bumbleee

“I’m sorry, Mama,” the man shivered above her, body trembling with each roll of his hips. He was still apologizing, still seeking forgiveness for his shortcomings. Even though you’d allowed him to cum, Annie was good at holding a grudge. She was still angry and beyond disappointed, so his pleas were warranted; And the least you could do was help him out along the way. Your lips moved along her upper body, nipping at her jaw and neck and collarbones and nipples with ease. Your fingers explored the rest of her, taking hefty handfuls of the woman before settling between her body and Smoke’s.

Rubbing her clit in quick circles while the man fought to maintain a similar pace, you reveled in the faces Annie made.

Her eyebrows grew taunt, betraying the pleasure rippling through her system. Her jaw dropped opened, quivering a little when your fingers skated down further to graze Smoke’s length—setting off a domino effect of trembles through both of them. Annie was trying her best to hold it together, but with you whispering praise in one ear and Smoke apologizing brutally in the other, it was becoming harder to resist what her body truly wanted.

“Y’all are doin’ so good for me,” she breathed huskily, returning the favor of having your words spur her on. The two of you—forever devoted to the woman’s pleasure—responded with a heap of moans right back. You ravaged her body, sucking, biting, marking her skin like your life depended on it. Smoke fucked her with increased focus. His eyes narrowed, completely tuning out the tremble in his system in order to bring her to the edge of her need. Then he looked to you—just briefly to ensure you were still enjoying yourself.

It was the look he gave across a crowded room, the look he sent when he stepped inside Maybelle’s to find you too busy to talk. You smiled over at him. Your heart beat twice as fast as it had been, and when Annie whimpered your name, heat enveloped you.

Her moans had turned wild, and her hands flailed to grip at something, anything to hold her together.

When she came, her mind flashed with images: you and Smoke tucked into each other in the middle of town; you leaning over the counter at Maybelle’s with a sweet smile and slick tongue; Smoke with his soft, wet eyes willing to give his all for both of you; the three of you dancing together like y’all had been doing it for decades.

When she witnessed you and Smoke’s closeness for the first time, she never would have imagined that it would lead to something like this. For Annie, a world had been cracked open and delivered unto to her—an opportunity for pleasure and joy beyond prior belief. Her body sang with the effects of all you and the man had done to her, and exhaustion soon found its way inside her bones.

But when you and Smoke moved to clean her damp skin and settled her under the blankets before laying down beside her, a smile took over her face. And when Smoke rested his head on her chest and you pulled her face into your neck, she sighed sweetly as sleep gave her body rest.

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

word count: ~600

a/n: i hope yall enjoyed thisss

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

“I’m sorry, Mama,” the man shivered above her, body trembling with each roll of his hips. He was still apologizing, still seeking forgiveness for his shortcomings. Even though you’d allowed him to cum, Annie was good at holding a grudge. She was still angry and beyond disappointed, so his pleas were warranted; And the least you could do was help him out along the way. Your lips moved along her upper body, nipping at her jaw and neck and collarbones and nipples with ease. Your fingers explored the rest of her, taking hefty handfuls of the woman before settling between her body and Smoke’s.

Rubbing her clit in quick circles while the man fought to maintain a similar pace, you reveled in the faces Annie made.

Her eyebrows grew taunt, betraying the pleasure rippling through her system. Her jaw dropped opened, quivering a little when your fingers skated down further to graze Smoke’s length—setting off a domino effect of trembles through both of them. Annie was trying her best to hold it together, but with you whispering praise in one ear and Smoke apologizing brutally in the other, it was becoming harder to resist what her body truly wanted.

“Y’all are doin’ so good for me,” she breathed huskily, returning the favor of having your words spur her on. The two of you—forever devoted to the woman’s pleasure—responded with a heap of moans right back. You ravaged her body, sucking, biting, marking her skin like your life depended on it. Smoke fucked her with increased focus. His eyes narrowed, completely tuning out the tremble in his system in order to bring her to the edge of her need. Then he looked to you—just briefly to ensure you were still enjoying yourself.

It was the look he gave across a crowded room, the look he sent when he stepped inside Maybelle’s to find you too busy to talk. You smiled over at him. Your heart beat twice as fast as it had been, and when Annie whimpered your name, heat enveloped you.

Her moans had turned wild, and her hands flailed to grip at something, anything to hold her together.

When she came, her mind flashed with images: you and Smoke tucked into each other in the middle of town; you leaning over the counter at Maybelle’s with a sweet smile and slick tongue; Smoke with his soft, wet eyes willing to give his all for both of you; the three of you dancing together like y’all had been doing it for decades.

When she witnessed you and Smoke’s closeness for the first time, she never would have imagined that it would lead to something like this. For Annie, a world had been cracked open and delivered unto to her—an opportunity for pleasure and joy beyond prior belief. Her body sang with the effects of all you and the man had done to her, and exhaustion soon found its way inside her bones.

But when you and Smoke moved to clean her damp skin and settled her under the blankets before laying down beside her, a smile took over her face. And when Smoke rested his head on her chest and you pulled her face into your neck, she sighed sweetly as sleep gave her body rest.

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

word count: ~600

a/n: i hope yall enjoyed thisss

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

“I’m sorry, Mama,” the man shivered above her, body trembling with each roll of his hips. He was still apologizing, still seeking forgiveness for his shortcomings. Even though you’d allowed him to cum, Annie was good at holding a grudge. She was still angry and beyond disappointed, so his pleas were warranted; And the least you could do was help him out along the way. Your lips moved along her upper body, nipping at her jaw and neck and collarbones and nipples with ease. Your fingers explored the rest of her, taking hefty handfuls of the woman before settling between her body and Smoke’s.

Rubbing her clit in quick circles while the man fought to maintain a similar pace, you reveled in the faces Annie made.

Her eyebrows grew taunt, betraying the pleasure rippling through her system. Her jaw dropped opened, quivering a little when your fingers skated down further to graze Smoke’s length—setting off a domino effect of trembles through both of them. Annie was trying her best to hold it together, but with you whispering praise in one ear and Smoke apologizing brutally in the other, it was becoming harder to resist what her body truly wanted.

“Y’all are doin’ so good for me,” she breathed huskily, returning the favor of having your words spur her on. The two of you—forever devoted to the woman’s pleasure—responded with a heap of moans right back. You ravaged her body, sucking, biting, marking her skin like your life depended on it. Smoke fucked her with increased focus. His eyes narrowed, completely tuning out the tremble in his system in order to bring her to the edge of her need. Then he looked to you—just briefly to ensure you were still enjoying yourself.

It was the look he gave across a crowded room, the look he sent when he stepped inside Maybelle’s to find you too busy to talk. You smiled over at him. Your heart beat twice as fast as it had been, and when Annie whimpered your name, heat enveloped you.

Her moans had turned wild, and her hands flailed to grip at something, anything to hold her together.

When she came, her mind flashed with images: you and Smoke tucked into each other in the middle of town; you leaning over the counter at Maybelle’s with a sweet smile and slick tongue; Smoke with his soft, wet eyes willing to give his all for both of you; the three of you dancing together like y’all had been doing it for decades.

When she witnessed you and Smoke’s closeness for the first time, she never would have imagined that it would lead to something like this. For Annie, a world had been cracked open and delivered unto to her—an opportunity for pleasure and joy beyond prior belief. Her body sang with the effects of all you and the man had done to her, and exhaustion soon found its way inside her bones.

But when you and Smoke moved to clean her damp skin and settled her under the blankets before laying down beside her, a smile took over her face. And when Smoke rested his head on her chest and you pulled her face into your neck, she sighed sweetly as sleep gave her body rest.

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

word count: ~600

a/n: i hope yall enjoyed thisss

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

That particular Tuesday morning, she'd been in good spirits.

Stack remembered that too — the specific quality of her mood, light and anticipatory, the way she'd hummed while she dressed and come to find him in the warm tangle of the bed where he was still trying to talk himself into consciousness.

She'd perched on the edge of the mattress and put her hand on his arm. "I'm heading out. Market first, then Decatur."

"Mm." He'd found her hand without opening his eyes. "Your flowers."

"My wisteria," she corrected, with the primness of a woman defending something she knew was ridiculous and had decided not to care. "They were coming in beautiful last week. I want to take some cuttings before the heat gets to em’."

"You and them flowers, I swear." He'd cracked one eye open to look at her. She was already done up — hair pinned, a pale yellow dress, looking like the kind of morning a man would want to wake up into. "Normal women collect dishes. Spoons. You out here unnaturally attached to a weed."

"Wisteria ain’t a weed."

"It's growing on an abandoned fence, in the middle of—"

"It is not a weed," she said, with great dignity, and he'd laughed and pulled her down and kissed her temple and her cheek and the corner of her mouth until she was trying not to smile and failing completely.

"You a crazy woman," he'd murmured into her hair. Fond. Helplessly fond.

"You in love with this crazy woman," she'd said back, soft and certain, and pressed her lips to his jaw before she stood and smoothed her dress and went.

He'd listened to her footsteps move through the house. The quiet of the front door.

Then he'd turned his face back into the pillow and gone back to sleep, easy and untroubled, because it was Tuesday and Annie was going to the market and then to her flowers and then home.

That was how Tuesday worked.

The juke was quiet in the late afternoon — the interim hour between the day men leaving and the night crowd arriving, when the place belonged mostly to the staff and the sound of chairs being set right.

Stack was going over the week's receipts at the back table when Deacon Hollis wandered in, which was not unusual. Deacon was seventy-something and had been drinking at this particular establishment through three different owners and two of his own wives. He came in most afternoons for one glass of something and whatever conversation was available.

He settled at the bar and said to the boy wiping down the counter, "Busy on Decatur Street today. Had to go all the way around."

Stack didn't look up.

The bar boy made a sound of mild interest.

"Some kind of commotion," Deacon continued, with the relish of a man who had no urgent business anywhere and could therefore linger on details. "Couple hours back, maybe more. Police come through, asked some questions. Seemed like somebody saw something they shouldn't have, or something got moved that shouldn't be."

Stack turned a page.

"Right near that empty lot," Deacon added. "The one with all them purple flowers on the fence."

Stack's hand stilled on the page.

Just his hand. Nothing else visible changed — not his expression, not his posture, nothing that the room would have clocked as meaningful. But his hand stopped moving, and in the space behind his eyes something very cold and very focused began assembling itself.

The lot with the purple flowers.

Annie's lot. Annie's Tuesday. Annie who had left that morning with a cloth in her bag for wiping down the blooms and had said I want to take some cuttings before the heat gets to them and whom he had not heard from since.

He set the receipts down.

"Deacon," he said, and his voice came out even. Measured. "What time you say that was?"

Deacon turned on his stool, pleased to have an audience. "Oh, two o'clock maybe? Half past? The officers was already gone by the time I come through, but old Ruth from the dress shop was still standing outside talking about it. Said she'd seen a woman—"

Stack was already standing.

Deacon blinked. "You alright, son?"

But Stack was already moving through the back, already pulling the curtain aside that separated the main room from the office where Smoke was doing what Smoke was always doing — sitting with numbers and a cigarette and that particular quality of stillness that could mean anything or nothing.

Smoke looked up.

He took one look at his brother's face and put the cigarette down.

"Talk," he said.

Stack talked. Smoke listened with the unnerving focus he brought to all things that required it, and when Stack finished, Smoke didn't say anything for a moment. Just looked at the middle distance. Doing the same arithmetic Stack had already done and arriving at the same unbearable sum.

Then he stood, picked up his coat, and said, "Let's go find out."

They found out.

A man named Lenny Briggs, one of their runners, who had heard something he hadn't known what to do with and had been working up the courage to come to the juke when Stack found him first on the corner of Fifth and Marsh. Lenny had the look of a man who would have preferred not to be found.

He told them what he knew.

Slim’s men — a rival outfit who had been circling the east side numbers territory for the better part of a year, looking for a pressure point, looking for the particular lever that would bring the Moore brothers to a table they hadn't chosen. They had found their lever. They had taken her off the street somewhere between the market and the lot — right around the wisteria, which Stack would think about for a long time after — and they had her at the old Beaumont property on the south road.

Lenny gave the address with the energy of a man trying to make a down payment on his own continued wellbeing. Stack received the information without expression, said "Thank you" in a voice that was quiet and even and somehow worse than shouting, and turned south.

Smoke fell into step beside him and put one hand briefly on his brother's arm. The old signal. Wordless. Be smart. We get her first. Everything else after.

Stack's jaw was granite. He nodded once.

They were smart. They were fast.

There were two men outside and three within.

Smoke handled the outside — efficient, practiced, the kind of violence that begins and ends cleanly because it has a purpose and knows what that purpose is. Then he pushed through the door.

Stack was still in the room with the last one.

The man was on the floor. Had been on the floor for a while, by the look of it. Stack was crouched over him, one knee on the ground, and he was not finished. The man had stopped being a threat some time ago and Stack had continued anyway, methodical and terrifyingly quiet — no rage in his face, which was somehow worse than rage. Just something hollow and absolute, like a door that had been opened onto nothing.

Smoke stood in the doorway for a moment and watched.

Then he said, "Stack."

Stack didn't stop.

"Stack." Harder this time. Not a shout — Smoke didn't shout — but weighted. The kind of voice that expected to be heard.

Stack's hand stilled.

He stayed crouched for a moment, breathing. The sound of it filled the room — ragged, too fast.

Smoke crossed to him and put one hand on the back of his neck. Firm and present. "She's in the back," he said, low. "She's okay. We got her. Come on back now."

A long beat.

Stack looked down at what was in front of him. Something shifted in his face — not quite recognition, not quite regret. More like a man surfacing from very deep water and finding the light strange.

He stood. Didn't say anything. Just turned and walked toward the back of the building, and Smoke followed, and neither of them looked back at the room.

The door came off its hinges.

Not broken — removed. Stack had simply decided it was in his way and dealt with it accordingly, and Smoke caught it without breaking stride and set it against the wall with the quiet efficiency of a man long accustomed to making the world cooperate, and stepped through the threshold behind his brother.

The room was dim. Smelled like damp wood and kerosene and something metallic that neither of them dwelled on.

And there, in the far corner —

There she was.

Their matriarch. Their woman. Their Annie.

Smoke exhaled. Just the one breath. One single moment of relief so complete it was almost physical, before he folded it away and put it somewhere safe.

Stack didn't bother with any of that.

He crossed the room in four long strides. Annie barely had time to register him before he pressed her back against the wall — not rough, not cruel, but absolute. Like he needed something solid behind her. Like he needed to know she couldn't be taken anywhere else.

"Stack—" Smoke started.

The younger twin didn't hear him. Or if he did, it didn't matter.

His hands came up to her face. Both of them. Palms bracketing her jaw, thumbs moving across her cheekbones, fingers pressing back into her hair. Frantic eyes cataloguing everything — the dried tear tracks, the slight swelling at her wrist, the small cut at the corner of her lip that made something behind his eyes go very briefly and very darkly wrong before he forced himself onward. Keep checking. Keep confirming.

Here. Alive. Breathing. Theirs. Home.

Annie had never felt more precious than in that moment. Not cherished — that was too soft a word for what was happening. Something rawer. Something that lived below language.

Once he had confirmed what he needed to confirm, he swept down and claimed what had always been his.

Blood still painted his face. She could smell the iron as he descended, and some distant sensible part of her registered that it should frighten her — the state of him, what it implied, the fact that none of that blood was his.

But she was not always a sensible woman when it came to these men.

She let him have it. Let him take the kiss like it was owed — because it was. Raw and primal and a little gruesome the way all true things are a little gruesome. His chest heaved against hers, and his hands were trembling — Stack's hands, which she had never once seen tremble — moving over her arms, her sides, her face. Touching. Feeling. Verifying.

She felt it all move through her like weather. His fear. His fury. His absolute, immovable devotion.

I know, she thought. I know, baby. I know.

She murmured it into his hair when he finally broke, forehead dropping to her shoulder, a shudder moving through him she felt with her whole body.

"I know. I'm here."

Smoke stood back and watched.

Because Stack needed this. Maybe Annie needed it too — to be held this completely, this desperately, after hours of not knowing when or whether. But Stack needed it most. So Smoke stayed where he was and gave the man the room.

Annie met the older twin's eyes over Stack's bowed head.

Nothing passed between them except everything. She saw the tightness at the corner of his jaw. The controlled version of the same thing Stack was barely containing. She held his gaze until she saw his shoulders drop a single fraction of an inch.

I see you. I'm alright. He's alright. We're alright.

Stack made a sound then — small and cracked and quiet, pressed into her shoulder. The kind a man makes only when he doesn't mean to. She felt it like something giving way.

She pulled him in tighter.

"It's okay," she murmured, hand pressing flat between his shoulder blades. "I'm here, baby. I ain't goin' nowhere."

He held on.

Annie had been the one taken.

But it was Stack who felt like he had lost his heart.

A long moment passed. Then, muffled against her shoulder, rough and still unsteady — somewhere between a reprimand and a man who had been terrified into raw honesty:

"And you ain't gon’ do no shit like that again."

Annie closed her eyes.

Her hand moved slow and steady through his hair.

"No," she said softly. "I ain't."

Smoke pulled the lamp low before he sat at the foot of the bed.

It was well past midnight. The house had gone completely quiet. Annie lay in the middle of the bed, Stack curved against her back with his face tucked into her hair, one arm thrown across her waist like a man holding on even in sleep.

Cleaned up now. Dressed down. The blood long gone — Annie had done it herself at the basin, quiet and methodical, and Stack had sat on the edge of the tub and let her. Had not said a word while she washed his hands and his face and his split knuckles, which told their own particular story that she had received without comment and without flinching.

She was awake. Smoke had known she would be.

"He out?" Smoke asked, low.

"Mm. Fought it some." Her hand moved slowly through Stack's curls. "But he's out."

A beat of quiet between them. The lamp flame held steady.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'm whole," she said. Her particular answer — the one that meant something more than fine and less than undamaged and asked him to understand the distance between those things.

He accepted it. He would look at her properly in the morning.

"Elijah." Soft but weighted.

"I'm listening."

She was quiet a moment, eyes on the ceiling.

"I ain’t never seen him like that," she finally said.

Smoke was quiet too, for a long stretch of seconds.

He had been there. He had witnessed what Annie had not fully seen — what had happened in those rooms before they reached her. He knew the shape of what his brother had done, and he knew that Stack, of all people, of all the men Smoke had stood beside in all the years of their lives — Stack was not supposed to be the one who went that far past the line.

"No," Smoke said. "Neither have I."

She absorbed that. Let it settle.

"Was it bad?" she said.

"Depended," Smoke said, "on which side of it you were on."

A breath that was almost a laugh. "That ain't an answer."

"It's the honest one." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking at his brother's sleeping face. The furrow still between his brows, even now. "He went past what was needed. Kept going after it was done. I had to call him back." A pause. "Twice."

Annie's hand stilled in Stack's hair for just a moment. Then resumed.

"He was ahead of me the whole way there," Smoke continued, quieter now. "I known Stack all my life. Watched him in situations that would've laid other men down. He's always had something working up here even when he's pushed — he thinks. He's always been able to think." He paused. "Tonight he wasn't thinking."

"What was he doing?" she said.

"Feeling," Smoke said simply.

Annie closed her eyes.

Stack shifted against her in his sleep, brow tightening, and she made a soft sound and his face smoothed again, like he could hear her even under everything.

"He knew something was wrong before anyone told him," she said. Not quite a question.

"Yes."

"How?"

Smoke was quiet for a beat. "Your flowers."

Annie stilled.

"Deacon came in talking about a commotion on Decatur. Near the lot." Smoke glanced at her. "Stack was across the room. He heard the words purple flowers and that was all it took."

Something moved across Annie's face. Too complicated to name.

"All those Tuesdays," she said softly.

"He knows your Tuesdays, Annie." Smoke's voice was matter of fact, the way he said things that were simply true and required no decoration. "He knows how long the market takes and which way you walk and what time you're usually back. He noticed before any message came. Before anyone came to us at all. He put it together himself."

She was very quiet for a moment.

"Lord," she breathed.

Outside, the wind moved through the pecan trees, that soft sound of a summer night settling into itself.

"You need to say something to him when he wakes," Smoke said. "Not about what happened in that room — he doesn't need to explain himself and you don't need the details. But he needs to hear that you see him the same." He looked at her steadily. "That tonight ain’t change your eyes when you look at him."

"It didn't," she said. And then, smaller: "It just — added to what's already there."

