Y/N met Jermajesty the way a lot of people meet the person they swear they're going to spend forever with, completely by accident.

She had gone to a party with her friends, not looking for anything serious, just looking to have a good time. He was funny, charming, and somehow managed to make her laugh so hard her stomach hurt within the first twenty minutes of talking to him. They exchanged numbers that night, and after that, they were practically inseparable.

The first year was perfect.

Like, disgustingly perfect.

Jermajesty was sweet. Attentive. The kind of boyfriend who remembered the little things. He brought her flowers for no reason, drove across town at two in the morning when she couldn't sleep, and somehow always knew exactly what to say when she was upset. He spoiled her, loved her loudly, and made her feel like she was the only girl in the world.

Y/N had never been happier.

The second year wasn't bad.

Not exactly. It just... changed.

Jermajesty started getting cocky.

Small arguments became a regular thing. He'd get smart with her, she'd snap back, and suddenly they were arguing over absolutely nothing.

But he always apologized.

Always.

A few hours later he'd be kissing her forehead, telling her he loved her, buying her food, acting like nothing happened.

So she ignored it. Because everybody has rough patches, right?

The third year was where things got ugly.

Jermajesty got irritated by everything she said.

Everything.

If she asked a question, he'd get defensive.

If she voiced a concern, he'd roll his eyes.

If she told him how she felt, he'd somehow turn it around and make her feel like she was overreacting.

And the fights were terrible.

Because Y/N wasn't one of those girls who sat there and got talked over.

If he raised his voice, she raised hers.

If he got in her face, she got right back in his.

The neighbors probably knew both of their names.

Dishes got thrown. Clothes got tossed across rooms.

More than a few gaming controllers met their tragic end against walls.

Their relationship was becoming toxic and everybody around her could see it.

Her friends told her constantly.

Girl, leave him.

He's no good.

This isn't normal.

But Y/N always brushed them off. It was always "I don't care." and "As long as he don't cheat, I can deal with everything else."

That was her rule.

Her one rule.

And somewhere between the end of the third and now the fourth year, it was hell, and for the past few months, she'd had that feeling. That horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The one where you know something isn't right, but you won't trust it because you've never felt it when it comes to a person you love.

Which was exactly why the feeling bothered her so much.

It wasn't jealousy.

It sure as hell wasn't insecurity.

It was that awful feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you something isn't right before you have any proof.

The kind of feeling you try to ignore because you don't want it to be true.

For months, she'd been trying to do exactly that.

And this was only because Jermajesty was acting weird.

It was subtle at first.

The kind of change you don't notice until it's been happening for a while.

He'd never hidden his phone before.

Never.

They'd had screaming matches that could shake the walls and he'd still leave his phone sitting face-up on the kitchen counter.

Hell, she'd accused him of cheating before during arguments just because she was angry and wanted to hurt his feelings.

And every single time, he'd rolled his eyes, handed her the phone, and said, "Here. Look through it then."

No hesitation.

No panic.

Nothing to hide.

That was why this felt so wrong.

Because now the phone was always in his hand.

Always face down, always on silent. And if she got too close, suddenly he'd be checking something else.

Locking the screen. Turning away. Giving short answers whenever she asked who he was texting.

Little things.

Small things.

But they added up, and every time they happened, that feeling in her stomach got worse.

She kept making excuses for him. Maybe he was stressed. Maybe he was dealing with something.

Maybe she was overthinking.

Because the alternative hurt too much to consider.

This was Jermajesty, four years together.

Four years of memories.

Four years of choosing each other.

So she ignored the voice in the back of her head telling her something was off.

Ignored the way his behavior had changed.

Ignored how protective he'd suddenly become over that phone.

But no matter how many excuses she came up with, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was a reason he didn't want her looking at it anymore.

And she was terrified.

But right now, the two of them were laying in bed watching a movie.

That alone felt like a miracle.

Granted, they had their days.

A lot of them.

Days where they couldn't be in the same room for more than ten minutes without somebody catching an attitude. Days where one smart comment turned into a screaming match. Days where the neighbors probably knew their names better than their own relatives did.

But today had been different.

Peaceful.

No arguments, no passive-aggressive comments.

Nothing.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they'd made it through an entire day without fighting.

It felt like a gift from God.

Y/N was curled against his side beneath the blankets, her head resting against his shoulder while the movie he wanted to watch played on the television. Jermajesty's arm was draped loosely around her waist, his body warm against hers.

A year ago, sitting this close would've been normal.

Now it felt rare.

Like one wrong move could ruin it. So she was trying to enjoy it while it lasted, trying to ignore the tension that had become a permanent fixture in their relationship.

Trying to pretend things were okay.

For a little while, they actually were.

Then she heard him laugh.

Her eyes shifted from the television.

Jermajesty was looking down at his phone, a grin spread across his face while his thumbs moved across the screen.

A few seconds later he laughed again.

Y/N looked back at the movie, ignoring his blatant disregard for her.

Or at least tried to.

His brothers blew up their group chats all the time, and his friends weren't much better.

So she told herself that's what it was.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Then his phone lit up again.

And again.

And again.

A call came through.

He declined it immediately.

Another call.

Declined.

Then came the texts.

One after another.

The screen kept lighting up every few seconds.

She kept her eyes on the TV, trying her hardest to focus on whatever explosion was happening on screen.

Then his phone lit up again.

The bright glow reflected against his face, a smile immediately tugged at the corner of his mouth.

His thumbs moved across the screen.

Y/N slowly turned her head. "Maj."

Jermajesty hummed absentmindedly, still looking at the phone.

Her eyes flicked toward it, then back to him. "You begged me to watch this movie."

That got his attention. "What?"

"You begged me." She pointed at the television. "To watch this movie. And you ain't even watching it."

Jermajesty glanced at the screen before letting out a small laugh. "My bad."

He tossed the phone onto the mattress beside him and wrapped an arm around her again. "There. Happy?"

"A little."

He smirked. "Dramatic ass."

Y/N rolled her eyes but settled back against him.

For a few minutes, things were quiet again.

The movie played, the room stayed calm.

And she started thinking maybe she was overreacting, maybe she really was letting that weird feeling get into her head.

Then—

Buzz.

The phone lit up.

Jermajesty's head turned so fast it almost gave her whiplash. Before the screen had even fully illuminated, he'd already picked it up.

And cheesed.

His attention immediately disappeared from the movie. His thumbs started moving again.

Y/N's jaw tightened; she looked at the phone then at him, throwing the blanket off herself, she climbed out of bed.

The bedroom door slammed behind her.

Hard.

From the bedroom she immediately heard his voice. "The fuck?"

She ignored him.

A few minutes later he walked into the living room.

He'd thrown on a fitted black shirt and gray sweatpants.

His eyebrows were furrowed. "Fuck is your problem?"

Y/N didn't look up from the couch. "I don't know, Jermajesty."

His expression darkened instantly. "You can chill out with that attitude, Slammin' doors and shit."

She laughed a humorless laugh.

"I pay rent, I'll slam whatever the fuck I want."

"See? That's the shit I be talkin' bout' bro." He smacked his teeth as he threw his hands up. "I'm not finna argue with you."

The second he said it, his phone buzzed.

Again.

He immediately looked down and started texting.

That was it.

Y/N sat forward. "What's so funny? I wanna laugh too."

"It's nothin'." He didn't even look up. Just kept texting.

Her eyes narrowed. "Nah, you've been laughing at that phone all damn day. let me see it."

He ignored her, still typing.

Y/N stood up. "Jermajesty."

Nothing.

She walked over and snatched the phone out of his hands, for one split second she had it.

Then he snatched it right back.

Fast.

His face instantly hardened. "Don't snatch my stuff."

Y/N stared at him. "Let me see the fucking phone, Jermajesty."

He shook his head. "You doing the absolute most." Walking toward the front door, he grabbed his keys. "I'm gonna go pick up something to eat."

"Jer—"

"And when I get back," he interrupted, pointing at her, "you better have that funky-ass attitude in check."

The front door slammed.

The apartment went silent.

Y/N stood there frozen, staring at the door. Her heart sinking lower and lower into her stomach.

Because she knew. She just didn't want to believe it.

Slowly, Y/N grabbed her phone from the coffee table.

Her hands were already shaking, not enough for anyone else to notice.

Enough for her to notice.

Enough for that sick feeling in her stomach to get worse.

Slowly, Y/N grabbed her phone from the coffee table.

Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped it.

The apartment felt too quiet.

Too still.

Like the walls themselves were waiting for something to happen.

She opened FaceTime.

Clicked her best friend's name.

And waited.

The second the call connected, Y/N didn't even bother saying hello.

"Girl, I swea—"

Journey immediately cut her off. "Well, hello to you too then, bitch."

Under any other circumstance, Y/N would've laughed.

Tonight?

Not a chance.

She dragged a hand down her face. "I'm not in the fucking mood, bro. I swear to God, I'm finna beat the brakes off this nigga."

Journey sighed. The kind of sigh that said she'd been expecting this.

"I been told you to leave him."

Y/N started pacing. "We don't know—"

"Girl, shut up."

"Journey—"

"No. Shut up and listen." Journey pointed at the camera. "He constantly does weird shit. Constantly. Every time you call me, it's another argument, another issue, another reason you upset."

Y/N started walking circles around the living room.

Her chest felt tight, like she couldn't get a full breath.

Journey continued. "And he knows you ain't leaving."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh my God."

"No, for real. He know you love him. He know you gon' forgive him. He know you gon' let him slide." Journey leaned closer to the screen. "That's why he acts the way he does."

Y/N stopped pacing.

For a second.

Then started right back up again. "I think he's cheating on me."

The words came out before she could stop them.

The apartment fell silent.

Journey's face changed immediately, the joking disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

"What?"

Y/N laughed bitterly. "I think he's cheating on me."

"Okay." Journey held up a hand. "Calm the fuck down."

"I am calm."

"Bitch, you pacing like a caged lion."

Y/N looked down.

She was.

Journey thought for a second, then suddenly her eyes widened.

"He got a laptop?"

Y/N froze. "...Yeah."

Journey sat upright. "Go through that bitch right now."

Y/N stared.

Journey pointed aggressively. "Now."

Without another word, Y/N marched toward their bedroom.

The facetime call bounced with every step, her stomach twisted harder the closer she got.

The laptop sat on the desk.

Closed.

Innocent-looking. Like it wasn't about to potentially ruin her life.

Y/N set her phone against a stack of books.

Picked up the laptop and opened it.

The Apple logo glowed.

Journey immediately leaned toward her camera. "Let me see."

Y/N's fingers trembled.

Badly.

Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it.

She didn't want this. That was the worst part.

She didn't want to be right. She wanted to open the laptop and find absolutely nothing. She wanted Journey to call her dramatic. She wanted to laugh about it tomorrow.

Journey's voice softened. "Be strong."

Y/N swallowed.

"If he clean, then good." Journey shrugged. "If he ain't, clear everything out. Burn it."

Despite everything, Y/N almost smiled.

Almost.

The laptop unlocked, she clicked through his camera roll.

Nothing.

Pictures of him.

Pictures of her.

Pictures of them.

Gym progress photos.

Random screenshots.

Views from trips.

Normal stuff.

Journey frowned. "That ain't nothing."

Y/N exhaled shakily. For a second, hope flickered.

Then Journey spoke again. "Go through that hidden folder."

The hope died immediately. Y/N picked up her phone. "No."

"What?"

"You look."

Journey blinked. "What?"

"You look." Y/N turned the camera around. "If I see something I don't wanna see, I promise you I'm going to kill him."

Journey nodded. "Alright."

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, she pressed her finger against the Touch ID sensor.

The folder opened.

A second later—"He fucking with Dream." Journey dragged the words out so long Y/N's stomach dropped.

Her eyes opened.

And the world stopped.

There he was.

Jermajesty.

Holding another girl, her other best friend.

Pictures of them on cute dates.

Places they went that she had dreamed of going to.

And to top it off? A video of them fucking.

Her stomach dropped then dropped again.

Like she was falling.

Like the floor had disappeared beneath her.

"No."

Journey didn't say anything.

"No."

Y/N clicked frantically.

More nudes.

More proof.

More lies.

Her breathing quickened.

