「 ✦Aaliyah✦ 」

You were very good at remembering birthdays.

Whether it was family, friends, coworkers, or even their pets, you remembered them all. In fact, you were the go-to person everyone ran to when they realized they’d forgotten a birthday. And yet now, standing in your local mall staring at a lit-up directory map, you were completely and utterly lost.

You traced a frantic index finger over the colorful layout—red for department stores, blue for apparel, green for the food court—all while the mental clock in your head aggressively reminded you that the mall closed in forty-five minutes.

It was today.

His birthday was today, and you had completely forgotten.

How the hell had this happened?

You were the type of person who sent a happy birthday text the exact second midnight hit, yet somehow, through the chaotic haze of the past few weeks, your best friend’s special day had slipped right through the cracks until you glanced at the calendar an hour ago and nearly choked on your own spit.

A cold sweat washed over you as you stared at the map. Candles and gift cards were too generic and he always forgot to use them anyway, while clothes and cologne were a total non-starter since that’s what everyone ended up buying for him every single year. You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Shopping for men was bad enough, but shopping for Jimmy Uso was infinitely worse.

Jimmy had been your best friend since high school, back when you were assigned to tutor him to keep him on the football team and in his mom’s good graces. The two of you clicked so well that even after his grades improved, he still came over to study—and come summer, he came over just to kick it. Your parents never minded; he was a sweet guy with a good head on his shoulders, and his family was just thankful he’d finally broken out of his shell and started talking to people outside his household and team.

Your soles squeaked against the polished tile as you broke into a brisk power-walk, weaving past lagging shoppers and stubborn mall kiosks.

You paused in front of a tech store and, after ten seconds of hesitation, walked inside to do a quick sweep. Your search led you down an aisle of high-quality webcams. Jimmy had casually mentioned wanting a new camera since his current setup was quickly becoming outdated. Luckily, he’d texted you a screenshot of the exact model he was eyeing, and an associate helped you hunt for it. Unfortunately, it was a high-demand item and out of stock. While you could order it on the spot, it wouldn't be ready for pickup until tomorrow evening.

Fucking tomorrow.

You paid for it anyway and walked out of the store feeling utterly defeated. The camera would still be the ultimate gift, but you needed something in his hands today. You knew he’d understand, but showing up empty-handed felt embarrassingly amateur—especially for the self-proclaimed Queen of Birthdays.

Especially for your best friend.

As you weighed your options, you passed a group of friends laughing among themselves.

“Bro, let’s go there next,” one of the guys snickered, pointing to a shop across the way. “I need another pocket pussy.”

“Ugh, fucking gross!” one of the girls scoffed, damn near shoving him into the wall. “Why the hell would the mall allow a sex store in here anyways?”

“I heard it’s basically a knock-off Spencer’s, but mostly targeted towards guys,” another girl chimed in, sipping on a milk tea, chewing boba perals as she spoke.

“All the more reason to ignore it! There’s no telling what kind of freaked-out shit is in there,” the first girl huffed, her hair beads clinking as she whirled around to glare at him. “And what the fuck do you mean another?”

They kept walking, their voices fading into the general hum of the mall, but you stopped. You turned to look across the concourse.

Nestled right beside the glass elevators sat The Lion’s Den. The storefront was flanked by two oversized resin lions painted matte black, their jaws wide open as if swallowing unsuspecting shoppers into the store's cavernous, neon-green glow. Fake ivy draped in dusty garlands over the metal security gate overhead, sagging under the weight of artificial moss.

You crossed the path, ignoring the sideways glances from passing shoppers, and stepped through the threshold.

The immediate hit of cold air carried a thick, head-spinning mix of synthetic leather, cheap amber cologne, and burning incense trying—and failing—to cover the smell of fresh rubber. The lighting inside was a perpetual twilight. Violet blacklights lined the top edges of the walls, making every white thread on your clothes glow radioactive, while green neon signs hummed loudly overhead, casting harsh shadows down the narrow aisles.

It was wall-to-wall visual chaos. The front of the store was a wall of sound: tinny, bass-heavy rap blaring from ceiling speakers, occasionally interrupted by the cackling sound of a battery-operated gag prop someone had left running. Glass display cases were crammed with heavy "tactical" survival knives, brass-knuckled belt buckles, and dragon-handled lighters. Above them hung rows of graphic tees—mostly cringey hunting jokes, aggressive gym slogans, and hyper-stylized roaring lions, panthers, tigers, and whatever other big cats that existed.

Further back, past racks of leopard-print novelty robes and rows of blacklight tiger posters, hung a heavy string of wooden beads. A handwritten neon sign taped beside it read: The Prideland: 18+ Only.

“Finding everything alright, or just looking to spend some cash?”

You jumped slightly, turning to see an employee leaning against a glass display case. He wore a faded staff tee with a roaring lion printed across the chest and held a bored, relaxed posture like he'd seen every type of shopper imaginable.

“Oh, nah, I’m just browsing,” you replied, offering a polite smile.

He shrugged, giving a brief nod toward the cramped aisles. “Take your time. We’ve got plenty of stuff depending on what you’re after—colognes, apparel, tactical gear... or gag gifts in the back if you’re trying to mess with somebody.”

Gag gifts.

The words clicked instantly, a sudden spark hitting your brain.

Shortly after high school, Jimmy had needed extra cash for college. He’d earned a solid academic scholarship, but it still wasn’t enough to cover all his living expenses. He hated asking his parents or friends for money, feeling guilty every time he needed help with basic groceries or utilities. Even the work-study job he scored at the campus bookstore was a joke, barely chipping away at his tuition costs.

So, looking for a way to earn extra cash on his own terms, Jimmy signed up to be a camboy.

It hadn't been his first choice—and honestly, it took weeks of weighing options before he actually committed—but he decided to give it a shot for a few months just to see if it was worth the trouble.

Apparently, there was a massive, untapped market for fine-ass, heavily built Samoan men, so "worth the trouble" was a massive understatement.

You’d almost been in disbelief at first. You never judged him for it—a hustle was a hustle and there were far worse things he could have done—but seeing the sheer amount of money he pulled in per stream had been a total eye-opener. Not enough to start your own account, of course, but more than enough to fully back his decision to keep camming part-time, even after he graduated and landed a solid day job.

As the wheels kept turning in your head, a genius plan started taking shape.

The high-end camera wouldn't be here until tomorrow, and handing him a blank card on his actual birthday felt pathetic. But given his side hustle? A wild, over-the-top gag gift from a place like this was actually brilliant. It would buy you time, give him a good laugh, and double as a hilarious, trashy prop he could use on stream if he wanted.

A slow, wicked smile crept onto your face as your eyes drifted toward the bead curtain dangling at the back of the store.

“Actually,” you said, turning back to the worker, “where do you keep the best gag stuff?”

Twenty-four hours had passed since you have Jimmy his gift.

Twenty-four hours since his birthday outing at the club, where he and his twin brother Jey ended up splitting their pile of presents before heading home to their respective places.

At first, you’d convinced yourself that Jey had accidentally grabbed the small purple gift bag in the chaos. But you figured word would have definitely gotten out by now if he’d opened that in front of his family.

So you waited. And waited. And waited.

You waited for a confused call, a chaotic voice message, or a stream of hysterical texts from Jimmy cussing you out while laughing his head off. But nothing came. Instead, you were met with radio silence.

Now, you sat parked in his driveway, engine idling, staring at his front door. On the passenger seat beside you was the high-end camera, wrapped in the exact same shade of purple paper as the gag bag, complete with a cute bow on top. Randomly pulling up at each other’s houses was second nature for you two, but after a full day of Jimmy’s eerie silent treatment, you felt like an intruder.

He was mad. He had to be.

You actually caught yourself wondering if your aim was good enough to just throw the gift onto his porch and book it out of the driveway before he noticed.

Summoning the last scrap of your courage, you took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. You were just about to unlock the car when your phone buzzed violently in your lap, the screen lighting up the dark interior with a blaring notification.

Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: hey sweetheart

You practically snatched your hand back from the door handle and grabbed your phone off your lap.

You: hey hru?

Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: i’m good thx, u?

You: i’m fine

You were definitely not fine, as evidenced by your heart trying to hammer its way out of your chest, but that was beside the point.

Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: ik i didn’t say much today Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: and i am super Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: super sorry for that

You let out a huge breath of relief, leaning your head back against the headrest.

You: u jackass, i was worried… so you aren’t mad at me? you were just busy?

Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: i could never be mad at you mamas Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: and busy is a word for it yea

You: oh okay that’s a relief. what were you doing all day?

Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: i can show u Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: can i? Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: meant to show u earlier but i needed it to be perfect

You squinted down at your phone. This wasn’t really how Jimmy usually texted—it felt a little too deliberate, a little off—but then again, you didn’t usually buy him gag gifts from low-tier sex shops, so you figured he was just teasing you.

You: what needed to be perfect? wdym? You: and just for the record, you are POSITIVE you aren’t mad at me bc of your gift???

Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: yes i am not mad lol

You: that’s good! that’s not your real gift btw, that one i got in my car with me

Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: u never answered me. can i show u ?

You tilted your head at the screen, a weird flutter of anticipation stirring in your chest.

You: uhhhh sure? lol

Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: bet. Big Jim 🔥💖🤞🏾: [sent a video]

The video was eight minutes long, and the thumbnail was blacked out, so when you opened it, you expected a funny reaction video or something. Instead, you heard a muffled noise as Jimmy messed with his phone, picked it up, and propped it against something.

He sat on the edge of his bed, the soft, rumpled duvet a stark contrast to the tense line of his tattooed shoulders; sweat on his skin made him glow in the warm, honeyed light of his ring light. All he had on was a pair of black sweatpants that hung low enough to expose the peak of his happy trail. He took a deep, shaky breath, the sound barely picked up by the microphone.

Hey," he said softly to the camera, his voice deeper than usual, rough around the edges. "So. You got my message, obviously, if you're watching this."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly while he looked directly into the lens, unflinching despite the vulnerability pooling in his stomach.

"I've been thinking about doing this for a while. Sending you something. Showing you..." He laughed, running a hand through his thick black hair. "Fuck, this is embarrassing. I'm literally naked for a living and I'm nervous."

He took a breath and let his hand slip beneath the waistband of his sweats, resting there, feeling his own warmth.

"You know why I kept camboying? It wasn't just the money, though god knows I needed it. It was because I liked being watched. Liked knowing someone was getting off to me. But lately..." His jaw tightened, emotion flickering across his handsome face. "Lately I felt restless like... like there was something missing... someone missing. Out of the thousands of people who click on my streams, there was only one person I wanted watching."

He reached for the purple gift bag next to him and pulled out the vibrating cock ring you had gifted him, the black silicone cool in his palm, and held it up to the camera.

"And then, you got me this gift. And I gotta be honest, when I opened it, I laughed. I thought it was the funniest, most ridiculous thing ever." He paused, a small smile playing on his lips. "But I couldn't stop thinking about it. I figured this isn't the only thing you got me, but I also don't want to waste your money so I... I've been practicing. A lot. I wanted to get it right for you."

He stood up, his movements fluid and deliberate, hooked his thumbs into his waistband, and pushed the fabric down, fully revealing himself. He pushed them down, letting them pool around his ankles. His dick, already thick and impressive in its semi-aroused state, hung heavily between his legs, bobbing slightly as he kicked his pants aside.

Jimmy was built big and strong, courtesy of his athleticism, and his dick was no exception. Its sheer heft is mesmerizing; it lies thick and imposing against his thigh, its weight undeniable. It's uncut, so when he sits back down and strokes himself, the foreskin slides smoothly to bare the glossy, wet tip. The large vein at his base throbbed under his touch, a frantic pulse that matched the one in his throat.

"Figured I should give you the full experience, right? A proper thank you for all the... research I've had to do. Fuck, just thinking about you watching this... it's already making me so hard."

He briefly looked down as he carefully stretched the silicone ring. "Alright, here we go. Moment of truth." He brought the loop to the base of his cock, the cool material a stark shock against his fever-hot skin. He slowly, methodically, worked the ring down until it settled snugly at the very root of his shaft. "Fuck… okay. That's… tight. It feels… more ntense than the other times, probably because you're watching."

He fumbled for the tiny remote. "Let's see what this bad boy can do." He found the small, raised button and pressed it.

A low, powerful hum filled the quiet room. A sharp, ragged gasp tore from Jimmy's throat. His hips bucked involuntarily. "Holy shit!" he breathed, the words a hoarse whisper, his hand tightening around his shaft, stroking once, twice, the vibration making every touch amplified, electric.

Jimmy worked himself slowly, his fist moving in languid strokes from base to tip, the cock ring holding him rigid, throbbing, the vibration a constant thrum that made his thighs tremble where they were spread wide, giving the camera a full view of everything: the sweat beading on his lower abdomen, the way his balls drew up tight, the flex of his hips as he thrust into his own hand.

"Feels like I'm already close," he panted, his voice breaking slightly. "But I can't... right on the edge but he ring is keeping me there. It's torture, mamas. It's fucking torture and I love it."

He clicked the remote again, increasing the intensity.

The stronger vibration hit him hard, and he cried out, arching off the pillows, his free hand scrabbling at the headboard. His cock jumped in his hand, precome leaking steadily now, making his strokes wetter, louder, the slick sounds filling the room alongside his ragged breathing.

"Imagine," he gritted out, his eyes finding the camera again, dark and blown wide with pleasure, "imagine if it was you. If you were here, controlling this. Watching me fall apart because of something you gave me."

He was performing now, putting on his best show just for you. Every word, every gasp, every deliberate roll of his hips was all for you, a love letter written in sweat and desire, a confession he'd been too cowardly to make sober and clothed.

"Earlier when I did this, I thought about you when I came," he admitted, his strokes speeding up, his entire tip glistening with his precum, the wet sound of it punctuating his words. "I do it every time. Even when I'm live, even when there's a thousand people watching, I'm thinking about you. About your pretty eyes, your smile, fuck, you're so damn beautiful mamas."

The vibration pulsed, and he groaned, long and low, his head tipping back to expose the strong column of his throat, a silver chain you got him last year for his birthday catching the light.

"I'm gonna—mmm, I'm gonna turn it up all the way. I want you to see what you do to me, mamas. I want you to see everything."

His thumb hovered over the button. His chest heaved, muscles trembling, skin flushed bronze and glistening with sweat. He was beautiful in his abandon, a man completely undone by desire and the desperate hope that his best friend might want him back.

He pressed the button.

The cock ring surged to maximum intensity, and Jimmy's world narrowed to a single point of blinding sensation. He shouted, a raw, broken sound, his hips snapping upward, fucking into his fist with abandon now, lost to the rhythm, the vibration, your name on his lips.

"Oh shit, I'm—fuck, I'm gonna—"

His words were cut off by a strangled gasp as his body seized up. Every muscle went rigid, his back bowing off the bed, the tendons in his neck standing out like steel cables. He could feel it building, the coiling tension in his groin reaching an unbearable peak, and then—

Nothing.

He let out a frustrated, broken sob, his hips still twitching, thrusting into the air. The cock ring held him in its merciless grip, the intense vibration no longer bringing him closer but just holding him hostage in a state of agonizing, unfulfilled arousal.

"Fuck," he whimpered, his voice cracking. "No, no, no… I was right there. Mamas, I was right there." He looked at the camera, his eyes wide and desperate, pleading. "It won't let me. It won't let me cum." He tried again, his hand moving frantically, his strokes becoming almost punishing in their urgency. The pleasure was so intense it was bordering on pain, a dizzying, maddening loop of stimulation with no release. "Please," he begged, not to the camera, but to his own body. "Please, just… let me…"

He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight with concentration, and tried to force it. He bore down, his entire body focused on that one goal: release. The muscles in his thighs and abdomen screamed with tension. He was panting, his breath coming out harsh and ragged.

It was useless. The ring was too efficient, too perfect at its job of edging him to the point of insanity. He was trapped, soaring higher and higher with no way to land.

"Can't," he finally gasped, slumping back against the pillows, his body trembling uncontrollably. "I can't… it's too much. I need to… I have to…" His hand, slick with his own arousal, fumbled at the base of his cock. His fingers slipped, his coordination shot to hell by the overwhelming stimulation. With a cry of pure frustration, he gripped the silicone ring and yanked.

The second the tight band snapped free, the world came crashing down.

A guttural roar was ripped from his chest as the orgasm, held back for so long, hit him like a tsunami, violent and overwhelming. His back arched violently, his head thrown back, his mouth open in a silent scream. His cock, finally free, pulsed and spurted violently. A thick, hot rope of cum shot from him, landing in a pearly white stripe on his heaving chest and stomach, followed by another, and another. The release was so powerful, so absolute, it was almost painful. It seemed to go on forever, his body wracked by convulsive shudders as the toy's denied pleasure was unleashed all at once.

He kept stroking, milking himself through it, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the intensity, his free hand clutching at the sheets as if anchoring himself to reality.

"For you," he gasped out, his voice wrecked, his body still twitching with aftershocks. "All of it... for you."

When it was finally over, he collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent. His chest rose and fell with deep, shuddering breaths, his skin flushed and gleaming with a fresh sheen of sweat.

He clicked the remote to cut off the discarded ring, the silence sudden and profound, broken only by his harsh breathing.

Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his movements heavy and sated. He looked directly into the camera, his dark eyes soft and hazy, a lazy, utterly fucked-out smile spreading across his face. He was a mess, covered in his own release, and he had never looked more turned on.

"So," he rasped, his voice a hoarse, sated whisper. "Thanks for the gift. I.. can't believe I did that." He let out a weak, breathless laugh. "Love you, see you soon mamas."

He reached for the phone, winked, and stopped recording, the last frame being his handsome face giving a lopsided smile to the camera.