Smoke held her gaze for a moment. Then nodded once, slowly.

"And me," she said, after a breath.

"And you," he confirmed.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agreed. "When he's with us and you've both rested. But Annie." His voice dropped a register, quiet and absolute. "What you love doing, where you go — none of that changes. But how you move through the world when we not with you?" He held her gaze. "That's the conversation we're gon’ to have."

Annie's chin lifted slightly. She didn't argue it. But she held his gaze long enough to communicate that it would be a conversation and not a sentencing, and Smoke acknowledged that with the smallest dip of his head.

Good enough for tonight.

He rose and came around to his side — the familiar geography of their life, every night for years — and settled in.

The bed held all three of them, as it always had.

Annie lay in the dark and looked at the ceiling and listened to the two men breathing, one deep in sleep, one slipping toward it.

She thought about that morning. The yellow dress. The cloth she'd tucked into her bag for the blooms. Stack's voice still rough with sleep, laughing at her — you and those flowers, I swear — and pulling her down and kissing her like she was something ridiculous and wonderful and entirely his.

Crazy woman.

Your crazy woman.

She pressed her lips to his temple in the dark. Soft as a secret.

His arm tightened across her waist even in sleep.

Love should be calm, she thought. Peaceful. The kind of thing you can sleep inside of and wake up still held by.

But she thought about the words purple flowers landing across a quiet room. About the hand going still on the receipts. About Smoke’s thirty-some years of knowing someone so well that the wrong silence sounded like a scream.

The act of love, she thought, was something else entirely.

She exhaled.

She was home.

They were home.

Outside, somewhere, her wisteria grew on its rotting fence — untended, extravagant, stubbornly beautiful — and knew nothing about any of it.

______

A/N If you could find it in your hearts to forgive me? 🥺 Don't know what to say that would explain this absence so I'm not going to say anything. Feels like all I give ya'll is excuses for real. I am okay. Doing well. Life is just lifeing, interviewing for a new job (pray I get it!) I'll be in Chicago next week actually. So I'll def do some writing there :) Hope you're all well. Hope you enjoy this bite sized piece of our lovely trio. Love you <3

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This work of art is part of "The Moore Kind" universe. Where Smoke, Annie, and Stack exist as a Trio. If you'd like to learn more about them, check out My Masterlist 😘

___

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The first thing you noticed was warmth. Not the blazing humid heat that lingers through the Mississippi delta in the summer. But the warmth of plush skin clinging to your side.

Annie

This was a typical Sunday morning in your household. You sleep in, Annie's heat softening your muscles and swaying you into a deep rest. That and the remembrance of the lack of work you had to complete was a recipe for a lazy day.

She curled into your side, breathing slow and steady. The sunlight filtered through the window displayed tiny dust mites in its trail. The room casted in goldlight. For just a second you enjoyed moments like this. When things were quiet. Nothing needs to get done. Nothing needed fixin. Just silence and peace.

The household had its routine. Saturday was a workful day. Collecting herbs, running the small shack you and Annie sold goods out of. Listening to the neighborhood kids tell stories on what their moms and pops were up to. Between running around and the suffocating heat by the time you both arrived home Annie would shoo you into the bathroom to 'Wash the day of yourself' and get started on dinner.

Smoke would usually be home by now. You never knew what he went off and did but he always came back right in time for dinner. Something bout 'if his ladies worked all day and prepared a nice dinner for him then at least he oughta be at the table with the day's cash in hand.' Smoke was the kinda man who believed in providing. He hated that you and Annie were on your feet all day but he respected your decision to continue to work. So Smoke would work all day, make the money for the house, slap the money on the table and after giving you both a knee shaking kiss.

"Y'all breathin in there, or all that workin done finally killed yall?"

Smoke's voice echoes from somewhere in the house causing Annie to groan awake. Your laughing mixed with Annie's obvious annoyance from yalls husband's loud mouth. A second later the door swung open. There Smoke was fully dressed and leaning against the door frame with his signature smirk.

"Would ya look at that, yall are alive." he said smugly

"Leave us alone boy" Annie muttered without opening her eyes.

"Nope" he replied, moving closer to the side of the bed closest to Annie.

"I guess I'll just have to get in bed with yall." He shrugged

Annie opened her eyes quickly and glared at him.

"You get on my bed with ya outside clothes and I swear id bleed ur black ass dry "

Your body shook with laughter at their usual antics. Smoke's eyes softened and he leaned over to give you both a gentle kiss before moving back to the door.

"Morning chores are done, Kitchen is clean and ready to go. Yall take yall time getting up. I'll be outside working on that leak in the shack." With one last look he walked out the room.

We both let out a sigh of content.

"What a man," Annie swooned.

"Yes he is" You agreed

"Lets go get some breakfast started for our hard worker" You both agreed swinging your feet over the side of the bed and sliding your slippers on.

"But first shower" Annie groaned out while stretching her muscles.

"Want some company" You flirted

"Always" She offered back

"Guess our man is gonna have to wait a second for breakfast" You both giggled and made your way to the bathroom.

After the shower you both made your way to the kitchen. Freshly washed, freshly fucked, with skin slathered in sheabutter and your prefered smell goods.

Annie stood at the stove, flipping bacon while you stood beside her whisking the eggs and making sure the grits didn't stick to the bottom of the pan and burn. Through the kitchen window you could see Smoke hammering something. Then came the occasional clang and muffled curses.

You smiled while adding cheese to the eggs.

"Sound..promising" You grinned

"As promising as our man coming back inside with a nail through his hand."

You both giggled at that.

Smoke had been determined to fix the leak in the shack. The problem is he refused to admit when he needed some help.

Another clang rang through the house.

"Son of a b-" quickly followed after.

"You think he's actually fixing it?" Annie asked

"I think he's eventually going to after tweaking it a bit more first."

Annie slid the bacon on the plate. Handing it to you while you plated the grits.

She maneuvered around you to put the eggs on the skillet next. You both loved cooking together. You knew how to flow around the kitchen barley bumping into each other unless intentional.

The screen door creaked open after a couple of minutes.

Smoke stepped inside the second the eggs hit the plate looking exhausted and irritated. The second he laid eyes on both of you, setting the table, placing a plate in his seat, his shoulders relaxed and he smiled. A dramatic sigh escaped his lips followed by a chuckle.

"How's it going?" you asked.

"I say we burn it down and start fresh" He joked walking towards ANnie wrapping his arms around her.

Annie gasped and stepped out of his hold and turned to face him.

"You like trying me dont you smoke" She waved the nearby knife at him

"Yes ma'am" he grinned proudly

You chuckled and shook your head.

Cloying—the one word he’d use to describe her. 

Rich. Decadent. Too much of a good thing. But there was no way he’d start complaining about it right now. 

Fingers indented the flesh of her ass and thighs while nails pierced his shoulders, tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

They were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to despise one another. She was his twin’s annoying best friend. He, her best friend’s uptight older brother who couldn’t help but turn his nose up at her short shorts and crop tops. But she wore them for him—just as he wore his low-hanging sweatpants for her. 

When she’d come over to the twin’s shared apartment, they’d parade around for each other: Annie in her booty shorts and tight shirts, Smoke in sweatpants and a tank, a chain if he was feeling particularly interested in her attention. He’d come out of his room “for a bottle of water” or “to ask about plans for later,” but he was really just trying to get a look at Annie’s long legs. And she’d roll her eyes at him and make smart ass comments just to rile him up, but she was always looking at him a little too hard, too. 

They hated each other for no good reason. For simply being around. For taking up space. For speaking and smelling divine and looking good enough to eat even though they knew they couldn’t have each other. 

And now—despite all that—they were tangled up in Smoke’s sheets, and Annie was sitting thick and pretty on his palate like a good meal when you’ve been starved for ages. 

“Smoke,” the young woman whined, clawing at his upper body. He had her thighs pried open and her legs thrown over his shoulders, and every time she attempted to catch her breath, he was halting her action by dousing her in more pleasure. She squirmed in his hold, but her efforts were in vain. The young man held on too tight, but even though Annie was struggling against him, she didn’t want to go too far anyway. He felt too good, fucking her with his tongue, sucking on her clit with those plush lips. When he practically began to swallow her arousal from the source, she shook against the bed aggressively. And just as she felt the wave begin to wash over her exhausted, needy body, the man stopped. 

A huff escaped his lips—gruff, angry, and resentful.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Smoke growled, mind reeling from the delicious sound of her moaning his name and the too sweet taste of her on his tongue. He sat back on his haunches, but all that did was give him a better view of her bare body. The man rolled his eyes, growled once more from the sweat-slicked sight.

“Well, I can’t stand yo’ ass neither,” Annie shouted, propping herself up to get a better look at him.

They wore matching scowls, eyes full of contempt. Beneath the surface, their bodies were buzzing for a release that seemed too distant now, but Annie’s thighs were wet with her arousal—a puddle in the sheets—and Smoke’s length was throbbing with every glimpse he allowed himself to take of her.

The woman’s scowl turned to a wicked grin. And one glance at the time had her mind made up.

“Come on, Smokey,” Annie teased, crawling toward where Smoke had decided to land—at the edge of the bed with his back toward her. “You obviously need to let some steam off,” she hummed, hooking her arms around his neck from behind, “and Stack won’t be back from that li’l date for a minute. Stop bein’ pussy.”

She started kissing up the back of his neck, heavy, thick kisses that had his eyes fluttering shut. But her words were like ice, chilling his system and bringing that contempt back to the surface. He growled once—just once—then he grabbed her and swung her into position on his lap.

“I ain’t no pussy,” he condemned, smacking her ass and watching the way she tried her best not to flinched. He watched her grind her teeth, her hatred of him being just as strong as his for her. “And I don’ told you about callin’ me that name.”

“What? Smokey,” she threw in question, already knowing the answer. He’d said it time and time again, but that was what she used to successfully piss him off every time—she wasn’t about to stop now. Watching the man closely, she couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened at the sound of the nickname again, and at that, she set her hips in motion.

Her wet arousal rocked against his—slow, teasing, angry. She did nothing to remove the sly grin on her lips. She let it melt into her skin and stay planted there as she indulged in the way the man’s eyes were rolling back from the feel of her.

Smoke gritted his teeth at the feeling of Annie’s clit sliding along his dick, and he did his best not to let the pleasure show, but she had moans escaping his lips and tears pricking in his eyes before he could stop it. His hands held her in place atop him, attempting to command the situation. But annoyingly enough, Annie was too good at maintaining control—over him and the task at hand.

“I hate seein’ yo’ stupid fuckin’ face when I come over here,” the woman huffed, rising up on her feet. She sank down onto his length, shuddering at the stretch, chuckling when he groaned. “You must don’t ever go out ‘cause you always here,” she added, breath quickening as her body began to move at a steady pace. Her words were laced with hatred, but beneath the anger, resided that small part of her that anticipated seeing him every time she came over, the part that chose her outfits according to what would turn his head the most, the part that was ecstatic to finally have him buried inside her and at her mercy.

Smoke shifted their position. He moved back up the bed, rested his body, planted his feet, lifted her slightly. He laughed at the surprised look that took over her face, but he immediately turned cold once more.

“You the one that’s always over here in my face,” he argued, pulling her in close. His nails pierced the flesh of her ass punishingly, and with his regaining of control, he forced her to meet his thrusts as he pounded into her from below. “You stay up in my house, bothering me. But I’m the problem?” Each word bit. Each statement true. But Annie wasn’t ready to back down.

“Yeah,” she choked, fuming in a unique mix of hate and lust. “Yeah, you the fuckin’ problem.”

Her hips snapped harsh. Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she rode him silly, refusing to let him win. And he wasn’t letting up either.

The air of the room turned dark and dense as the two fought to make the other crumble. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be the first to break—the first to cum, to show how much they desired the other—but someone had to be the one.

Meeting each other thrust for thrust, their breaths mingled, their tongues fought, their bodies began to shudder viciously. Annie’s teeth bit into the meat of Smoke’s bottom lip, and his palms claimed her ass with an ease neither of them would talk about outside of this room.

“You finna cum,” the man barked, waiting for an answer in the form of moans and trembling. He smacked her ass, fucked her with aggression.

“Hell naw,” Annie hurled back, queuing up her insults. “Nigga, this shit weak. But I know this pussy ‘bout to have you ruined.”

And ruined he was—right alongside Annie, too.

For the next few weeks, they poked at each other, prodded, towed that line between disgust and desire. When they saw each other, their eyes flashed with hatred, and when Stack turned his back, drifted too far away, they were on each other hot. They couldn’t deny the need. They couldn’t stuff down the craving.

That’s why they were back at it again.

Smoke’s bed.

Stack long gone.

Annie with her face down—ass up.

“You need this shit like a greedy li’l slut,” the man taunted, stroking her deep. Her arch became more pronounced as her arms slid forward and her mouth fell open. She couldn’t protest because when he texted her and said Stack ‘went out,’ she immediately jumped from her comfortable position in bed, slid her shoes on, and drove her ass over to that apartment. She was greedy—yes. A slut—absolutely.

Her hips worked to bring them both closer to the edge, falling back into his strokes because she was a pro at this shit now. They’d done it plenty of times: always here in his bed where they could be caught at any moment. She knew how he liked it, knew that when his mouth got slick he was close to burying himself deep in her.

“Smoke,” Annie slurred, words weak from all the wails he’d pulled from her tonight. Her hand wrapped around his wrist in an effort to seek out connection, and as much as he despised her, he let her have it. Their fingers intertwined, bodies creating a delicious rhythm. And they let go—together.

As they winded down from the effects of their orgasms, their hands remained connected. Annie’s thumb stroked the side of Smoke’s hand, working diligently to pull sharp breaths from him. He couldn’t push away that feeling she gave him: like he was going to eventually lose his life in her but that it would be worth it in the end. He shifted his position, turned on his side to watch her, but Annie was already looking at him.

“I gotta go,” the young woman spoke matter-of-factly. She dragged her body away from his, and as she sat of the edge of his bed, he watched her stretch. Her arms rose above her head, pulling her worn out muscles gently. She shifted to the side and he could make out the curve of her breast—delicate and hefty at the same time. It made his mouth fall open, but he soon gained the woman’s attention. “The fuck you lookin’ at,” Annie hurled in his direction. She began to pull her clothes back on, starting with her undergarments, but she couldn’t find her shirt anywhere.

“What we doin’ for real, Anne,” Smoke leveled, standing up on wobbling feet.

“We fuckin’,” she answered with a roll of her neck. “Duh.”

“This ain’t just fuckin’, and you know that,” he continued. He stepped in her direction, beginning to help in the pursuit of her long lost shirt. “If this is just fuckin’ then why you don’t wanna tell my brother?”

“‘Cause I don’t want Stack in all my damn business,” Annie turned quick. She shot through him with her eyes, but he couldn’t hardly take anything serious as she stood before him with her upper half nearly bare: her bright pink bra was the only thing covering her chest.

“But you tell Stack everything,” Smoke threw out—completely confused. She and his twin had been close for a long while now, and there was nothing the other didn’t know—except for this. He had also never been much of a liar, but since Annie insisted this remain a secret, he listened.

But now, the man was conflicted by his feelings.

He couldn’t fucking stand Annie, but looking at her big, brown eyes and having held her hand so dearly earlier, he was experiencing a new, rawer emotion.

He watched her continue to scrounge for her shirt as a way to not look him in the eye, but that didn’t mean he was done with his line of questioning.

“What you want from this? From me and you,” Smoke whispered. His voice was low, tone dripping in a seriousness that seemed to be plaguing him right now. Annie turned completely in his direction, her search for the shirt fully thwarted now. She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, sighing with a strangled breath that seemed to not want to come out.

When she looked at him, her eyes were big and round, wet with emotion.

“It started as me wantin’ to prove something,” she shrugged, eyes stuck on his. “I wanted to prove that I was more than just a nuisance, that I could make you feel something other than your hate for me, that I could dive headfirst into this and walk away unscathed.” She shook her head, diverted her gaze. “And now,” she continued, words catching on the way out, “now I feel silly for lettin’ this continue for so long, knowin’ what you do to me.”

“Anne—” the man tried, but she kept speaking, kept spiraling.

“I’m just so stupid! Of course this was just sex for you,” Annie pointed in his direction before smoothing her hair down away from her face. Her body seemed to be vibrating, and Smoke’s fingers trembled with a need to reach out for her, but he knew that would only worsen the situation. “And now I’ve just made it weird because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check. And I can’t find my damn shirt no where!”

She searched frantically—high and low—but she came up empty every time. And as he watched her, Smoke stood there stunned. He didn’t have a clue what to say. Partially because he was still using that excuse of hating her. Partially because he was still oscillating between his difficult emotions. All he thought about now seemed to be Annie. Annie’s annoying voice. Annie’s annoying laugh. Annie’s annoyingly pretty smile. He continued to find himself trapped in their moments together, how easily they came together in his bed, how they could communicate with such ease at times before getting caught up in what they thought they were supposed to want.

He hated her. But her adored her. And he definitely understood what she meant about feeling silly.

When he noticed the tears falling from her eyes, Smoke finally let himself step forward. He reached for her in an attempt to calm her down, but the sound of keys in the front door halted that effort.

“Oh my God,” Annie breathed heavily, moving to cower in a corner. She had no shirt on, was crying like a fool, and was in her best friend’s brother’s room after fucking him behind the other man’s back. She didn’t know what to do, and one look at Smoke showed that he didn’t have a clue either. They remained quiet—didn’t dare make a sound first—but Stack’s words rang out loud.

“Aye yo’,” he laughed into the near quiet apartment. “Annie, where you at, girl?! I saw yo’ car in the lot!”

Their hearts sank to their feet, the inevitable finally coming face to face with them. Annie shook in her spot, terrified of the consequences of lying to the person closest to her, and as frightened as Smoke was as well, he forced himself to put on a brave face for her.

As Stack kept shouting her name, mumbling how she must be in the bathroom or something, the older twin tossed her one of his shirts.

In the living room, however, Stack was leaning back against the couch as a flash of color gained his attention. A bright baby blue crop top sat on the other side of the room, and without picking it up, he already knew who it belonged to.

He stopped speaking all together—because there had to be an explanation, because he was just not understanding what the situation was. His brother was here too; He had to be. Stack had seen his car parked in its usual spot, but maybe that hadn’t been his best friend’s vehicle at all. She had parked too far away, on the opposite end of the lot tucked into a corner. But he’d worked on her car enough times to recognize the unique dents and scratches.

And now, he was in his home, calling her name to no answer—from either of them. But there had to be an explanation, right?

Down the hall, a bedroom door, croaked open.

Two sets of feet set in motion. Slow. Trembling. Guilty.

Tears flooded one person’s eyes. Fear flooded another’s.

But there was no going back now.

Stack’s eyes bounced between the pair. From Smoke to Annie. From the shirt the woman wore to the one she’d obviously forgotten was in the living room all along. Confusion etched into his features. It was a strange type of understanding because of course he knew what this meant—Annie was wearing his brother’s shirt and they were both looking guilty as fuck—but how had this all happened? They hated each other. They had hated each other from the moment they first met.

The younger twin shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he laughed—disbelief shining through.

“Man y’all fucked up,” he cackled, tossing his head back. Standing to his feet, the young man continued to laugh and joke and admonish, and the embarrassed pair watched with wide eyes. He wouldn’t stop or let up, and they just had to stand there and take it. “This is what happens when you pretend like you hate somebody,” he continued, hands rising in the air. “You end up fuckin’ ‘cause ain’t shit else to do wit’ all that pent up energy.”

He turned toward the hallway, still shaking his head in disbelief, laughing to keep himself together. When he reached his bedroom door, he took one look at them. How they stood at an awkward distance from each other. How it seemed to be something else going on that he didn’t want to get into right now. Seriousness took control of his features, returning him to the moment he first realized something wasn’t right. With their backs to him, he sighed, and clearing his throat, he turned his doorknob and spoke once more before departing.

“All I got to say is y’all better get y’all shit together and not make me choose between y’all. For real though.”

The room fell quiet. With Stack gone, the pair were left to reckon with what they were doing, with the fact that their dirt had seen the light of day. Smoke, eyes picking up the glare from Annie’s long lost shirt, leaned forward to grab it. And as his fingers connected with the fabric, he reveled in the softness, the roughness, the unmistakable Annie-ness of the feel.

“Here you go,” he extended his hand. His volume was low, afraid to rustle the quiet air, and the woman thanked him in a tone just as soft.

Annie watched his eyes carefully, trying to find his lingering disdain for her, but there was none.