The room felt hot.

Too hot.

Then she opened his messages. An unread text sat near the top.

Her number.

Journey looked horrified. "No wonder she been all iffy."

Y/N couldn't speak.

"And he ain't even try to hide it."

Y/N clicked the message.

A photo of her freshly done toes and nails, painted his favorite color, with a text that followed "thank uu baby'' along with a heart emoji.

Journey immediately scrunched her face. "She got ugly-ass feet."

Y/N stared at her. Then hung up.

Because right now, she didn't need Journey's commentary.

She needed silence.

She scrolled.

And scrolled.

And scrolled.

The messages stretched back months.

Months.

While she'd been defending him. While she'd been fighting for him.

While she'd been choosing him.

Every argument. Every breakup scare. Every rough patch.

There she was. The girl she confided in.

Message after message.

Conversation after conversation.

Plans.

Pictures.

Memories.

There were "good morning" texts.

"There were "I miss you" texts.

There were messages talking about meeting up after he and Y/N argued.

Messages that made it sound like every fight in their relationship had become an opportunity for him to run to someone else.

And the part that hurt most? It wasn't even the cheating.

It was how comfortable he'd gotten doing it.

How normal it seemed, like betraying her had become part of his routine.

Y/N sat there scrolling for nearly twenty minutes.

Not crying.

Not screaming.

Just reading.

The hurt settling deeper and deeper, until it became something heavy.

Something numb.

Finally, she closed the laptop.

The screen went black, and so did something inside her.

Slowly, she stood.

Walked into the bathroom and turned on the bathtub.

Water rushed into the basin.

She reached beneath the sink and grabbed any and every chemical and poured, the sharp chemical smell immediately filled the room.

Then she grabbed her phone. Opened the camera. Pressed record.

No words.

No speech.

Nothing.

Just pure rage.

She walked outside.

Holding his PS5.

The expensive one he'd obsessed over. The one he'd told her not to touch. The one she'd bought him.

She dropped it onto the concrete.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Plastic shattered and pieces flew across the pavement.

She stomped it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until it was barely recognizable.

Every ounce of anger pouring out of her.

Every lie.

Every excuse.

Every betrayal.

Tears finally started falling.

Hot.

Relentless.

She stopped recording.

Sent the video along with a middle finger emoji.

That was the only response he deserved.

The calls started immediately.

One after another.

Ignored.

Back inside, she tossed the broken console into the bleach water.

Then something in her snapped.

Not cracked.

Snapped.

She stormed into the bedroom.

Looked around and suddenly every object felt offensive.

Every item reminded her of him.

Of them.

Of four wasted years.

Her eyes landed on the bedroom television, the one they'd spent countless nights watching movies on.

The one she'd been staring at an hour ago while he smiled at another woman.

Y/N grabbed a nearby lamp and swung.

The screen exploded, cracks spiderwebbed instantly.

Another hit.

Then another.

Until the television toppled sideways onto the dresser, the crash echoed through the apartment.

The sound made her chest feel lighter.

Not better.

Just lighter.

Then came the shoes.

The clothes.

Anything with he bought. Anything he'd touched.

Her phone kept ringing somewhere.

Jermajesty.

Jermajesty.

Jermajesty.

Over and over.

Ignored.

Eventually, she sank onto the floor, surrounded by the destruction, surrounded by pieces of a life she'd spent four years building.

And finally broke.

The sob that left her chest was ugly.

Painful.

The kind that made it hard to breathe because beneath the anger, was grief.

Four years.

Four years.

Gone.

Not because they stopped loving each other.

Because he chose somebody else.

The disgust made her stomach turn. Every time she thought about him touching her after being with someone else.

Every time she remembered him looking her in the eye and lying.

Every time she remembered defending him, believing him, trusting him.

Every time she ran to her when Journey didn't answer. Every time she ran to her when she needed to get away.

She felt sick.

Humiliated.

Stupid.

Eventually, she wiped her face. Fixed her breathing. Picked herself up.

Grabbed his laptop and walked into the living room.

Then she sat down.

Calmly.

Quietly.

The laptop resting in her lap, the apartment looked like a crime scene.

The water sat waiting in the bathroom. His destroyed belongings were scattered everywhere.

And still she sat perfectly still.

Waiting.

Five minutes later, she heard it.

Heavy footsteps.

Fast.

Frantic.

Racing down the hallway outside the apartment.

Then louder.

Closer.

Closer.

Until they stopped directly outside her door.

She could practically hear his breathing through the wood. Could imagine the panic on his face.

The realization.

The fear.

The desperation.

Y/N smiled, not because she was happy.

Because she knew Jermajesty had finally realized he got caught.

He burst through the apartment like a storm.

The second the door flew open, Jermajesty was already cussing, already yelling, already acting like he was the one who had been wronged.

“Are you fucking serious?” he snapped, throwing his hands up as he stepped inside. “You really must have lost yo' rabbid ass mind.”

Y/N just stood there in the living room, arms folded, face blank except for the sarcasm sitting right behind her eyes.

“Over what?” she repeated, slow and sharp. “Oh, I don’t know, Maj. Maybe you tell me.”

He looked around the apartment and his whole expression shifted.

Because the mess was everywhere.

Broken pieces. Torn fabric. Shattered glass. His stuff scattered across the floor like a tornado had ripped through the place.

He muttered something under his breath and stormed toward the bedroom first, and the second he stepped inside and saw the damage in there, his face darkened even more.

Then he went into the bathroom.

And the second he saw that too, he stopped dead.

Bleach. Water. Destroyed clothes. Ripped-up shoes. Broken pieces of his things soaked and ruined.

His jaw flexed.

He turned back toward her, furious now.

“Yo are you fucking cool?” he shouted. “You did all this shit for fucking what?”

Y/N didn’t even hesitate.

She snatched his laptop off the couch and hurled it at his feet.

It hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Before he could even react, she was on it, stomping down hard, over and over, until he rushed forward and shoved her off to the side.

The second his hand hit her, the air changed.

Y/N snapped her head up and slapped him so hard the sound cracked through the apartment.

His head turned with it.

Her chest heaved.

Then she pointed at him, trembling with rage. “Four years,” she said, her voice loud and shaking. “I gave you four years, and you go and fuck my best friend?”

Jermajesty rubbed both hands over his face, breathing hard. “So?” he shot back, still angry, still defensive. “That don’t mean you break my shit! You should’ve just got your ass up and left.”

Y/N laughed, but it was ugly, bitter, full of hurt.

“Nigga, are you fucking stupid?” she yelled, stepping closer. “You been cheating on me with my best friend for months and you want me pack my shit and leave calmly?”

He turned away from her and started heading back into the room, looking for whatever was left that wasn’t already ruined.

Y/N followed right behind him.

“How'd you even get her number?” she demanded.

No answer.

“Jermajesty!”

Still nothing.

She said his name again, louder this time, but her voice cracked at the end.

That finally made him stop.

He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

She stared at him, her eyes burning.

“You already found out now what? I'm not bout to sit here and all this with you.”

Her throat tightened, but she forced the words out anyway. “Why?” she asked, voice shaking harder now. “I told you not to do one thing. One thing. Why?”

He let out a hard breath, like she was the problem.

“Because you bitch at every fucking thing I do,” he snapped. “Who I talk to, why I do this, why I do that. You are fucking exhausting.”

That made Y/N go still for half a second.

Then she lost it.

“So you go fuck another person?” she shouted. “My best friend at that?”

He pushed past her and went into the living room, almost like he was tired of standing there and being held accountable. He dropped onto the couch like he had the right to be comfortable.

Y/N followed him and planted herself right in front of him.

“Move around, Y/N,” he muttered.

“I'm not moving nowhere.”

She stared down at him, really stared.

At the face of a man she loved.

At the face of somebody who was looking at her like getting caught was an inconvenience, not a tragedy.

Her finger lifted and pointed straight at him.

“I have done nothing but be sweet and loving to you,” she said, each word sharp with pain. “But you started moving shady. You got annoyed at every fucking thing I said. I knew I should’ve listened to Journey when—”

“That’s the fucking problem!”

He stood up so fast she barely had time to blink.

“You listen to that bitch more than me! You let her get in your head so many times! That’s why I did what I did, because you don’t think for yourself!”

Y/N looked at him in complete disbelief. “You cheated because of Journey?”

“I cheated because every damn day I came home it was something!”

Her mouth fell open. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Are you!?”

“No, answer me,” she yelled. “Are you seriously standing here trying to justify cheating on me because we argued?”

Jermajesty threw his hands up. “Every relationship got arguments!”

“Exactly!” she screamed. “So why the fuck did you go sleep with somebody else?”

His jaw clenched. “You always got something to say.”

“Because you always gave me something to complain about!”

“See?”

“Ain't no see?” she mocked. “You don't get to do that. You don't get to sit here and act like I'm the reason you couldn't keep your dick in your pants.”

“Fuck out my face for real, you actually doin' too much.”

“Well you not doing enough!” She stepped closer. “I wanna talk now so we are gonna talk now.”

He rolled his eyes.

That made her even angrier.

“You know what your problem is?” she snapped. “You think because I stayed through all the bullshit, I was gonna stay through this too.”

His expression hardened. “I never said that.”

“You didn't have to.”

“You always making assumptions.”

“Assumptions?” she laughed. “Months of messages are assumptions?”

He looked away.

That silence pissed her off more than if he'd yelled back.

“Look at me.”

Nothing.

“Look at me!”

He finally looked up.

Her eyes were red.

Filled with tears she was refusing to let fall.

The thought of him giving another woman pieces of himself that used to belong to her pained her.

“You know what's crazy?” she said quietly.

“What?”

“I would've forgiven almost anything.”

Jermajesty frowned. “What?”

“I told everybody the same thing.” Her voice cracked. “I don't care if we argue. I don't care if we get on each other's nerves. I don't care if we fight.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “I just asked you not to cheat.”

He looked away.

“You couldn't even give me that.”

"But what could you give me—"

“So what did she give you that I couldn’t, huh, Jermajesty?” she shot back. “You know what? Since you wanna fuck on my best friend—someone was like a sister to me—I’m gon’ fuck Jaafar. How about that? Or maybe Randy. How about that?”

His face changed instantly.

“You are so sick, you know that?” he said, disgusted. “My brothers? You would cheat on me with my fucking people?”

Y/N shrugged, eyes blazing.

“You can go do whatever,” he said, pointing at her like a warning. “But I can promise you, any nigga you meet will never be me.”

She barked out a laugh.

“Why the fuck would I wanna find another you?” she snapped. “If I don’t want you, why would I get another you? Are you stupid? Does this bitch really got you fucked out yo mind?”

He stepped closer. “I promise you if you go near my people—”

“I’m not tryna hear all that bullshit coming out your mouth,” she cut in, voice rising again. “Go tell that to my best friend.”

Her voice broke on the last word.

She turned away from him and headed toward the bedroom to change, wiping at her face angrily even though the tears kept coming.

Jermajesty followed her. “Yo, you deadass right now?”

She ignored him and yanked her shirt off.

“Y/N—”

Still nothing.

“No.”

She wiped her face aggressively. “No, because now I'm thinking about every time you came home late.”

His stomach dropped.

“Every time your phone was face down.”

“Stop.”

“Every time you acted irritated.”

“Stop.”

“Every time I cried because I thought something was wrong and you made me feel crazy.”

“That's cause you are crazy, look at my fucking room, bro.”

She pointed toward the destroyed room, “You worried about a game?” She laughed. “A fucking game that I bought?”

“Because it's my stuff!”

“You know what was mine?”

He froze.

“My trust.”

Silence.

“My loyalty.”

Silence.

“My love.”

She pressed a hand against her chest. “And you broke all three of those way before I touched any of your shit.”

For the first time all night, Jermajesty didn't have anything smart to say.

Didn't have an excuse.

"Y/N."

He said her name again and again, and when she kept acting like he wasn’t there, he stepped forward and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

The second her face lifted, he saw it.

The tears.

The way her lips were pressed together so hard she was trying not to fall apart in front of him.

Her soft features were wrecked by hurt.

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Let go of me, Jermajesty,” she whispered. “I’m done, bro. I’m so done.”

That hit him harder than any slap.

Because now he could see it.

