 

Zariah walks past him, heading toward the kitchen. That little fancy plate of French food wasn’t enough to settle her hunger. She considers ordering in some Pho from her favorite Vietnamese restaurant. 

“I told you,” she says. “Dinner.” 

“With who.”

Zariah opens the fridge, bends over, little cocktail dress rising up, almost revealing no panties. She scans it like she’s actually looking for something. 

“People from the brand.” 

Smoke doesn’t say anything right away. But his jaw ticks. Zariah pulls out a bottle of water, shuts the fridge, leans against the counter. 

“You ask a lot of questions,” she says, taking a sip.

There’s a small edge to it. A sassy little tone that reeks of an attitude that needs to be checked. 

Smoke watches her unblinking. 

“I asked you where, Zariah.” 

She shrugs one shoulder. “It was in the city.”

That’s it. That’s all she gives him. And she knows it. Something stills in Smoke. He’s locked. Smoke sets his phone down on the table beside him. Slow. Then, he stands. Zariah watches him this time. She doesn’t look away. Smoke walks toward her, closing space like an imposing shadow. Zariah straightens a little as he stops in front of her. She braces her hand on the counter behind her. Smoke’s eyes narrow slightly, orbs darkened with frustration. 

“You ain’t text me nothin’.” 

Zariah takes a sip of her water, avoiding his eyes as if the vase across from her on the dining room table was more interesting. 

“I was busy.” 

Smoke tilts his head. “I told you, Z. You go somewhere, you let me know.” 

Zariah lifts her gaze, chin lifting slightly. Defiantly. 

“And I heard you.” 

There it is. That fucking tone. 

Dismissal.

Smoke’s gaze tightens just a fraction. “But you ain’t do it.” 

Zariah shrugs, “I got there, everything was fine. It wasn’t a big deal.” 

Smoke stepped in closer to where she was nearly pressed between his solid frame and the countertop behind her. Her breathing shifted but she checked it as best as she could. 

“It was to me.” 

Zariah rolls her eyes. She pushes off the counter, standing fully now. 

“You can’t expect me to check in every time I step outside, Smoke,” she argues. “That’s not how I move and you know that.” 

More edge now. More bite. Zariah knows she’s pushing. Smoke watches her for a long second. Then, he exhales once through his nose. 

“You think that’s what it is.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

Zariah folds her arms. “I think you’re doing too much.” 

The silence was heavy. 

Then. “Say that again.” 

Zariah holds his gaze. Doesn’t flinch. 

“I said you’re doing too much.”

Smoke’s haha comes up, firm fingers gripping her jaw, turning her face just enough so she can’t angle away. 

“Don’t do that.” Smoke said, low. Controlled yet deep.

“I’m just sayin—”

“NO,” Smoke cuts in, sharper. “You talkin’ like what I said don’t matter. And that’s a problem for me.” 

Zariah’s eyes flash. “That’s not what I—”

“That’s exactly what you doin’.” Smoke’s grip tightens. “You hear me them weeks ago. Loud and clear.” 

Zariah’s chest rises and falls a little quicker now. 

“I did.” 

“But you moved like you didn’t.” 

There’s no way around that. Zariah looks at him, really looks this time. There’s something building in her too. It wasn’t fear. It was friction. 

“I’m not one of your operations,” she says. “You don’t get to run me like that.” 

Smoke scuffs. “Aight.” 

He releases her jaw. Steps back half a step, and that almost feels worse. 

“You right,” Smoke says. And it’s too calm. “I don’t run you.” 

Zariah’s shoulders ease slightly. But only for a second. 

“Which means,” Smoke continued, “you make your own decisions.” 

Zariah watches Smoks cautiously now. 

“And you deal with whatever come with ‘em. You don’t call me. You don’t tell me where you at. You don’t move how I told you to move—”

Smoke pauses. Not long. 

“You on your own with that.” 

Zariah’s brows pull together. “That’s not what I—”

“You wanted independence,” he says, cutting in, still calm. “I’m givin’ it to you.” 

Zariah studies him. 

This isn’t him trick to control her. This is him stepping back. And that doesn’t feel how she thought it would. 