“I appreciate it,” she offered her thanks again, much more confident this time, and as a soft grin filled Smoke’s lips, Annie allowed hers to match.

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

word count: ~3,200

a/n: i hope y'all enjoyedddd and thank you for readinggg

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Cloying—the one word he’d use to describe her. 

Rich. Decadent. Too much of a good thing. But there was no way he’d start complaining about it right now. 

Fingers indented the flesh of her ass and thighs while nails pierced his shoulders, tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

They were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to despise one another. She was his twin’s annoying best friend. He, her best friend’s uptight older brother who couldn’t help but turn his nose up at her short shorts and crop tops. But she wore them for him—just as he wore his low-hanging sweatpants for her. 

When she’d come over to the twin’s shared apartment, they’d parade around for each other: Annie in her booty shorts and tight shirts, Smoke in sweatpants and a tank, a chain if he was feeling particularly interested in her attention. He’d come out of his room “for a bottle of water” or “to ask about plans for later,” but he was really just trying to get a look at Annie’s long legs. And she’d roll her eyes at him and make smart ass comments just to rile him up, but she was always looking at him a little too hard, too. 

They hated each other for no good reason. For simply being around. For taking up space. For speaking and smelling divine and looking good enough to eat even though they knew they couldn’t have each other. 

And now—despite all that—they were tangled up in Smoke’s sheets, and Annie was sitting thick and pretty on his palate like a good meal when you’ve been starved for ages. 

“Smoke,” the young woman whined, clawing at his upper body. He had her thighs pried open and her legs thrown over his shoulders, and every time she attempted to catch her breath, he was halting her action by dousing her in more pleasure. She squirmed in his hold, but her efforts were in vain. The young man held on too tight, but even though Annie was struggling against him, she didn’t want to go too far anyway. He felt too good, fucking her with his tongue, sucking on her clit with those plush lips. When he practically began to swallow her arousal from the source, she shook against the bed aggressively. And just as she felt the wave begin to wash over her exhausted, needy body, the man stopped. 

A huff escaped his lips—gruff, angry, and resentful.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Smoke growled, mind reeling from the delicious sound of her moaning his name and the too sweet taste of her on his tongue. He sat back on his haunches, but all that did was give him a better view of her bare body. The man rolled his eyes, growled once more from the sweat-slicked sight.

“Well, I can’t stand yo’ ass neither,” Annie shouted, propping herself up to get a better look at him.

They wore matching scowls, eyes full of contempt. Beneath the surface, their bodies were buzzing for a release that seemed too distant now, but Annie’s thighs were wet with her arousal—a puddle in the sheets—and Smoke’s length was throbbing with every glimpse he allowed himself to take of her.

The woman’s scowl turned to a wicked grin. And one glance at the time had her mind made up.

“Come on, Smokey,” Annie teased, crawling toward where Smoke had decided to land—at the edge of the bed with his back toward her. “You obviously need to let some steam off,” she hummed, hooking her arms around his neck from behind, “and Stack won’t be back from that li’l date for a minute. Stop bein’ pussy.”

She started kissing up the back of his neck, heavy, thick kisses that had his eyes fluttering shut. But her words were like ice, chilling his system and bringing that contempt back to the surface. He growled once—just once—then he grabbed her and swung her into position on his lap.

“I ain’t no pussy,” he condemned, smacking her ass and watching the way she tried her best not to flinched. He watched her grind her teeth, her hatred of him being just as strong as his for her. “And I don’ told you about callin’ me that name.”

“What? Smokey,” she threw in question, already knowing the answer. He’d said it time and time again, but that was what she used to successfully piss him off every time—she wasn’t about to stop now. Watching the man closely, she couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened at the sound of the nickname again, and at that, she set her hips in motion.

Her wet arousal rocked against his—slow, teasing, angry. She did nothing to remove the sly grin on her lips. She let it melt into her skin and stay planted there as she indulged in the way the man’s eyes were rolling back from the feel of her.

Smoke gritted his teeth at the feeling of Annie’s clit sliding along his dick, and he did his best not to let the pleasure show, but she had moans escaping his lips and tears pricking in his eyes before he could stop it. His hands held her in place atop him, attempting to command the situation. But annoyingly enough, Annie was too good at maintaining control—over him and the task at hand.

“I hate seein’ yo’ stupid fuckin’ face when I come over here,” the woman huffed, rising up on her feet. She sank down onto his length, shuddering at the stretch, chuckling when he groaned. “You must don’t ever go out ‘cause you always here,” she added, breath quickening as her body began to move at a steady pace. Her words were laced with hatred, but beneath the anger, resided that small part of her that anticipated seeing him every time she came over, the part that chose her outfits according to what would turn his head the most, the part that was ecstatic to finally have him buried inside her and at her mercy.

Smoke shifted their position. He moved back up the bed, rested his body, planted his feet, lifted her slightly. He laughed at the surprised look that took over her face, but he immediately turned cold once more.

“You the one that’s always over here in my face,” he argued, pulling her in close. His nails pierced the flesh of her ass punishingly, and with his regaining of control, he forced her to meet his thrusts as he pounded into her from below. “You stay up in my house, bothering me. But I’m the problem?” Each word bit. Each statement true. But Annie wasn’t ready to back down.

“Yeah,” she choked, fuming in a unique mix of hate and lust. “Yeah, you the fuckin’ problem.”

Her hips snapped harsh. Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she rode him silly, refusing to let him win. And he wasn’t letting up either.

The air of the room turned dark and dense as the two fought to make the other crumble. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be the first to break—the first to cum, to show how much they desired the other—but someone had to be the one.

Meeting each other thrust for thrust, their breaths mingled, their tongues fought, their bodies began to shudder viciously. Annie’s teeth bit into the meat of Smoke’s bottom lip, and his palms claimed her ass with an ease neither of them would talk about outside of this room.

“You finna cum,” the man barked, waiting for an answer in the form of moans and trembling. He smacked her ass, fucked her with aggression.

“Hell naw,” Annie hurled back, queuing up her insults. “Nigga, this shit weak. But I know this pussy ‘bout to have you ruined.”

And ruined he was—right alongside Annie, too.

For the next few weeks, they poked at each other, prodded, towed that line between disgust and desire. When they saw each other, their eyes flashed with hatred, and when Stack turned his back, drifted too far away, they were on each other hot. They couldn’t deny the need. They couldn’t stuff down the craving.

That’s why they were back at it again.

Smoke’s bed.

Stack long gone.

Annie with her face down—ass up.

“You need this shit like a greedy li’l slut,” the man taunted, stroking her deep. Her arch became more pronounced as her arms slid forward and her mouth fell open. She couldn’t protest because when he texted her and said Stack ‘went out,’ she immediately jumped from her comfortable position in bed, slid her shoes on, and drove her ass over to that apartment. She was greedy—yes. A slut—absolutely.

Her hips worked to bring them both closer to the edge, falling back into his strokes because she was a pro at this shit now. They’d done it plenty of times: always here in his bed where they could be caught at any moment. She knew how he liked it, knew that when his mouth got slick he was close to burying himself deep in her.

“Smoke,” Annie slurred, words weak from all the wails he’d pulled from her tonight. Her hand wrapped around his wrist in an effort to seek out connection, and as much as he despised her, he let her have it. Their fingers intertwined, bodies creating a delicious rhythm. And they let go—together.

As they winded down from the effects of their orgasms, their hands remained connected. Annie’s thumb stroked the side of Smoke’s hand, working diligently to pull sharp breaths from him. He couldn’t push away that feeling she gave him: like he was going to eventually lose his life in her but that it would be worth it in the end. He shifted his position, turned on his side to watch her, but Annie was already looking at him.

“I gotta go,” the young woman spoke matter-of-factly. She dragged her body away from his, and as she sat of the edge of his bed, he watched her stretch. Her arms rose above her head, pulling her worn out muscles gently. She shifted to the side and he could make out the curve of her breast—delicate and hefty at the same time. It made his mouth fall open, but he soon gained the woman’s attention. “The fuck you lookin’ at,” Annie hurled in his direction. She began to pull her clothes back on, starting with her undergarments, but she couldn’t find her shirt anywhere.

“What we doin’ for real, Anne,” Smoke leveled, standing up on wobbling feet.

“We fuckin’,” she answered with a roll of her neck. “Duh.”

“This ain’t just fuckin’, and you know that,” he continued. He stepped in her direction, beginning to help in the pursuit of her long lost shirt. “If this is just fuckin’ then why you don’t wanna tell my brother?”

“‘Cause I don’t want Stack in all my damn business,” Annie turned quick. She shot through him with her eyes, but he couldn’t hardly take anything serious as she stood before him with her upper half nearly bare: her bright pink bra was the only thing covering her chest.

“But you tell Stack everything,” Smoke threw out—completely confused. She and his twin had been close for a long while now, and there was nothing the other didn’t know—except for this. He had also never been much of a liar, but since Annie insisted this remain a secret, he listened.

But now, the man was conflicted by his feelings.

He couldn’t fucking stand Annie, but looking at her big, brown eyes and having held her hand so dearly earlier, he was experiencing a new, rawer emotion.

He watched her continue to scrounge for her shirt as a way to not look him in the eye, but that didn’t mean he was done with his line of questioning.

“What you want from this? From me and you,” Smoke whispered. His voice was low, tone dripping in a seriousness that seemed to be plaguing him right now. Annie turned completely in his direction, her search for the shirt fully thwarted now. She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, sighing with a strangled breath that seemed to not want to come out.

When she looked at him, her eyes were big and round, wet with emotion.

“It started as me wantin’ to prove something,” she shrugged, eyes stuck on his. “I wanted to prove that I was more than just a nuisance, that I could make you feel something other than your hate for me, that I could dive headfirst into this and walk away unscathed.” She shook her head, diverted her gaze. “And now,” she continued, words catching on the way out, “now I feel silly for lettin’ this continue for so long, knowin’ what you do to me.”

“Anne—” the man tried, but she kept speaking, kept spiraling.

“I’m just so stupid! Of course this was just sex for you,” Annie pointed in his direction before smoothing her hair down away from her face. Her body seemed to be vibrating, and Smoke’s fingers trembled with a need to reach out for her, but he knew that would only worsen the situation. “And now I’ve just made it weird because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check. And I can’t find my damn shirt no where!”

She searched frantically—high and low—but she came up empty every time. And as he watched her, Smoke stood there stunned. He didn’t have a clue what to say. Partially because he was still using that excuse of hating her. Partially because he was still oscillating between his difficult emotions. All he thought about now seemed to be Annie. Annie’s annoying voice. Annie’s annoying laugh. Annie’s annoyingly pretty smile. He continued to find himself trapped in their moments together, how easily they came together in his bed, how they could communicate with such ease at times before getting caught up in what they thought they were supposed to want.

He hated her. But her adored her. And he definitely understood what she meant about feeling silly.

When he noticed the tears falling from her eyes, Smoke finally let himself step forward. He reached for her in an attempt to calm her down, but the sound of keys in the front door halted that effort.

“Oh my God,” Annie breathed heavily, moving to cower in a corner. She had no shirt on, was crying like a fool, and was in her best friend’s brother’s room after fucking him behind the other man’s back. She didn’t know what to do, and one look at Smoke showed that he didn’t have a clue either. They remained quiet—didn’t dare make a sound first—but Stack’s words rang out loud.

“Aye yo’,” he laughed into the near quiet apartment. “Annie, where you at, girl?! I saw yo’ car in the lot!”

Their hearts sank to their feet, the inevitable finally coming face to face with them. Annie shook in her spot, terrified of the consequences of lying to the person closest to her, and as frightened as Smoke was as well, he forced himself to put on a brave face for her.

As Stack kept shouting her name, mumbling how she must be in the bathroom or something, the older twin tossed her one of his shirts.

In the living room, however, Stack was leaning back against the couch as a flash of color gained his attention. A bright baby blue crop top sat on the other side of the room, and without picking it up, he already knew who it belonged to.

He stopped speaking all together—because there had to be an explanation, because he was just not understanding what the situation was. His brother was here too; He had to be. Stack had seen his car parked in its usual spot, but maybe that hadn’t been his best friend’s vehicle at all. She had parked too far away, on the opposite end of the lot tucked into a corner. But he’d worked on her car enough times to recognize the unique dents and scratches.

And now, he was in his home, calling her name to no answer—from either of them. But there had to be an explanation, right?

Down the hall, a bedroom door, croaked open.

Two sets of feet set in motion. Slow. Trembling. Guilty.

Tears flooded one person’s eyes. Fear flooded another’s.

But there was no going back now.

Stack’s eyes bounced between the pair. From Smoke to Annie. From the shirt the woman wore to the one she’d obviously forgotten was in the living room all along. Confusion etched into his features. It was a strange type of understanding because of course he knew what this meant—Annie was wearing his brother’s shirt and they were both looking guilty as fuck—but how had this all happened? They hated each other. They had hated each other from the moment they first met.

The younger twin shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he laughed—disbelief shining through.

“Man y’all fucked up,” he cackled, tossing his head back. Standing to his feet, the young man continued to laugh and joke and admonish, and the embarrassed pair watched with wide eyes. He wouldn’t stop or let up, and they just had to stand there and take it. “This is what happens when you pretend like you hate somebody,” he continued, hands rising in the air. “You end up fuckin’ ‘cause ain’t shit else to do wit’ all that pent up energy.”

He turned toward the hallway, still shaking his head in disbelief, laughing to keep himself together. When he reached his bedroom door, he took one look at them. How they stood at an awkward distance from each other. How it seemed to be something else going on that he didn’t want to get into right now. Seriousness took control of his features, returning him to the moment he first realized something wasn’t right. With their backs to him, he sighed, and clearing his throat, he turned his doorknob and spoke once more before departing.

“All I got to say is y’all better get y’all shit together and not make me choose between y’all. For real though.”

The room fell quiet. With Stack gone, the pair were left to reckon with what they were doing, with the fact that their dirt had seen the light of day. Smoke, eyes picking up the glare from Annie’s long lost shirt, leaned forward to grab it. And as his fingers connected with the fabric, he reveled in the softness, the roughness, the unmistakable Annie-ness of the feel.

“Here you go,” he extended his hand. His volume was low, afraid to rustle the quiet air, and the woman thanked him in a tone just as soft.

Annie watched his eyes carefully, trying to find his lingering disdain for her, but there was none.

“I appreciate it,” she offered her thanks again, much more confident this time, and as a soft grin filled Smoke’s lips, Annie allowed hers to match.

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

word count: ~3,200

a/n: i hope y'all enjoyedddd and thank you for readinggg

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Smoke was going through a lot. Ever since that night at Messenger’s and ending up on his back in Annie’s bed, the man has been incapable of calming his wired body.

Every single thought was consumed by you and Annie. He’d been so close to having you both—on the verge of having his wildest dreams come to fruition—but when you pulled back, that dream shattered. Since then, Annie has put him on punishment: no sex until she thought he was deserving of it. And with Annie, there was no telling how long that would be. She had him on a tight leash, one that he wanted to tug on and tug on until he was able to free himself. But he so badly wanted to be good for her, though every time he thought about the two of you pressed together, it got harder to behave.

With you working so much, it wasn’t like he could turn to you anyway. Your body was too tired to play with him, but he understood the fatigue you were experiencing, the stress on your system. He tried his best to alleviate it by sliding you money here and there, but you loved your independence and he begrudgingly chose to respect that.

Smoke Moore was never the most sunshiny of man, but now that he was being denied reprieve from Annie and was unable to seek refuge in you, he was insufferable. Every sound that left his mouth was a grunt, and every look he directed toward another was a mix of scowls, lowered eyes, and bulging veins. He was snapping at any person who crossed his midst—most notably Stack who kindly encouraged him to get his shit together before he told you and Annie about his nasty attitude.

And even then, that tactic only worked for smaller instances. Smoke would be yelling down somebody's throat because they bumped into him or talked too loud or plain ole existed, and Stack would bump his shoulder before mumbling, "Don't make me into a snitch, nigga. You know I'm scared of them women, but I'll do it." As a result, Smoke would hush up, grumble under his breath, and move on before the whole event was repeated again and again and again. The cycle was exhausting and annoying, but it continued only because the older twin hadn't done anything too egregious.

But then the inevitable happened, and Stack couldn't bite his tongue any longer.

The stifled man stood near the end of his small cot, bedroom door locked, hand braced on the chest of drawers ahead of him, abs trembling, shirt captured between his teeth, and permanent crease parting his eyebrows. He had held on as long as he could, but everything went out the window when he walked into town yesterday. It had been early morning, and as much as he wanted to welcome the singing of every Clarksdale bird, all he could do was drone his own song of displeasure.

He kicked a rock as he bypassed Ada's salon. Murmured when he reached the tailor's. But when he looked into the window of Maybelle's General Store, his heart and body vibrated tremendously. Annie was leaned over the counter, hand on her chin as she looked at your face with a smug, all-too-knowing expression; and you had your head cocked to the side, eyes skirting down to her chest and undressing her like you'd been given the roadmap to her body.

It had sparked that dream up in his system once more, and all he wanted was to fit himself behind Annie or beside your coy grin. He felt the heat beginning to rise below his belt, his arousal making itself evident, and before he became indecent for a public space, he made his way home.

He'd been locked in his bedroom since, shunning Stack away, telling Cornbread to get his ass out of his house. He'd tried, truly tried to abstain from his need, but once he got started, there was no stopping him.

With the shirt between his teeth, he worked to muffle the sound of his whines. No one was home, but he didn't even want the empty walls around him to hear how desperate he was for the pleasure of those two women. They'd each given him something to crave, and while they were similar, they each allowed him a different aspect of the submission he learned to love.

You were the one that held him close, praise at the tip of your tongue more often than not. Annie was the one that punished him like he knew better—because he did. Her degradation and harshness is what he loved the most—how she could grab his neck, tug on his ear, and call him everything but a Child of God and still get a rise out of him. He could only imagine how your sweetness plus her harshness would work to stir that side out of him even more, and as he worked at his length, he couldn't stop where his mind decided to take him.

"Fu—fuck," he released trembly, muffled by the stretched fabric. His body glistened in sweat from his efforts to get himself off. He'd been at it for what felt like hours, orgasm after sweet orgasm as he treated his body in the way he was being refused. He was angry but too wrecked to complain to the powers that be. It was his own fault for why he was in this situation in the first place. He shivered each time his palm dragged closer to the tip, oversensitive and fucked out. But he persisted.

Each stroke was in perfect timing. Each moan was followed by the names of two women he couldn't seem to forget. The picture of you and Annie leaned toward each other with dark, alluring eyes remained at the front of his mind, and he could feel the next climax on its way.

He chased it feverishly, begged for it, pleaded to whoever could hear his small cries to let his body know some sort of peace.

He was so damn close.

It was right there.

But, of course, the front door had to snap on its hinges and footsteps had to ruined the already troubled air. They were quick, the notable sound of Stack's brand new wingtip oxfords and two other pairs of feet crossing the length of the home.

Smoke let out a groan that was deafening before punching the air with as much energy as he had available. His shirt covered his chest and abs once more. His pants moved back up to his hips. And his back defiantly met the cushion of his padded cot.

Nigga can't have shit 'round here, he thought to himself, arms crossed over his chest. He stared into the ceiling with might that turned to straight violence when his brother knocked on the door.

"Aye, man," Stack shouted through the wood. "You 'posed to be hangin' wit' the fellas tonight. When you gon' leave this room?" As much as the man's tone was full of annoyance, there was concern beneath it, but Smoke was too angry to hear anything other than his heartbeat in his ears.

"I ain't goin' out," he lashed, words hot in their delivery. It made Stack turn toward the two people behind him who shook their heads in disapproval. He huffed, eyes down as he thought of the best way to get his brother out of his funk. With nothing coming to mind, he chose fighting words, resorting to that sibling teasing he knew too well.

"Man, you gotta cut this out for real," the younger twin tried again. "You gon' spend the rest of your life in this room 'cause you mad about some pussy? Stop bein' a li'l bitch and pull yourself together!"

On one side of the bedroom door, three people heard everything go silent in sound and emotion, only the sound of their own breaths moving the air.

But on the other side, Smoke raged.

In a flash of a second, the door went from closed with Stack completely out of harm's way to it nearly flung off of its hinges as Smoke barreled through it to set Stack's ass straight. His body was full on top of his, laying hit after hit that was far too light to do any real harm. It was the older twin's stamina that was doing the younger man in. He couldn't get a smack in to save his life, and as he resolved to covering his face, the other two people in the room were hunched over. They belly-laughed at the scene before them: how Smoke was practically blowing smoke from his ears, how Stack was praying to God for safe-keeping.