What he’d done.

What he’d ruined.

The arguments, the attitude, all of it—he knew now none of that even mattered compared to this.

He had betrayed her and made her feel small in the process.

His voice dropped. “Baby, please,” he said, suddenly softer. “Come talk to me.”

She turned her face away. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“Don’t touch me.”

He didn’t listen.

He grabbed her hips gently this time, turning her toward him so she had nowhere to hide. She immediately covered her face with one hand, still crying, still trying to keep herself together.

When she spoke, it came out broken. “Was I not good enough?”

Jermajesty’s entire face shifted.

Y/N shook her head, swallowing hard. “I know she was attractive,” she said, voice trembling, “But what does she have that I don't times ten?”

She looked up at him, hurt cutting through every word.

“I’ve done nothing to you but be sweet. I held you up when you were at your lowest. I did nothing but try my best for you. And you go lay down with my best friend? Somebody I cried to you about?”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry, ma. It won’t happen again. I promise you.”

Her laugh came out wet and bitter. “You fucked up my friendship for life,” she said solemnly. “Yeah, I still got Journey, and I love her more than anything, but you did it with somebody who was like a sister to me.”

He shook his head. “She came onto me, and I said no—”

“No, don’t do that,” she snapped immediately. “Don’t lie to me.”

He stopped.

Y/N pointed at him through fresh tears. “You hit her up first.”

Silence.

That silence was answer enough.

“I’m not for the lies, Jermajesty.”

His hands moved to her waist again, but this time it wasn’t forceful. It was desperate. He looked wrecked now, like the panic was finally catching up to him.

“Please,” he said, voice low and rough. “Please, baby. Just listen to me.”

She didn’t answer.

He swallowed hard and stepped closer. “Let me fix this.”

Her eyes flicked over his face, searching it, hating that some small part of her still wanted to believe him.

Hating that even now, even after everything, her heart was stupid enough to second-guess itself.

He leaned in slowly.

This time she didn’t move away right away.

His lips brushed hers softly at first, warm and careful, almost pleading.

For one brief second, she kissed him back.

Then she pulled away.

“You can’t get your way every time,” she whispered. "You can't think having sex with would fix everything."

His forehead rested near hers.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I love you. And I need you to know that. I need to show you. Please.”

She looked at him for a long second, breathing unevenly, still angry, still hurt, still unsure what part of her was even standing there anymore.

She looked at him for a long second.

Breathing unevenly.

Still angry.

Still hurt.

Still standing in the middle of a nightmare she never asked for.

Jermajesty's hands rested carefully on her waist.

Like he was afraid she'd disappear if he held too tight.

"I know," he murmured. "I know I don't deserve it. But I love you. And I need you to know that. I need to show you. Please."

Y/N stared at him.

Then slowly shook her head.

"No."

The word was quiet.

But it hit him harder than any scream she had thrown at him all night.

His face fell.

"Baby—"

"No."

She stepped back.

Immediately putting distance between them.

"You don't get to do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like this now." Her voice cracked, tears still rolling down her cheeks. "You don't get to stand here and tell me how much you love me after I had to find out from your laptop."

Jermajesty swallowed. "Y/N—"

"No." She pointed at him. "No, because every time I ask you a question, you got an answer." She laughed bitterly. "Every single time."

He opened his mouth.

She cut him off.

"You wasn't sorry when you was texting her."

Silence.

"You wasn't sorry when you was meeting up with her."

Silence.

"You wasn't sorry when you was laying in bed knowing what you did."

His eyes dropped.

"And you sure as hell weren't sorry when you was fucking her, now was you. You only sorry because you got caught."

That one landed.

Hard.

Because he couldn't deny it.

Y/N wiped angrily at her face. "You keep saying you love me."

"I do."

"Then why did you do it?"

Jermajesty didn't answer, because there wasn't an answer.

At least not one that sounded good enough.

The anger he'd been holding onto all night finally disappeared.

The excuses.

The attitude.

The defensiveness.

Gone.

He looked tired. Broken.

Like reality was finally catching up to him.

"Please."

The word sounded wrong coming from him.

Almost pathetic.

After all the yelling.

After all the excuses.

After all the attitude.

Now he wanted to beg?

Now?

Y/N looked away.

Part of her was hurt. Part of her was angry.

And another part of her was almost disgusted.

Because where was all this desperation when he was sneaking around behind her back?

Where was this energy when he was lying to her face?

"Please what?" she asked coldly.

"Please don't leave me."

She closed her eyes.

Immediately.

Because hearing that hurt, not because she believed him. Because she knew he meant it.

And that somehow made it worse.

Jermajesty stepped closer. "Baby, please."

She shook her head.

"No."

"Please."

"No."

His voice cracked, he looked scared. Genuinely scared.

And somehow that irritated her.

Because now he wanted to be vulnerable.

Now he wanted sympathy, now he wanted her to see his pain.

After he'd spent months creating hers.

"Please don't do this."

Y/N stared. "Don't do what?"

"Leave." The word came out barely above a whisper. His eyes were red now too. "I know I fucked up."

"Yeah."

"I know."

"You did."

"I know I don't deserve another chance."

"You don't."

The honesty made him flinch. But he kept going. Because he was desperate now.

"I'll do whatever."

Y/N let out a short laugh. "You should've thought about that before."

"I mean it."

"Jermajesty—"

"I mean it." He stepped forward again. "I'll block her."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Congratulations."

"I'll change my number."

Nothing.

"I'll go to therapy."

Nothing.

"I'll do whatever you want me to do."

She stared at him.

And for the first time, he looked away.

Ashamed.

"I don't wanna lose you."

The room went silent.

His voice dropped lower.

"I can't lose you."

Y/N felt her chest tighten.

Because for four years she'd wanted him to fight for them.

Now that he was?

It felt cheap.

Too late.

Like he was finally reading instructions after the house had already burned down.

Jermajesty rubbed his face. then looked at her again. His eyes were glossy. "Please."

No attitude.

No pride.

No ego.

Just desperation.

And somehow that made her stomach turn.

Because this was the same man who had walked into the apartment yelling about a broken playstation before he'd even apologized for cheating.

The same man who had blamed everyone except himself.

And now he was standing here acting like he was the victim. "I know I don't got no right to ask."

Y/N looked away.

"I know I don't." His voice shook. "But please." He swallowed hard. "Don't let this be it."

That hurt.

Because despite everything.

Despite the cheating.

Despite the lies.

Despite the betrayal.

A piece of her still loved him.

And she hated herself for it.

Jermajesty took another step closer.

"Y/N."

She didn't answer.

"Look at me."

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

She did.

And the second she did, he looked completely wrecked. Like he'd finally realized what he was about to lose. "Please, baby."

His voice broke.

"I'll spend every day proving it."

Tears slid down her face.

He continued anyway.

"I'll spend every day earning your trust back."

She looked away again.

"I'll spend the rest of my life making this right."

"Stop."

"No."

"Jermajesty—"

"No."

Now it was his turn.

His turn to interrupt.

His turn to fight.

Because he was losing her.

And he knew it.

"I love you."

Silence.

"I love you."

Another silence.

"I love you." His voice cracked again. "And I'm begging you."

Y/N physically cringed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for him to notice.

Enough that his face fell.

Because she hated hearing it, hated seeing him reduced to this, hated that he expected those words to undo what he'd done. "You should've been this scared before you cheated," she whispered.

The words hit him like a punch.

But she wasn't finished.

"You should've been begging yourself to stop before you sent those texts."

Silence.

"You should've been begging yourself to come home.

Jermajesty's head dropped.

Y/N closed her eyes.

Because she'd never seen him like this.

Never.

Not once in four years.

Not even close.

"Please don't give up on me."

The room fell quiet.

And for the first time all night, Y/N didn't know what to say.

Then he kissed her again. A little deeper this time.

Still careful.

Still warm.

Still asking instead of taking.

Y/N kissed him back before she could stop herself.

That only made him hold her closer.

One hand at her waist, the other sliding gently to her back as he guided her toward the bed. He sat down and pulled her into his lap, the room suddenly quiet except for both of them breathing too hard to pretend this didn’t still matter.

The tension between them hadn’t vanished.

Not even close.

But for one fragile second, all that existed was her hurt, his regret, and the impossible fact that even after everything, neither of them knew how to fully let go.

His hands tentatively explored her body, mapping out the landscape of her curves.

Y/N leans in, deepening the kiss, capturing his lips in searing passion, His hands continue their exploration, tracing the line of her collarbone, the dip of her waist, the soft swell of her hips.

She lets out a soft laugh, a sound that vibrates against his lips, as he grinds his hips against hers in a slow, circular motion.

She pulled away first.

Not because she wanted to.

And that was exactly the problem.

A few seconds longer and she would've forgotten every reason she was mad at him.

A few seconds longer and she'd have started making excuses for him again.

So she leaned back, putting just enough space between them to think.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement despite everything that had happened, but there was still a fierceness behind them. A strength.

The same strength that had carried her through finding out the truth.

The same strength that was stopping her from falling right back into his arms.

She wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, trying—and failing—to hide the small smile threatening to form. "You gon' have to earn kissing me," she said, her voice low. Then she glanced away for a second. "Let alone tryna get in my pants."

The words came out a little bashful despite her best efforts.

Jermajesty almost laughed.

Almost.

Because after everything, hearing her tease him felt like the first real breath he'd taken all night.

His hands remained on her hips, thumbs moving in slow circles without him even realizing it.

He looked up at her.

Really looked at her.

At the flush dusting her cheeks.

At the way her eyes still shined from crying.

At the slight tremble in her bottom lip she was trying so hard to hide.

She was beautiful.

Even angry, even heartbroken.

Especially heartbroken.

Because she was still standing, still fighting.

Still giving him a chance he probably didn't deserve.

"You understand, right?" she asked. The teasing disappeared from her voice. "I need to trust you again." Her eyes locked onto his. "You spent the last two years making me feel like shit."

Jermajesty's chest tightened immediately.

"You know that, right?"

The room went quiet.

He swallowed.

Hard.

"Yes, ma'am." His voice came out barely above a whisper.

The guilt hit harder hearing it from her mouth.

Not because he didn't know.

Because he did.

He'd known for a while.

He'd just been too selfish to admit it.

Y/N studied him for a moment.

Then his eyes softened. "So..." he said carefully. "We good?"

She stared at him, then rolled her eyes. A tiny laugh escaped her, and for the first time that night, it wasn't bitter.

It wasn't angry.

It sounded like her.

"No."

His face immediately fell.

Y/N laughed harder. "Oh my God, look at your face."

Jermajesty groaned. "Y/N."

"I'm serious." She cupped his cheek. "We not good."

His shoulders slumped.

Then she smiled.

A real smile.

Small.

Soft.

Honest.

"But we're getting better."

Something in his chest loosened.

Just a little.

"I just need to know you're serious."

"I am."

"I'm serious, Jermajesty."

"I know."

"No, like serious serious."

He nodded immediately. "I know."

She looked around the room and immediately regretted it.

The apartment looked insane.

Clothes.

Broken electronics.

Curtains hanging halfway off the wall.

Pieces of lamps.

Pieces of televisions.

The aftermath of one of the worst nights of her life.

Her shoulders sank. "Sorry about all this."

Jermajesty followed her gaze. For a moment he just looked.

Then he shrugged. "It's fine."

Y/N blinked. "It's not fine."

"It is."

She pointed toward the destroyed bedroom. "I broke your TV."

"I'll buy another one."

"The PS5."

"I'll get another one."

"The watches." He winced. "Okay, those hurt a little."

Y/N couldn't help laughing. A real laugh.

Jermajesty smiled immediately at the sound.

God, he'd missed that.

Then he reached up and squeezed her hips gently. "My pretty girl." The nickname made her heart do something stupid. "What matters is you."

His voice was firm. "Us."

The smile on her face softened, for a second she just looked at him.

Then slowly climbed off his lap.

Jermajesty immediately missed her warmth.

Y/N leaned down and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek.

Just a little one.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing passionate.

But somehow it meant more than every kiss they'd shared that night. "I wasn't joking about your brother—"

Jermajesty's head snapped up. Immediately. "Don't play with me right now."

Y/N burst out laughing, the sweet sound filled the apartment.