Back in your car, you were staring at the video playback for the third time in a row, mouth agape, just mesmerized, when three sharp taps knocked against your driver’s side window.

You jumped, your eyes widening even more as you fumbled with your phone, dropping it onto the floor by your feet.

Outside the glass, illuminated by the dim streetlights, stood Jimmy. He was leaning over slightly, his heavy shoulders broad against the dark, a low chuckle muffling through the door.

“You gonna sit out here all night, or you coming inside, mamas?”

A/N. Well.. are ya gonna go inside? 🤭🤭

the same things that make you laugh will make you cry later. you’ve learned that lesson the hard way as you’ve once again lost the privilege to cum. 

jimmy's hand tightened around your throat, firm fingers pressing into your skin, his palm clamping over your mouth to keep your cries quiet. your eyes were squeezed shut — needy sounds has morphed into sobs — you were now a crying mess in desperate need of release. jimmy, however, seemed unfazed. he didn’t so much as blink, staring down at you with an almost amused look.

his hands found your breasts, squeezing roughly, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples before his fingers caught them in a sharp pinch. “is this what a friend does to you?” when you failed to answer him, a sudden bolt of pain cut through you as your nipples were being twisted.

“nooo…’m sorry! im so so sorry!”

you weren’t entirely too apologetic in his eyes. instead, he knows how close you are and ur so shamelessly wet too, “hold it ‘for i stop.” he keep working you right to the point of climax, only to immediately stop when your walls pulsed. he heard your tiny sniffles and whimpers, “stop whining, be a big girl. take it.”

“no, babe,” you breathe, your voice hoarse. “i just wanna cum... please.” you began rambling, fueled by the raw need.

he chuckles in response but backs away from you. you were in a trance, almost, until his movement catches your attention out of the corner of your eye. you didn’t even notice that you were restrained until you look up, your arms cuffed above you to the white farmhouse style headboard, and then you look at jimmy, who in turn is looking back at you. he sits there quietly for a moment, watching you take in the restraints.

“i didn’t let you cum three times, you wanna know why?”

your lips pursed in response, but your jaw fell agape when you caught sight of what was in his hand. he kept cleaning it as he spoke, completely unbothered by the way your eyes stayed fixed on him. “friends don’t do what i do for you,” he said. “and i’m not your fucking friend, bestfriend, or your ‘bestie.’” his face twisted with disgust. “you don’t get to call me your friend and then expect me to treat you like my woman.”

slowly, the corner of his mouth quirked upward. he squinted at you before leisurely making his way over. “you can cum as many times as you want, boo,” he said, his voice was almost soothing. “as long as i don’t hear these cuffs rattle.”

his eyes flicked down, turning the vibrator on before looking up at you.

“think you can handle that?”

pressing the bulbous head of the vibrator against your clit, your body arched in the restraints, only for him to lean over and place a soft apologetic kiss against your cheek. “i’ll be back, baby.”

it didn’t take much for you to squirm and shake. you gasp, dragging in the breath like you’d been underwater too long, as you were wrecked with the very first orgasm of the night. he heard the desperate cries of you unable to come down from your high as the vibrations left you increasingly sensitive, and he reveled in it. turning on his heel, he headed towards the linen closet, preparing for a new set of sheets.

"these numbers are just not adding up," you say, letting out a sigh. he leans closer to the screen and with just a few clicks, he fixes your problem. you stare at the spreadsheet completely dumbfounded.

"how did you do that? i've been struggling with that for like 30 minutes," you say.

"your SUM formula is missing a cell," he says as he stands up straight. you smack your forehead.

"i'm such an idiot," you groan and rub your dry eyes. he smiles and rubs the back of his neck.

"nah you're not. excel is just evil".

sc!roman has major RBF. most people in the office are afraid to approach him for small talk, and it gets even worse when he's focused. you peek over the cubicle wall and see him hard at work.

"you okay?" you ask, stifling a giggle. he stops typing up an e-mail and looks at you. his face remains the same but he raises an eyebrow.

"yeah... why?" he replies.

"nothing... it's just you always look so mad when you focus," you say. his cheeks heat up as he continues typing his e-mail.

"that's just my face," he says, trying to suppress a smile.

sc!roman pretty much does his work and goes home. he went to an office christmas party once and decided he was never doing that again. you try to convince him to attend another one with you.

"pleaseee go with me. don't let me go by myself," you whine, tugging on his shirt. he shakes his head immediately, the corners of his mouth forming a frown.

"uh-uh, no. i can't do that again. no way," he says.

"why not?" you ask. he leans in so no one else can hear.

"barb got drunk and flirted with me," he says, shuddering.

"she did NOT! spill" you say, gasping. you pull up your chair as he spills the tea.

"she was totally wasted and falling all over me, saying how strong i am and shit. i had to leave early," he chuckles, rubbing his neck.

"yikes, barb is usually so put together," you whisper.

"i know, right? and besides, office parties are boring. i could be at home sleeping," he says.

"don't be a sourpuss, if you go with me, i'll protect you from barb" you say. he bursts out laughing.

"you'll protect me from barb?" he asks.

"yep. i'll whisk you away if she comes near. text me your address and i'll pick you up" you say. he rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. he pulls out his phone and texts you the address.

"fine, but i won't like it," he says as he grins at you.

sc!roman develops a crush on you over time. he starts noticing little habits and tics of yours, like how you bite the tip of your pen while you think, or how he can tell you were rushing that morning because the buttons of your shirt are misaligned. he starts leaving you things he thinks you'll like or need on your desk.

"hey roman, did you leave this granola bar on my desk?" you ask. he leans back in his office chair and plays it off like it's nothing.

"i just thought you might be hungry. you know you forget your lunch at home all the time," he says.

"i do not—"

your stomach growls, cutting you off and you put a hand to your tum. he laughs softly as you open the granola bar and take a bite.

"thanks," you say, blushing.

sc!roman eventually starts eating lunch with you. he's gotten so used to you forgetting yours that he shares his with you. he unwraps a sandwich and offers it to you.

"eat," he says. you smile and hold your hand up.

"i can't keep taking your lunch, roman" you say. he tilts his lunch bag towards you. there are two other sandwiches and fresh-cut fruit in there.

Just seeing his name typed out on the screen made something deep within my chest soften and expand.

Dani caught the sudden pause in my breathing. "...That's him, ain't it?"

I bit my lower lip, trying to suppress the swell of affection in my chest. "...Maybe."

"Girl, go answer your man and let me get back to my evening."

I lowered the phone to look down at the text message.

Nnamdi 🤎🥴 : Busy, Beautiful?

That was it. Two simple words. Short, direct, and completely typical for him. Yet somehow, whenever a message from him crossed my screen, it felt like a walking through the front door of a warm house after a long, freezing day. Safe. Grounding Before my thumb could even hit the reply, another blue bubble popped up right beneath it.

Nnamdi 🤎🥴 : Or are you still cussing out your coworkers?

A loud, unrefined laugh escaped my throat, so sudden that Dani heard it clearly through the speaker. "Not he got you giggling and shit." "Hush, Dee. Mind your business," I giggled, my thumbs flying across the keyboard to tect him back.

Me: First of all... Mind your own business, Mr. Oguayo. Secondly... Maybe I am... What's it to you?

The small gray typing bubble appeared on the screen almost instantly. Then it vanished. Then popped back up again. I smiled warmly at the screen. That was so typical of Nnamdi. He always deliberate about everything he did. constantly drafting and rewriting his owm words like every little sentence held weight. Finally, the screen lit up with his response.

Nnamdi 🤎🥴 : Put some actual clothes on.

I blinked at the screen in utter confusion. I lowered my phone and slowly looked down at myself.

One of his oversized, worn-out graphic T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. A pair of tiny grey cotton running shorts. One ridiculously fluffy pink socks pulled up to my mid-calf, while my other foot was completely bare against the cool wood floor. My hair was wrapped neatly in a dark blue silk scarf, completely devoid of any effort.

My jaw dropped. How in the world....

Another text flashed on the screen.

Nnamdi 🤎🥴 : I need you around 6.

I raised a dark eyebrow, a playful frown tugging at my lips.

Me: That's real suspicious 🧐

His typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. I could practically picture his handsome, carved face in my head, his dark Brown eyes narrowing slightly, his strong jaw setting as he debated exactly how much information to give away.

Nnamdi 🤎🥴 : Wear something comfy. & pretty, as always.

Me: Comfy and pretty? Are you taking me to a picnic or on a workout date, sir?

The gray typing bubble appeared immediately, pulsed for a second, and vanished.

Nnamdi 🤎🥴: Just be ready at 6. Don't overthink it, sweet face.

"He's up to something." I muttered out loud, setting the mason jar down on the glass coffee table. "I heard that!" Dani hollered. "What is he saying?"

"He told me to put on some 'actual clothes'. The nerve.... and be ready by six. Said to dress pretty and comfortable."