"Fuck y'all laughin' at," the younger brother shouted, interrupting the fun. "Save me!" And they did the best they could, pulling Smoke back and propelling his body away long enough for Stack to run out the front door. Smoke was obviously hot on his tail though, leaving the two onlookers to cackle even more.

Cornbread and Bo grabbed at their stomachs in an attempt to suppress the hurt of laughter, but nothing helped. Because as they looked in the distance, Stack was running in the direction of Annie's home, and Smoke was so rage-filled that he was none the wiser.

Stack bounded toward the woman's home, only hoping that she was there and could rid him of whatever evil had obviously been placed on his brother. His legs moved in a long stride, knees high as his arms helped to propel him. He and his brother were damn near the same person physically, so he restrained himself from looking backward. He could feel the man hot on him, getting closer the more his anger soared through his veins, but the younger of the two could see Annie's home in the distance. So close but so damn far.

He kept up his speed, heart ringing in his ears. When he got within shouting distance is when he was tackled to the ground. Dirt was thrown into the air. Rocks pressed into his cheeks as his brother smushed his face into the ground. Stack's head was turned to the side, so he could see the fist raise high, ripping through the air at lightening speed.

But then, Calvary came.

"Elijah Moore!" Two voices sounded at once. Loud. Piercing. Angry with disappointment. And the sound of it is what brought the man's fist back to his side. He scrambled to his feet, embarrassed more than anything at this point. Stack laid there. Blinking dirt from his eyes and heaving more than his brother thought was necessary. He processed the way his life had completely flashed before his eyes.

Smoke—terrified and seeing his own life flash away—met the disgruntled eye of two women. Annie was normally the one who showed no mercy with him for a plethora of reasons, but the look you gave was one he wasn't ready for. You could be rough in bed—intense, cruel, sadistic—but you were sweet in your delivery. You praised him for breaking and made him feel special when he couldn't do anything other than obey. You'd smile up at him: grin, laugh, pull him close. The person before him now was absent of all those things.

It was then that he noticed just how similar you and Annie really were. You could be just as brutish as she could, and he could practically feel the near punishment on his soft skin already.

You and Annie had been spending a lot more time together since she walked you back to her home. That night was full of pleasure and desire being met. While you thought it would satiate you, all you wanted was more of it. She'd visit you at Maybelle's: bring you lunch when she knew you wouldn't get a proper break, help you pass the time in the evenings when it got slow. And you'd almost always end up walking home with her.

You both agreed to be callous with Smoke. He'd been playing games to get you two in one room, and while he had succeeded in making the both of you acqaintances, he didn't need to know it just yet. The two of you wanted to know each other outside of your Elijah—hoping that when you did finally let the man in, you'd be able to ruin him in a way he never expected.

It was your first weekend off in ages when you traveled to the woman's home. You'd knocked on her door politely, waited on her to answer, and when she did, there was a bright smile on her lips.

"You don't work today," she had asked breathily, but she knew the answer. At that time of the day, you'd be knee-deep in tasks at the store, but you were standing right in front of her. Well rested. Stress free. And hungry in a way only she could satiate. You took your time with her, slowly moving your way into her home, laying soft kiss after soft kiss against her neck. She was addicted to your sweetness, how your dominance could land hard and coated in honeyed words. She tipped her head back as you moved toward her chest, lips seeking her out in a way to say you were going to take your time with her.

You hadn't been too deep into her pleasure yet when you heard the commotion. It started out as a distant voice, but the closer it got, it turned into yells for help, grunts of anger, rocks kicking up as two heated bodies advanced down the road.

Your head turned toward the window, heart stirring, and that's when you both saw it: Two identical figures racing the length of the road. Annie was the first one to the door, already knowing from years with the twins that if the older one got his hands on the younger, Stack was a goner.

By the time Smoke had tackled him to the ground, you both had stepped off of the porch, hands on your hips or arms crossed under your chests as you shook your heads. The man's name left your mouths simultaneously, and that brought you to now.

"You just can't act right, can you, 'Lijah," Annie taunted, towering over the man in his bound position. You stood behind her, one eyebrow raised as Smoke looked worriedly between the both of you. His muscles flexed against the ropes, his body trembled as he fought to break loose. But there was no use—y'all had bound him too tight. His eyes were sad and angry and accusatory at the same time, and it made you purse your lips.

"Don't look at me like that, baby," you moved forward, bending down so you were eye level with him as he sat in the chair. "You brought this on yourself."

It hadn't been hard to get him in this position. After his name had been yelled across the yard, he walked into the home like a dog with its tail between its legs. And when you pulled the chair away from the kitchen table, dragged it down the hall, positioned it right in front of Annie's bed, and told him to sit, he questioned nothing—not even how you knew your way around the woman's home and why you'd been there in the first place. As you did this, Annie brought her blade to his neck, threatening him to resist as the two of you worked the rope around his body. His arms and legs were completely bound to the chair, and the rope across his chest restricted his full mobility.

And he looked gorgeous tied up for you.

Eyes on Annie now, you moved in her direction. A hand landed on her hip, and your lips connected with her ear.

"I think we should finish what we started," you hummed suggestively to which the woman responded with a needy moan. You hated having been interrupted with such foolishness before, but now, you had a captive audience. "I say we make him watch," you added. You could feel his attention locked on the way your hand moved up Annie’s body, traveling up her leg, between her thighs, across her hip.

The kisses started softly and teasingly with both of your eyes refusing to give the man any more of your attention. This was about the two of you now, and his cries were just background noise, adding to the tension and heat in the room. You took control first, grabbing Annie’s neck and tipping her head back. Engulfing her, you swallowed every groan she could muster, mouth to hers, chest to hers. You could feel her head swimming with need.

Annie’s hands flailed to meet your body, but once they did, her touch turned to straight greed. Your dress was pulled over your head in record time, body half-bare when she began to guide you to the edge of her bed. Sitting down facing the room’s middle, you kept your eyes on the woman as she planted heavy kisses on your skin. Your jaw. Your neck. Your chest. Your stomach and thighs. She commanded you in a way that didn’t require your submission, in a way that allowed space for your dominance to breathe.

From the chair, Smoke salivated. Experiencing his two lovers in a position like this was a dream come true, but the further Annie went with her kisses, the more frustrated he was becoming. He wanted a taste; He wanted to feel every inch of skin between you, but the ropes held him back. He watched you pant as the woman fully settled onto her knees.

With your legs over her shoulders and a hand in her hair, you released a decadent sound when her tongue explored your folds. It was half moan and half song, but the sound of it warmed everyone’s ears. Annie grabbed your ass for better leverage, stuffing her face in you. Her tongue was confident—because she’d done this before. She knew what you needed and how you needed it, so when your breath caught as she swiped your clit, Annie only went harder.

“Just like that, beautiful,” you nodded, words coming out breathily. Your held her head in place, her eyes locked on you as her full lips trapped your clit in a kiss. Sucking the bundle of nerves into her mouth, you felt your body begin the tremble. It started out small with just your fingertips quivering, but when she began to practically swallow you, you became sensitive all over. “Fuck, yes,” you cried, nodding your head from the pleasure. Your eyes were locked on her, and as good of a job as you’d done blocking the man from your mind, his whining was starting to break your bubble.

Annie’s ears twitched as she felt the shift. Smoke was calling out y’all’s names, expecting you to answer. He was rocking in the chair, trying his best to free himself and over power the hold. The sound was beginning to distract. His desperation and disobedience was beginning to annoy.

But she kept her eyes trained on you as her tongue swirled around your clit. Two fingers traveled up your thigh, landing near your entrance. Annie teased you with them, letting the anticipation boil over. By the time her fingers were coated in your arousal, ready to capture you, Smoke had become incessant.

“Please,” he yelled, teeth gritted, face angry.

But Annie kept going, and you just moaned like his voice was an added sensation.

“I’m fuckin’ serious,” he added darkly, but it only made you laugh and toss your head back. At the same time, Annie fingers were conquering your pussy, and you let it happen, arching into her fingers and mouth.

Chair legs scraped the floor.

Greedy grunts filled the air.

Heavy moans pulled at heartstrings.

Pussy juices added to the cacophony.

Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t uttered his next words—peachy keen in all seriousness—but the man just had to open his mouth and disturb the peace.

“Just wait ‘til I get outta this chair,” Smoke threatened, throbbing length pressing against the fabric of his pants from the display. He bared his teeth, each word punctuated by his anger. “When I get out,” he breathed smoke, “I’m ruinin’ everybody fun.”

You and Annie didn’t stop all at once. It started with her tongue twitching against your folds and your lips opening in a disbelieving gasp. It continued with you releasing the back of the woman’s head and her pulling away to gaze up into your eyes. You shared a look, one that had been cultivated by nights spent together in sweet agony. A command passed over her face, quiet yet serious, and as she fully pulled away, you remained in your spot as she expected you to.

“You gettin’ real bold, Smoke,” she grumbled. Her feet crossed the small space, each one landing like fire against the wood. “This ain’t the streets of Chicago or the back roads of Clarksdale. This is my damn house. Who do you think you are to be makin’ empty threats?” She meant it retorically, but the empty air plus your amused eyes on him made the man stutter out a reply.

“I-I’m your Elijah,” he quipped, reverting into himself already. Her dominant aura was too strong.

“Naw,” Annie raised her chin. She put her hands on her hip, beginning to circle the man in the chair. “My Elijah, knows better,” she began. “My Elijah knows how to act. He knows what I expect from him.”

“I’m so-sorry,” the man choked out, wrists pressing against the binds. The sound of his voice made the woman scoff in disgust, but when she looked over to you, your eyes were bright and full of intrigue. She shook her head, watching as your hands traveled the length of your body. You removed the minimal fabric she’d left behind, and as she leaned down over the man’s shoulder from behind, a smirk pulled at her lips.

“Do something for me, baby,” Annie demanded, mouth to his ear and words coming out soft.

“Anything! I swear I’ll do anything, Mama,” he pleaded hoarsely, muscles straining in need. At the sound of the woman’s title, your expression lifted, and Annie laughed as you straightened your posture on the mattress. You knew a small amount about Annie and Smoke’s relationship, but that was something that had been concealed. Watching his chest heave in anticipation, your fingers couldn’t help but to skirt between your open legs. You toyed with your clit, raised your chin as you watched them, shivered when their eyes locked on you.

When the domineering woman spoke again, she muttered the words too close to the man’s ear for you to hear, but you could tell that that was how she intended it.

His eyes widened. His head moved to nod profusely before his voice rose above the tension in the air.

“Can Annie touch me,” he chirped, the question catching in his throat. “I’ll be good,” he added, pressing against the ropes. “I swear, I will, baby.”

Unable to hold back your laugh that wanted to escape, your fingers sped up their pursuit. Your body was too heated from the weak man’s cries, how he begged with his words and his eyes. His hips thrusted when you opened your legs even wider. There was no way you could deny him, so you allowed him to have it—with stipulations, of course.

“You don’t cum until after I do,” you breathed heatedly. Fingers moving with the pace of his rising chest. You watched him nod profusely once more, your words sinking in. “You don’t cum until Annie tells you yes,” you cemented, attention drifting toward the woman. Her smile was approving and wicked, ready to lay the man’s punishment on thick.

She stuffed her hands in his pants with a quickness. Refusing to remove his clothes right away, she toyed with his length, nimble fingers dancing along his wet skin.

"How that feel, suga'," Annie questioned, thumb skirting across his tip before retreating. His thighs quaked, too bound to provide him the movement he really needed, but he didn't dare complain.

"It feel so good, Mama," he blushed, heat rising to his cheeks. Even with how much of a tease the woman was being, Smoke allowed his head to loll back. It hung loosely, reclined against the back of the chair while Annie played with the idea of giving him more. On the bed, you watched with eyes glowing with desire, the opportunity of finally seeing the two in action adding to every bit of pleasure you felt.

You moaned their names, fingers working through your heat feverishly. You were determined, intensely focused on how Annie had pushed the man's pants down his thighs and was stroking his dick with passion, on how Smoke was still crying out for the both of you. He urged you to cum, urged Annie to let him have it, begged for both of your sympathy and forgiveness.

But you weren't ready for all of that.

Halting your fingers and pulling them away from your cunt soberly, you fixed your eyes on Smoke.

"You want a taste, baby," you cooed, moving in close. Annie leaned over him from behind, stroking his length in quick bursts. She watched with greedy eyes as your fingers glistened in the faint light, mouth watering. She knew you were talking to the man, but God did she want it. She could still taste you on her lips—sweet, tangy, rich—and she needed more.

Smoke whined in response, and when you grabbed him by the neck and stuffed your fingers in his mouth, his cries turned to growls. He sucked your arousal off like his life depended on it. His eyes rolled back just to show you how much he was enjoying himself and he gagged the slightest bit when you went farther down his throat. It was a glorious sight: Elijah with a wet face, taking your fingers down his throat with Annie fucking him into oblivion.

You shifted your attention away and to the woman in enough time to see her eyes shimmer. Then she leaned in and turned Smoke's head with her non-dominant hand and feasted off of his lips just to get a taste of you. She consumed him fully, hand stroking his length at the same time.

She didn't pay attention to how his cries turned raw or how his thighs tensed up or how he strained against the rope holding him in place; and when the man came, he moaned directly into her mouth, body unfurling before the both of you because he had completely forgotten what he'd been told. No cumming before you do. No cumming before Annie allows it.

Thirty minutes into his second round of torture and Smoke was regretting every mistake he'd ever made. He was regretting not telling Annie about you. Not telling you about Annie. Not being honest about wanting the two of you at once. Not being able to calm his anger toward his brother. But even more than that, he was regretting not following your orders, for letting his body succumb to need.

Tears sprang from his eyes as another orgasm was stolen from him. Much to his chagrin, neither of you would let him have it. And even though he was glad to be on his back with both of your lips around his dick instead of in the chair, he couldn't celebrate just yet. You and Annie had been edging him, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

Two pair of lips traveled the length of him. Two tongues caressed his growing need.

“Please,” Smoke choked out, the word strangled as if it didn’t want to be heard at all. But he had to have it, and he needed to make that known. “I’m so sorry,” he shouted, jaw dropped wide open, heart beating fast.

“What are you sorry for, sweetheart,” Annie growled against the meat of his thigh. She moved her fingers toward his shaft to hold it while you continued to swallow him whole. You took him down your throat, eyes trained on the way his were shut tight in ecstasy. Annie's sultry tone was lulling you, encouraging you to bring the man to the edge once more even without intending to.

You cursed around him, sending vibrations through the man's core. Tears sprang from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he pleaded. "I'm sorry for not listenin'. I'm sorry for cummin'. I'll be better, I swear it!"

With a wicked smile, the woman turned to you, eyes gleaming. She leaned into your side, kissing your neck as your eyes rolled back from the pressure of him at the back of your mouth.

"Do you believe him, baby," she whispered breathily, and all you could do was moan with the man in your mouth. You tried your best to communicate nonverbally because with the pulsing of him in your mouth, you wouldn't dare pull back, you wouldn't dare stop until he was releasing his load down your throat.

Your efforts turned dangerous, a desperate fight for him to give in under you. You worked to suck him dry. You bobbed your head with finality. You swiped your fingers across his wet, needy skin. And Annie joined in, lips meeting yours in a greedy kiss with his dick between you.

When he came this time around, his body felt like it was a wave crashing onto a distant shore. It rocked him, muscles convulsing as the two of you kept going, bringing him to the edge again. You wouldn't stop, not until he fully understood, not until the two of you were fed and satiated.

And with you and Annie, there was no telling how long that would end up taking.

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

word count: ~5,000

a/n: two uploads in a day??? idk how i let this sit in the drafts for over a month cause this straight fire

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Smoke was going through a lot. Ever since that night at Messenger’s and ending up on his back in Annie’s bed, the man has been incapable of calming his wired body.

Every single thought was consumed by you and Annie. He’d been so close to having you both—on the verge of having his wildest dreams come to fruition—but when you pulled back, that dream shattered. Since then, Annie has put him on punishment: no sex until she thought he was deserving of it. And with Annie, there was no telling how long that would be. She had him on a tight leash, one that he wanted to tug on and tug on until he was able to free himself. But he so badly wanted to be good for her, though every time he thought about the two of you pressed together, it got harder to behave.

With you working so much, it wasn’t like he could turn to you anyway. Your body was too tired to play with him, but he understood the fatigue you were experiencing, the stress on your system. He tried his best to alleviate it by sliding you money here and there, but you loved your independence and he begrudgingly chose to respect that.

Smoke Moore was never the most sunshiny of man, but now that he was being denied reprieve from Annie and was unable to seek refuge in you, he was insufferable. Every sound that left his mouth was a grunt, and every look he directed toward another was a mix of scowls, lowered eyes, and bulging veins. He was snapping at any person who crossed his midst—most notably Stack who kindly encouraged him to get his shit together before he told you and Annie about his nasty attitude.

And even then, that tactic only worked for smaller instances. Smoke would be yelling down somebody's throat because they bumped into him or talked too loud or plain ole existed, and Stack would bump his shoulder before mumbling, "Don't make me into a snitch, nigga. You know I'm scared of them women, but I'll do it." As a result, Smoke would hush up, grumble under his breath, and move on before the whole event was repeated again and again and again. The cycle was exhausting and annoying, but it continued only because the older twin hadn't done anything too egregious.

But then the inevitable happened, and Stack couldn't bite his tongue any longer.

The stifled man stood near the end of his small cot, bedroom door locked, hand braced on the chest of drawers ahead of him, abs trembling, shirt captured between his teeth, and permanent crease parting his eyebrows. He had held on as long as he could, but everything went out the window when he walked into town yesterday. It had been early morning, and as much as he wanted to welcome the singing of every Clarksdale bird, all he could do was drone his own song of displeasure.

He kicked a rock as he bypassed Ada's salon. Murmured when he reached the tailor's. But when he looked into the window of Maybelle's General Store, his heart and body vibrated tremendously. Annie was leaned over the counter, hand on her chin as she looked at your face with a smug, all-too-knowing expression; and you had your head cocked to the side, eyes skirting down to her chest and undressing her like you'd been given the roadmap to her body.

It had sparked that dream up in his system once more, and all he wanted was to fit himself behind Annie or beside your coy grin. He felt the heat beginning to rise below his belt, his arousal making itself evident, and before he became indecent for a public space, he made his way home.

He'd been locked in his bedroom since, shunning Stack away, telling Cornbread to get his ass out of his house. He'd tried, truly tried to abstain from his need, but once he got started, there was no stopping him.

With the shirt between his teeth, he worked to muffle the sound of his whines. No one was home, but he didn't even want the empty walls around him to hear how desperate he was for the pleasure of those two women. They'd each given him something to crave, and while they were similar, they each allowed him a different aspect of the submission he learned to love.

You were the one that held him close, praise at the tip of your tongue more often than not. Annie was the one that punished him like he knew better—because he did. Her degradation and harshness is what he loved the most—how she could grab his neck, tug on his ear, and call him everything but a Child of God and still get a rise out of him. He could only imagine how your sweetness plus her harshness would work to stir that side out of him even more, and as he worked at his length, he couldn't stop where his mind decided to take him.

"Fu—fuck," he released trembly, muffled by the stretched fabric. His body glistened in sweat from his efforts to get himself off. He'd been at it for what felt like hours, orgasm after sweet orgasm as he treated his body in the way he was being refused. He was angry but too wrecked to complain to the powers that be. It was his own fault for why he was in this situation in the first place. He shivered each time his palm dragged closer to the tip, oversensitive and fucked out. But he persisted.

Each stroke was in perfect timing. Each moan was followed by the names of two women he couldn't seem to forget. The picture of you and Annie leaned toward each other with dark, alluring eyes remained at the front of his mind, and he could feel the next climax on its way.

He chased it feverishly, begged for it, pleaded to whoever could hear his small cries to let his body know some sort of peace.

He was so damn close.

It was right there.

But, of course, the front door had to snap on its hinges and footsteps had to ruined the already troubled air. They were quick, the notable sound of Stack's brand new wingtip oxfords and two other pairs of feet crossing the length of the home.

Smoke let out a groan that was deafening before punching the air with as much energy as he had available. His shirt covered his chest and abs once more. His pants moved back up to his hips. And his back defiantly met the cushion of his padded cot.