And for the first time all night, neither of them were yelling. Neither of them were crying. Neither of them were breaking things.

They were just laughing.

It felt strange.

But nice.

Really nice.

She bent down and grabbed one of his shirts from the floor. "Come help me put this stuff up."

Jermajesty stared at her. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now."

"Baby, it's ten at night."

"And?"

He sighed dramatically.

She threw a shirt at him. "Get up."

He caught it and smiled despite himself. "Bossy."

"You're lucky I'm even talking to you."

"Fair."

Y/N started sorting through the pile of clothes on the bed while Jermajesty slowly got to work beside her.

The apartment was still a disaster.

Nothing had magically been fixed, the hurt was still there.

The trust wasn't back.

Not yet.

Maybe not for a long time.

But as they stood side by side folding shirts and cleaning up the mess together, it felt like the first step.

A small one.

A fragile one.

But a step all the same.

At one point Y/N glanced over and caught him looking at her.

Again.

"Quit staring."

"I can't."

She rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips anyway.

Jermajesty reached over and took her hand.

Just for a second. Just enough to squeeze it.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn't need to.

Because for the first time in a long time, they weren't fighting each other.

They were standing on the same side.

Trying to figure out where to go from here.

And somehow, in the middle of all the broken glass, ruined clothes, and hurt feelings—

That felt like a start.

The end . ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

plz reblog & comment if you enjoyed!! happy reading <3

taglist ! @a-dal7490 @wistariah @plqnetkiyaa @meowswrites @unseenleylinesecret @vict-oryy ty for the support!!

“what the fuck?” you slammed your phone on the counter, one hand resting firmly on your hip as you looked at jermajesty, furious.

he took another slow sip from the glass of water in his hand, wondering why you were so upset. his eyes flickered toward you for a brief second before dropping to the phone lying between you.

displayed on the screen was his following list.

jermajesty’s eyebrows lifted slightly. he looked back at you, carefully placing the glass down on the counter. “what?”

you scoffed, almost offended by the question itself.

“the fuck you mean, ‘what’?” your voice was firm, sharp enough to slice straight through the silence of the room. your eyes burned into his as you reached for the phone again, scrolling lower and lower through his following list.

models, influencers, even strippers! your boyfriends following list was full of those.

and they all had huge tits and thick asses.

he went still. completely still. for a moment he seemed to not even know what to say. “baby..” he began, but you didn’t let him finish.

“don’t fucking ‘baby’ me,” you cut him off immediately, folding your arms across your chest. “why are you following them? hm?”

the room suddenly felt smaller.

the silence between you seemed heavier than it had any right to be, stretching between your bodies as you waited for an answer.

“i… i forgot to unfollow them when we started dating,” he admitted.

his voice was quieter now, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to look directly into your eyes.

he knew arguing was pointless.

you scoffed again.

“you forgot to unfollow them?” you repeated, words dripping with disbelief.

he just nodded.

if that was true, you internally cursed yourself for not going through his following earlier.

“right.” you muttered, kissing your teeth slightly. this motherfucker.

his eyes flickered up to yours now, stepping closer gently. “baby.. i promise you, you’re the only one i want.” his voice was soft, and the sincerity in his voice was making your tough demeanor almost falter. almost.

you rolled your eyes. “and how am i supposed to believe that, now that i saw all those slutty girls you follow?” you asked him, a slight frown forming on your face, feeling the pang of insecurity and jealousy deep in your chest.

he paused for a second, the apartment almost being completely silent except for the distant hum of the fridge, before his hands gently found yours, squeezing them softly. “let me make it up to you,” he whispered out.

the whisper was so soft and gentle that you could’ve almost overheard it.

but you didn’t.

you swallowed once, looking at him with uncertainty still flickering in your eyes. of course you wanted him to make up for it, but you weren’t sure if he actually meant it.

“i’ll unfollow them all after, i promise.” his voice cut through the silence, his long fingers tracing soft circles over your knuckles, making your heart warm slightly. he always did this when you were upset at him.

you sighed softly. “alright..” you muttered after a few seconds, your voice a bit softer now.

the angry facade you have had only minutes earlier was somehow gone completely again.

a soft smile gently spread over his face now. “good.” he said, stepping closer to you, before leaning in to press a small peck to your lips.

his kisses were always as sweet as sugar, making your heart flutter in your chest .

the one second he was kissing you, the next he was picking you up bridal style, making you squeal slightly as he lifted you, holding onto his neck.

as he walked towards your bedroom, you were looking at him — just admiring his face. he was so handsome. that soft brown skin you loved to mark up, those pretty curls you loved burying your fingers in, and those plump lips with a small mustache growing above it. he probably forgot to shave it again — not that you were complaining though.

you smiled softly to yourself. you could have all of this every day you wanted.

you could have his sleepy face in the mornings, his arms around you at night, and those soft whispers against your ear while making love.

he kicked the bedroom door open and carried you toward the large king-sized bed sitting in the middle of the room.

gently, he lowered you onto the mattress.

for a moment, he just took you in.

there was something almost affectionate in his expression.

something warm.

he didn’t even bother locking the door — you guys were alone in the apartment anyways.

finally, he climbed onto the bed, hovering above you before carefully capturing your lips with his.

the kiss was soft at first.

barely even there.

just the gentle meeting of your lips before the two of you slowly melted into it.

a quiet sound escaped you, your fingers finding their way into his curls as the kiss deepened, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip and pushing into your mouth.

his tongue found yours instantly, a quiet groan leaving his lips as you guys started making out fully.

the earlier argument seemed to fade further and further away with every passing second.

you weren’t thinking about his following list anymore.

you weren’t thinking about those girls.

you were only thinking about him.

meanwhile, his big hand slowly moved from your waist upwards, tracing it softly before resting right beneath your boob.

he broke the kiss softly, a string of saliva connecting you both. his eyes found yours, as if making sure if you were okay with what was happening. you nodded slowly, letting him do what he wanted.

and he didn’t need to be told twice — diving right back in to push his tongue right between your lips again.

his hand had slipped beneath your top now — and lucky for him — you weren’t wearing a bra beneath it, because according to you — “wearing a bra at home was unnecessary most of the time”.

he groaned into the kiss lightly as his fingers made contact with your already hard nipple. he didn’t waste no time, and instantly brushed his thumb over it — making you gasp into him slightly.

a deep chuckle rumbled through his chest at that, his lips trailing lower now, pressing soft kisses over your jaw and neck, his fingers still toying with your nipples, now twisting and rubbing them in between his digits.

soft moans were spilling from your lips as he started sucking soft love marks into your soft skin, continuing the ministrations of his fingers.

his kisses then trailed from your neck to your collarbone, to your shoulder, and finally to your cleavage. this man didn’t even wait for permission — he knew how bad you wanted it, so he softly helped you get out of your pretty lace top, revealing you completely for him.

you were now laying beneath him, completely bare, in nothing but your folded over striped pants, which he didn’t take long to strip off you too.

he pulled the pants off your legs gently, leaving you only in your light pink lace panties now. his tongue darted out slightly, licking his lips as he took in the sight of you in front of him, all just for him.

“damn mama,” he muttered, lowering himself again, taking one of your nipples into his mouth gently, sucking on it as he swirled his tongue around it, twisting and rubbing the other one between his thumb and pointer finger.

a small whine ripped from your throat at that, arching into his touch.

he really knew how to make you feel good.

he continued his ministrations, soft jolts of pleasure running through your body and right to that sensitive spot between your thighs.

after a few more minutes of this, he started kissing lower, not wanting to make you wait any longer. the anticipation was burning through both your bodies, so none of y’all wanted to wait much longer.

his kisses trailed lower and lower, until he was right above the waistband of your panties.

he could practically feel the heat radiating off you.

he looked up at you, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “want me to keep goin’?” he asked, his hand reaching up, fingers tracing soft circles over the waistband.

duh. of course you did.

“yes.” you replied, a tiny bit annoyance in your voice, already knowing where this was going. but today you were not having it.

“maj please. i’m not playing right now, do something or i’ll take matters into my own hands.” you told him, being completely serious about this.

damn. jermajesty’s breath hitched at the thought of you actually taking matters into your own hands — but knew better than to say anything about it.

so he kept going.

he pulled your panties down your thighs and calves painfully slowly, before throwing them somewhere into the room.

he crawled up your legs again, spreading your legs with his big hands, exposing your already dripping core to him. “fuck..” he muttered under his breath, his own hard-on already straining against his sweats.

but this man didn’t waste no time, and dove right in, pressing a soft kiss right to your already puffy clit first, which made you arch off the bed slightly. “fuck.. maj,” you gasped, your hands trailing down and finding his curls, burying your fingers in them.

he licked a long stripe up your slit, gathering your wetness on his tongue. a soft, desperate moan escaped you. this man was a TEASE.

your hands gripped his curls now, pulling him closer to you, letting him know how much you needed this right now, and didn’t have time for his teasing.

and he didn’t resist.

his tongue ran soft circles over your clit first, before sucking it into his mouth — tearing another whimper from your lips.

meanwhile, his fingers found their way down to your heated core too, coming down to circle your entrance softly, teasing you a little before pushing two of them inside you.

“mhh.. fuck ma, so wet f’me..” he murmured against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. this man was gonna drive you insane one day.

he started pushing his fingers into you, thrusting into your wet heat, lewd squelching noises filling the room.

his fingers now started curling slightly inside you, leaving your mouth hanging open and your eyes roll back — the stimulating of both your g - spot and clit really was too much for you.

you could feel your climax get closer and closer with every time he thrusted those long fingers and curled them inside you.

“m-maj.. shit, i - i’m so close..” you whined out, bucking your hips into his mouth even more.

as soon as he heard those words leave your mouth — he was relentless.

his tongue worked even faster on your clit, fingers curling even faster inside you, while his other hand creeped up to your lower stomach, pressing down onto your pelvis slightly.

oh no. you knew what that meant.

and you could feel the sensation build in your stomach with every second passing. “maj i- shit i’m.. i’m cumming!” you blurted out suddenly, the feeling getting too strong.

your climax washed over you so unexpectedly as you clenched around his fingers, liquid gushing out of you and soaking his face out of nowhere.

he kept going though as you kept squirting, soaking him and the sheets beneath him. “baby.. baby stop.. ‘s too much..” you whined out, trying to push his head away from you, but he didn’t let up.

“maj.. maj! ‘m serious! it’s too much!” you cried out now, whining as you could feel a second orgasm building rapidly.

but he didn’t stop. not even when you came a second time, coating his fingers and face in your juices yet again.

and this continued exactly for 2 more times, making you squirt and scream his name all over again.

only did he finally stop when you were a literal crying and shaking mess beneath him.

this man really knew how to wreck you.

he finally pulled his fingers out of you, pressing one last kiss to your swollen and overstimulated clit, before crawling up your body again.

he didn’t say anything yet, just pressed a small kiss to your lips, before cradling you close in his arms.

a few minutes passed of you just laying in his arms, as he finally spoke up. “am i forgiven now?”

hayvenhurst was uncharacteristically quiet for once since the jacksons had begun occupying it. most of the siblings were out doing their own thing, joseph was likely somewhere trying to strong arm some poor television or label executive into making a deal for his sons, katherine was visiting her mother, and you…

well, you were here to see your man. 

it had been a bit of a chore convincing frances, the house manager, to let you in. she was strict about who was coming and going, but you told her you wanted to surprise your baby. for whatever reason she looked skeptical, then a bit concerned as she opened the door for you and let you in the house. 

“he has a friend over, i’m not sure if—”

“it’s fine mrs. frances, i’ll be quick.”

you made your way up the winding steps and into the hallway where the bedrooms were. usually activity could be heard everywhere—doors opening and closing, laughter, yelling—but the only thing you could hear was your own dull footsteps against the carpeted floor as you walked to a familiar door. the closer you got, you could suddenly hear noise. it was faint, but very clear what was going on.

your hand found the knob of the door and you slowly twisted it, smiling when you realized it wasn’t locked.

how careless.

all you had to do was crack the door and the faint noises were crystal clear to you now. you peak inside and there he is, balls deep in her. you recognize her from the back of her head—long, dark perfectly curled hair that was currently pinned up to keep from touching her neck. some of the curls had unfortunately escaped and settled against her neck making them begin to revert back to their natural coiled state. you watched in fascination as she bounced up and down on your man, moaning and carrying on like she knew how to make him feel good. 

then your eyes settled on him. he was a picture of perfection, eyes on her like she was air, plump bottom lip between his teeth, hands settled on her hips as he watched her work. you loved that about him, how attentive he was, made you think he couldn’t live without you. that was why when he did things like this…

well, it pissed you off.