“You serious?” She asks. 

Smoke nods. “I don’t chase grown decisions, ma. But don’t stand in my face and act like what I said ain’t carry weight.”

Zariah exhales. She folds her arms and juts that hip out. Lip poked. She looks at Smoke for a long second. Then, softer, but still holding onto herself: 

“That’s not what I was tryin’ to do. And you don’t mean none of that shit. Soon as I leave you gon’ be right there , outside, waitin’ on me. Tell me I’m wrong?”

Smoke cuts his eyes at her. Then, he walks off. Leaving Zariah fuming. 

Zariah spends the rest of the evening like she lives alone. That’s the first thing that gets under Smoke’s skin. 

Just…dismissal. 

She moved through the luxury apartment with that polished calm of hers, never quite looking at him, never quite acknowledging the weight sitting in the space between them. She replies to texts on the sofa with one knee tucked under her, laughing softly at something on her screen, walks past him like he’s furniture. 

Smoke says her name once. 

Zariah hears it. He knows she hears it because her shoulders tighten for half a second. But, she keeps on walking. That does more than attitude ever could because now she’s choosing it. And one trigger of Smoke’s, one thing that really ticks him off—being ignored. He watched her enter her bedroom. Smoke sits there another few seconds, jaw working once. 

Then, he stands. No rush to it. He rolls his shoulders once, loosening the tension sitting there. Smoke reaches for the watch on his wrist and sets it on the side table. Neatly. That alone would tell her everything if she saw it. Smoke never tosses things. When he starts setting items aside with care, he’s making room for discipline. He walks to the kitchen, pours a glass of water, drinks half, sets it down. Runs both palms over his face, then drags one hand across the back of his neck. 

Collecting himself. Not cooling off. Centering. 

By the time he reaches the bedroom, the bathroom door is cracked open from the steam, he pushes the door open wider and steps inside. Zariah is standing in front of her vanity, fingers hooking the thin straps of her sleek black cocktail dress. She tugs one strap down her shoulder, exposing smooth dark skin inch by inch, the fabric whispering at her elbows while she twists to face the mirror, grabbing her hair to pile it high, pinning it loose but secure with a claw clip. 

Smoke leans against the frame, hoody heavy against the door jamb, arms crossed over his chest, fitted black tee stretching across his pecs. His eyes track every peel of fabric like he owns the view. Tension crackles thick from the kitchen standoff earlier, her defiance still simmering hot under her skin. 

She sees him in the mirror, and now she’s taking off her strapless lace bra and matching thong. Completely naked and glowing like her body was slathered in liquid gold. That little performance almost makes him smile.

Almost. 

“You done?” Smoke asks. 

Her voice stays light. “With what?” 

“With this act you tryna put on to piss me off.” 

Zariah grabs a plum-colored silk robe from a wall mounted hook, hiding that beautiful body. 

“I’m getting ready to shower. Then I’m going to bed. I have a busy schedule tomorrow, Smoke.” 

Smoke closes the bedroom door. The click of the latch is small but it lands. Zariah’s fingers pause over the tie of her robe. Only for a second. Then, she resumes, adjusting the front of her robe like nothing changed. Smoke walks up until he’s directly behind her, watching her reflection instead of her directly. 

“You been real busy not seein’ me tonight.” 

Zariah shrugs one shoulder. 

“I’ve been minding my business.”

“That so.” 

“You got something to say,” she says, voice even, “say it.”

“I did.” His tone is lower now. “You ignored it.” 

Her chin lifts a little in the mirror. 

“Maybe I was tired of hearing it.” 

Smoke’s hand comes to the robe knot at her waist, fingers brushing the bow but not pulling it loose. Zariah finally turns them, eyes lifting to meet his. 

There’s a challenge there. Smoke matches that, boring his eyes into hers like he was asking her telepathically ‘you really wanna take it there, baby girl?’. His gaze dropped briefly to the robe that barely hugged her frame, the one she loved to put on after her showers. The one she wore whenever her skin was slicked with body oil so it could mold to her body in ways that had Smoke dickin’ her down to put her to bed properly. 