"Oooo, a date night," Dani crooned, her voice dripping with teasing sugar. "Look at Mr. Muscleman getting all romantical on a Thursday. You better go wash your ass and put on some smell-good, girl. I’m hanging up. Call me tomorrow with the full report!"

"Bye, Dee," I laughed, shaking my head as the line went dead.

I picked myself up off the couch, my fluffy pink sock sliding against the wood, and headed toward the bathroom to get cleaned up.

By 5:55 PM, I was smoothing out the vibrant backless green and yellow paisley-print maxi dress, making sure the halter necktie sat just right. I flat-ironed my hair into a sleek, bone-straight style that contrasted sharply against the open back of the dress, my skin gleaming and heavily moisturized.

At 6 PM on the dot, two heavy, rhythmic knocks echoed against my door.

I opened it to find Nnamdi occupying the frame of my doorway with a grounding presence. His black durag sat neatly over his fresh braided hair, the long tails disappearing behind his neck. It framed his face perfectly, drawing attention to the sharp line of his jaw and the trimmed beard that looked freshly edged. Tiny gold studs glinted from both ears as he shifted his weight. A fitted black crewneck T-shirt hugged his broad shoulders and stretched comfortably across his chest, outlining every hour he'd spent inside the PC without looking like he was trying to show off. The sleeves rested high against his biceps, revealing warm brown forearms that looked entirely too inviting.

He'd always kept his fits simple. Nothing about what he wore screamed for attention. But somehow, he still looked like the finest man I'd ever laid eyes on.

For a long, suspended second, he didn't say a single word. He just leaned one broad shoulder casually against the wooden frame of my doorway, his dark heavy-lidded eyes slowly sweeping down from the crown of my bone straight hair, past the gold pendant resting against my collarbone, all the way down to the hem of my dress where it brushed my ankles. The air between us seemed to shift, growing suddenly thick and warm, the ambient hum of the Florida evening fading into the background. I felt the familiar, delicious flutter in my stomach; that soft, breathless drop you only get when the person you love looks at you like you are the center of their universe. His gaze climbed back up, settling slowly on my face. A deeply affectionate, crooked smile broke across his handsome features, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a fraction. "Hey, Sweetface." he murmured, "You gonna keep staring at me..."

He tilted his head ever so slightly, "...or are you gon' let me in?"

A rush of warmth climbed my chest all the way to the tips of my ears, "I wasn't staring." I lied far too quickly, my voice betraying me before my face did. "You know you eyes do this thing when you lying, pretty lady," he murmured, his voice dipping low enough to send a shiver dancing straight down my spine.

After moving to the side, I crossed my arms defensively over my chest, though the traitorous grin threatening to break across my face ruined any real chance of intimidation, "I am not lying. I was merely appreciating the architectural structure of my own apartment frame." "Right. The architecture." He let out a low, rich chuckle that vibrated right through the doorway, shifting his weight so he was standing entirely inside the foyer now. The scent of his Armani Code cologne instantly filled the space, chasing away the faint smell of my vanilla room spray and wrapped around me like a heavy, comforting blanket. The heavy door clicked softly behind him. sealing us away ftom the outside world. Before I could even blink, Nnamdi closed the remaining distance between us. His large, warm hands settled effortlessly on my hips, sliding upward with a slow, deliberate heat that mapped the curve of my waist before spanning out across the open expanse of my back. A sharp, gasp hitched right from my throat. Because my dress was backless, the direct, skin-to-skin contact of his callouse palms against my spine sent an electic shockwave racing straight to my toes and to my center. My hands instinctively flew up to grip the thick cotton of his shirt, my fingers bunching the fabric as he pulled me flush against his chest.

"You smell good, mama,"he breathed against my hair, his voice practically vibrating through my bones. "You smell entirely too good. What is that? You smell sweet and edible."

"It's just my body butter, babe." I muttered into his shoulder, though my voice was suddenly a little breathless. I tilted my head back just enough to look up at him, drinking in the sight of his handsome face. "And you smell expensive as hell. Are you trying to distract me on purpose?" "Is it working?" he teased, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a smirk, that always short-circuited my brain. "Unfortunately, yes." His eyes softened, the playful edge melting away into something tender as he looked down at me. "I missed you today, sweet face," he whispered softly, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic circle against the exposed skin of my spine. "Longest Thursday of my life."

"We literally had lunch together six hours ago," I laughed softly, though my heart was hammering a frantic, happy rhythm against my ribs. "Six hours too long." He lowered his head, his gaze dropping momentarily to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes for a second of silent permission. When I parted my lips with a soft sigh, he closed the gap entirely. His kiss slow and deliberate, warm and tasting faintly of the mint gum he mush have chewed in the car. But the second my fingers tangled into the braids at the nape of his neck, pulling him just a fraction closer, a low rumble of approval vibrated in the back of his throat. His lips parted wider, deepining the kiss with a practiced, effortless hunger that made my knees feel boneless.

His hands shifted slightly on my back, his thumbs tracing the sensitve line of my spine, making me arch instinctively into his touch until there wasn't a single milimeter of space left between us. When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing just a little bit heavier, our foreheads resting together in the dim light of the entryway. "Damn, sweetface." he breathed, "You about to make me, make us late. 'Cause standing here holding you in the hallway is looking a whole lot better than wherever I planned on taking us."

My cheeks flushed hot, and I let out a breathy laugh, resting my forehead briefly against his solid chest. "Don't blame me. You the one who told me to get pretty."

"And you went and overachieved," he teased softly, leaning down to give me another kiss, but this time it was feather-light to the tip of my nose. A radiant smile slowly bloomed across my face as I gently pushed agsinst his face, stepping back just enough to catch my breath. "You sure you still trying to go...?" Nnamdi let out a low, rich chuckle, taking my hand and interlacing his fingers tightly with mine as he turned toward the door. "Oh, we're leaving, baby," he promised, a wicked little glint flashing in his eyes. "I've got plans. But trust me... the night is still young."

The drive out of my apartment complex and down the main road was filled with the low, rhythmic thrum of Jagged Edge's I Gotta Be, played lowly through the car speakers and the comfortable, easy silence that only came from months of genuine ease. I kept one arm resting on the center console, my fingers occasionally brushing against his warm wrist as he steered with one hand. I assumed we were heading toward Winter Park, maybe one of those ambient little outdoor bistros tucked away behind the boutiques on Park Avenue where we liked to grab late-night espresso.

Instead, Nnamdi smoothly flicked his turn signal into the bustling brighly lit parking lot of our local Publix. I blinked, turned to look at him as he pulled his car into a parking space that wasn't too far from the entrance. "Uh. Publix? What we doing here Mr.Oguayo? Because if you forgot to get groceries earlier for your house, I'm gonna–"

Nnamdi killed the engine, a slow knowing smile spreading across his handsome face as he reached across the console to tap me lightly on the nose. "You're not gonna do anything. But, keep talking reckless, sweetface, and I'll make you buy your own things for this date. So, come on. We need provisions." "Provisions for what? A stakeout? A pic-nic?" I teased. He chuckled as he slid out of the car. He walked over and opened the door for me, held out his hand and waited for me to climb out.

He still didn't answer. He just flashed that slow, crooked grin, wrapping his large, warm hand securely around mine, and led me towards the entrance to the store. If I'd knew he was stalling, I probably would've given him a much harder time right here in the produce section. But to my utter shock, the man who usually treated grocery shopping like a tactical military operation, marching straight to the protein aisle, grabbing his usually bulk of chicken and plant powder and heading to checkout in under ten minute flat– was now taking his sweet, leisurely time. We wandered past mountains of glossy green bell peppers and stacked pyramids of avocados like were tourists strolling through an open-air market in Lagos.

"Okay. Seriously," I laughed, catching him gently by the sleeve of his black tee as we lingered by the organic berries. "Who are you, and what have you done with Nnamdi? You been staring at those blackberries for a solid three minutes. They're berries." Nnamdi picked up a plastic clamshell, turning it over with an expression of intense, comedic concentration before sliding his dark, heavy-lidded gaze down to me. "A man likes to inspect his produce, pretty lady. Quality control. You want fresh fruit for later or no?"

"For later where?" I pressed, crossing my arms over my chest, raising a challenging eyebrow. "Because we passed three different restaurants on the way here, and unless you're planning to cook a five-course meal on a hot plate in your car, none of this makes sense."

"Patience is a virtue, mama," he murmured, his deep baritone dipping into that smooth, teasing register that always made my chest do a funny little flip. He dropped the blackberries into the cart and reached out, his warm fingers ghosting lightly over my bare shoulder before trailing down my arm to retake my hand. "Just trust me."

I rolled my eyes, a fond smile breaking through despite my best efforts. "Fine. But if we're cooking, I'm vetting the menu. I refuse to eat whatever experimental bodybuilder concoction you've dreamed up."

"You'll eat it and you'll like it," he chuckled, pulling me along as we navigated toward the veggies.

True to his word, the cart began to fill with a strange, highly suspicious assortment of luxury items.