“you doin’ s’good, mama,” he groaned, meeting each bounce with a thrust. 

you tempt fate and push the door open a little wider, catching each flex of his arms, each word of adulation and encouragement, each expert movement he makes that matches hers. and she’s a needy little thing, always asking if she’s “doin’ it right?”, asking him “you like that, daddy?”, wanting to know, “can i go faster?”

and he just smiles, telling her how good she’s doing. it bores you a bit, but you can’t help but feel something when a moan leaves his mouth. it’s like an itch is scratched in your brain and you suddenly forget to be mad. your fingers find the zipper of your denim shorts and you’re pulling it down as quietly as you can. your fingers slip inside of your panties and you keep watching, you and him both biting your bottom lip at the same time as you begin rubbing your clit.

“mar, i wanna switch…” she whines softly.

quitter.

“knew you couldn’t handle it,” he chuckles and brings her closer to kiss her, holding her as if she were precious cargo, “c’mon,”

they both start to maneuver themselves into a new position and it’s then that he briefly glances at the doorway, then back to her before his eyes snap back to yours.  you keep going, staring into those amber eyes as he seems to try and figure out what to do next. 

you’re smiling now, two fingers deep, thumb occasionally brushing your clit. a soft gasp leaves you and the look on marlon’s face makes you want to laugh at him.

got you, bitch.

“actually baby, you was doin’ a real good job,” he says, “stay right here…please, f’me?” he murmurs into her neck and she throws her head back, eyes closed much to his relief.

“my legs are tired…”

“just sit there and look pretty baby, i got you.” 

you have to see how he manages to pull this off. your smirk never leaves you as he begins thrusting inside of her, his eyes never leaving yours through the cracked door. you speed up your own ministrations, tamping down your moans and allowing soft gasps to leave you. she can’t hear you over her own moaning and the sound of skin slapping, but marlon knows exactly what noises you’re making by the look on your face. 

and his eyes do not move from your face.

“mar, baby, i’m gonna—”

“come for me, mama,” he whispers huskily and you obey his command, because he isn’t just talking to pin curls over there.

her thighs are shaking and she’s moaning, sounding something like a cat in heat. you grip the molding outside of the door as your own orgasm rocks through you, a small soft moan escaping your lips as it does. 

he didn’t even climax, he damn near pushes her off of him and you’re sure if she hadn’t just had her own orgasm she might have cussed him out for that. 

you would’ve.

he’s up and out of the bed, his condom covered dick still standing at attention as he pulled on a discarded pair of pajama pants from the floor. "baby where are you go—”

“water.” he says shortly as he rushes over to the door.

you’re smiling as he grabs your arm and closes the door behind him before dragging you to the nearest bathroom. his jaw is clenched as he stares down at you and you can tell he wants to cuss you out. the silence stretches on before you get fed up with it and roll your eyes.

“she’s cute.” you comment casually.

“girl—”

“hold that thought,” you bring your fingers to his parted lips, “clean me up, it’s the least you could do.”

“you’re a fucking nut, you know that?”

he obliges you anyway, grabbing your wrist and wrapping his lips around the digits. “a nut that got her nut,” you smile softly, tilting your head as he lapped at your index and middle fingers

“and when you kiss her, she’s gonna taste me.” 

when he’s done with your fingers, he lets go of your wrist and watches you as if he’s trying to figure out what to say or do next. your eyes wander down to his still hard dick, straining through the thin fabric of his pajama pants. 

he lifts your chin with his finger, “who let you in?” 

“mrs. frances,” you shrug, “if you gave me a key we wouldn’t have these problems.”

“we broke up 6 months ago, why the fuck would i give you a key?” he snaps.

you rolled your eyes, “you keep saying that, but then you do things like this.”

“like what?”

“you just had my fingers in your mouth.”

“i was helping a friend in need.”

“i see another friend in need.” 

you look back down then back up. he’s dropping his pants before you can blink and you smirk. “that’s what i thought.”

“shut up,” he mutters, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours.

you kiss him back, and the second you feel his tongue pressing against your lips, you open up your mouth and allow him inside. his fingers are hooked on the belt loops of your shorts, but before he can pull them down, you stop him. 

“take that girl’s condom off my dick,” 

“i’m getting another one, i’m not about to be tied to you for 18 years.”

“you’re tied to me for life, nigga. might as well.”

he kisses his teeth and rolls the condom off painstakingly slow, like delaying the next 10 to 15 minutes is going to piss you off. what marlon never seems to understand is that you have time. 

you have all the time in the world.

he tosses the condom in the wastebasket, “better?”

“yeah, i like it when i can see my dick, you know? you been letting that girl neglect him and i don’t like that.” you say, reaching out to rub your thumb over his tip.

“poor thing didn’t even get to come,” you bring your thumb up to your lips and put it in your mouth.

he flips you around and yanks your shorts and panties off in one fell swoop. it happens so fast, you almost want to applaud him, but your hands are busy gripping the sink counter so you don’t fall. marlon is pressed into your back and you can feel his length on the crack of your ass. 

“anybody been in my pussy?” he whispers in your ear.

you’re both staring at each other in the mirror, twin looks of lust in your eyes. the smirk on your face makes him clench his jaw in frustration and he grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him. “mama,” he nips your earlobe, “i asked you a question.”

“they weren’t you baby,” you press your ass against him even harder if it’s even possible, “just like she ain’t me, that dancer from soul train ain’t me, that fan from your little club ain’t me,”

you spread your legs for him and he uses his thumb to rub you.  “you been stalking me?”

you smirk, eyes never leaving his in the mirror, “don’t act like you don’t know who’s been in your pussy.”

he slides in you without warning and it takes everything in you not to jump up on the counter from the intrusion but you won’t give him the satisfaction. he fucks into you, hard and fast, the growing sounds of his pelvis rutting against your ass filling the bathroom as you both watch each other in the mirror, refusing to let even a whimper leave either one of your lips.

“you must be tired after having to do all the work in there.” you comment, resting your elbows on the counter.

marlon chuckles low in your ear and continues his pace. you see his hand moving toward your afro and he takes a fistful before yanking your head back, his lips latching onto your throat as your back collides with his chest. 

“there he is,” you gasp, giggling.

“you’re annoying as fuck,” he mumbles against your neck.

you just hum in contentment as he fucks you, each thrust going deeper than the last. you’re moaning and gasping, being loud on purpose now. he  just laughs in your ear because he knows what you’re doing. you both did the same song and dance every time. if he caught you out on a date, he’d be waiting inside of your apartment with the bent coat hanger he used to get in still in his hand. if you saw him on a date, you would beat him home, give frances an excuse as to why you were there so she’d let you in and you would wait on his bed for the happy couple to come home. 

then you both played stupid and started the game all over again. 

“you’re such a sweet talker.” you moan as you try to gain some leverage.

both of your palms are on the edge of the counter and you attempt to right yourself so you can meet his thrusts with your own rhythm. you feel his large, warm hand make its way to your throat. his index finger presses against your jaw, forcing you to look back up in the mirror. 

“marlon? you okay? i heard something from the room…it’s taking you a while to get water baby…”

a smirk pulls at your lips and marlon presses a kiss to the side of your face. “because i’m not getting water, mama.” he chuckles breathily.

you decided to put on a show and marlon sensed it before it happened, a smile coming to his face as he sped up his pace.

“oh my god, daddy you’re so big.” you gasped, stifling a laugh.

“marlon who the fuck is that?”

“she’s just my ex baby, she’ll be gone in a minute.” he says casually.

you start making the same noises she had been making earlier, causing marlon to pinch your sides and hide a laugh in your neck. the door swings open but you're both so close you don’t dare stop. she’s yelling and screaming as you feel that familiar tightness in your belly that signals your release coming. 

“look at you,” he murmurs in your ear, ignoring the cries of his date as she slaps him on the arm, “you gonna come baby?”

“i wanna come with you,” you whine.

“marlon!”

he continues thrusting, “i’m right behind you mama, go ‘head.”

he’s coming inside you and you’re gasping and shaking as his grip tightens on you so you don’t hit the counter. 

“i’m telling everyone about you. you’re fucking disgusting marlon jackson!” “yeah baby, i’ll call you later.” he mumbles, catching your eyes in the mirror.

you’re both watching each other, panting, hot and sweaty. he kisses your jaw then your cheek, “you got what you wanted?”

“not really.” you answer truthfully.

he pulls out of you and you moan softly as he does, but you don’t break eye contact with him. “we gotta stop doing this to each other,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist, “and other people.”

“only way we can do that is if we get back together.” you murmur.

“we ain’t good together, mama. you know that.”

“then i guess it won’t stop.”

you both continue watching each other.

You had stood under the scalding water for twenty minutes, scrubbing at your inner thighs with cheap hotel bar soap until the skin turned raw and bright pink. But no matter how hard you dug your nails into your skin, you couldn't erase the phantom weight of Randy’s hand on your windpipe. You couldn't scrub away the faint, dark purple finger marks wrapped around the soft flesh of your neck like a choker, the skin already rising in a tender. Down on your shoulder, the deep, crescent shaped indent of his teeth was turning an ugly, mottled shade of a bruise. He hadn't just bitten you; the motherfucker tried to brand you while he filled you up.

Maya hadn't questioned a damn thing when you walked back into the room at 12:15 AM. She was used to your pre meet ice runs, your silent, antisocial routines before big finals. When she blinked open one sleepy eye to ask if you were good, you just muttered a "yea", slipped into your bed with your back turned to her, and pulled the sheet up to your chin.

She didn't notice the compression turtleneck you pulled on under your warm up jacket at 5:00 AM the next morning. It was eighty degrees in Atlanta, the sun beating down on the red polyurethane track like a heat lamp, but you wore that high collared black undershirt without flinching. You couldn't use makeup– the second you hit your drive phase in the 200m, sweat would stream down your throat and wash concealer right onto the white collar of your singlet.

Randy, of course, walked onto the infield looking like a million fucking dollars.

He didn't have a single visible mark on him. You had choked him, dug your manicured nails into his tough neck muscle until you felt him shudder, but the motherfucker didn't even have a scratch. His skin was smooth, golden, completely flawless under the stadium lights. He wore his standard bright white headband, his thick, ridiculous bushy eyebrows moving casually as he laughed with the hurdles coach, acting like he hadn't been buried balls deep inside you six hours prior on a creaky mattress.

He didn't look at you once during warm ups. He didn't have to. The silence between you two on the infield was so heavy, so dense with remembered filth, that every time he walked within ten feet of you, the skin on the back of your arms prickled with static electricity.

And then the meet started.

You destroyed the field in the 200m, coming out of the curve three strides ahead of the favorite from Georgia, digging your spikes into lane four and crossing the finish line at 22.61– a new stadium record. Two hours later, you anchored the 4x100m relay, taking the baton from Maya and blowing past the competition like they were standing still.

Randy did the same. He won the 400m hurdles by half a second, clearing the final barrier with that terrifying stride, practically floating over the line to secure his own gold medal.

By 4:00 PM, Marshall University had swept the team titles. The infield was a circus of photograhers, parents, news cameras, and crying freshmen.

You were standing near the high jump aprons, cooling down alone, a bag of crushed ice pressed against your right shoulder. The bite mark Randy had left on your skin was a dark, angry crescent of purple where his teeth had sunk into your flesh while he pounded into you. It throbbed with every beat of your heart, a constant reminder of your own weakness. But you had run with torn hamstrings before. A bite mark was nothing.

"Hey! Look at my champions!" Coach Miller’s loud, booming voice echoed over the turf.

You turned around, pulling the ice bag away from your shoulder. Coach Miller was jogging over, his face flushed red with joy, holding two giant golden team trophies under his arms. And walking right behind him, looking modest and humble in his dark green tracksuit, was Randy.