“You been pokin’ at me all night.” 

Zariah folds her arms over her chest. 

“Maybe you’re easy to poke.” 

That earns a quiet breath through his nose. And he wasn’t amused. 

He steps closer until there’s no way for her to forget he’s there. The heat of him reaches her before contact does. Her spine straightens automatically. Smoke notices. His hand slides to her jaw, thumb settling near her chin, guiding her face up. 

“Wrong answer.” 

Zariah’s lips part.

She means to say something slick. He sees it forming.

But the words stall when his other hand reaches down,  tugs the robe knot loose in one pull, then lets it fall open on its own. He takes a small step back, eyes downcast to admire her. Take in the view like she was modeling nudity for his eyes only. Robe parted wide and framing that long, elegant frame without hiding a damn thing. 5’10 of slim-thick lines hit different up close. Her long torso stretched down to a waist he could circle with both hands and still have room, dipping into hips that curved fuller from the side, that rich brown skin glowing warm.

Her chest rose steady with each breath, full and natural, nipples tightening just from the air or maybe his stare, elegant shape softening the sharp edges of her shoulders and collarbones. He clocked the subtle give in her stomach, toned thighs long from runway miles pressed together slight, calves flexing strong as she held runway poise even now. 

Smoke’s eyes never leave hers.

“That attitude you got,” he says quietly. “I’m ‘bout done with it.”

“You ain’t my bodyguard no more, Smoke,” Zariah snaps, voice laced brat-sharp. “Stop actin’ like you run shit. I do what I want.” 

Smoke chuckles low, rumble deep from his chest rolling out gravel-thick, his hand shoots out to snag her wrist before she grabs the front of her robe, pulling her half-turn into him, cedar scent faint mixing with her floral perfume. 

“Yeah, but who you come runnin’ to when you needed help? Who handled things to make shit easier for you? Roughed niggas up that got too close? Would kill anybody that so much as try you?” Smoke drawls slow, southern thick, free hand palming the front of his joggers where his thick bulge thickens obvious. “Yeah, but you was feenin’ for this dick. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you beggin’ me to fuck you in that dressing room. Remember? Or you forgot just like you forgot who the fuck I am. And when I say somethin’, you do as you told.” 

Smoke’s eyes never left yer face, unblinking and coal-dark, jaw set under stubble. 

Zariah yanks her wrist free, twisting away but stays close, turning full to shove her palm flat against his chest, pushing half-hearted, his pecs unyielding under her spore as fingers. Zariah leans in, chin high, lips curling into a smirk. 

“And wasn’t you the one that couldn’t wait to fuck me?” She fires back, hip cocked. “Ain’t never had a bitch like me in yo’ life. Soon as you got a taste, you obsessed, right? That’s why you still actin’ like a good little soldier. Now who’s in control now, big bad Smoke?” Her voice pitches taunt, one hand sliding down to trail the ridge of his abs where his tee clings, nails scraping light to test the flex. 

Zariah walks off, brushing past him. Smoke snorts  breath. 

“Control? Lil’ girl, you testin’ ropes right now.” Smoke growls. His large Pam clamps her hip, yanking her flush from behind, his hard dick against her ass. His beard grazes her cheek as his head dips. “That dressin’ room…you hiked that dress, spread your legs wide, pussy was drippin’ and beggin’ for my tongue first. Then you rode this dick cryin’ daddy til you squirted all on this dick. Obsessed? Yeah…I ain’t got a reason to deny shit. But you hooked, baby girl. Chasin’ this nut every night since.” Smoke’s fingers trail up the arch of her spine, his other hand cupping her ass cheek. 

Zariah gasps sharp, twisting her hips, bucking against him, but eventually she breaks the hold. 

“Hooked? Please. You stalkin’ my every move like a lost puppy.” She spits, laughing brittle, backing toward the bathroom door. “Body guard days over, but you still guarding this pussy like it’s yours. And I’m glad you know exactly how obsessed you are.” Her eyes flash, lips parting to rest her tongue at the corner of her mouth. 

Smoke steps forward, hands shooting out to brace the doorframe over her head, caving her without touch. 