We bypassed the usual bulk essentials and stopped dead in the specialty cheese and wine aisle. I watched, utterly fascinated, as Nnamdi actually stood before the towering wine racks, studying the labels with the same intense focus he usually reserved for studying his wrestling opponents' tape.

"Are we celebrating something specific, babe?" I asked softly, leaning my hip against the edge of the shopping cart as he reached for a sleek, dark bottle of red. "Or did you just decide to drain your bank account at the grocery store?"

He pulled a bottle down, turning it over to inspect before looking up at me, his eyes softening behind his long lashes. "Can't a man just want to spoil his girl with a good bottle of wine on a Thursday?"

"You barely even drink, sir," I pointed out, a gentle, teasing warmth spreading through my chest. "The last time you had a glass of wine at that dinner downtown, you looked at it like it was a complex mathematical equation."

"Tonight's a special occasion," he simply replied, dropping the bottle carefully into the cart before steering us toward the gourmet deli case.

From there, it was a full-scale operation. He let me pick out my absolute favorite dark chocolate-covered almonds, the expensive ones from the specialty display near the bakery, alongside a sprawling array of artisanal crackers, sharp white cheddar, prosciutto, and honey-roasted pecans for a charcuterie board.

When we finally migrated over to the meat and seafood department, the mystery of the evening started taking a slightly more delicious shape.

Nnamdi reached past the standard cuts, his broad shoulders shifting beneath his black tee as he flagged down the butcher behind the glass.

"Let me get two of the thick-cut ribeyes," he requested smoothly, his voice carrying that rich, resonant authority that always made heads turn.

My jaw dropped slightly as I looked up at him. "Steak? You're cooking steak?"

"I told you I was feeding you, sweetface," he said, turning back to me with a smug, handsome grin as the butcher wrapped our items in crisp white paper. "Unless you don't trust my cooking skills no more?"

"I trust your Jollof rice with my life," I admitted, stepping closer as he pulled me into his side, his arm wrapping securely around my waist. "Steak is a whole different arena, Mr. Oguayo. If you ruin my dinner, I'm billing you for emotional damages."

"You know my cooking is immaculate," he scoffed playfully, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of my bone-straight hair right there in the middle of the crowded aisle. "Just wait until you see what else I've got planned." What else?

The drive out of the Publix parking lot took us away from the familiar grid of Winter Park and out onto the quieter, darker stretches of highway cutting toward the outskirts of town. The amber glow of the Florida sunset had fully bled out, leaving behind a deep indigo twilight dotted with the first pale flickers of evening stars.

I sat comfortably in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing over at Nnamdi as he drove. He was completely in his element, one large hand resting casually at the top of the steering wheel while the other operated the gear shift. The soft, rhythmic pulse of his R&B playlist hummed through the car's speakers, washing over the quiet cabin.

Right as we crossed the county line, the screen of his phone, that was mounted securely on the dashboard, lit up. A notification banner popped up across the screen. I didn't mean to look, but when you're sitting six inches away from someone in a quiet car, peripheral vision is a harsh thing to ignore.

Leo: All set bro. Coast is clear. Take your time.

I watched Nnamdi’s jaw tighten just a fraction, that tiny, almost imperceptible micro-flex of muscle right beneath his trimmed beard. His dark eyes flicked down to the screen for half a second before he swiped the notification away with a smooth, practiced flick of his thumb. Not a single muscle in his broad shoulders twitched. His facade remained entirely impenetrable, cool and collected as if he hadn't just received a secret dispatch from a co-conspirator.

'This man is still giving Spy behavior', I thought, narrowing my eyes at him playfully.

"Everything alright in the world of professional wrestling, Mr. Oguayo?" I asked, tilting my head as I studied his profile. "Or are the boys plotting for another ruthless workout regimen?"

He spared me a brief glance, a slow, infuriatingly unbothered smile curving the corner of his lips. "Everything's strictly under control, pretty lady. Just keeping an eye on the schedule."

"Right. The schedule." I shifted in my seat, crossing my arms over the chest as the highway signs began to blur past us with increasing countryside. "Which brings me to my next question. Exactly how far into the wilderness are we driving? Because unless we're hunting for artisanal beef in Ocala, I'm pretty sure we passed civilization twenty minutes ago."

Nnamdi just chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always settled deep in my chest, and reached across the console to give my knee a reassuring squeeze. "Trust the process, sweetface."

"That's what kidnappers say, Nnamdi," I pointed out dryly, gesturing out the window at the dense, shadowy tree lines flanking the dark asphalt. "We are officially deep enough into the boondocks for me to become a true-crime episode. If I go missing, Dani is going to put your face on a billboard from here to Orlando."

"Let her try," he laughed, steering the car smoothly off the main highway and onto a narrow, winding side road framed by towering oak trees draped in Spanish moss. "She wouldn't even know where to start looking."

"True," I muttered, though my faux-panic was rapidly being replaced by genuine curiosity.

We drove down the secluded lane for another couple of minutes before he signaled and turned down a gravel drive, pulling to a stop in front of a charming, secluded artist loft, a detached, modern studio space surrounded by quiet greenery, completely removed from the noise of the city.

I stared out the windshield at the building, blinking in sudden confusion. "Nnamdi… whose place is this? Are we crashing an illegal underground painting rave?"

He put the car in park, killed the engine, and turned to look at me, a sudden, quiet intensity flickering in his brown eyes. The playful teasing melted away, replaced by something much softer, much more deliberate.

"Come here, mama," he murmured softly, leaning over to unclip my seatbelt himself, his knuckles brushing warmly against my collarbone.

He climbed out of the car and came around to open my door, extending a large, steady hand to help me down. As my sandals crunched softly against the gravel drive, I looked around in mounting bewilderment. There were no lights on inside the main windows except for a warm, amber glow spilling from beneath the heavy wooden double doors.

Nnamdi kept my hand securely in his as he led me up the front steps, pulling a brass key from his pocket and unlocking the heavy door with a quiet click. He pushed it open, stepping back to let me walk in first.

I took one step across the threshold, and stopped dead in my tracks.

My breath caught entirely in my throat.

The sprawling, open-concept studio was bathed in a breathtaking, amber-toned glow. Overhead, massive industrial glass skylights revealed the indigo night sky dotted with faint stars, while clusters of modern glass globe pendants and warm recessed lights cast a soft, welcoming sheen across the exposed white wood-beamed ceiling.

Dozens of flickering pillar candles nestled inside glass cylinders lined the floor, flickering against a rustic woven runner rug by the entrance and illuminating the paint-splattered drop cloths spread out over the pale hardwood floors.

To our right, a pristine white quartz kitchen island stood ready, meticulously set with a dark bottle of red wine, two wine glasses half-filled with ruby liquid, and a curated wooden tray holding a small bowl of fresh fruit, cheeses, and grapes. Elegant white barstools with sleek gold legs tucked neatly beneath the counter.

Along the back walls, large abstract canvases burst with vivid splashes of color, vibrant pinks, blues, and golds;l framed against the pristine white. Built-in wooden supply shelves and worktables stretched beneath wide windows overlooking the dark tree line, neatly organized with rows of bottled pigments, jars of brushes, and framed sketches.

Scattered around the room were tall wooden easels, a rolling metal utility cart loaded with art supplies, and a lone wooden stool parked in front of a blank, waiting canvas right in the center of the room. Over in the corner, another tall easel stood completely draped under a heavy white sheet, holding a silent, hidden secret.

The sweet, earthy scent of melting wax, fresh cedarwood, and rich paint drifted through the air, wrapping around us like a dream.

I slowly turned my head to look up at Nnamdi, my eyes wide with absolute shock.

He was standing right behind me, his hands resting gently on my bare hips, his chin tucked against my shoulder. In the warm, flickering candlelight, his dark eyes were shining with a nervous, vulnerable kind of energy I had never seen on him before.

"Nnamdi..." I whispered, my voice barely carrying across the beautiful, cavernous room. "What is all this? Whose place is this?"

"It's mine," he murmured softly, his deep baritone vibrating right against my back as his arms tightened around my waist. "Well... I rented it a few months ago. Set it up as a studio."

I spun around in his arms, staring up at him, my mind scrambling to connect the dots. "A studio? You paint? You never, ever mentioned you paint!"

A sheepish, remarkably boyish smile broke across his handsome face, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he rubbed the back of his neck with one large hand. "There's a lot of things I keep to myself, sweetface. Wrestling takes up most of my life, but... this is where I go when I need the noise to stop."

He reached out, taking my trembling hand in his.

"I never really showed anybody this part of me," he whispered, his thumb stroking the back of my hand with infinite care. "Except my family and Bronco. And, I wanted you to see it. All of it."

He gently led me forward, guiding me past the glowing island and toward the largest draped canvas standing proudly in the center of the room.

"And," he added, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive register that always melted my defenses, "I thought maybe... since you're alway designing beautiful things..." His fingers gave mine a gentle squeeze. "...and maybe tonight..."

He looked at me with that same quiet tenderness that had been undoing me for the last eight months. "...we could create something together."