Nigga can't have shit 'round here, he thought to himself, arms crossed over his chest. He stared into the ceiling with might that turned to straight violence when his brother knocked on the door.

"Aye, man," Stack shouted through the wood. "You 'posed to be hangin' wit' the fellas tonight. When you gon' leave this room?" As much as the man's tone was full of annoyance, there was concern beneath it, but Smoke was too angry to hear anything other than his heartbeat in his ears.

"I ain't goin' out," he lashed, words hot in their delivery. It made Stack turn toward the two people behind him who shook their heads in disapproval. He huffed, eyes down as he thought of the best way to get his brother out of his funk. With nothing coming to mind, he chose fighting words, resorting to that sibling teasing he knew too well.

"Man, you gotta cut this out for real," the younger twin tried again. "You gon' spend the rest of your life in this room 'cause you mad about some pussy? Stop bein' a li'l bitch and pull yourself together!"

On one side of the bedroom door, three people heard everything go silent in sound and emotion, only the sound of their own breaths moving the air.

But on the other side, Smoke raged.

In a flash of a second, the door went from closed with Stack completely out of harm's way to it nearly flung off of its hinges as Smoke barreled through it to set Stack's ass straight. His body was full on top of his, laying hit after hit that was far too light to do any real harm. It was the older twin's stamina that was doing the younger man in. He couldn't get a smack in to save his life, and as he resolved to covering his face, the other two people in the room were hunched over. They belly-laughed at the scene before them: how Smoke was practically blowing smoke from his ears, how Stack was praying to God for safe-keeping.

"Fuck y'all laughin' at," the younger brother shouted, interrupting the fun. "Save me!" And they did the best they could, pulling Smoke back and propelling his body away long enough for Stack to run out the front door. Smoke was obviously hot on his tail though, leaving the two onlookers to cackle even more.

Cornbread and Bo grabbed at their stomachs in an attempt to suppress the hurt of laughter, but nothing helped. Because as they looked in the distance, Stack was running in the direction of Annie's home, and Smoke was so rage-filled that he was none the wiser.

Stack bounded toward the woman's home, only hoping that she was there and could rid him of whatever evil had obviously been placed on his brother. His legs moved in a long stride, knees high as his arms helped to propel him. He and his brother were damn near the same person physically, so he restrained himself from looking backward. He could feel the man hot on him, getting closer the more his anger soared through his veins, but the younger of the two could see Annie's home in the distance. So close but so damn far.

He kept up his speed, heart ringing in his ears. When he got within shouting distance is when he was tackled to the ground. Dirt was thrown into the air. Rocks pressed into his cheeks as his brother smushed his face into the ground. Stack's head was turned to the side, so he could see the fist raise high, ripping through the air at lightening speed.

But then, Calvary came.

"Elijah Moore!" Two voices sounded at once. Loud. Piercing. Angry with disappointment. And the sound of it is what brought the man's fist back to his side. He scrambled to his feet, embarrassed more than anything at this point. Stack laid there. Blinking dirt from his eyes and heaving more than his brother thought was necessary. He processed the way his life had completely flashed before his eyes.

Smoke—terrified and seeing his own life flash away—met the disgruntled eye of two women. Annie was normally the one who showed no mercy with him for a plethora of reasons, but the look you gave was one he wasn't ready for. You could be rough in bed—intense, cruel, sadistic—but you were sweet in your delivery. You praised him for breaking and made him feel special when he couldn't do anything other than obey. You'd smile up at him: grin, laugh, pull him close. The person before him now was absent of all those things.

It was then that he noticed just how similar you and Annie really were. You could be just as brutish as she could, and he could practically feel the near punishment on his soft skin already.

You and Annie had been spending a lot more time together since she walked you back to her home. That night was full of pleasure and desire being met. While you thought it would satiate you, all you wanted was more of it. She'd visit you at Maybelle's: bring you lunch when she knew you wouldn't get a proper break, help you pass the time in the evenings when it got slow. And you'd almost always end up walking home with her.

You both agreed to be callous with Smoke. He'd been playing games to get you two in one room, and while he had succeeded in making the both of you acqaintances, he didn't need to know it just yet. The two of you wanted to know each other outside of your Elijah—hoping that when you did finally let the man in, you'd be able to ruin him in a way he never expected.

It was your first weekend off in ages when you traveled to the woman's home. You'd knocked on her door politely, waited on her to answer, and when she did, there was a bright smile on her lips.

"You don't work today," she had asked breathily, but she knew the answer. At that time of the day, you'd be knee-deep in tasks at the store, but you were standing right in front of her. Well rested. Stress free. And hungry in a way only she could satiate. You took your time with her, slowly moving your way into her home, laying soft kiss after soft kiss against her neck. She was addicted to your sweetness, how your dominance could land hard and coated in honeyed words. She tipped her head back as you moved toward her chest, lips seeking her out in a way to say you were going to take your time with her.

You hadn't been too deep into her pleasure yet when you heard the commotion. It started out as a distant voice, but the closer it got, it turned into yells for help, grunts of anger, rocks kicking up as two heated bodies advanced down the road.

Your head turned toward the window, heart stirring, and that's when you both saw it: Two identical figures racing the length of the road. Annie was the first one to the door, already knowing from years with the twins that if the older one got his hands on the younger, Stack was a goner.

By the time Smoke had tackled him to the ground, you both had stepped off of the porch, hands on your hips or arms crossed under your chests as you shook your heads. The man's name left your mouths simultaneously, and that brought you to now.

"You just can't act right, can you, 'Lijah," Annie taunted, towering over the man in his bound position. You stood behind her, one eyebrow raised as Smoke looked worriedly between the both of you. His muscles flexed against the ropes, his body trembled as he fought to break loose. But there was no use—y'all had bound him too tight. His eyes were sad and angry and accusatory at the same time, and it made you purse your lips.

"Don't look at me like that, baby," you moved forward, bending down so you were eye level with him as he sat in the chair. "You brought this on yourself."

It hadn't been hard to get him in this position. After his name had been yelled across the yard, he walked into the home like a dog with its tail between its legs. And when you pulled the chair away from the kitchen table, dragged it down the hall, positioned it right in front of Annie's bed, and told him to sit, he questioned nothing—not even how you knew your way around the woman's home and why you'd been there in the first place. As you did this, Annie brought her blade to his neck, threatening him to resist as the two of you worked the rope around his body. His arms and legs were completely bound to the chair, and the rope across his chest restricted his full mobility.

And he looked gorgeous tied up for you.

Eyes on Annie now, you moved in her direction. A hand landed on her hip, and your lips connected with her ear.

"I think we should finish what we started," you hummed suggestively to which the woman responded with a needy moan. You hated having been interrupted with such foolishness before, but now, you had a captive audience. "I say we make him watch," you added. You could feel his attention locked on the way your hand moved up Annie’s body, traveling up her leg, between her thighs, across her hip.

The kisses started softly and teasingly with both of your eyes refusing to give the man any more of your attention. This was about the two of you now, and his cries were just background noise, adding to the tension and heat in the room. You took control first, grabbing Annie’s neck and tipping her head back. Engulfing her, you swallowed every groan she could muster, mouth to hers, chest to hers. You could feel her head swimming with need.

Annie’s hands flailed to meet your body, but once they did, her touch turned to straight greed. Your dress was pulled over your head in record time, body half-bare when she began to guide you to the edge of her bed. Sitting down facing the room’s middle, you kept your eyes on the woman as she planted heavy kisses on your skin. Your jaw. Your neck. Your chest. Your stomach and thighs. She commanded you in a way that didn’t require your submission, in a way that allowed space for your dominance to breathe.

From the chair, Smoke salivated. Experiencing his two lovers in a position like this was a dream come true, but the further Annie went with her kisses, the more frustrated he was becoming. He wanted a taste; He wanted to feel every inch of skin between you, but the ropes held him back. He watched you pant as the woman fully settled onto her knees.

With your legs over her shoulders and a hand in her hair, you released a decadent sound when her tongue explored your folds. It was half moan and half song, but the sound of it warmed everyone’s ears. Annie grabbed your ass for better leverage, stuffing her face in you. Her tongue was confident—because she’d done this before. She knew what you needed and how you needed it, so when your breath caught as she swiped your clit, Annie only went harder.

“Just like that, beautiful,” you nodded, words coming out breathily. Your held her head in place, her eyes locked on you as her full lips trapped your clit in a kiss. Sucking the bundle of nerves into her mouth, you felt your body begin the tremble. It started out small with just your fingertips quivering, but when she began to practically swallow you, you became sensitive all over. “Fuck, yes,” you cried, nodding your head from the pleasure. Your eyes were locked on her, and as good of a job as you’d done blocking the man from your mind, his whining was starting to break your bubble.

Annie’s ears twitched as she felt the shift. Smoke was calling out y’all’s names, expecting you to answer. He was rocking in the chair, trying his best to free himself and over power the hold. The sound was beginning to distract. His desperation and disobedience was beginning to annoy.

But she kept her eyes trained on you as her tongue swirled around your clit. Two fingers traveled up your thigh, landing near your entrance. Annie teased you with them, letting the anticipation boil over. By the time her fingers were coated in your arousal, ready to capture you, Smoke had become incessant.

“Please,” he yelled, teeth gritted, face angry.

But Annie kept going, and you just moaned like his voice was an added sensation.

“I’m fuckin’ serious,” he added darkly, but it only made you laugh and toss your head back. At the same time, Annie fingers were conquering your pussy, and you let it happen, arching into her fingers and mouth.

Chair legs scraped the floor.

Greedy grunts filled the air.

Heavy moans pulled at heartstrings.

Pussy juices added to the cacophony.

Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t uttered his next words—peachy keen in all seriousness—but the man just had to open his mouth and disturb the peace.

“Just wait ‘til I get outta this chair,” Smoke threatened, throbbing length pressing against the fabric of his pants from the display. He bared his teeth, each word punctuated by his anger. “When I get out,” he breathed smoke, “I’m ruinin’ everybody fun.”

You and Annie didn’t stop all at once. It started with her tongue twitching against your folds and your lips opening in a disbelieving gasp. It continued with you releasing the back of the woman’s head and her pulling away to gaze up into your eyes. You shared a look, one that had been cultivated by nights spent together in sweet agony. A command passed over her face, quiet yet serious, and as she fully pulled away, you remained in your spot as she expected you to.

“You gettin’ real bold, Smoke,” she grumbled. Her feet crossed the small space, each one landing like fire against the wood. “This ain’t the streets of Chicago or the back roads of Clarksdale. This is my damn house. Who do you think you are to be makin’ empty threats?” She meant it retorically, but the empty air plus your amused eyes on him made the man stutter out a reply.

“I-I’m your Elijah,” he quipped, reverting into himself already. Her dominant aura was too strong.

“Naw,” Annie raised her chin. She put her hands on her hip, beginning to circle the man in the chair. “My Elijah, knows better,” she began. “My Elijah knows how to act. He knows what I expect from him.”

“I’m so-sorry,” the man choked out, wrists pressing against the binds. The sound of his voice made the woman scoff in disgust, but when she looked over to you, your eyes were bright and full of intrigue. She shook her head, watching as your hands traveled the length of your body. You removed the minimal fabric she’d left behind, and as she leaned down over the man’s shoulder from behind, a smirk pulled at her lips.

“Do something for me, baby,” Annie demanded, mouth to his ear and words coming out soft.

“Anything! I swear I’ll do anything, Mama,” he pleaded hoarsely, muscles straining in need. At the sound of the woman’s title, your expression lifted, and Annie laughed as you straightened your posture on the mattress. You knew a small amount about Annie and Smoke’s relationship, but that was something that had been concealed. Watching his chest heave in anticipation, your fingers couldn’t help but to skirt between your open legs. You toyed with your clit, raised your chin as you watched them, shivered when their eyes locked on you.

When the domineering woman spoke again, she muttered the words too close to the man’s ear for you to hear, but you could tell that that was how she intended it.

His eyes widened. His head moved to nod profusely before his voice rose above the tension in the air.

“Can Annie touch me,” he chirped, the question catching in his throat. “I’ll be good,” he added, pressing against the ropes. “I swear, I will, baby.”

Unable to hold back your laugh that wanted to escape, your fingers sped up their pursuit. Your body was too heated from the weak man’s cries, how he begged with his words and his eyes. His hips thrusted when you opened your legs even wider. There was no way you could deny him, so you allowed him to have it—with stipulations, of course.

“You don’t cum until after I do,” you breathed heatedly. Fingers moving with the pace of his rising chest. You watched him nod profusely once more, your words sinking in. “You don’t cum until Annie tells you yes,” you cemented, attention drifting toward the woman. Her smile was approving and wicked, ready to lay the man’s punishment on thick.

She stuffed her hands in his pants with a quickness. Refusing to remove his clothes right away, she toyed with his length, nimble fingers dancing along his wet skin.

"How that feel, suga'," Annie questioned, thumb skirting across his tip before retreating. His thighs quaked, too bound to provide him the movement he really needed, but he didn't dare complain.

"It feel so good, Mama," he blushed, heat rising to his cheeks. Even with how much of a tease the woman was being, Smoke allowed his head to loll back. It hung loosely, reclined against the back of the chair while Annie played with the idea of giving him more. On the bed, you watched with eyes glowing with desire, the opportunity of finally seeing the two in action adding to every bit of pleasure you felt.

You moaned their names, fingers working through your heat feverishly. You were determined, intensely focused on how Annie had pushed the man's pants down his thighs and was stroking his dick with passion, on how Smoke was still crying out for the both of you. He urged you to cum, urged Annie to let him have it, begged for both of your sympathy and forgiveness.

But you weren't ready for all of that.

Halting your fingers and pulling them away from your cunt soberly, you fixed your eyes on Smoke.

"You want a taste, baby," you cooed, moving in close. Annie leaned over him from behind, stroking his length in quick bursts. She watched with greedy eyes as your fingers glistened in the faint light, mouth watering. She knew you were talking to the man, but God did she want it. She could still taste you on her lips—sweet, tangy, rich—and she needed more.

Smoke whined in response, and when you grabbed him by the neck and stuffed your fingers in his mouth, his cries turned to growls. He sucked your arousal off like his life depended on it. His eyes rolled back just to show you how much he was enjoying himself and he gagged the slightest bit when you went farther down his throat. It was a glorious sight: Elijah with a wet face, taking your fingers down his throat with Annie fucking him into oblivion.

You shifted your attention away and to the woman in enough time to see her eyes shimmer. Then she leaned in and turned Smoke's head with her non-dominant hand and feasted off of his lips just to get a taste of you. She consumed him fully, hand stroking his length at the same time.

She didn't pay attention to how his cries turned raw or how his thighs tensed up or how he strained against the rope holding him in place; and when the man came, he moaned directly into her mouth, body unfurling before the both of you because he had completely forgotten what he'd been told. No cumming before you do. No cumming before Annie allows it.

Thirty minutes into his second round of torture and Smoke was regretting every mistake he'd ever made. He was regretting not telling Annie about you. Not telling you about Annie. Not being honest about wanting the two of you at once. Not being able to calm his anger toward his brother. But even more than that, he was regretting not following your orders, for letting his body succumb to need.

Tears sprang from his eyes as another orgasm was stolen from him. Much to his chagrin, neither of you would let him have it. And even though he was glad to be on his back with both of your lips around his dick instead of in the chair, he couldn't celebrate just yet. You and Annie had been edging him, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

Two pair of lips traveled the length of him. Two tongues caressed his growing need.

“Please,” Smoke choked out, the word strangled as if it didn’t want to be heard at all. But he had to have it, and he needed to make that known. “I’m so sorry,” he shouted, jaw dropped wide open, heart beating fast.

“What are you sorry for, sweetheart,” Annie growled against the meat of his thigh. She moved her fingers toward his shaft to hold it while you continued to swallow him whole. You took him down your throat, eyes trained on the way his were shut tight in ecstasy. Annie's sultry tone was lulling you, encouraging you to bring the man to the edge once more even without intending to.

You cursed around him, sending vibrations through the man's core. Tears sprang from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he pleaded. "I'm sorry for not listenin'. I'm sorry for cummin'. I'll be better, I swear it!"

With a wicked smile, the woman turned to you, eyes gleaming. She leaned into your side, kissing your neck as your eyes rolled back from the pressure of him at the back of your mouth.

"Do you believe him, baby," she whispered breathily, and all you could do was moan with the man in your mouth. You tried your best to communicate nonverbally because with the pulsing of him in your mouth, you wouldn't dare pull back, you wouldn't dare stop until he was releasing his load down your throat.

Your efforts turned dangerous, a desperate fight for him to give in under you. You worked to suck him dry. You bobbed your head with finality. You swiped your fingers across his wet, needy skin. And Annie joined in, lips meeting yours in a greedy kiss with his dick between you.

When he came this time around, his body felt like it was a wave crashing onto a distant shore. It rocked him, muscles convulsing as the two of you kept going, bringing him to the edge again. You wouldn't stop, not until he fully understood, not until the two of you were fed and satiated.

And with you and Annie, there was no telling how long that would end up taking.

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

word count: ~5,000

a/n: two uploads in a day??? idk how i let this sit in the drafts for over a month cause this straight fire

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Smoke was going through a lot. Ever since that night at Messenger’s and ending up on his back in Annie’s bed, the man has been incapable of calming his wired body.

Every single thought was consumed by you and Annie. He’d been so close to having you both—on the verge of having his wildest dreams come to fruition—but when you pulled back, that dream shattered. Since then, Annie has put him on punishment: no sex until she thought he was deserving of it. And with Annie, there was no telling how long that would be. She had him on a tight leash, one that he wanted to tug on and tug on until he was able to free himself. But he so badly wanted to be good for her, though every time he thought about the two of you pressed together, it got harder to behave.

With you working so much, it wasn’t like he could turn to you anyway. Your body was too tired to play with him, but he understood the fatigue you were experiencing, the stress on your system. He tried his best to alleviate it by sliding you money here and there, but you loved your independence and he begrudgingly chose to respect that.

Smoke Moore was never the most sunshiny of man, but now that he was being denied reprieve from Annie and was unable to seek refuge in you, he was insufferable. Every sound that left his mouth was a grunt, and every look he directed toward another was a mix of scowls, lowered eyes, and bulging veins. He was snapping at any person who crossed his midst—most notably Stack who kindly encouraged him to get his shit together before he told you and Annie about his nasty attitude.

And even then, that tactic only worked for smaller instances. Smoke would be yelling down somebody's throat because they bumped into him or talked too loud or plain ole existed, and Stack would bump his shoulder before mumbling, "Don't make me into a snitch, nigga. You know I'm scared of them women, but I'll do it." As a result, Smoke would hush up, grumble under his breath, and move on before the whole event was repeated again and again and again. The cycle was exhausting and annoying, but it continued only because the older twin hadn't done anything too egregious.

But then the inevitable happened, and Stack couldn't bite his tongue any longer.

The stifled man stood near the end of his small cot, bedroom door locked, hand braced on the chest of drawers ahead of him, abs trembling, shirt captured between his teeth, and permanent crease parting his eyebrows. He had held on as long as he could, but everything went out the window when he walked into town yesterday. It had been early morning, and as much as he wanted to welcome the singing of every Clarksdale bird, all he could do was drone his own song of displeasure.

He kicked a rock as he bypassed Ada's salon. Murmured when he reached the tailor's. But when he looked into the window of Maybelle's General Store, his heart and body vibrated tremendously. Annie was leaned over the counter, hand on her chin as she looked at your face with a smug, all-too-knowing expression; and you had your head cocked to the side, eyes skirting down to her chest and undressing her like you'd been given the roadmap to her body.

It had sparked that dream up in his system once more, and all he wanted was to fit himself behind Annie or beside your coy grin. He felt the heat beginning to rise below his belt, his arousal making itself evident, and before he became indecent for a public space, he made his way home.

He'd been locked in his bedroom since, shunning Stack away, telling Cornbread to get his ass out of his house. He'd tried, truly tried to abstain from his need, but once he got started, there was no stopping him.

With the shirt between his teeth, he worked to muffle the sound of his whines. No one was home, but he didn't even want the empty walls around him to hear how desperate he was for the pleasure of those two women. They'd each given him something to crave, and while they were similar, they each allowed him a different aspect of the submission he learned to love.

You were the one that held him close, praise at the tip of your tongue more often than not. Annie was the one that punished him like he knew better—because he did. Her degradation and harshness is what he loved the most—how she could grab his neck, tug on his ear, and call him everything but a Child of God and still get a rise out of him. He could only imagine how your sweetness plus her harshness would work to stir that side out of him even more, and as he worked at his length, he couldn't stop where his mind decided to take him.