“Mine? Damn right. Till you prove otherwise.” He rumbles. “Go ‘head, shower off that dinner, but don’t think slamming doors gon’ end this talk.” His eyes rake over her body, dick tenting the front of his joggers. Zariah places her palm flat against his chest before giving him a final shove to the ripple of muscle, the door swinging hard bang latch catching. The shower turned on beyond the door and as much as Smoke wanted to open that door, he waited. Waited until he heard that shower shut off.

Zariah is standing at the vanity in nothing but a towel, lotion bottle in hand, acting deeply interested in the label. She bends to reach for her toner in the cabinet beneath the sink. The bathroom door opens, the humidity in the bathroom turning the air chill. The fog on the glass began to disappear. The way she knows exactly where he is behind her without turning around. She just wants him to know she can ignore it. 

Zariah rises slowly, and sets her toner on the sink with careful precision. 

Still won’t turn. 

Zariah swallows. Her arms start to cross over herself instinctive. Smoke catches both her wrists and lowers them back at her sides. 

“No.” 

Zariah looks at him now, fully. Some of the bravado thinning at the edges. Because she knows this version of him. The one who gets calmer the more serious he is. He releases her wrists only after they stay where he put them. Then, he steps back half a pace and gestures toward the counter. 

Smoke steps behind her, broad hand spreading over the back of her neck for one steady second, claiming her attention. 

"Good," he says.

The steam from her shower clings to the air, thick and warm, fogging the mirror above the sink in faint swirls. Zariah stands there naked, skin dewy, water droplets tracing slow paths down her shoulders and the curve of her back. The towel lies discarded on the floor by her feet, leaving her fully exposed. Smoke’s hand lingers at her neck a beat longer, thumb pressing firm against her pulse, anchoring her in place. The heat of his palm seeps into her, carrying that familiar cedar scent that always seems to cut through everything else. Smoke's chest brushes her back as he closes the space. Zariah can feel the expansion of his black tee against her shoulder blades when he draws a controlled breath.

"Hands on the sink," he tells her, voice low and even. 

Zariah does not move right away. Her chin lifts a fraction, eyes flicking to his reflection in the mirror, holding his gaze there. Bold still, testing. 

“For what?” she asks, tone carrying that edge she knows gets under his skin, words clipped. 

Smoke doesn’t rise to it. His free hand slides down her side, large fingers splaying over her hip, gripping just enough. The veins in his forearm stand out as his muscles flex. 

“You know why,” he says. “All that mouth. Ignoring calls. Acting like rules don’t stick. Time to fix it.”

Zariah exhales through parted lips, a subtle shift, but her hands stay at her sides. Her posture remains upright, feet planted on the cool tile. Inside, she feels the pull, the way his presence makes the steam feel heavier, but she pushes back one more time.

 “I was busy. You act like I owe you every second.”

Smoke's grip tightens on her hip, thumb digging into the soft flesh there. He leans in closer, lips near her ear, breath warm against the damp shell. 

“Busy playin' games. Poking. Now I’ma show you. But that’s what you wanted, right?” His other hand lifts from her neck, trails down her spine, ending at the swell of her ass. He cups one cheek fully, squeezing hard enough to make her shift her weight.

"Hands. Sink. Now."

This time, her body responds before her mouth does. Palms flat on the cool porcelain edge, fingers splaying wide. She arches her back slightly without meaning to, ass pushing out toward him, skin prickling under the humid air. Her eyes stay on his in the mirror, defiant spark still there, but her breathing picks up, chest rising faster.

“That's better. So, you do as you told then?” he says, stepping fully behind her now. His feet plant wide on the tile, knees bracketing her legs as he positions himself. One hand stays on her hip, holding her steady. The other rears back, large palm open, veins bulging along his wrist.

The first smack lands solid across her right cheek, skin meeting skin with a sharp crack that echoes off the tiled walls. Her ass jiggles from the impact, flesh purpling instantly under his handprint. Zariah's fingers curl against the sink, a hiss escaping her teeth, but she bites down on anything louder.

 “That all?” she throws back, voice tight, trying to keep the bold front.