My chest swelled so fast and hard it physically ached. I looked up at the finest, most mysterious man I had ever known, the flickering candlelight casting a golden halo over his face and sharp jawline, and realized right then and there that I was hopelessly, helplessly gone.

I let out a soft, breathy laugh, the lingering disbelief still dancing in the corners of my mind as I shook my head. "You're full of secrets, Mr. Oguayo. Eight whole months, and you managed to hide an entire second life inside an art loft."

"Not a second life," he corrected softly, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding pattern over my knuckles. "Just... my quiet place. Until now."

He led me closer to the towering, sheet-covered canvas that stood like a sentinel in the middle of the room. The flickering candlelight cast long, dramatic shadows against the white cloth, hiding whatever masterpiece; or mess, he had labored over in the dead of night when the wrestling world was asleep.

I reached out with my free hand, my fingertips hovering just an inch from the crisp white fabric. "Can I look now? Or is this for later?"

Nnamdi caught my wrist gently, stopping my hand before I could touch the corner of the sheet. A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips as he shook his head.

"Not yet, pretty lady," he murmured, his deep voice wrapping around me like velvet. "Earned things taste better. We eat first. Then I show you."

I dropped my hand, letting out an exaggerated sigh of protest as I turned my head to glare up at him playfully. "You are deliberately torturing me. You know that, right? You bring me out into the middle of nowhere, show me a secret art studio, and now you're dangling a mystery canvas over my head like a carrot on a stick?"

"It builds character," he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to my temple before turning us toward the pristine quartz kitchen island.

As we walked back across the paint-splattered drop cloths, my eyes drifted over the counter again, the dark bottle of red wine, the crystal glasses, the artisanal cheese board, the fresh fruit neatly arranged in a bowl.

"Wait a minute," I accused, a playful grin breaking across my face as I turned fully to face him. "The wine... the cheese... the fruit. It was already here, wasn't it?"

Nnamdi didn't even try to deny it. He just offered a slow, unapologetic grin, his dark eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. "Guilty."

"You absolute fraud!" I laughed, swatting lightly at his broad chest. "You dragged me all through Publix, letting me pick out fancy chocolate-covered almonds and artisanal crackers like we were starting from scratch, when this place was already stocked?"

"Well..." He chuckled, stepping closer and wrapping his warm arms securely back around my waist, his voice dipping into that smooth, persuasive register. "The wine and snacks were here, yeah. But I didn't have the steaks. And more importantly, I wanted to walk the aisles with you. I wanted to see you fuss over the produce and threaten me about my cooking skills."

My heart did a soft, pathetic little flip in my chest. "You're ridiculous, babe."

"I'm efficient," he corrected smoothly, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. "Stay right here for a second, mama. Let me go grab the groceries out of the car before they get warm."

With another lingering glance and a soft squeeze of my hand, he turned and headed back toward the heavy wooden double doors, stepping out into the warm Florida night.

Left alone in the breathtaking, candlelit sanctuary, I took a slow breath, letting the incredible reality of the space wash over me. The earthy scent of cedarwood and paint felt grounding, a hidden extension of the man I thought I knew inside and out.

A few moments later, the heavy door clicked open again, and Nnamdi walked back in carrying the Publix bags in one massive arm, his other hand shutting the door behind him. He carried the provisions over to the kitchen counter, quickly unpacking the thick-cut ribeyes, asparagus, and potatoes with the easy efficiency of a man who knew his way around a kitchen.

Once everything was put away , he wiped his hands, walked back over to where I was standing, and extended his hand.

"Come on," he murmured softly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Let me show you the rest before we start dinner."

He led me away from the main studio space toward a set of glass-paned doors tucked past the kitchen. When he pushed them open, my breath caught all over again.

The bedroom was an absolute sanctuary, bathed in the same flickering, golden glow of dozens of candles scattered gracefully across the dark wood nightstands, the dresser, and even the floor. A low platform bed dressed in crisp white linens and a heavy forest-green textured throw sat invitingly beneath a large abstract painting on the wall.

Just beyond it, separated by sleek black steel-and-glass frames, the open-concept bathroom looked like a luxury spa.

A deep, freestanding soaking tub took center stage, its wooden caddy holding a single candle and a small dish, surrounded by clusters of glowing pillars on the floor. Through the glass shower doors, dark stone tile and a rainfall showerhead gleamed softly, while plush, charcoal-grey towels were neatly stacked on a wooden bench beside a sleek double vanity with warm, glowing wall sconces and arched mirrors.

Nnamdi stepped up close behind me, resting his chin comfortably on my shoulder as we both looked out over the quiet, candlelit retreat.

"Well," he whispered, his warm breath fanning softly against my ear, sending a delicious shiver straight down my spine. "What do you think, sweetface?"

I turned slightly within the circle of his arms, looking up at him with genuine awe as the warm amber light flickered against his face.

"Nnamdi, this is incredible," I breathed, letting my gaze drift back over the stunning, candlelit room. "It's like a complete hidden world. How long did it even take you to put all of this together?"

A quiet, pleased smile touched his lips, the corners of his dark eyes crinkling. "Long enough," he murmured softly, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding pattern against my hip. "Just wanted it to be right, just for you."

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead before taking my hand again, leading me back out of the tranquil bedroom sanctuary and into the open-concept studio space.

"Now," he said, his deep baritone carrying a note of playful determination as he guided me toward the pristine quartz kitchen island. "Dinner awaits. Have a seat, beautiful."

He pulled out one of the sleek gold-legged barstools for me, waiting patiently until I settled onto the plush white cushion before sliding it neatly underneath. Right away, he pushed the glass of dark red wine and slid the wooden charcuterie board closer to my fingertips, making sure I was completely set up like royalty.

"Don't lift a finger," Nnamdi instructed, turning toward the counter where our Publix bags were waiting. "Your only job right now is to look pretty and keep me company."

"Oh, is that right?" I teased, leaning back against the counter as I plucked a dark chocolate-covered almond from the board, popping it into my mouth. "So I'm just decorative furniture tonight? Got it."

He let out a low, rich chuckle, tying a brown apron around his waist, before his muscular forearms flexed as he began unwrapping the thick-cut ribeyes. "You're much better than furniture, baby."

From my vantage point perched at the island, I had the best seat in the house. I spent the next hour simply watching him work, sipping my wine, grazing on sharp cheddar and prosciutto, and just talking.

It was effortless.

The kind of easy, flowing conversation that only comes from months of deep comfort and shared history. We talked about everything and nothing, reminiscing about some of the more chaotic moments from his recent matches at the PC, laughing over funny text messages Dani had sent earlier that afternoon, and debating the eternal, high-stakes question of whether Jollof rice is truly superior when cooked over an open flame versus a stovetop.

As he seasoned the steaks with practiced precision and set the asparagus and baby potatoes to roast, I watched the way the soft recessed lighting caught the fresh braids framing his face, and how effortlessly he moved around the kitchen.

"You know," I mused aloud, swirling the ruby-red wine in my glass as I rested my chin in my hand, "I still can't get over the fact that you've been harboring a whole secret art studio. What else are you hiding from me, Mr. Oguayo? Are you a secret Broadway tenor? Do you moonlight as a master chef?"

Nnamdi paused, glancing over his shoulder with a slow, wicked grin playing across his lips. "Keep asking too many questions, sweetface, and I might just have to blindfold you."

"Threatening me with a good time? Bold strategy," I laughed, taking another sip of wine.

He shook his head, turning back to the stove as the steaks hit the hot pan with an immediate, mouth-watering sizzle that filled the air alongside the rich aroma of garlic and butter. The warm, intimate glow of the loft wrapped around us like a blanket, shutting out the rest of the world entirely.

The plates he set before us were an absolute masterpiece— perfectly seared ribeyes with a gorgeous crust, accompanied by tender roasted baby potatoes and garlic-buttered asparagus that smelled heavenly.

By this point, I was comfortably two and a half glasses deep into the rich red wine, feeling a pleasant, relaxed warmth humming softly through my veins.

As Nnamdi pulled out his chair and sat down across from me at the island, I paused for a quiet second, closing my eyes and bowing my head in a quick, silent prayer of thanks before picking up my fork.

Nnamdi watched me, his hands resting on the edge of the counter, a fond, patient smile curving his lips until I opened my eyes and took my first bite.

"Well?" he asked, raising a dark eyebrow expectantly. "Does it pass inspection, sweetface?"

"Mr. Oguayo," I groaned happily, closing my eyes as the tender, flavorful steak melted on my tongue. "If you keep cooking like this, I'm never going to leave you." His laugh echoed as he watched me eat, with a smile. "I hope you won't"

Dinner was a blur of rich food, easy laughter, and the kind of comforting intimacy that made the rest of the world feel miles away. But once the plates were cleared and the wine glasses refilled, Nnamdi's demeanor shifted just a fraction. A subtle, underlying current of nervous tension hummed beneath his usually unshakeable calm.