"Unbelievable performance today! Both of you!" Coach Miller beamed, looking back and forth between you two. "Randy, congratulate your captain properly! She set the tone for the whole squad today!"

"Yes sir, Coach," Randy said smoothly, his voice warm, polite, and full of team spirit. "She sure did. Incredible leadership."

Coach Miller clapped Randy on the shoulder and turned to walk toward the athletic trainer, leaving you two standing alone near the high jump mats.

The second Miller’s back was turned, Randy stepped directly into your personal space.

Before you could back away, his big, heavy hands reached out and clapped down directly on both of your shoulders; his left hand coming down hard right on top of the deep, swollen bite mark on your skin.

A sharp pain shot down your arm, bright white sparks flashing across your vision. Your breath caught in your throat, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as your knees wobbled slightly.

Randy didn't let go. His fingers dug in deeper, his thumb pressing straight into the center of the bruised bite mark.

"Smile, boss lady," Randy murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasps that didn't carry more than two inches. His mouth was fixed in a bright, photogenic grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners for the local news cameras thirty yards away. "Smile real big. Everybody’s watching their favorite girl."

Your jaw locked, your teeth grinding together so hard your temples throbbed as you fought the urge to scream from the pain in your shoulder. You forced your lips into a tight, fake, brilliant smile, staring directly into his dark brown eyes.

"I'm going to kill you," you gritted out through your sparkling smile, your voice a tiny, deadly hiss. "I swear to God, Randy, I will kill you in your fuckin’ sleep."

"No you won't," Randy whispered, his thumb grinding deeper into the bite mark, making your eyes water behind your sunglasses. "You love this shit. You all leaning into my hands and shit. I know my nut still leaking out your sweet little hole every time you take a step. You ran real fast today…was you running from me, or was you trying to pump my cum deeper inside you?"

"That's impossible, first of all. And second. Get your hands off me," you whispered, maintaining the brilliant, championship smile for the photographers taking pictures from the track lane.

"I'm holding my captain," Randy said softly, his smile widening. "Showing team unity. Look how pretty we look together. Coach is probably tearing up right now."

"Let go of me, you motherfucker," you gritted out through your teeth.

He ignored you again. "You look kinda good in this tight ass turtleneck," he whispered, fingering reaching up to dig underneath said turtleneck to see his work. "Sweating like a whore in church. Trying to cover up where I put my hands on you."

With your body completely hidden from behind by his broad shoulders and back, and without breaking your fake, camera ready smile, you reached your right hand straight down between your bodies. You slid your hand under the waistband of his shorts, past his briefs, and grabbed his nuts and the base of his dick in a tight, crushing fist.

Randy’s body went completely rigid in your arms.

His warm breath hitched violently against your neck, his eyes widening as your nails dug straight into the sensitive skin of his scrotum, squeezing just hard enough to make his knees buckle. A sharp, choked noise caught in his throat, his jaw locking so hard a vein bulged on his temple.

"Don't fucking play with me, Randy," you whispered right into his ear, your smile staying completely fixed, your voice cold as ice. "I will tear 'em off right here on the lane. See how well you run hurdles with one nut. I don't give a fuck who's watching."

Randy stayed frozen for three long seconds, his fingers still digging into your bruised shoulder, your fist clamped around his balls like they were stress balls.

Slowly, Randy let out a choked, shaky breath that vibrated against your throat.

"Fuck..." he rasped, a dark, breathless chuckle escaping his lips despite the pain. "You really are a crazy bitch, ain't you?"

"Try me," you hissed, squeezing just a fraction tighter.

"Aight...aight," he whispered, his hands slowly relaxing on your shoulders, tapping your back in a gentle surrender. "Message received, captain."

You released his nuts slowly, sliding your hand out from his shorts, wiping your palm against his track jacket before pulling back with a sweet, polite nod.

Randy took half a step back, his face slightly flushed, his breathing a little deeper than usual, but that cocky, infuriating smirk crept right back onto his face as he adjusted his shorts.

"Great meet, boss lady," he said out loud, loud enough for Coach Miller to hear as he walked back over. "Looking forward to the rest of the season."

"Thanks, Randy," you said sweetly, your smile bright enough to blind the sun. "You’re too kind."

After that you stayed away from him for ten full days.

It took five days for the handprint on your neck to fade from dark purple to a faint, sickly yellow, and another three days for the bite mark on your shoulder to stop throbbing every time you lifted a dumbbell in the weight room.

You changed your routine completely. You showed up to the track at 5:00 am instead of 6:00 am so you wouldn't see him on the oval. You ate your meals in your dorm room instead of the dining hall. You blocked his number on your phone– not that he texted you anyway, because Randy didn't text like a normal person; he preferred to ambush you in person like a weirdo.

By day eight, your brain felt clearer. You told yourself that Atlanta was a fluke. A moment of extreme stress, high adrenaline, and temporary insanity brought on by pre meet nerves and a horrible diet. You were a serious athlete, an academic scholar, a woman with a future. You didn't feel the kind of girl who'd let a light skinned, bushy eyebrowed sociopathic motherfucker choke her out in a three star Marriott while his roommates slept.

But then came the Annual Marshall Athletic Gala.

It was held in the grand ballroom of the Downtown Regency, a black tie event where all the sports teams, football, basketball, track, volleyball, tennis, dressed up to celebrate the end of the spring season.

You wore a black, floor length dress. You felt pretty.

It was simple, and classic, and devastatingly sexy. It pressed against your breast, and it exposed every inch of your smooth, unblemished collarbones, and a back that dropped all the way down to the top of your lower back. Your skin was nice and oiled, glistening under the chandeliers, your hair styled in a long ponytail, your edges laid in pretty swoops, and your forehead was shiny.

There wasn't a single mark on your neck, thanks to those ten days.

You were standing near the open bar with Maya and two girls from the tennis team, Kennedi and Brianna, sipping a glass of champagne, laughing at a story about the football team's offensive line getting kicked out of an all you can eat buffet.

"Girl, don't look now," Maya whispered, elbowing you in the ribs, "but Randy has been staring at your back for fifteen minutes flat."

You didn't turn around instantly. You took a slow sip of your champagne, letting the cold bubbles tickle your throat, before casually glancing over your shoulder.

Randy was standing near a tall cocktail table, leaning against it with one hand in his pocket.

He was wearing a tailored black tuxedo, no tie, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone, exposing his pretty collarbones and the chain resting against his skin. His curls were shiny like he had just got it done, his jaw was sharp, his thick, bushy eyebrows drawn together in a brooding line.

You couldn’t even lie; he looked so sexy right now.

And he wasn't looking at the athletic director who was giving a speech near the stage. He was looking directly at you. His eyes were completely unreadable, dragging slowly down the open of your dress, taking in every inch of your bare back.

You offered him a indifferent smirk, raised your champagne glass in a silent, mocking toast, and turned back to your conversation with the three beautiful ladies.

Ten minutes later, you slipped away from the crowd, making your way down the quiet, carpeted hallway toward the restrooms near the back of the ballroom.

You didn't even make it to the fucking bathroom.

A hand shot out from the dark alcove near the emergency exit stairs, wrapping firmly around your wrist, pulling you violently out of the main hallway into the shadowy, quiet stairwell.

The heavy steel door slammed shut behind you, cutting off the loud jazz music from the ballroom into a distant thump.

Before you could scream, you were slammed back against the cold concrete wall, Randy’s broad body pinning you completely in place.

"You havin’ fun?" Randy rasped, his voice quiet, and cocky in the echoey stairwell.

He was leaning over you, his hands flat against the concrete on either side of your head, trapping you. The intoxicating scent of his cologne filled your lungs instantly, making your stomach drop.

"What the fuck, Randy," you said, crossing your arms over your chest, looking up into his face with frown on your face. "You're ruining my dress."

Randy’s eyes flicked down to the top of your dress, taking in the smooth, clean skin of your collarbones and neck.

"Calm the fuck down," he murmured. "You thought you was slick ignoring me for ten days?"

"I wasn't ignoring you," you said, offering a tight, patronizing smile. "I just don't waste my time on cocky assholes."

Randy let out a low laugh that sounded more like a threat. He stepped closer, his knee sliding between your thighs, pinning the thin silk of your dress against the concrete.

"Cocky assholes?" he repeated softly, leaning down until his lips were hovering a millimeter from yours. "Is that what I was when I had you moaning on that hotel bed? Is that what I was when you was choking on my fingers so you wouldn't wake up Trey?"

"Why you always gotta bring that up? That was a mistake," you said, looking him straight in his eyes. "A one time lapse in judgment because I was stressed about the 200m final. It meant nothing."

Randy’s jaw worked silently. The arrogant smirk vanished from his face, replaced by an anger that made his bushy eyebrows pull together.

"It meant nothing?" he whispered, his hand coming up to wrap around the back of your neck, his palm sliding up your sleek ponytail, wrapping his hand around it, pulling your head back gently. "You wanna lie to me right now?"

"I don't owe you anything, Randy," you snapped, your composure slipping just a fraction as the tips of fingers dragged over your jawline towards your chin. "We aren't a couple. We aren't friends. You're just a guy on the track team who talks too much."

"Yeah?" Randy rasped, his gaze dropping to your lips. "Then why you standing here in this dark stairwell with me? Why ain't you screaming for help?"

You didn't answer. You didn’t fucking answer because you couldn't.

Because the truth, the sickening, terrifying truth, was that you had missed it. You had missed the filth, and the crazy, and the sick power struggle that only existed between the two of you. You had been bored for ten days.

You looked up into his face, your eyes narrowing into a sharp, predatory line.

"You wanna do me a favor, Randy?" you whispered softly, your voice dropping into a low purr.

Randy blinked, slightly caught off guard by the tone of your voice. "Hmm?"

You reached down, your hand sliding under his tailored suit jacket, your fingers tracing the line of his abs through his white shirt, moving down to the waistband of his trousers.

"Get on your knees," you said.

The stairwell went dead silent.

Randy jerked his head back as if you had slapped him, staring at you, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"You heard me," you said, your voice dead calm. "Get on your knees, Randy. Give me head right here in this stairwell, or don't ever speak to my name again."

Randy let out a disbelieving, harsh laugh. "You out your fucking mind. I ain't getting on no knees for you–"

"Then move," you said instantly, shoving his shoulder, making a move to step past him toward the steel door. "I have a date to accept with a guy from the basketball team waiting in the ballroom. And maybe he’ll eat my pussy.”

The second the word basketball left your mouth, something completely unhinged snapped behind Randy’s pretty eyes.

His hand shot out, grabbing your hip, and with a sudden drop, Randy Jackson Jr, the golden boy of the university, the national hurdle champion, the proudest, most arrogant motherfucker on campus, dropped straight down onto both knees on the dusty concrete floor between your legs.

The sight of him down there, looking up at you with dark, hooded, hungry eyes, his expensive tuxedo pants gathering dust on the floor, his broad shoulders framed between your thighs, made your clit jump in anticipation.

"Look at you," you whispered, a slow, wicked grin spreading across your face as you looked down at him. "Look at the track star." You mocked before biting your lip as you cupped his cheek.

Randy didn't say a word. His hands came up, grabbing the back of your thighs, pulling you forward until your covered core was pressed against his face, his nose digging in as he sniffed, his nose nudging lightly at your clothed clit making your brows twitch.

"Did you miss my pussy, Randy?" you asked, your voice a soft, mocking purr as you reached down, lifting the front hem of your black silk dress, pulling your tiny black thong to the side, exposing your wet, swollen slit directly to his mouth.

Randy looked up at you through his thick dark lashes, his eyes hooded, and completely consumed by lust.

He slowly nodded his head, a low, deep "Mmm..." vibrating through his chest as he buried his face straight into your pussy.

His tongue came out, all long, and warm, dragging in one slow, soaking stripe from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit.

You gasped, your hands shooting to his shoulders, your head falling back against the concrete wall as a violent shudder ran down your spine.

"Oh...fuck..." you whimpered, your fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

Randy didn't stop. He ate you like a man who had been starving in the desert for ten days. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking in fast strokes while his thumbs spread your cheeks wide, holding you completely open to his mouth.