Smoke sees it. The way her thighs tense, pussy lips glistening between her legs from more than just the shower. He knows she’s wet, knows the defiance is her last push before she settles. His dick barely had room to grow in his joggers, that thick length pressing against the seam as he watched her in the mirror. 

“Keep talkin',” he warns, hand coming down again, harder this time, left cheek taking the full weight of his swing. The slap rings out wet in the steam, her ass bouncing, a fresh mark blooming dark against her skin.

Zariah gasps, knees buckling a touch, but his grip on her hip keeps her upright. Heat spreads across her backside, stinging deep. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, eyes narrowing at him in the glass. “You mad at me daddy?”

Smoke doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he delivers three quick spanks in succession, alternating cheeks, each one heavier than the last. Palm cracks against flesh, her ass rippling with every strike, turning hot and swollen under his assault. Her pussy clenches visibly, slickness dripping down her inner thigh, betraying how much she needs this correction. Smoke's free hand slides between her thighs from behind, thick fingers parting her folds roughly, middle finger plunging into her soaked pussy without warning.

“This what you wanted?” Smoke growls low, pumping in and out once, twice, feeling her walls grip him tight. She moans despite herself, hips bucking back. But he pulls out just as quick, smearing her juices over her ass before landing another brutal smack right where her cheek meets thigh.

Zariah's head drops forward a second, elbows locking on the sink, but she lifts it back up, meeting his eyes again. 

“Keep goin' then,” she challenges, voice breathier now, the bold cracking at the edges.

Smoke's chest rumbles with a low sound, approval mixed with hunger. That big dick throbs, straining as he tugs his joggers down with one hand, freeing the curved shaft and wide tip. Pre-cum beads at his slit, heavy length slapping against her bruised ass. But he ain’t done punishing her yet. Smoke grabs a fistful of her wet hair, pulling her head back gently but firm, forcing her to arch deeper. 

“Count 'em,” he orders.

His hand cracks down again, full force, the loudest yet. Her ass quivers, marked deep purple, heat radiating. 

“One,” she grits out, pussy aching empty.

Another on the other side, palm stinging his own skin from the velocity. “Two.”

Smoke spreads her cheeks with his thumbs, exposing her tight asshole and dripping slit, then spanks right across both, the impact jarring her whole body. 

“Three,” she moans, thighs shaking. Teeth chattering. 

Smoke leans over her, his dense midsection pressing into her back, shirt damp from the steam and her skin. His beard scraping her shoulder as he bites down lightly there, marking her while his hand rains down five more measured strikes, each one pushing her closer to breaking that last wall. Her counts come faster, voice turning needy, ass on fire, pussy clenching around nothing as viscous arousal slicks her legs. By the tenth, she is panting, body trembling in his hold, bold facade shattered into raw want.

 P-Please,” Zariah whispers finally, not begging wildly but settling, hands gripping the sink.

Smoke pauses, rubbing his palm over the abused flesh, soothing the burn while his tip nudges her entrance, thick head parting her lips. 

“Good girl,” he says, voice thick with possession. 

Then he thrusts in deep, stretching her pussy wide around his girth, filling her completely. His hips snap forward once, deep and punishing, fat dick buried to the hilt in her dripping pussy, stretching her walls tight around his thickness. 

When he eased that fat length inside her it opened her pussy with a slow burn, the girth demanding space as it sank deep. The curve to the right caught along her slick walls, dragging firm pressure against the sensitive ridge there with each inch that followed. Long and solid, bottoming out steady, filling her to the limit while her body adjusted around the thickness pulsing hot and full. Every shift would send that curve nudging the same spot over and over, building a tight coil low in her belly that made her thighs tremble without her meaning to. Zariah's breath catches sharp, body jolting against the sink, but Smoke pulls out slow, leaving her clenching empty, creamy slick coating his shaft. Not done yet. Her ass still needs more work, cheeks blazing hot under his palm prints.

Smoke's hand cracks down again, heavy and mean, right across both bruised globes. The slap echoes wet in the bathroom, her flesh rippling, thighs quivering from the sting. Zariah whimpers low, knees buckling inward, but his grip on her hip locks her straight.