He stood up, walking around the island, and extended a large, warm hand toward me.

"Come on," he murmured softly, his thumb sweeping across my knuckles. "Time for the main event."

My heart gave a little flutter against my ribs as I let him lead me across the paint-spattered drop cloths back to the center of the loft, straight toward the towering, sheet-covered canvas that had been standing like a sentinel all evening.

Nnamdi stopped right beside it, stepping back just enough to give me full access. His dark eyes locked onto my face, watching my every micro-expression with an intensity that gave away how much this truly mattered to him. For eight whole months, this part of his soul had been locked away in the dark, hidden from everyone.

"You do the honors, pretty lady," he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, quiet rumble.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out with both hands, gripped the edge of the heavy white cotton sheet, and pulled it down in one fluid motion.

The fabric pooled at the base of the easel, and my breath hitched completely in my throat.

My eyes swept over the massive canvas, taking in every single stroke with the critical, appreciative eye of a UX designer who understood composition, contrast, and emotional weight, but stopping dead in sheer awe of the raw power of the piece.

It was a striking, high-contrast black-and-white portrait. The canvas depicted a woman's face, tilted back in a moment of utter, uninhibited release, eyes closed peacefully beneath long, dark lashes. Heavy, cascading streams of water or sweat; dripped and slicked over her high cheekbones, tracing the sharp line of her jaw and pooling down her neck with exquisite, hyper-realistic detail. The stark, bold contrast of the deep black background against the stark highlights gave it an intense, visceral depth that felt alive.

As my gaze traced the fluid movement of the water lines and the breathtaking emotion captured in the brushwork, I realized with a sudden, staggering jolt... it was me.

It wasn't just a generic face; it was the exact angle of my jaw, the curve of my lips, captured in a moment of quiet vulnerability I didn't even know he had witnessed.

Silence stretched heavily across the loft, save for the crackle of a nearby candle.

"Nnamdi..." I breathed out, my voice trembling slightly as my fingers rose to cover my mouth. I turned my head to look up at him, tears stinging hot and sudden behind my eyelids. "You... you painted this."

He hadn't taken his eyes off my face for a single second. The quiet anxiety in his posture slowly melted away, replaced by a profound, bared-soul relief as he reached out, his warm fingers gently cupping my cheek.

"I know I disappear sometimes," he whispered, his thumb brushing a stray tear from my skin before it could fall. "But this is where I go. Trying to capture how it feels just... looking at you."

The realization settled deep into my bones, warm and heavy and entirely overwhelming. My chest ached with a sudden, fierce rush of affection so profound it left me momentarily speechless.

I looked back down at the canvas, tracing the exquisite, stark contrast of the black-and-white paint, and then up at the man who had held this entire universe inside his head for months.

A slow, bold smile broke through the emotional haze, fueled entirely by the two and a half glasses of rich red wine humming happily through my veins. The liquid courage loosened the final threads of my inhibition, turning my awe into something wonderfully playful.

I stepped back from the easel, letting my gaze sweep over the open-concept loft, the blank canvas waiting on its stand, and finally back to Nnamdi.

"Well," I murmured, my voice dropping into a teasing, confident purr as I tilted my head up at him. "If you're going to capture my likeness, sir, working from memory in the dead of night feels a bit like cheating. Don't you think?"

Nnamdi blinked, a slow, dark spark of surprise flickering in his eyes as he tilted his head. "Is that right?"

"It is," I declared, taking a slow step toward him, letting the green and yellow fabric of my maxi dress swish softly against the drop cloths. "If you're truly a master artist, you should be able to do it in real time. With your muse right here in front of you."

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes with a dangerous, heated intensity. "You want me to paint you right now?"

"I'm offering my services," I laughed softly, swaying just an inch closer, entirely surrendering to the relaxing buzz of the wine. "Though, considering how demanding this modeling gig is, I think my payment should include a refill."

Nnamdi’s crooked smile widened, a fond, helpless affection washing over his features. He reached out, his warm hand catching mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I think negotiations can be arranged, sweetface."

He walked me back over to the quartz kitchen island, pouring another generous splash of the dark red vintage into my crystal glass before topping off his own. After handing it back to me with a lingering brush of his fingers, he set down his glass and immediately went to work.

"Alright, stay right there," he instructed, his voice carrying that rich, authoritative ring that made my stomach flip.

With swift, focused movements, Nnamdi rearranged the studio floor. He angled the empty easel toward the soft glow of the recessed lighting, adjusting the height just a fraction. He grabbed the wooden stool, positioning it beside the canvas, and then pulled a plush modeling stand closer, draping a soft, textured white throw over it to catch the cascading fabric of my dress.

When everything was meticulously set to his standard, he turned back to me, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and burning with a quiet, artistic hunger.

He walked over, took the half-empty wine glass gently from my hand, set it safely on the counter, and wrapped both of his warm, calloused hands around my waist.

"Come here," he whispered, pressing a soft, slow kiss to my lips before guiding me toward the center of the room, ready to bring his vision to life.

He guided me toward the high-backed wooden stool positioned right beside the blank canvas, his hands lingering on my bare shoulders before he stepped back to survey the lighting and the angles.

"Stay right there, sweetface," he instructed quietly, his dark eyes sweeping over me one more time with a critical, intense focus that made my skin tingle. "Let me get prepped."

I nodded, resting my hands gracefully against the textured throw draped over the stool, letting the green and yellow paisley fabric of my maxi dress pool around me. But as I watched him turn away to prep his palette, the rich red wine coursing through my veins began to work its magic, loosening my inhibitions and dialing the atmospheric tension in the room straight up to a simmer.

Nnamdi reached up to the hem of his black crewneck t-shirt, grabbing the fabric and pulling it smoothly over his head in one effortless motion, tossing it aside onto a nearby worktable.

My breath hitched instantly, a familiar, involuntary flutter sparking deep in my chest. My eyes dropped instantly to his chest, and my brain completely short-circuited.

Even though I knew damn well how fine my man was; practicallyliving with him, touching him, seeing him day in and day out— there was something about the sudden, casual shedding of his clothes that short-circuited my brain every single time. And it was a two-way street; he knew it, too. The way his heavy-lidded gaze flicked down to track the sudden hitch of my chest told me he enjoyed the effect he had on me just as much as I was drowning in it.

Standing there in the warm amber glow of the studio, bare-chested and carved out of pure muscle, he was breathtaking. The tight lines of his sculpted chest and chiseled abs caught the candlelight, framing the delicate gold chains and pendants resting against his collarbone. The black durag hugged his fresh braids, and the smartwatches strapped to his wrists only added to that rugged, athletic edge. He looked less like an artist and more like a Greek god carved out of warm brown bronze.

My pulse spiked, a sudden wave of heavy, electric tension thickening the air between us until it felt almost suffocating.

Nnamdi noticed the way my eyes traced the broad expanse of his shoulders, a low, triumphant rumble vibrating in his chest as he stepped closer.

"Focus, sweetface," he teased softly, his voice dropping an octave as walked back over to me, his warm fingers gently nudged my chin upward, forcing me to meet his intensely dark gaze. "You're supposed to be modeling, remember?"

"It's hard to model when you're actively trying to distract me, baby," I whispered back, my tongue feeling just a little bit heavy from the wine as my hands instinctively found their way to his bare waist, sliding over the smooth, warm skin above the waistband of his shorts.

"I'm just protecting my wardrobe," he murmured innocently, though his eyes burned with pure desire as he leaned down, pressing a lingering, heated kiss to the corner of my lips before gently guiding me backward.

He helped me settle onto the plush modeling stand, arranging the vibrant green and yellow fabric of my backless dress so it pooled gracefully around me. But his hands lingered just a fraction longer than necessary against my bare spine, sending a delicious shiver straight down to my toes.

Stepping back only a few inches to pick up his charcoal and fresh canvas board, Nnamdi gave me one last smoldering look from behind the easel.

"Don't move," he instructed, his voice low and commanding.

I didn't plan on moving an inch.

I shifted on the plush modeling stand, adjusting my posture until my back arched just slightly, allowing the vibrant green and yellow silk of my backless dress to drape and pool over the white fabric on the floor like cascading water. The chill of the studio air hit my exposed spine, making my skin prickle, but the heavy, intoxicating heat radiating from Nnamdi more than made up for it.

He stood just a few feet away behind his easel, charcoal in hand, his dark eyes locked onto mine. For a long, suspended moment, he didn't draw at all. He just looked at me, traced the line of my collarbone, the tilt of my chin, and the way the candlelight played against my skin.

Then, with smooth, deliberate strokes, he finally went to work, the soft scratch of charcoal against the fresh canvas filling the quiet air.

I watched him back, resting my chin lightly in my hand as the wine hummed through my veins, stoking a slow, restless fire in my chest. Watching a man who was already a walking, breathing masterpiece effortlessly create art of his own was entirely unfair. The way the muscle in his forearm flexed with every stroke, the focused intensity carved into his sharp jawline, and the black durag framing his face, it was a visual hazard.