"Fu—fuck," he released trembly, muffled by the stretched fabric. His body glistened in sweat from his efforts to get himself off. He'd been at it for what felt like hours, orgasm after sweet orgasm as he treated his body in the way he was being refused. He was angry but too wrecked to complain to the powers that be. It was his own fault for why he was in this situation in the first place. He shivered each time his palm dragged closer to the tip, oversensitive and fucked out. But he persisted.

Each stroke was in perfect timing. Each moan was followed by the names of two women he couldn't seem to forget. The picture of you and Annie leaned toward each other with dark, alluring eyes remained at the front of his mind, and he could feel the next climax on its way.

He chased it feverishly, begged for it, pleaded to whoever could hear his small cries to let his body know some sort of peace.

He was so damn close.

It was right there.

But, of course, the front door had to snap on its hinges and footsteps had to ruined the already troubled air. They were quick, the notable sound of Stack's brand new wingtip oxfords and two other pairs of feet crossing the length of the home.

Smoke let out a groan that was deafening before punching the air with as much energy as he had available. His shirt covered his chest and abs once more. His pants moved back up to his hips. And his back defiantly met the cushion of his padded cot.

Nigga can't have shit 'round here, he thought to himself, arms crossed over his chest. He stared into the ceiling with might that turned to straight violence when his brother knocked on the door.

"Aye, man," Stack shouted through the wood. "You 'posed to be hangin' wit' the fellas tonight. When you gon' leave this room?" As much as the man's tone was full of annoyance, there was concern beneath it, but Smoke was too angry to hear anything other than his heartbeat in his ears.

"I ain't goin' out," he lashed, words hot in their delivery. It made Stack turn toward the two people behind him who shook their heads in disapproval. He huffed, eyes down as he thought of the best way to get his brother out of his funk. With nothing coming to mind, he chose fighting words, resorting to that sibling teasing he knew too well.

"Man, you gotta cut this out for real," the younger twin tried again. "You gon' spend the rest of your life in this room 'cause you mad about some pussy? Stop bein' a li'l bitch and pull yourself together!"

On one side of the bedroom door, three people heard everything go silent in sound and emotion, only the sound of their own breaths moving the air.

But on the other side, Smoke raged.

In a flash of a second, the door went from closed with Stack completely out of harm's way to it nearly flung off of its hinges as Smoke barreled through it to set Stack's ass straight. His body was full on top of his, laying hit after hit that was far too light to do any real harm. It was the older twin's stamina that was doing the younger man in. He couldn't get a smack in to save his life, and as he resolved to covering his face, the other two people in the room were hunched over. They belly-laughed at the scene before them: how Smoke was practically blowing smoke from his ears, how Stack was praying to God for safe-keeping.

"Fuck y'all laughin' at," the younger brother shouted, interrupting the fun. "Save me!" And they did the best they could, pulling Smoke back and propelling his body away long enough for Stack to run out the front door. Smoke was obviously hot on his tail though, leaving the two onlookers to cackle even more.

Cornbread and Bo grabbed at their stomachs in an attempt to suppress the hurt of laughter, but nothing helped. Because as they looked in the distance, Stack was running in the direction of Annie's home, and Smoke was so rage-filled that he was none the wiser.

Stack bounded toward the woman's home, only hoping that she was there and could rid him of whatever evil had obviously been placed on his brother. His legs moved in a long stride, knees high as his arms helped to propel him. He and his brother were damn near the same person physically, so he restrained himself from looking backward. He could feel the man hot on him, getting closer the more his anger soared through his veins, but the younger of the two could see Annie's home in the distance. So close but so damn far.

He kept up his speed, heart ringing in his ears. When he got within shouting distance is when he was tackled to the ground. Dirt was thrown into the air. Rocks pressed into his cheeks as his brother smushed his face into the ground. Stack's head was turned to the side, so he could see the fist raise high, ripping through the air at lightening speed.

But then, Calvary came.

"Elijah Moore!" Two voices sounded at once. Loud. Piercing. Angry with disappointment. And the sound of it is what brought the man's fist back to his side. He scrambled to his feet, embarrassed more than anything at this point. Stack laid there. Blinking dirt from his eyes and heaving more than his brother thought was necessary. He processed the way his life had completely flashed before his eyes.

Smoke—terrified and seeing his own life flash away—met the disgruntled eye of two women. Annie was normally the one who showed no mercy with him for a plethora of reasons, but the look you gave was one he wasn't ready for. You could be rough in bed—intense, cruel, sadistic—but you were sweet in your delivery. You praised him for breaking and made him feel special when he couldn't do anything other than obey. You'd smile up at him: grin, laugh, pull him close. The person before him now was absent of all those things.

It was then that he noticed just how similar you and Annie really were. You could be just as brutish as she could, and he could practically feel the near punishment on his soft skin already.

You and Annie had been spending a lot more time together since she walked you back to her home. That night was full of pleasure and desire being met. While you thought it would satiate you, all you wanted was more of it. She'd visit you at Maybelle's: bring you lunch when she knew you wouldn't get a proper break, help you pass the time in the evenings when it got slow. And you'd almost always end up walking home with her.

You both agreed to be callous with Smoke. He'd been playing games to get you two in one room, and while he had succeeded in making the both of you acqaintances, he didn't need to know it just yet. The two of you wanted to know each other outside of your Elijah—hoping that when you did finally let the man in, you'd be able to ruin him in a way he never expected.

It was your first weekend off in ages when you traveled to the woman's home. You'd knocked on her door politely, waited on her to answer, and when she did, there was a bright smile on her lips.

"You don't work today," she had asked breathily, but she knew the answer. At that time of the day, you'd be knee-deep in tasks at the store, but you were standing right in front of her. Well rested. Stress free. And hungry in a way only she could satiate. You took your time with her, slowly moving your way into her home, laying soft kiss after soft kiss against her neck. She was addicted to your sweetness, how your dominance could land hard and coated in honeyed words. She tipped her head back as you moved toward her chest, lips seeking her out in a way to say you were going to take your time with her.

You hadn't been too deep into her pleasure yet when you heard the commotion. It started out as a distant voice, but the closer it got, it turned into yells for help, grunts of anger, rocks kicking up as two heated bodies advanced down the road.

Your head turned toward the window, heart stirring, and that's when you both saw it: Two identical figures racing the length of the road. Annie was the first one to the door, already knowing from years with the twins that if the older one got his hands on the younger, Stack was a goner.

By the time Smoke had tackled him to the ground, you both had stepped off of the porch, hands on your hips or arms crossed under your chests as you shook your heads. The man's name left your mouths simultaneously, and that brought you to now.

"You just can't act right, can you, 'Lijah," Annie taunted, towering over the man in his bound position. You stood behind her, one eyebrow raised as Smoke looked worriedly between the both of you. His muscles flexed against the ropes, his body trembled as he fought to break loose. But there was no use—y'all had bound him too tight. His eyes were sad and angry and accusatory at the same time, and it made you purse your lips.

"Don't look at me like that, baby," you moved forward, bending down so you were eye level with him as he sat in the chair. "You brought this on yourself."

It hadn't been hard to get him in this position. After his name had been yelled across the yard, he walked into the home like a dog with its tail between its legs. And when you pulled the chair away from the kitchen table, dragged it down the hall, positioned it right in front of Annie's bed, and told him to sit, he questioned nothing—not even how you knew your way around the woman's home and why you'd been there in the first place. As you did this, Annie brought her blade to his neck, threatening him to resist as the two of you worked the rope around his body. His arms and legs were completely bound to the chair, and the rope across his chest restricted his full mobility.

And he looked gorgeous tied up for you.

Eyes on Annie now, you moved in her direction. A hand landed on her hip, and your lips connected with her ear.

"I think we should finish what we started," you hummed suggestively to which the woman responded with a needy moan. You hated having been interrupted with such foolishness before, but now, you had a captive audience. "I say we make him watch," you added. You could feel his attention locked on the way your hand moved up Annie’s body, traveling up her leg, between her thighs, across her hip.

The kisses started softly and teasingly with both of your eyes refusing to give the man any more of your attention. This was about the two of you now, and his cries were just background noise, adding to the tension and heat in the room. You took control first, grabbing Annie’s neck and tipping her head back. Engulfing her, you swallowed every groan she could muster, mouth to hers, chest to hers. You could feel her head swimming with need.

Annie’s hands flailed to meet your body, but once they did, her touch turned to straight greed. Your dress was pulled over your head in record time, body half-bare when she began to guide you to the edge of her bed. Sitting down facing the room’s middle, you kept your eyes on the woman as she planted heavy kisses on your skin. Your jaw. Your neck. Your chest. Your stomach and thighs. She commanded you in a way that didn’t require your submission, in a way that allowed space for your dominance to breathe.

From the chair, Smoke salivated. Experiencing his two lovers in a position like this was a dream come true, but the further Annie went with her kisses, the more frustrated he was becoming. He wanted a taste; He wanted to feel every inch of skin between you, but the ropes held him back. He watched you pant as the woman fully settled onto her knees.

With your legs over her shoulders and a hand in her hair, you released a decadent sound when her tongue explored your folds. It was half moan and half song, but the sound of it warmed everyone’s ears. Annie grabbed your ass for better leverage, stuffing her face in you. Her tongue was confident—because she’d done this before. She knew what you needed and how you needed it, so when your breath caught as she swiped your clit, Annie only went harder.

“Just like that, beautiful,” you nodded, words coming out breathily. Your held her head in place, her eyes locked on you as her full lips trapped your clit in a kiss. Sucking the bundle of nerves into her mouth, you felt your body begin the tremble. It started out small with just your fingertips quivering, but when she began to practically swallow you, you became sensitive all over. “Fuck, yes,” you cried, nodding your head from the pleasure. Your eyes were locked on her, and as good of a job as you’d done blocking the man from your mind, his whining was starting to break your bubble.

Annie’s ears twitched as she felt the shift. Smoke was calling out y’all’s names, expecting you to answer. He was rocking in the chair, trying his best to free himself and over power the hold. The sound was beginning to distract. His desperation and disobedience was beginning to annoy.

But she kept her eyes trained on you as her tongue swirled around your clit. Two fingers traveled up your thigh, landing near your entrance. Annie teased you with them, letting the anticipation boil over. By the time her fingers were coated in your arousal, ready to capture you, Smoke had become incessant.

“Please,” he yelled, teeth gritted, face angry.

But Annie kept going, and you just moaned like his voice was an added sensation.

“I’m fuckin’ serious,” he added darkly, but it only made you laugh and toss your head back. At the same time, Annie fingers were conquering your pussy, and you let it happen, arching into her fingers and mouth.

Chair legs scraped the floor.

Greedy grunts filled the air.

Heavy moans pulled at heartstrings.

Pussy juices added to the cacophony.

Everything would have been fine if he hadn’t uttered his next words—peachy keen in all seriousness—but the man just had to open his mouth and disturb the peace.

“Just wait ‘til I get outta this chair,” Smoke threatened, throbbing length pressing against the fabric of his pants from the display. He bared his teeth, each word punctuated by his anger. “When I get out,” he breathed smoke, “I’m ruinin’ everybody fun.”

You and Annie didn’t stop all at once. It started with her tongue twitching against your folds and your lips opening in a disbelieving gasp. It continued with you releasing the back of the woman’s head and her pulling away to gaze up into your eyes. You shared a look, one that had been cultivated by nights spent together in sweet agony. A command passed over her face, quiet yet serious, and as she fully pulled away, you remained in your spot as she expected you to.

“You gettin’ real bold, Smoke,” she grumbled. Her feet crossed the small space, each one landing like fire against the wood. “This ain’t the streets of Chicago or the back roads of Clarksdale. This is my damn house. Who do you think you are to be makin’ empty threats?” She meant it retorically, but the empty air plus your amused eyes on him made the man stutter out a reply.

“I-I’m your Elijah,” he quipped, reverting into himself already. Her dominant aura was too strong.

“Naw,” Annie raised her chin. She put her hands on her hip, beginning to circle the man in the chair. “My Elijah, knows better,” she began. “My Elijah knows how to act. He knows what I expect from him.”

“I’m so-sorry,” the man choked out, wrists pressing against the binds. The sound of his voice made the woman scoff in disgust, but when she looked over to you, your eyes were bright and full of intrigue. She shook her head, watching as your hands traveled the length of your body. You removed the minimal fabric she’d left behind, and as she leaned down over the man’s shoulder from behind, a smirk pulled at her lips.

“Do something for me, baby,” Annie demanded, mouth to his ear and words coming out soft.

“Anything! I swear I’ll do anything, Mama,” he pleaded hoarsely, muscles straining in need. At the sound of the woman’s title, your expression lifted, and Annie laughed as you straightened your posture on the mattress. You knew a small amount about Annie and Smoke’s relationship, but that was something that had been concealed. Watching his chest heave in anticipation, your fingers couldn’t help but to skirt between your open legs. You toyed with your clit, raised your chin as you watched them, shivered when their eyes locked on you.

When the domineering woman spoke again, she muttered the words too close to the man’s ear for you to hear, but you could tell that that was how she intended it.

His eyes widened. His head moved to nod profusely before his voice rose above the tension in the air.

“Can Annie touch me,” he chirped, the question catching in his throat. “I’ll be good,” he added, pressing against the ropes. “I swear, I will, baby.”

Unable to hold back your laugh that wanted to escape, your fingers sped up their pursuit. Your body was too heated from the weak man’s cries, how he begged with his words and his eyes. His hips thrusted when you opened your legs even wider. There was no way you could deny him, so you allowed him to have it—with stipulations, of course.

“You don’t cum until after I do,” you breathed heatedly. Fingers moving with the pace of his rising chest. You watched him nod profusely once more, your words sinking in. “You don’t cum until Annie tells you yes,” you cemented, attention drifting toward the woman. Her smile was approving and wicked, ready to lay the man’s punishment on thick.

She stuffed her hands in his pants with a quickness. Refusing to remove his clothes right away, she toyed with his length, nimble fingers dancing along his wet skin.

"How that feel, suga'," Annie questioned, thumb skirting across his tip before retreating. His thighs quaked, too bound to provide him the movement he really needed, but he didn't dare complain.

"It feel so good, Mama," he blushed, heat rising to his cheeks. Even with how much of a tease the woman was being, Smoke allowed his head to loll back. It hung loosely, reclined against the back of the chair while Annie played with the idea of giving him more. On the bed, you watched with eyes glowing with desire, the opportunity of finally seeing the two in action adding to every bit of pleasure you felt.

You moaned their names, fingers working through your heat feverishly. You were determined, intensely focused on how Annie had pushed the man's pants down his thighs and was stroking his dick with passion, on how Smoke was still crying out for the both of you. He urged you to cum, urged Annie to let him have it, begged for both of your sympathy and forgiveness.

But you weren't ready for all of that.

Halting your fingers and pulling them away from your cunt soberly, you fixed your eyes on Smoke.

"You want a taste, baby," you cooed, moving in close. Annie leaned over him from behind, stroking his length in quick bursts. She watched with greedy eyes as your fingers glistened in the faint light, mouth watering. She knew you were talking to the man, but God did she want it. She could still taste you on her lips—sweet, tangy, rich—and she needed more.

Smoke whined in response, and when you grabbed him by the neck and stuffed your fingers in his mouth, his cries turned to growls. He sucked your arousal off like his life depended on it. His eyes rolled back just to show you how much he was enjoying himself and he gagged the slightest bit when you went farther down his throat. It was a glorious sight: Elijah with a wet face, taking your fingers down his throat with Annie fucking him into oblivion.

You shifted your attention away and to the woman in enough time to see her eyes shimmer. Then she leaned in and turned Smoke's head with her non-dominant hand and feasted off of his lips just to get a taste of you. She consumed him fully, hand stroking his length at the same time.

She didn't pay attention to how his cries turned raw or how his thighs tensed up or how he strained against the rope holding him in place; and when the man came, he moaned directly into her mouth, body unfurling before the both of you because he had completely forgotten what he'd been told. No cumming before you do. No cumming before Annie allows it.

Thirty minutes into his second round of torture and Smoke was regretting every mistake he'd ever made. He was regretting not telling Annie about you. Not telling you about Annie. Not being honest about wanting the two of you at once. Not being able to calm his anger toward his brother. But even more than that, he was regretting not following your orders, for letting his body succumb to need.

Tears sprang from his eyes as another orgasm was stolen from him. Much to his chagrin, neither of you would let him have it. And even though he was glad to be on his back with both of your lips around his dick instead of in the chair, he couldn't celebrate just yet. You and Annie had been edging him, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

Two pair of lips traveled the length of him. Two tongues caressed his growing need.

“Please,” Smoke choked out, the word strangled as if it didn’t want to be heard at all. But he had to have it, and he needed to make that known. “I’m so sorry,” he shouted, jaw dropped wide open, heart beating fast.

“What are you sorry for, sweetheart,” Annie growled against the meat of his thigh. She moved her fingers toward his shaft to hold it while you continued to swallow him whole. You took him down your throat, eyes trained on the way his were shut tight in ecstasy. Annie's sultry tone was lulling you, encouraging you to bring the man to the edge once more even without intending to.

You cursed around him, sending vibrations through the man's core. Tears sprang from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he pleaded. "I'm sorry for not listenin'. I'm sorry for cummin'. I'll be better, I swear it!"

With a wicked smile, the woman turned to you, eyes gleaming. She leaned into your side, kissing your neck as your eyes rolled back from the pressure of him at the back of your mouth.

"Do you believe him, baby," she whispered breathily, and all you could do was moan with the man in your mouth. You tried your best to communicate nonverbally because with the pulsing of him in your mouth, you wouldn't dare pull back, you wouldn't dare stop until he was releasing his load down your throat.

Your efforts turned dangerous, a desperate fight for him to give in under you. You worked to suck him dry. You bobbed your head with finality. You swiped your fingers across his wet, needy skin. And Annie joined in, lips meeting yours in a greedy kiss with his dick between you.

When he came this time around, his body felt like it was a wave crashing onto a distant shore. It rocked him, muscles convulsing as the two of you kept going, bringing him to the edge again. You wouldn't stop, not until he fully understood, not until the two of you were fed and satiated.

And with you and Annie, there was no telling how long that would end up taking.

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

word count: ~5,000

a/n: two uploads in a day??? idk how i let this sit in the drafts for over a month cause this straight fire

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Cloying—the one word he’d use to describe her. 

Rich. Decadent. Too much of a good thing. But there was no way he’d start complaining about it right now. 

Fingers indented the flesh of her ass and thighs while nails pierced his shoulders, tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

They were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to despise one another. She was his twin’s annoying best friend. He, her best friend’s uptight older brother who couldn’t help but turn his nose up at her short shorts and crop tops. But she wore them for him—just as he wore his low-hanging sweatpants for her. 

When she’d come over to the twin’s shared apartment, they’d parade around for each other: Annie in her booty shorts and tight shirts, Smoke in sweatpants and a tank, a chain if he was feeling particularly interested in her attention. He’d come out of his room “for a bottle of water” or “to ask about plans for later,” but he was really just trying to get a look at Annie’s long legs. And she’d roll her eyes at him and make smart ass comments just to rile him up, but she was always looking at him a little too hard, too. 

They hated each other for no good reason. For simply being around. For taking up space. For speaking and smelling divine and looking good enough to eat even though they knew they couldn’t have each other. 

And now—despite all that—they were tangled up in Smoke’s sheets, and Annie was sitting thick and pretty on his palate like a good meal when you’ve been starved for ages. 

“Smoke,” the young woman whined, clawing at his upper body. He had her thighs pried open and her legs thrown over his shoulders, and every time she attempted to catch her breath, he was halting her action by dousing her in more pleasure. She squirmed in his hold, but her efforts were in vain. The young man held on too tight, but even though Annie was struggling against him, she didn’t want to go too far anyway. He felt too good, fucking her with his tongue, sucking on her clit with those plush lips. When he practically began to swallow her arousal from the source, she shook against the bed aggressively. And just as she felt the wave begin to wash over her exhausted, needy body, the man stopped. 

A huff escaped his lips—gruff, angry, and resentful.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Smoke growled, mind reeling from the delicious sound of her moaning his name and the too sweet taste of her on his tongue. He sat back on his haunches, but all that did was give him a better view of her bare body. The man rolled his eyes, growled once more from the sweat-slicked sight.