Every time he sucked your clit into his mouth, he let out a low, vibrating hum, "Mmmmm...", that sent vibrations straight through your nerve endings, making your knees shake violently.

"Randy...unhh...Randy..." you moaned softly, trying to keep your voice quiet as distant footsteps echoed from the floor above you in the stairwell.

Randy heard the footsteps, too. Instead of stopping, it made him nastier.

He shoved two long fingers deep inside your soaking entrance, curling them upward against your g spot, while his mouth sealed over your clit, sucking hard, swallowing your slick, fast flowing juices like it was wine.

"Tell me you missed it," you rasped through your teeth, tears of pleasure blurring your vision, your hands raking through his curls, and gripping, pulling his face tighter into your cunt. "Ouu fuck...tell me you missed it..."

Randy didn't pull his mouth away only cause he didn’t want to. He kept eating your pussy, his tongue working frantically, and gave two firm nods of his head against you, letting out another deep, vibrating hum that echoed through your bone marrow.

Your climax hit you suddenly, so suddenly after not having this man for so long.

Your back arched off the wall, your hands clenching into his hair, your body locking up as a long, broken, silent sob left your lips. You came hard right on his face, your pussy walls clamping down furiously on his two fingers, pumping wet your juices all over his lips, chin, and tongue.

Randy took every drop. He kept licking you through the contractions, swallowing everything you gave him, his hands holding your trembling thighs steady until the last spasm passed.

When he finally pulled back, strings of your slick cum following before breaking, he stood up slow, his long legs unfolding.

He was breathing heavily, his white dress shirt slightly wrinkled, his face glistening with your juices from his nose down to his chin. He pulled a white silk handkerchief from his suit pocket, slowly wiping his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You feel better now?" he whispered.

You dropped the hem of your silk dress, your chest still heaving.

"It was alright," you said smoothly, shrugging as though it was something as simple as trying the food he cooked. "You're getting better,” you said mockingly, patting his arm.

Randy let out a low chuckle, stepping close, leaning down to kiss your cheek before moving back to look into your eyes. "Keep playing with me. See if I don't fuck you on the hood of Coach's car next time."

He turned, pushed open the steel door, and walked back into the bright lights of the gala, leaving you standing in the dark stairwell, your thighs dripping, your body completely ruined once again.

It was like after that night in the Hilton bathroom, the shabang had changed.

It wasn't just secret, violent hookups anymore. A strange, suffocating shift took place in the air between you two, a shift that made your skin crawl in a completely new way.

Randy stopped being just an asshole who whispered filth in your ear. This crazy ass bitch started acting...possessive. It was as though your pussy had put a spell on him.

It started at a mid week weight session.

You were on the squat rack, wearing your normal grey gym shorts and a sports bra, doing a set of heavy back squats. Jaiden, the basketball player you’d used to push Randy’s buttons at the gala, was standing nearby, waiting for the bench press, laughing with you between sets.

"You're looking strong today, cap," Jaiden said, offering a warm smile, reaching out to pat your shoulder in a completely innocent, friendly teammate gesture. "Form is looking crazy."

"Thanks, Jay," you smiled, wiping sweat from your forehead with a towel. "Trying to keep up with you."

Before Jaiden could answer, a shadow fell over both of you.

Randy walked up, holding a set of 45 pound weight plates. He didn't look mad. He had that fuckass bright ass, wholesome ass, smile on his face, the one he used for Coach Miller and the local news reporters.

"Wassup, Jaiden," Randy said smoothly, his voice warm, polite, and full of brotherhood. "The basketball coach needs you over at the gym."

"Oh, word?" Jaiden blinked, wiping his hands on his shorts. "Aight, thanks Randy. See you later, cap."

"No problem, man," Randy smiled, nodding politely as Jaiden walked away toward the indoor field.

The second Jaiden was twenty feet away, Randy dropped the two 45 pound iron plates onto the rubber floor with a deafening cradh that made half the weight room, including you, jump.

He stepped directly into your space, his large body blocking you from the rest of the team, his shadow swallowing you whole.

“Thank, Jay.” He mocked your voice.

You rolled your eyes.

Though his smile didn't drop.

"What he touching you for?" Randy murmured, his voice so quiet.

You wiped your neck with your towel, staring up at him with a cool, unbothered expression. "He patted my shoulder, Randy. We're teammates."

"He don't need to touch your shoulder," Randy said, his voice completely flat, devoid of its usual mocking filth. "He don't need to stand that close to you, either."

You let out a dry, incredulous laugh. "Are you serious right now? You don't own me, Randy. We aren't dating."

Randy leaned down, his face inches from yours, those thick bushy eyebrows pulled into a tight, dark line.

"Don't play with me," he whispered, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, his fingers squeezing firmly around your pulse point. "I don't care if we dating or not. You mine. I put my hand on your neck, I put my nut inside you. (Oh, he would not let that go.) You don't let no other nigga touch you on this campus. You understand me?"

You jerked your head back, your brows coming together. "Or what?" you challenged, leaning into his space. "What are you gonna do, Mr. Nice Guy? You gonna throw a tantrum in front of Coach?"

Randy’s jaw worked. He stared at you for three long seconds, his grip on your wrist tightening until your fingers went slightly numb, cutting so deep that rubbing your fingertips together produced no feeling at all

"I'll break his fucking leg," Randy whispered, his voice dead serious, completely stripped of any humor. "While we're all in the gym. I'll drop a weight on his leg and make it look like an accident. Try me and see if I won't."

Your heart took a heavy, uneven thud against your ribs. You stared at him, looking for the joke, looking for the smirk, looking for the cocky asshole.

It wasn't there.

Randy was dead serious.

"You're insane," you breathed, pulling your wrist out of his grip. "You're fucking crazy, Randy."

"Yeah," Randy smiled softly, his warm expression snapping right back into place as Coach Miller walked into the weight room. "I am. So don't make me prove it, honey."

Two days later, you decided to test his boundary.

You accepted a dinner date with Jaiden when he'd asked. He had been asking you out for three weeks, and you finally said yes, picking a nice, upscale restaurant twenty minutes off campus, far away from the university athletic complex.

You dressed up, feeling pretty all over again. A nice lil red mini dress, black heels, your hair styled in soft waves falling over your shoulders. You sat across from Jaiden in a cozy, candle lit booth, sipping white wine, listening to him talk about his games.

Jaiden was nice. Jaiden complimented your smile, he held the door open, he didn't whisper foul shit about your pussy in public.

It felt like heaven. It felt like being a normal twenty one year old college girl.

Until like, what, 8:30 pm?

You were halfway through your chicken pasta shit when the front door of the restaurant opened, the bell ringing softly overhead.

You didn't think anything of it, until you saw the host lead a tall, wide shouldered man in a dark suit toward the booth directly across the aisle from yours.

Fucking Randy.

He walked in alone. He had a coat draped over his arm, his dark curls damp from the light drizzle outside. He looked completely composed, completely natural, as if he ate at this specific restaurant every Thursday night at 8:30 PM.

He didn't look surprised to see you.

He sat down in the booth right across from yours, unfolding his cloth napkin, placing it neatly over his lap. When the waitress walked over, Randy offered her a warm, charming smile.

"Just a glass of water and the lasagna, please," Randy said politely, his voice carrying clearly over the soft jazz music playing in the dining room. "Thank you so much."

Your hands froze on your fork. Your face went completely drained of color.

Jaiden was still talking, completely oblivious. "...so my coach says if I drop twenty five points a game at the showcase, I am looking at a five star ranking guaranteed– hey, you okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

"I'm...I'm fine," you forced out, your voice trembling slightly as you took a long gulp of your white wine.

Across the aisle, Randy slowly turned his head.

He looked directly at you over the top of his cup. He didn't glare. He didn't frown. He offered you a soft, polite, friendly nod.

Then, he set his glass down, pulled his phone out of his pocket, typed a quick message, and set the phone face down on the table.

Two seconds later, your phone buzzed in your lap.

You reached down, your hands shaking slightly, and unlocked the screen.

lil fucker 🙄

Tell him u have a headache and leave. or I'm walking over there, sitting next to him, and telling him how i ate ur pussy in the hilton bathroom.

Your chest heaved. You stared at the screen, your blood running entirely cold. This bitch.

You looked up at Randy.

He was looking at his menu, humming softly to the jazz music, perfectly calm, perfectly polite, waiting.

"Jaiden," you said, your voice tight, and completely strained. "I'm...I'm so sorry. I suddenly feel really sick. My head is pounding."

Jaiden blinked, his eyes filled with immediate, genuine concern. "Oh man, really? Do you need me to drive you back to the dorms? I can get the check right now."

"No!" you said, a little too loudly, catching the attention of a nearby waiter. "No...please, stay and finish your food. I'll take an Uber. I really just need to go lie down."

"Are you sure?" Jaiden asked, reaching out to touch your hand on the table.

Before Jaiden’s fingers could even brush your skin, Randy’s fist slammed onto his table resulting in a sudden burst of noise.

Randy stood up from his booth before pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet, slapped it onto his table to cover his untouched meal, grabbed his coat, and walked toward the exit doors.

"I'm sure," you choked out to Jaiden, snatching your purse off the seat. "I'm so sorry, Jaiden. I'll call you tomorrow."

You made sure to kiss his cheek before you practically ran out of the restaurant.

You pushed through the heavy glass doors of the restaurant, your heels clicking fast against the concrete, your breath coming in ragged, angry bursts.

The night air outside was cold and wet, a soft drizzle slicking the ground of the parking lot.

You looked around the dark parking lot. "This nigga…" you muttered.

A black car parked under the streetlamp flashed its headlights twice.

You walked across the wet ground, opened the passenger door open, and sat yourself into the dark leather seat, slamming the door shut.

Randy was sitting in the driver's seat. He had both hands resting on the top of the steering wheel, staring straight ahead through the rain slicked windshield.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" you yelled, turning in your seat to glare at his side profile. "You followed me?! You threatened me?! Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

Randy slowly turned his head to look at you.

His expression was completely stripped of emotion. No smile, no cocky fucking smirk.

"You sat at a table with that nigga," Randy said, his voice quiet, flat, and completely devoid of inflection. "You wore this fuckass dress for him."

"And?! I can wear whatever the fuck I want for whoever I want!" you yelled, your clapping your hands for emphasis. "I don’t know how many times I have to fucking say this! You don't own me, Randy!"

"Then why the fuck are you in my car?"

Randy’s voice didn't rise. The engine idling beneath the hood made a low, steady rumble, shaking the floorboards just enough to vibrate straight through the thin soles of your heels.

You stared at his side profile. He looked like an oil painting of a bad story.

You let out a scoff, dragging your eyes up to the dark leather headliner before rolling them so hard your temples ached. "Oh, my fucking God," you muttered, throwing your arms across your chest. "Don't do that. Don't sit up here acting like you didn't just back me into a corner with your stalker ass text messages."

"I asked a question," Randy murmured, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles went pale under his golden skin. He still wasn't looking at you. He was staring straight ahead through the sweep of the windshield wipers. "If I don't own you, if you don't give a fuck about me, why didn't you let that nigga bring you home? Why you sitting in my passenger seat dripping rainwater on my leather?"

"Because you were about to make a scene in a four star restaurant, Randy!" you snapped. "You were sitting twenty feet away looking like a goddamn serial killer! You think I wanted Jaiden getting into a fight with you over some sick ass mind game you're playing?"

"Jaiden wasn't gonna fight nobody," Randy said softly, a faint, ugly twitch pulling at the corner of his jaw. "He was gonna listen to me tell him how you sounded in the hotel Room, and then he was gonna ask for his ring back."

"He didn't give me a ring, you fucking idiot!"

"Whatever the fuck he gave you," Randy said, shifting the car into drive with one hard, fluid jerk of his wrist. The transmission clicked into place, and the black sedan pulled out of the parking space, its tires spinning once against the wet gravel before gripping the wet pavement of the avenue.

The silence in the car immediately slammed back down, thick enough to smother you. You quickly put your seatbelt on, knowing Randy’s crazy ass, he probably would have flipped this whole car if you actually made it through that date with Jaiden.

The rain picked up, tapping a fast, relentless rhythm against the roof. You kept your face turned toward the side window, watching the neon signs of suburban strip malls blur into streaks of yellow, red, and electric blue. Your heart was still knocking against your ribs, at a fast pace that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the fact that every time this motherfucker got within six inches of you, your body acted like it had forgotten how to function without him breathing down your neck.

Three miles went by without a word. The air conditioner was blowing a faint, cool breeze across your bare legs, making the goosebumps rise along your thighs. You reached out to turn the knob down, but before your fingers could touch the dash, Randy’s right hand shot across the center console, clamping down over your wrist.

He didn't squeeze hard enough to bruise, but his grip was immovable.

"Don't touch shit," he muttered, eyes still glued to the road.

You yanked your hand back with everything you had, wrenching your wrist out of his grip so hard your knuckles struck the side of the center console with a dull, sickening thud.

"Well shit, don’t fucking touch me then!”

He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on the empty, rain slicked stretch of highway leading back toward the eastern edge of campus. The dark silhouette of the university's high rise dormitories loomed through the gray mist in the distance like a pretty castle.

"Keep screaming," he murmured, his voice low, completely smooth, like he was discussing the weather. "See if anyone cares."

"You are a sick, crazy motherfucker, Randy," you hissed as you glared at his side profile. "You literally tracked my phone or followed me from the athletic building. That is stalker shit. That is criminal shit."

"I didn't track shit," Randy said, his jaw tightening. "You left your schedule printed out on the locker room bench. Big red circle around tonight. 'Dinner with Jay.' You leave your shit laying around like a little kid and then get mad when somebody reads it."

"It was in my personal locker, you fucking psycho!"

"Locker wasn't locked," he countered, flipping the turn signal with a flick of his finger. The rhythmic click clack of the blinker filled the quiet car, mocking you. "Door was cracked an inch. I was just being helpful. Closing it for my favorite captain."

"Oh, Fuck you."

"You already did," he rasped, turning the steering wheel to the left as the car swung onto the quiet, tree lined access road behind the dorms. "Twice. And both times you looked like you was meeting God."

"First of you, didn’t fuck me twice. Your dick has only been inside of me once. And then you ate my pussy. Second of all, it was trash. I’ve had better," you lied, your teeth grinding together. "It was literally the worst twenty minutes of my life."

Randy let out a low, breathy laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

He brought the car to a smooth, silent stop right in the loading zone outside the front glass doors of your dorm building. The engine idled down to a faint, steady pulse beneath your feet.

Randy pulled the handbrake up until it clicked four times, and turned his head to look at you.

His face was completely half drowned in the orange glow of the streetlamp outside. Those eyebrows were drawn down low, his eyes hooded, and completely saturated with that same energy that made your skin prickle.

He didn't make a move toward you. He just rested his left wrist on top of the steering wheel and looked at you.

"Here's your stop," Randy murmured. "Go on inside. And don’t go textin’ your lil basketball boyfriend telling him you sorry your stomach was hurting. I’ma break your fuckin’ phone.”

You gave him a side glance.

Your hand was already resting on the silver door handle. All you had to do was pull it, step out into the rain, run up the concrete steps into the lobby, swipe your keycard, and leave him sitting out here in his dark car like the sick fuck he was. You could go upstairs, wash your face, block his number again, and pretend this whole night never happened.

You didn't open the door.

You sat there, breathing heavy, staring into his dark brown eyes, watching the faint, cocky twitch at the corner of his lips.

You hated him. You hated the way he talked to you. You hated the way he made you feel like you were losing your mind in real time.

You hated the fact that the second he told you to get out, your chest tightened up with a sick, desperate urge to drag him straight into the dirt with you.

Without saying a single word, you unbuckled your seatbelt with a sharp clack.

Randy’s eyes flicked down to your waist, his eyebrows lifting just a fraction.

You swung your left leg over the center console, high heels digging into the floorboards, and threw your body right across his lap, straddling his thighs in the cramped driver's seat. The tight red mini dress rode up past instantly, your bare thighs coming into direct, heavy contact with the dark fabric of his tailored pants.

A smirk spread across Randy’s face instantly. He didn't even look surprised. He looked like a man who had laid a trap in the woods and watched the deer walk right into the steel jaw.

He didn't speak. He didn't say 'I told you so.' He didn't give you the satisfaction of a verbal victory.

His hands just came down onto your ass, broad palms cupping the smooth silk of your dress, his long fingers digging deep into your flesh through the thin fabric, pulling you down hard against his erection.

You grabbed his face with both hands, your nails digging straight into his jawline, and bringing his mouth to yours.

There was no sweetness to the kiss, no gentle slow buildup whatsoever. It was two elite athletes slamming into each other in a confined space.

Your mouth opened over his, your tongue pushing deep into his mouth. Randy let out a grunt against your lips, his tongue tangling with yours in wild strokes, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard enough to make you taste blood.

You pushed deeper, your fingers tangling wildly into the thick, damp curls at the back of his head, yanking his hair back, dragging his mouth harder against yours.

Randy lifted his hips off the leather seat, grinding his bulge right into your cunt through your panties and his pants.

A muffled, broken whimper escaped your nose as the friction hit your clit through the layers of clothes. You rolled your hips against him slowly, your chest heaving against his white dress shirt, your nails digging so deep into his scalp you felt him shudder beneath you.

He shifted his broad shoulders, leaning you back against the steering wheel until the horn gave a tiny, accidental beep into the quiet night, his mouth completely overwhelming yours. He sucked your tongue into his mouth, his breath coming fast and hot through his nose, his large hands working their way back down to grab two big handfuls of that ass, making you grind on his lap over and over.

The car filled with the sound of messy, wet kissing, heavy breathing, and the frantic rustle of silk against wool.

His tongue stroked yours, swallowing every gasp you tried to make.

Then, without warning, Randy pulled his mouth back like three inches.

His pretty face was flushed, his eyes completely dilated with lust, his chest heaving under his shirt. He held your face pinned between his big hands, his fingers cupping your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together until your lips pouted out making you frown in slight confusion.

Before you could process what he was doing, Randy tilted his head, and spat straight into your open mouth.

The thick, warm spit landed directly on your tongue.

Your eyes went wide as a motherfucker. You only swallowed it out of instinct, wink wink. But that motherfucker should’ve warned you first.

Or you wouldn’t have slapped the absolute fuck out of him.

The sound echoed through the car and his head snapped to the left, his cheek instantly rising in a bright red, palm shaped welt.

"You sick ass fuck!" you screamed, wiping your mouth frantically with the back of your wrist, your voice shaking.

His right hand shot out, his open palm coming across your face in a blinding slap.

Sparks danced across your vision. Your ears rang with a sharp, high pitched whine, your cheek burning like you had been branded with a hot iron. “Why the fuck…”

Randy big hand shot straight out to grab a massive fistful of your hair. He yanked it backward, pulling your head back until your neck was completely exposed, your throat stretched taut.

"You like slapping me, huh?!" Randy asked. "You think you can just keep laying your hands on me whenever you feel like it, you crazy ass bitch?!"

"Randy!" One of your hand was fisting his shirt, the other was trying to pry his thick fingers out of your hair. "Let go of my fucking hair, Randy!"

Randy didn't let go. He yanked your hair even tighter, forcing your chin up toward the headliner, and dipped his head straight down onto your bare neck.

He opened his mouth wide, stuck his tongue out to lick a stripe of your neck making you gasp before he bit down directly into the soft, tender flesh right over your carotid artery.

A high pitched scream tore from your throat, echoing off the wet glass windows. Your left hand moved from his shirt to his forearms.

His teeth sank deep into your skin, digging through the top layer of your skin, pressing so hard into it you felt the pressure straight down into your collarbone. He bit down like a dog on a leash, grinding his jaw, marking you, claiming you, leaving another deep, bloody, crescent shaped tear in your flesh.

"Randy! Stop! Stop it!" you gasped, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm until blood welled up under your manicured tips.

Randy kept his teeth locked into your neck for five seconds, feeling your pulse hammer wildly against his tongue, feeling you tremble beneath him in pain and overload.

Then, slowly, he released his bite.

He pulled his mouth away with a wet, sickening sound. A thin line of your blood glistened on his lower lip.

You leaned back against the steering wheel, clutching your neck with both hands, tears welling in your eyes, your entire body shaking under your dress.

The mood was completely ruined.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you whispered, your voice raspy, trembling as you glared at him through your wet lashes. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Randy?"

Randy sat back in his seat, breathing heavily, resting his head against the headrest. He reached up with his thumb, wiping the tiny drop of blood off his lower lip, looking at it on his skin before dragging his eyes back to your face.

"You slapped me first," he murmured, shrugging.

You hit him in his arm just because he shrugged. "You fucking spat in my mouth!"

"…my bad. You ain’t say anything about the biting last time." he curling his lips in.

"You are fucking insane!" you yelled, grabbing your purse off the floor of the car, wanting to get out on the driver side while you’re over there. "You are literally a fucking lunatic!"

"Yeah, well, you keep coming back to the lunatic, don't you?" Randy shrugged lazily, sitting up, watching you struggle with the door handle.

He watched you for a second before he just did it for you. The car door swung open, the cold, wet night air instantly rushing inside, rain splashing against your legs and face.

You swung your legs out of the car, stepping directly out onto the wet ground, your heels splashing into a shallow puddle near the curb.

You were standing right outside his driver's side door, your hair slightly wild, your red dress pulled down over your hips, one hand clamped tightly over the bleeding bite mark on your neck.

You turned around and slammed his car door shut.

Randy rolled the driver's side window down, grabbing your attention.

He was leaning out the window, looking up at you through the rain with his arm resting on the window frame.

His expression softened a bit. That dark, crazy ass light in his eyes flickered out, replaced by a strange, and quiet, and exhausting look of regret.

"Aye. C’mere…"

"Fuck off, Randy," you gritted out, stepping back toward the curb, pulling out your phone and going to your camera to look at your neck. Your face screwed up at the sight of it. This nigga keep fucking biting you.

"Wait, baby," he murmured, reaching his hand out through the open window, his long fingers hovering in the cold air between you. "Don't...don't walk away like that."

You stopped, staring at his open hand, your jaw locked, you wanted to slap it away but also wanted to hear what he had to say (bars). "You bit me again, you fucking idiot. I'm bleeding."

Randy let out a slow, heavy breath, rubbing his forehead with his other hand. "I know," he whispered, looking up at you through his lashes. "I'm sorry. Fuck...my bad, aight? I lost my head."

You scoffed, wiping a drop of rain off your nose. "Yeah. You always lose your fucking head.“

"Come here," Randy said again, only this time he said it more clearer. "Just...come here for a second."

"No."

"Please," he murmured. "Just one second. I'm not gonna touch you crazy. I swear."

You stood there for three long seconds, cold water dripping down your shoulders, your neck throbbing.

Against every single grain of common sense you possessed, you took one step back toward the open car window and leaned down a bit.

He just reached out gently, his big, warm palm coming up to cup the side of your wet face, his thumb resting softly on your high cheekbone, wiping away a drop of rain.

"You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?" he whispered, his voice warm, gentle, and completely sincere.

“Don’t get me started.”

He leaned forward slowly, giving you all the time in the world to pull back, and pressed his lips against yours.

You could say it was the most sweetest kiss he had ever given you.

He pressed his mouth against yours, holding it there for five long seconds, taking a slow, deep breath of your scent, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

It felt like an apology in a way…but also a trap wrapped in a pretty ribbon.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushed softly against your chin, then down to your jaw, before his mouth rested right against the shell of your ear.

"Get in there," he whispered softly, his breath hot against your rain chilled skin. "Don’t text that nigga." He reminded you.

He pulled his hand back into the car, his eyes lingering on yours for one last second, before he reached up and hit the button to roll the window up.

You stood on the wet sidewalk, completely frozen, watching the dark glass slide up and seal him inside.

He shifted the car into drive, released the handbrake, and pulled smoothly away from the curb, his red taillights slicing through the rain as he drove off toward the campus exit.

You stood there in the rain, your red dress wet and sticking to your skin, your hand pressed against the fresh, warm bite mark on your neck as it throbbed under your touch, your lips still tingling from that fuckass kiss.

You rolled your eyes so hard your head ached, let out a long, shaky breath before you turned around, and walked up the steps into your dorm.