“Well, I can’t stand yo’ ass neither,” Annie shouted, propping herself up to get a better look at him.

They wore matching scowls, eyes full of contempt. Beneath the surface, their bodies were buzzing for a release that seemed too distant now, but Annie’s thighs were wet with her arousal—a puddle in the sheets—and Smoke’s length was throbbing with every glimpse he allowed himself to take of her.

The woman’s scowl turned to a wicked grin. And one glance at the time had her mind made up.

“Come on, Smokey,” Annie teased, crawling toward where Smoke had decided to land—at the edge of the bed with his back toward her. “You obviously need to let some steam off,” she hummed, hooking her arms around his neck from behind, “and Stack won’t be back from that li’l date for a minute. Stop bein’ pussy.”

She started kissing up the back of his neck, heavy, thick kisses that had his eyes fluttering shut. But her words were like ice, chilling his system and bringing that contempt back to the surface. He growled once—just once—then he grabbed her and swung her into position on his lap.

“I ain’t no pussy,” he condemned, smacking her ass and watching the way she tried her best not to flinched. He watched her grind her teeth, her hatred of him being just as strong as his for her. “And I don’ told you about callin’ me that name.”

“What? Smokey,” she threw in question, already knowing the answer. He’d said it time and time again, but that was what she used to successfully piss him off every time—she wasn’t about to stop now. Watching the man closely, she couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened at the sound of the nickname again, and at that, she set her hips in motion.

Her wet arousal rocked against his—slow, teasing, angry. She did nothing to remove the sly grin on her lips. She let it melt into her skin and stay planted there as she indulged in the way the man’s eyes were rolling back from the feel of her.

Smoke gritted his teeth at the feeling of Annie’s clit sliding along his dick, and he did his best not to let the pleasure show, but she had moans escaping his lips and tears pricking in his eyes before he could stop it. His hands held her in place atop him, attempting to command the situation. But annoyingly enough, Annie was too good at maintaining control—over him and the task at hand.

“I hate seein’ yo’ stupid fuckin’ face when I come over here,” the woman huffed, rising up on her feet. She sank down onto his length, shuddering at the stretch, chuckling when he groaned. “You must don’t ever go out ‘cause you always here,” she added, breath quickening as her body began to move at a steady pace. Her words were laced with hatred, but beneath the anger, resided that small part of her that anticipated seeing him every time she came over, the part that chose her outfits according to what would turn his head the most, the part that was ecstatic to finally have him buried inside her and at her mercy.

Smoke shifted their position. He moved back up the bed, rested his body, planted his feet, lifted her slightly. He laughed at the surprised look that took over her face, but he immediately turned cold once more.

“You the one that’s always over here in my face,” he argued, pulling her in close. His nails pierced the flesh of her ass punishingly, and with his regaining of control, he forced her to meet his thrusts as he pounded into her from below. “You stay up in my house, bothering me. But I’m the problem?” Each word bit. Each statement true. But Annie wasn’t ready to back down.

“Yeah,” she choked, fuming in a unique mix of hate and lust. “Yeah, you the fuckin’ problem.”

Her hips snapped harsh. Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she rode him silly, refusing to let him win. And he wasn’t letting up either.

The air of the room turned dark and dense as the two fought to make the other crumble. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be the first to break—the first to cum, to show how much they desired the other—but someone had to be the one.

Meeting each other thrust for thrust, their breaths mingled, their tongues fought, their bodies began to shudder viciously. Annie’s teeth bit into the meat of Smoke’s bottom lip, and his palms claimed her ass with an ease neither of them would talk about outside of this room.

“You finna cum,” the man barked, waiting for an answer in the form of moans and trembling. He smacked her ass, fucked her with aggression.

“Hell naw,” Annie hurled back, queuing up her insults. “Nigga, this shit weak. But I know this pussy ‘bout to have you ruined.”

And ruined he was—right alongside Annie, too.

For the next few weeks, they poked at each other, prodded, towed that line between disgust and desire. When they saw each other, their eyes flashed with hatred, and when Stack turned his back, drifted too far away, they were on each other hot. They couldn’t deny the need. They couldn’t stuff down the craving.

That’s why they were back at it again.

Smoke’s bed.

Stack long gone.

Annie with her face down—ass up.

“You need this shit like a greedy li’l slut,” the man taunted, stroking her deep. Her arch became more pronounced as her arms slid forward and her mouth fell open. She couldn’t protest because when he texted her and said Stack ‘went out,’ she immediately jumped from her comfortable position in bed, slid her shoes on, and drove her ass over to that apartment. She was greedy—yes. A slut—absolutely.

Her hips worked to bring them both closer to the edge, falling back into his strokes because she was a pro at this shit now. They’d done it plenty of times: always here in his bed where they could be caught at any moment. She knew how he liked it, knew that when his mouth got slick he was close to burying himself deep in her.

“Smoke,” Annie slurred, words weak from all the wails he’d pulled from her tonight. Her hand wrapped around his wrist in an effort to seek out connection, and as much as he despised her, he let her have it. Their fingers intertwined, bodies creating a delicious rhythm. And they let go—together.

As they winded down from the effects of their orgasms, their hands remained connected. Annie’s thumb stroked the side of Smoke’s hand, working diligently to pull sharp breaths from him. He couldn’t push away that feeling she gave him: like he was going to eventually lose his life in her but that it would be worth it in the end. He shifted his position, turned on his side to watch her, but Annie was already looking at him.

“I gotta go,” the young woman spoke matter-of-factly. She dragged her body away from his, and as she sat of the edge of his bed, he watched her stretch. Her arms rose above her head, pulling her worn out muscles gently. She shifted to the side and he could make out the curve of her breast—delicate and hefty at the same time. It made his mouth fall open, but he soon gained the woman’s attention. “The fuck you lookin’ at,” Annie hurled in his direction. She began to pull her clothes back on, starting with her undergarments, but she couldn’t find her shirt anywhere.

“What we doin’ for real, Anne,” Smoke leveled, standing up on wobbling feet.

“We fuckin’,” she answered with a roll of her neck. “Duh.”

“This ain’t just fuckin’, and you know that,” he continued. He stepped in her direction, beginning to help in the pursuit of her long lost shirt. “If this is just fuckin’ then why you don’t wanna tell my brother?”

“‘Cause I don’t want Stack in all my damn business,” Annie turned quick. She shot through him with her eyes, but he couldn’t hardly take anything serious as she stood before him with her upper half nearly bare: her bright pink bra was the only thing covering her chest.

“But you tell Stack everything,” Smoke threw out—completely confused. She and his twin had been close for a long while now, and there was nothing the other didn’t know—except for this. He had also never been much of a liar, but since Annie insisted this remain a secret, he listened.

But now, the man was conflicted by his feelings.

He couldn’t fucking stand Annie, but looking at her big, brown eyes and having held her hand so dearly earlier, he was experiencing a new, rawer emotion.

He watched her continue to scrounge for her shirt as a way to not look him in the eye, but that didn’t mean he was done with his line of questioning.

“What you want from this? From me and you,” Smoke whispered. His voice was low, tone dripping in a seriousness that seemed to be plaguing him right now. Annie turned completely in his direction, her search for the shirt fully thwarted now. She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, sighing with a strangled breath that seemed to not want to come out.

When she looked at him, her eyes were big and round, wet with emotion.

“It started as me wantin’ to prove something,” she shrugged, eyes stuck on his. “I wanted to prove that I was more than just a nuisance, that I could make you feel something other than your hate for me, that I could dive headfirst into this and walk away unscathed.” She shook her head, diverted her gaze. “And now,” she continued, words catching on the way out, “now I feel silly for lettin’ this continue for so long, knowin’ what you do to me.”

“Anne—” the man tried, but she kept speaking, kept spiraling.

“I’m just so stupid! Of course this was just sex for you,” Annie pointed in his direction before smoothing her hair down away from her face. Her body seemed to be vibrating, and Smoke’s fingers trembled with a need to reach out for her, but he knew that would only worsen the situation. “And now I’ve just made it weird because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check. And I can’t find my damn shirt no where!”

She searched frantically—high and low—but she came up empty every time. And as he watched her, Smoke stood there stunned. He didn’t have a clue what to say. Partially because he was still using that excuse of hating her. Partially because he was still oscillating between his difficult emotions. All he thought about now seemed to be Annie. Annie’s annoying voice. Annie’s annoying laugh. Annie’s annoyingly pretty smile. He continued to find himself trapped in their moments together, how easily they came together in his bed, how they could communicate with such ease at times before getting caught up in what they thought they were supposed to want.

He hated her. But her adored her. And he definitely understood what she meant about feeling silly.

When he noticed the tears falling from her eyes, Smoke finally let himself step forward. He reached for her in an attempt to calm her down, but the sound of keys in the front door halted that effort.

“Oh my God,” Annie breathed heavily, moving to cower in a corner. She had no shirt on, was crying like a fool, and was in her best friend’s brother’s room after fucking him behind the other man’s back. She didn’t know what to do, and one look at Smoke showed that he didn’t have a clue either. They remained quiet—didn’t dare make a sound first—but Stack’s words rang out loud.

“Aye yo’,” he laughed into the near quiet apartment. “Annie, where you at, girl?! I saw yo’ car in the lot!”

Their hearts sank to their feet, the inevitable finally coming face to face with them. Annie shook in her spot, terrified of the consequences of lying to the person closest to her, and as frightened as Smoke was as well, he forced himself to put on a brave face for her.

As Stack kept shouting her name, mumbling how she must be in the bathroom or something, the older twin tossed her one of his shirts.

In the living room, however, Stack was leaning back against the couch as a flash of color gained his attention. A bright baby blue crop top sat on the other side of the room, and without picking it up, he already knew who it belonged to.

He stopped speaking all together—because there had to be an explanation, because he was just not understanding what the situation was. His brother was here too; He had to be. Stack had seen his car parked in its usual spot, but maybe that hadn’t been his best friend’s vehicle at all. She had parked too far away, on the opposite end of the lot tucked into a corner. But he’d worked on her car enough times to recognize the unique dents and scratches.

And now, he was in his home, calling her name to no answer—from either of them. But there had to be an explanation, right?

Down the hall, a bedroom door, croaked open.

Two sets of feet set in motion. Slow. Trembling. Guilty.

Tears flooded one person’s eyes. Fear flooded another’s.

But there was no going back now.

Stack’s eyes bounced between the pair. From Smoke to Annie. From the shirt the woman wore to the one she’d obviously forgotten was in the living room all along. Confusion etched into his features. It was a strange type of understanding because of course he knew what this meant—Annie was wearing his brother’s shirt and they were both looking guilty as fuck—but how had this all happened? They hated each other. They had hated each other from the moment they first met.

The younger twin shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he laughed—disbelief shining through.

“Man y’all fucked up,” he cackled, tossing his head back. Standing to his feet, the young man continued to laugh and joke and admonish, and the embarrassed pair watched with wide eyes. He wouldn’t stop or let up, and they just had to stand there and take it. “This is what happens when you pretend like you hate somebody,” he continued, hands rising in the air. “You end up fuckin’ ‘cause ain’t shit else to do wit’ all that pent up energy.”

He turned toward the hallway, still shaking his head in disbelief, laughing to keep himself together. When he reached his bedroom door, he took one look at them. How they stood at an awkward distance from each other. How it seemed to be something else going on that he didn’t want to get into right now. Seriousness took control of his features, returning him to the moment he first realized something wasn’t right. With their backs to him, he sighed, and clearing his throat, he turned his doorknob and spoke once more before departing.

“All I got to say is y’all better get y’all shit together and not make me choose between y’all. For real though.”

The room fell quiet. With Stack gone, the pair were left to reckon with what they were doing, with the fact that their dirt had seen the light of day. Smoke, eyes picking up the glare from Annie’s long lost shirt, leaned forward to grab it. And as his fingers connected with the fabric, he reveled in the softness, the roughness, the unmistakable Annie-ness of the feel.

“Here you go,” he extended his hand. His volume was low, afraid to rustle the quiet air, and the woman thanked him in a tone just as soft.

Annie watched his eyes carefully, trying to find his lingering disdain for her, but there was none.

“I appreciate it,” she offered her thanks again, much more confident this time, and as a soft grin filled Smoke’s lips, Annie allowed hers to match.

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

word count: ~3,200

a/n: i hope y'all enjoyedddd and thank you for readinggg

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Cloying—the one word he’d use to describe her. 

Rich. Decadent. Too much of a good thing. But there was no way he’d start complaining about it right now. 

Fingers indented the flesh of her ass and thighs while nails pierced his shoulders, tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

They were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to despise one another. She was his twin’s annoying best friend. He, her best friend’s uptight older brother who couldn’t help but turn his nose up at her short shorts and crop tops. But she wore them for him—just as he wore his low-hanging sweatpants for her. 

When she’d come over to the twin’s shared apartment, they’d parade around for each other: Annie in her booty shorts and tight shirts, Smoke in sweatpants and a tank, a chain if he was feeling particularly interested in her attention. He’d come out of his room “for a bottle of water” or “to ask about plans for later,” but he was really just trying to get a look at Annie’s long legs. And she’d roll her eyes at him and make smart ass comments just to rile him up, but she was always looking at him a little too hard, too. 

They hated each other for no good reason. For simply being around. For taking up space. For speaking and smelling divine and looking good enough to eat even though they knew they couldn’t have each other. 

And now—despite all that—they were tangled up in Smoke’s sheets, and Annie was sitting thick and pretty on his palate like a good meal when you’ve been starved for ages. 

“Smoke,” the young woman whined, clawing at his upper body. He had her thighs pried open and her legs thrown over his shoulders, and every time she attempted to catch her breath, he was halting her action by dousing her in more pleasure. She squirmed in his hold, but her efforts were in vain. The young man held on too tight, but even though Annie was struggling against him, she didn’t want to go too far anyway. He felt too good, fucking her with his tongue, sucking on her clit with those plush lips. When he practically began to swallow her arousal from the source, she shook against the bed aggressively. And just as she felt the wave begin to wash over her exhausted, needy body, the man stopped. 

A huff escaped his lips—gruff, angry, and resentful.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Smoke growled, mind reeling from the delicious sound of her moaning his name and the too sweet taste of her on his tongue. He sat back on his haunches, but all that did was give him a better view of her bare body. The man rolled his eyes, growled once more from the sweat-slicked sight.

“Well, I can’t stand yo’ ass neither,” Annie shouted, propping herself up to get a better look at him.

They wore matching scowls, eyes full of contempt. Beneath the surface, their bodies were buzzing for a release that seemed too distant now, but Annie’s thighs were wet with her arousal—a puddle in the sheets—and Smoke’s length was throbbing with every glimpse he allowed himself to take of her.

The woman’s scowl turned to a wicked grin. And one glance at the time had her mind made up.

“Come on, Smokey,” Annie teased, crawling toward where Smoke had decided to land—at the edge of the bed with his back toward her. “You obviously need to let some steam off,” she hummed, hooking her arms around his neck from behind, “and Stack won’t be back from that li’l date for a minute. Stop bein’ pussy.”

She started kissing up the back of his neck, heavy, thick kisses that had his eyes fluttering shut. But her words were like ice, chilling his system and bringing that contempt back to the surface. He growled once—just once—then he grabbed her and swung her into position on his lap.

“I ain’t no pussy,” he condemned, smacking her ass and watching the way she tried her best not to flinched. He watched her grind her teeth, her hatred of him being just as strong as his for her. “And I don’ told you about callin’ me that name.”

“What? Smokey,” she threw in question, already knowing the answer. He’d said it time and time again, but that was what she used to successfully piss him off every time—she wasn’t about to stop now. Watching the man closely, she couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened at the sound of the nickname again, and at that, she set her hips in motion.

Her wet arousal rocked against his—slow, teasing, angry. She did nothing to remove the sly grin on her lips. She let it melt into her skin and stay planted there as she indulged in the way the man’s eyes were rolling back from the feel of her.

Smoke gritted his teeth at the feeling of Annie’s clit sliding along his dick, and he did his best not to let the pleasure show, but she had moans escaping his lips and tears pricking in his eyes before he could stop it. His hands held her in place atop him, attempting to command the situation. But annoyingly enough, Annie was too good at maintaining control—over him and the task at hand.

“I hate seein’ yo’ stupid fuckin’ face when I come over here,” the woman huffed, rising up on her feet. She sank down onto his length, shuddering at the stretch, chuckling when he groaned. “You must don’t ever go out ‘cause you always here,” she added, breath quickening as her body began to move at a steady pace. Her words were laced with hatred, but beneath the anger, resided that small part of her that anticipated seeing him every time she came over, the part that chose her outfits according to what would turn his head the most, the part that was ecstatic to finally have him buried inside her and at her mercy.

Smoke shifted their position. He moved back up the bed, rested his body, planted his feet, lifted her slightly. He laughed at the surprised look that took over her face, but he immediately turned cold once more.

“You the one that’s always over here in my face,” he argued, pulling her in close. His nails pierced the flesh of her ass punishingly, and with his regaining of control, he forced her to meet his thrusts as he pounded into her from below. “You stay up in my house, bothering me. But I’m the problem?” Each word bit. Each statement true. But Annie wasn’t ready to back down.

“Yeah,” she choked, fuming in a unique mix of hate and lust. “Yeah, you the fuckin’ problem.”

Her hips snapped harsh. Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she rode him silly, refusing to let him win. And he wasn’t letting up either.

The air of the room turned dark and dense as the two fought to make the other crumble. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be the first to break—the first to cum, to show how much they desired the other—but someone had to be the one.

Meeting each other thrust for thrust, their breaths mingled, their tongues fought, their bodies began to shudder viciously. Annie’s teeth bit into the meat of Smoke’s bottom lip, and his palms claimed her ass with an ease neither of them would talk about outside of this room.

“You finna cum,” the man barked, waiting for an answer in the form of moans and trembling. He smacked her ass, fucked her with aggression.

“Hell naw,” Annie hurled back, queuing up her insults. “Nigga, this shit weak. But I know this pussy ‘bout to have you ruined.”

And ruined he was—right alongside Annie, too.

For the next few weeks, they poked at each other, prodded, towed that line between disgust and desire. When they saw each other, their eyes flashed with hatred, and when Stack turned his back, drifted too far away, they were on each other hot. They couldn’t deny the need. They couldn’t stuff down the craving.

That’s why they were back at it again.

Smoke’s bed.

Stack long gone.

Annie with her face down—ass up.

“You need this shit like a greedy li’l slut,” the man taunted, stroking her deep. Her arch became more pronounced as her arms slid forward and her mouth fell open. She couldn’t protest because when he texted her and said Stack ‘went out,’ she immediately jumped from her comfortable position in bed, slid her shoes on, and drove her ass over to that apartment. She was greedy—yes. A slut—absolutely.

Her hips worked to bring them both closer to the edge, falling back into his strokes because she was a pro at this shit now. They’d done it plenty of times: always here in his bed where they could be caught at any moment. She knew how he liked it, knew that when his mouth got slick he was close to burying himself deep in her.

“Smoke,” Annie slurred, words weak from all the wails he’d pulled from her tonight. Her hand wrapped around his wrist in an effort to seek out connection, and as much as he despised her, he let her have it. Their fingers intertwined, bodies creating a delicious rhythm. And they let go—together.

As they winded down from the effects of their orgasms, their hands remained connected. Annie’s thumb stroked the side of Smoke’s hand, working diligently to pull sharp breaths from him. He couldn’t push away that feeling she gave him: like he was going to eventually lose his life in her but that it would be worth it in the end. He shifted his position, turned on his side to watch her, but Annie was already looking at him.

“I gotta go,” the young woman spoke matter-of-factly. She dragged her body away from his, and as she sat of the edge of his bed, he watched her stretch. Her arms rose above her head, pulling her worn out muscles gently. She shifted to the side and he could make out the curve of her breast—delicate and hefty at the same time. It made his mouth fall open, but he soon gained the woman’s attention. “The fuck you lookin’ at,” Annie hurled in his direction. She began to pull her clothes back on, starting with her undergarments, but she couldn’t find her shirt anywhere.

“What we doin’ for real, Anne,” Smoke leveled, standing up on wobbling feet.

“We fuckin’,” she answered with a roll of her neck. “Duh.”

“This ain’t just fuckin’, and you know that,” he continued. He stepped in her direction, beginning to help in the pursuit of her long lost shirt. “If this is just fuckin’ then why you don’t wanna tell my brother?”

“‘Cause I don’t want Stack in all my damn business,” Annie turned quick. She shot through him with her eyes, but he couldn’t hardly take anything serious as she stood before him with her upper half nearly bare: her bright pink bra was the only thing covering her chest.

“But you tell Stack everything,” Smoke threw out—completely confused. She and his twin had been close for a long while now, and there was nothing the other didn’t know—except for this. He had also never been much of a liar, but since Annie insisted this remain a secret, he listened.

But now, the man was conflicted by his feelings.

He couldn’t fucking stand Annie, but looking at her big, brown eyes and having held her hand so dearly earlier, he was experiencing a new, rawer emotion.

He watched her continue to scrounge for her shirt as a way to not look him in the eye, but that didn’t mean he was done with his line of questioning.

“What you want from this? From me and you,” Smoke whispered. His voice was low, tone dripping in a seriousness that seemed to be plaguing him right now. Annie turned completely in his direction, her search for the shirt fully thwarted now. She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, sighing with a strangled breath that seemed to not want to come out.

When she looked at him, her eyes were big and round, wet with emotion.

“It started as me wantin’ to prove something,” she shrugged, eyes stuck on his. “I wanted to prove that I was more than just a nuisance, that I could make you feel something other than your hate for me, that I could dive headfirst into this and walk away unscathed.” She shook her head, diverted her gaze. “And now,” she continued, words catching on the way out, “now I feel silly for lettin’ this continue for so long, knowin’ what you do to me.”

“Anne—” the man tried, but she kept speaking, kept spiraling.

“I’m just so stupid! Of course this was just sex for you,” Annie pointed in his direction before smoothing her hair down away from her face. Her body seemed to be vibrating, and Smoke’s fingers trembled with a need to reach out for her, but he knew that would only worsen the situation. “And now I’ve just made it weird because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check. And I can’t find my damn shirt no where!”

She searched frantically—high and low—but she came up empty every time. And as he watched her, Smoke stood there stunned. He didn’t have a clue what to say. Partially because he was still using that excuse of hating her. Partially because he was still oscillating between his difficult emotions. All he thought about now seemed to be Annie. Annie’s annoying voice. Annie’s annoying laugh. Annie’s annoyingly pretty smile. He continued to find himself trapped in their moments together, how easily they came together in his bed, how they could communicate with such ease at times before getting caught up in what they thought they were supposed to want.

He hated her. But her adored her. And he definitely understood what she meant about feeling silly.

When he noticed the tears falling from her eyes, Smoke finally let himself step forward. He reached for her in an attempt to calm her down, but the sound of keys in the front door halted that effort.

“Oh my God,” Annie breathed heavily, moving to cower in a corner. She had no shirt on, was crying like a fool, and was in her best friend’s brother’s room after fucking him behind the other man’s back. She didn’t know what to do, and one look at Smoke showed that he didn’t have a clue either. They remained quiet—didn’t dare make a sound first—but Stack’s words rang out loud.

“Aye yo’,” he laughed into the near quiet apartment. “Annie, where you at, girl?! I saw yo’ car in the lot!”

Their hearts sank to their feet, the inevitable finally coming face to face with them. Annie shook in her spot, terrified of the consequences of lying to the person closest to her, and as frightened as Smoke was as well, he forced himself to put on a brave face for her.

As Stack kept shouting her name, mumbling how she must be in the bathroom or something, the older twin tossed her one of his shirts.

In the living room, however, Stack was leaning back against the couch as a flash of color gained his attention. A bright baby blue crop top sat on the other side of the room, and without picking it up, he already knew who it belonged to.

He stopped speaking all together—because there had to be an explanation, because he was just not understanding what the situation was. His brother was here too; He had to be. Stack had seen his car parked in its usual spot, but maybe that hadn’t been his best friend’s vehicle at all. She had parked too far away, on the opposite end of the lot tucked into a corner. But he’d worked on her car enough times to recognize the unique dents and scratches.

And now, he was in his home, calling her name to no answer—from either of them. But there had to be an explanation, right?

Down the hall, a bedroom door, croaked open.

Two sets of feet set in motion. Slow. Trembling. Guilty.

Tears flooded one person’s eyes. Fear flooded another’s.

But there was no going back now.

Stack’s eyes bounced between the pair. From Smoke to Annie. From the shirt the woman wore to the one she’d obviously forgotten was in the living room all along. Confusion etched into his features. It was a strange type of understanding because of course he knew what this meant—Annie was wearing his brother’s shirt and they were both looking guilty as fuck—but how had this all happened? They hated each other. They had hated each other from the moment they first met.

The younger twin shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he laughed—disbelief shining through.

“Man y’all fucked up,” he cackled, tossing his head back. Standing to his feet, the young man continued to laugh and joke and admonish, and the embarrassed pair watched with wide eyes. He wouldn’t stop or let up, and they just had to stand there and take it. “This is what happens when you pretend like you hate somebody,” he continued, hands rising in the air. “You end up fuckin’ ‘cause ain’t shit else to do wit’ all that pent up energy.”

He turned toward the hallway, still shaking his head in disbelief, laughing to keep himself together. When he reached his bedroom door, he took one look at them. How they stood at an awkward distance from each other. How it seemed to be something else going on that he didn’t want to get into right now. Seriousness took control of his features, returning him to the moment he first realized something wasn’t right. With their backs to him, he sighed, and clearing his throat, he turned his doorknob and spoke once more before departing.

“All I got to say is y’all better get y’all shit together and not make me choose between y’all. For real though.”

The room fell quiet. With Stack gone, the pair were left to reckon with what they were doing, with the fact that their dirt had seen the light of day. Smoke, eyes picking up the glare from Annie’s long lost shirt, leaned forward to grab it. And as his fingers connected with the fabric, he reveled in the softness, the roughness, the unmistakable Annie-ness of the feel.

“Here you go,” he extended his hand. His volume was low, afraid to rustle the quiet air, and the woman thanked him in a tone just as soft.

Annie watched his eyes carefully, trying to find his lingering disdain for her, but there was none.

“I appreciate it,” she offered her thanks again, much more confident this time, and as a soft grin filled Smoke’s lips, Annie allowed hers to match.

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

word count: ~3,200

a/n: i hope y'all enjoyedddd and thank you for readinggg

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Cloying—the one word he’d use to describe her. 

Rich. Decadent. Too much of a good thing. But there was no way he’d start complaining about it right now. 

Fingers indented the flesh of her ass and thighs while nails pierced his shoulders, tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

They were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to despise one another. She was his twin’s annoying best friend. He, her best friend’s uptight older brother who couldn’t help but turn his nose up at her short shorts and crop tops. But she wore them for him—just as he wore his low-hanging sweatpants for her. 

When she’d come over to the twin’s shared apartment, they’d parade around for each other: Annie in her booty shorts and tight shirts, Smoke in sweatpants and a tank, a chain if he was feeling particularly interested in her attention. He’d come out of his room “for a bottle of water” or “to ask about plans for later,” but he was really just trying to get a look at Annie’s long legs. And she’d roll her eyes at him and make smart ass comments just to rile him up, but she was always looking at him a little too hard, too. 

They hated each other for no good reason. For simply being around. For taking up space. For speaking and smelling divine and looking good enough to eat even though they knew they couldn’t have each other. 

And now—despite all that—they were tangled up in Smoke’s sheets, and Annie was sitting thick and pretty on his palate like a good meal when you’ve been starved for ages. 

“Smoke,” the young woman whined, clawing at his upper body. He had her thighs pried open and her legs thrown over his shoulders, and every time she attempted to catch her breath, he was halting her action by dousing her in more pleasure. She squirmed in his hold, but her efforts were in vain. The young man held on too tight, but even though Annie was struggling against him, she didn’t want to go too far anyway. He felt too good, fucking her with his tongue, sucking on her clit with those plush lips. When he practically began to swallow her arousal from the source, she shook against the bed aggressively. And just as she felt the wave begin to wash over her exhausted, needy body, the man stopped. 

A huff escaped his lips—gruff, angry, and resentful.

“I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” Smoke growled, mind reeling from the delicious sound of her moaning his name and the too sweet taste of her on his tongue. He sat back on his haunches, but all that did was give him a better view of her bare body. The man rolled his eyes, growled once more from the sweat-slicked sight.

“Well, I can’t stand yo’ ass neither,” Annie shouted, propping herself up to get a better look at him.

They wore matching scowls, eyes full of contempt. Beneath the surface, their bodies were buzzing for a release that seemed too distant now, but Annie’s thighs were wet with her arousal—a puddle in the sheets—and Smoke’s length was throbbing with every glimpse he allowed himself to take of her.

The woman’s scowl turned to a wicked grin. And one glance at the time had her mind made up.

“Come on, Smokey,” Annie teased, crawling toward where Smoke had decided to land—at the edge of the bed with his back toward her. “You obviously need to let some steam off,” she hummed, hooking her arms around his neck from behind, “and Stack won’t be back from that li’l date for a minute. Stop bein’ pussy.”

She started kissing up the back of his neck, heavy, thick kisses that had his eyes fluttering shut. But her words were like ice, chilling his system and bringing that contempt back to the surface. He growled once—just once—then he grabbed her and swung her into position on his lap.

“I ain’t no pussy,” he condemned, smacking her ass and watching the way she tried her best not to flinched. He watched her grind her teeth, her hatred of him being just as strong as his for her. “And I don’ told you about callin’ me that name.”

“What? Smokey,” she threw in question, already knowing the answer. He’d said it time and time again, but that was what she used to successfully piss him off every time—she wasn’t about to stop now. Watching the man closely, she couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened at the sound of the nickname again, and at that, she set her hips in motion.

Her wet arousal rocked against his—slow, teasing, angry. She did nothing to remove the sly grin on her lips. She let it melt into her skin and stay planted there as she indulged in the way the man’s eyes were rolling back from the feel of her.

Smoke gritted his teeth at the feeling of Annie’s clit sliding along his dick, and he did his best not to let the pleasure show, but she had moans escaping his lips and tears pricking in his eyes before he could stop it. His hands held her in place atop him, attempting to command the situation. But annoyingly enough, Annie was too good at maintaining control—over him and the task at hand.

“I hate seein’ yo’ stupid fuckin’ face when I come over here,” the woman huffed, rising up on her feet. She sank down onto his length, shuddering at the stretch, chuckling when he groaned. “You must don’t ever go out ‘cause you always here,” she added, breath quickening as her body began to move at a steady pace. Her words were laced with hatred, but beneath the anger, resided that small part of her that anticipated seeing him every time she came over, the part that chose her outfits according to what would turn his head the most, the part that was ecstatic to finally have him buried inside her and at her mercy.

Smoke shifted their position. He moved back up the bed, rested his body, planted his feet, lifted her slightly. He laughed at the surprised look that took over her face, but he immediately turned cold once more.

“You the one that’s always over here in my face,” he argued, pulling her in close. His nails pierced the flesh of her ass punishingly, and with his regaining of control, he forced her to meet his thrusts as he pounded into her from below. “You stay up in my house, bothering me. But I’m the problem?” Each word bit. Each statement true. But Annie wasn’t ready to back down.

“Yeah,” she choked, fuming in a unique mix of hate and lust. “Yeah, you the fuckin’ problem.”

Her hips snapped harsh. Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she rode him silly, refusing to let him win. And he wasn’t letting up either.

The air of the room turned dark and dense as the two fought to make the other crumble. They wouldn’t allow themselves to be the first to break—the first to cum, to show how much they desired the other—but someone had to be the one.

Meeting each other thrust for thrust, their breaths mingled, their tongues fought, their bodies began to shudder viciously. Annie’s teeth bit into the meat of Smoke’s bottom lip, and his palms claimed her ass with an ease neither of them would talk about outside of this room.

“You finna cum,” the man barked, waiting for an answer in the form of moans and trembling. He smacked her ass, fucked her with aggression.

“Hell naw,” Annie hurled back, queuing up her insults. “Nigga, this shit weak. But I know this pussy ‘bout to have you ruined.”

And ruined he was—right alongside Annie, too.

For the next few weeks, they poked at each other, prodded, towed that line between disgust and desire. When they saw each other, their eyes flashed with hatred, and when Stack turned his back, drifted too far away, they were on each other hot. They couldn’t deny the need. They couldn’t stuff down the craving.

That’s why they were back at it again.

Smoke’s bed.

Stack long gone.

Annie with her face down—ass up.

“You need this shit like a greedy li’l slut,” the man taunted, stroking her deep. Her arch became more pronounced as her arms slid forward and her mouth fell open. She couldn’t protest because when he texted her and said Stack ‘went out,’ she immediately jumped from her comfortable position in bed, slid her shoes on, and drove her ass over to that apartment. She was greedy—yes. A slut—absolutely.

Her hips worked to bring them both closer to the edge, falling back into his strokes because she was a pro at this shit now. They’d done it plenty of times: always here in his bed where they could be caught at any moment. She knew how he liked it, knew that when his mouth got slick he was close to burying himself deep in her.

“Smoke,” Annie slurred, words weak from all the wails he’d pulled from her tonight. Her hand wrapped around his wrist in an effort to seek out connection, and as much as he despised her, he let her have it. Their fingers intertwined, bodies creating a delicious rhythm. And they let go—together.

As they winded down from the effects of their orgasms, their hands remained connected. Annie’s thumb stroked the side of Smoke’s hand, working diligently to pull sharp breaths from him. He couldn’t push away that feeling she gave him: like he was going to eventually lose his life in her but that it would be worth it in the end. He shifted his position, turned on his side to watch her, but Annie was already looking at him.

“I gotta go,” the young woman spoke matter-of-factly. She dragged her body away from his, and as she sat of the edge of his bed, he watched her stretch. Her arms rose above her head, pulling her worn out muscles gently. She shifted to the side and he could make out the curve of her breast—delicate and hefty at the same time. It made his mouth fall open, but he soon gained the woman’s attention. “The fuck you lookin’ at,” Annie hurled in his direction. She began to pull her clothes back on, starting with her undergarments, but she couldn’t find her shirt anywhere.

“What we doin’ for real, Anne,” Smoke leveled, standing up on wobbling feet.

“We fuckin’,” she answered with a roll of her neck. “Duh.”

“This ain’t just fuckin’, and you know that,” he continued. He stepped in her direction, beginning to help in the pursuit of her long lost shirt. “If this is just fuckin’ then why you don’t wanna tell my brother?”

“‘Cause I don’t want Stack in all my damn business,” Annie turned quick. She shot through him with her eyes, but he couldn’t hardly take anything serious as she stood before him with her upper half nearly bare: her bright pink bra was the only thing covering her chest.

“But you tell Stack everything,” Smoke threw out—completely confused. She and his twin had been close for a long while now, and there was nothing the other didn’t know—except for this. He had also never been much of a liar, but since Annie insisted this remain a secret, he listened.

But now, the man was conflicted by his feelings.

He couldn’t fucking stand Annie, but looking at her big, brown eyes and having held her hand so dearly earlier, he was experiencing a new, rawer emotion.

He watched her continue to scrounge for her shirt as a way to not look him in the eye, but that didn’t mean he was done with his line of questioning.

“What you want from this? From me and you,” Smoke whispered. His voice was low, tone dripping in a seriousness that seemed to be plaguing him right now. Annie turned completely in his direction, her search for the shirt fully thwarted now. She crossed her arms under her chest and leaned against the dresser on the opposite side of the room, sighing with a strangled breath that seemed to not want to come out.

When she looked at him, her eyes were big and round, wet with emotion.

“It started as me wantin’ to prove something,” she shrugged, eyes stuck on his. “I wanted to prove that I was more than just a nuisance, that I could make you feel something other than your hate for me, that I could dive headfirst into this and walk away unscathed.” She shook her head, diverted her gaze. “And now,” she continued, words catching on the way out, “now I feel silly for lettin’ this continue for so long, knowin’ what you do to me.”

“Anne—” the man tried, but she kept speaking, kept spiraling.

“I’m just so stupid! Of course this was just sex for you,” Annie pointed in his direction before smoothing her hair down away from her face. Her body seemed to be vibrating, and Smoke’s fingers trembled with a need to reach out for her, but he knew that would only worsen the situation. “And now I’ve just made it weird because I couldn’t keep my feelings in check. And I can’t find my damn shirt no where!”

She searched frantically—high and low—but she came up empty every time. And as he watched her, Smoke stood there stunned. He didn’t have a clue what to say. Partially because he was still using that excuse of hating her. Partially because he was still oscillating between his difficult emotions. All he thought about now seemed to be Annie. Annie’s annoying voice. Annie’s annoying laugh. Annie’s annoyingly pretty smile. He continued to find himself trapped in their moments together, how easily they came together in his bed, how they could communicate with such ease at times before getting caught up in what they thought they were supposed to want.

He hated her. But her adored her. And he definitely understood what she meant about feeling silly.

When he noticed the tears falling from her eyes, Smoke finally let himself step forward. He reached for her in an attempt to calm her down, but the sound of keys in the front door halted that effort.

“Oh my God,” Annie breathed heavily, moving to cower in a corner. She had no shirt on, was crying like a fool, and was in her best friend’s brother’s room after fucking him behind the other man’s back. She didn’t know what to do, and one look at Smoke showed that he didn’t have a clue either. They remained quiet—didn’t dare make a sound first—but Stack’s words rang out loud.

“Aye yo’,” he laughed into the near quiet apartment. “Annie, where you at, girl?! I saw yo’ car in the lot!”

Their hearts sank to their feet, the inevitable finally coming face to face with them. Annie shook in her spot, terrified of the consequences of lying to the person closest to her, and as frightened as Smoke was as well, he forced himself to put on a brave face for her.

As Stack kept shouting her name, mumbling how she must be in the bathroom or something, the older twin tossed her one of his shirts.

In the living room, however, Stack was leaning back against the couch as a flash of color gained his attention. A bright baby blue crop top sat on the other side of the room, and without picking it up, he already knew who it belonged to.

He stopped speaking all together—because there had to be an explanation, because he was just not understanding what the situation was. His brother was here too; He had to be. Stack had seen his car parked in its usual spot, but maybe that hadn’t been his best friend’s vehicle at all. She had parked too far away, on the opposite end of the lot tucked into a corner. But he’d worked on her car enough times to recognize the unique dents and scratches.

And now, he was in his home, calling her name to no answer—from either of them. But there had to be an explanation, right?

Down the hall, a bedroom door, croaked open.

Two sets of feet set in motion. Slow. Trembling. Guilty.

Tears flooded one person’s eyes. Fear flooded another’s.

But there was no going back now.

Stack’s eyes bounced between the pair. From Smoke to Annie. From the shirt the woman wore to the one she’d obviously forgotten was in the living room all along. Confusion etched into his features. It was a strange type of understanding because of course he knew what this meant—Annie was wearing his brother’s shirt and they were both looking guilty as fuck—but how had this all happened? They hated each other. They had hated each other from the moment they first met.

The younger twin shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he laughed—disbelief shining through.

“Man y’all fucked up,” he cackled, tossing his head back. Standing to his feet, the young man continued to laugh and joke and admonish, and the embarrassed pair watched with wide eyes. He wouldn’t stop or let up, and they just had to stand there and take it. “This is what happens when you pretend like you hate somebody,” he continued, hands rising in the air. “You end up fuckin’ ‘cause ain’t shit else to do wit’ all that pent up energy.”

He turned toward the hallway, still shaking his head in disbelief, laughing to keep himself together. When he reached his bedroom door, he took one look at them. How they stood at an awkward distance from each other. How it seemed to be something else going on that he didn’t want to get into right now. Seriousness took control of his features, returning him to the moment he first realized something wasn’t right. With their backs to him, he sighed, and clearing his throat, he turned his doorknob and spoke once more before departing.

“All I got to say is y’all better get y’all shit together and not make me choose between y’all. For real though.”

The room fell quiet. With Stack gone, the pair were left to reckon with what they were doing, with the fact that their dirt had seen the light of day. Smoke, eyes picking up the glare from Annie’s long lost shirt, leaned forward to grab it. And as his fingers connected with the fabric, he reveled in the softness, the roughness, the unmistakable Annie-ness of the feel.

“Here you go,” he extended his hand. His volume was low, afraid to rustle the quiet air, and the woman thanked him in a tone just as soft.

Annie watched his eyes carefully, trying to find his lingering disdain for her, but there was none.

“I appreciate it,” she offered her thanks again, much more confident this time, and as a soft grin filled Smoke’s lips, Annie allowed hers to match.

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word count: ~3,200

a/n: i hope y'all enjoyedddd and thank you for readinggg

taglist: comment HERE to be added!