"You know," I murmured, my voice dropping into a low, teasing purr as I let my gaze slowly travel down his bare, carved chest, "it's honestly offensive to be this talented. Are you trying to intimidate me, Mr. Oguayo?"

Nnamdi didn't look up immediately, but a slow, smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The charcoal scratched steadily against the board for another second before he lifted his gaze, his heavy-lidded eyes pinning me to the spot.

"Just trying to capture my favorite view, sweetface," he rumbled smoothly, his deep voice sliding over me like velvet. "Though it's kind of hard to concentrate when you're looking at me like that."

"Like what?" I batted my eyelashes with feigned innocence, shifting my pose just a fraction to make the dress slip lower against my shoulder. "I'm just sitting here, being a professional muse. You're the one standing there half-naked showing off."

"I told you, I was protecting my clothes," he teased, though his eyes flared with a hot, hungry spark that betrayed his innocent words. He took a few steps closer to the easel, his gaze darting between me and the canvas as his hand moved with fluid precision.

"Mm-hm. Sure you were," I laughed softly, my pulse hammering a frantic, eager rhythm against my ribs. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the air heavy with the scent of cedarwood, wine, and pure, unfiltered chemistry. "If your technique on the canvas is half as good as your technique everywhere else, I might just have to commission a whole gallery."

Nnamdi paused, lowering the charcoal entirely. He let out a low, rich chuckle that vibrated across the loft, stepping out from behind the easel and dropping the sketching tool onto the rolling cart.

"Yeah?" he murmured, closing the distance between us in two long, effortless strides. He stopped right in front of the modeling stand, resting his large, warm hands on either side of my hips, his thumbs tracing slow, burning circles against my bare waist. "You want to talk about technique, pretty lady?"

My breath hitched, my hands automatically coming up to rest against his wide shoulders, my fingers sinking into the warm skin.

"If we're going to do this portrait right, Mr. Oguayo, you need an accurate reference for the drapery," I murmured, my voice dropping into a sultry, deliberate register as the wine gave me all the courage I could ever ask for.

Nnamdi's hands tightened instinctively on my hips, his dark eyes narrowing with a sharp, warning intensity. "What are you doing, sweetface?"

"Just helping my artist out," I whispered with a wicked little smile.

With slow, deliberate movements, my fingers found the delicate halter tie at the back of my neck and untied it. Before he could stop me, the vibrant green and yellow paisley fabric slipped down my arms, pooling completely around my hips and leaving me entirely topless in the warm, flickering candlelight.

Nnamdi’s breath caught sharply in his chest, his gaze dropping instantly. The dark, heavy-lidded hunger in his eyes flared so hot it practically scorched the air between us. His jaw clenched tight, the muscle ticking as he forced himself to look back up into my eyes, fighting a monumental battle between wanting to finish what he started and honoring the canvas waiting behind him.

"You're testing me on purpose, mama," he groaned, his deep voice rough and strained.

"Is it working?" I teased, sliding off the modeling stand and letting the dress rest precariously low on my hips as I walked past him toward the easel. The cool studio air brushed against my bare skin, but the heat of his gaze tracking my every step made me feel entirely feverish.

I paused beside the canvas, turning back to flash him a triumphant, teasing grin. "Catch me if you can, babe."

Nnamdi let out a low, groaning laugh, shaking his head as he finally relented. He grabbed his charcoal and moved back to his spot with hyper-focused speed, muttering under his breath about how he was going to pay for this later.

For the next several minutes, the studio was filled with the rhythmic scratch of charcoal. He worked with a fierce, concentrated intensity, his eyes darting between my silhouette and the board. Finally, with a sharp breath, he stepped back, wiping a smudge of dust from his thumb.

"Alright," he rumbled, his voice thick with a mixture of artistic triumph and sheer restraint. "The outline's done. You can move."

I grinned, stepping away from the pose and walking slowly toward him, completely unbothered by being topless, letting the loose dress sway low around my hips. "Already? Let me see your masterpiece, then. If you made me look anything less than magnificent, I'm demanding a refund."

Nnamdi chuckled, turning the easel slightly so I could see the raw, dynamic sketch taking shape on the board. The proportions were striking, capturing the curve of my shoulder and the arch of my spine with breathtaking accuracy.

"Damn," I breathed genuinely, the wine softening my voice as I looked up at him through my lashes. "Okay, Mr. Oguayo. I see you."

A proud, handsome smile broke across his face, but a sudden, mischievous glint flashed in his dark eyes as he looked down at me. He reached over to the rolling utility cart, picking up a paintbrush loaded with thick, rich black pigment.

"Since you wanted to be part of the process so bad," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped directly behind me, "let's see how you do."

He pressed his warm chest against my bare back, wrapping his massive arms around me to guide my positioning. Standing right in front of him, entirely topless within the secure circle of his embrace, sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to my core.

He took my right hand in his large, calloused grip, guiding my fingers to curl around the wooden handle of the paintbrush. With his other hand, he reached out, dipping the tip into a fresh dab of paint on the palette.

"Hold it steady, pretty lady," he whispered right against my ear, his breath hot and sending shivers cascading down my spine.

He pressed his hand over mine, guiding our arms forward until the brush touched the canvas. Together, we pulled a long, smooth stroke across the board, blending the dark pigments into the stark white space.

"There," he murmured, his chin resting softly against my shoulder. "Not bad for an amateur."

"I'm a natural," I whispered back, a breathless laugh escaping my lips.

Only, as he pulled back just an inch to admire our handiwork, the end of the paintbrush he was holding accidentally flicked forward, leaving a neat, dark smudge of wet paint right in the center of my chest.

Nnamdi froze, his eyes widening slightly as he stared down at the mark. "Ah— shit. Sweetface, I didn't mean—"

I looked down at the paint, then back up at him, a spark of playful retaliation instantly overtaking any lingering composure. The two and a half glasses of wine demanded chaos.

"Oh, so that's how we're playing?" I declared.

Before he could react, I dipped my index finger right into the jar of black pigment on the cart, spun around in his arms, and firmly smeared a thick stripe of paint right across his carved, bare chest.

Nnamdi let out a sharp gasp of disbelief, staring down at his chest before snapping his dark eyes back up to mine. A slow, dangerous, incredibly handsome smirk spread across his face.

"You did not just do that."

"I did," I laughed, already starting to back away across the paint-spattered drop cloths as he advanced on me like a predator. "And what about it, Mr. Artist?"

"Oh, you're going to pay for that one," he rumbled, lunging forward with a laugh as the art lesson officially devolved into a full-scale war.

Before I could dodge, he grabbed a handful of black pigment, but I ducked, planting both of my paint-covered palms flat against his broad, bare chest. I shoved him back, leaving two stark, perfect handprints of black paint stamped across his chiseled muscles.

Nnamdi stopped dead in his tracks, staring down at his chest before looking back up at me. His heavy-lidded eyes darkened instantly, shifting from amusement into something fiercely intense.

"Oh, you're playing with fire now, mama," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as a shiver raced straight down my spine.

He didn't hesitate. He lunged once more, catching me by the waist and pulling me flush against his hard, warm body. As we collided, the momentum sent us stumbling backward, and the loose, unspooled green and yellow dress slipped completely down my arms, pooling uselessly at our ankles as we hit the floor.

The air rushed out of my lungs. The playful paint war evaporated in a single heartbeat, replaced by a sudden, thick, suffocating wave of pure, unadulterated tension.

Nnamdi's large, warm hands splayed across my bare skin, leaving dark, messy handprints of wet black paint mapped heavily against my stomach, my hips, and gripping firmly around my backside as he lifted me effortlessly against him. My fingers, slick with the same black pigment, dug deep into the smooth muscles of his back, clawing blindly as I pulled him down with me.

We fell together onto the soft, paint-splattered canvas drop cloths spread across the floor right next to the wooden stool, the flickering candlelight casting long, dancing shadows over us. The air didn't exist anymore; there was only the suffocating heat of his body, and the raw, frantic rhythm of our breathing.

I scrambled on top of him, my hands moving frantically to the waistband of his shorts, working the drawstring loose before dragging them down and kicking them entirely away. Once he was completely bare, exposed to the candlelight, the sight of him sent an immediate jolt of electricity straight to my center. He was damn near hard as a missile, thick and straining against the heavy, undeniable friction of our bodies.

My fingers, still slick with dark black pigment, couldn't resist. I dragged my painted hands down his chest, tracing the carved lines of his ribs and mapping the trembling muscles of his hips, leaving fresh, messy strokes of black art across his skin.

He let out a low, gravelly groan, his eyes flashing with a desperate heat. But he didn't rush. He was the artist, and I was his muse, and he knew exactly how to orchestrate every single stroke.

With a sudden, seamless shift of momentum, he flipped us, capturing my lips in a kiss that was heavy, demanding, and so intensely sensual it made my head spin. Our bodies collided with a wet, frictionless slide as the black paint smeared between us like a second skin, mixing with our sweat under the dim glow of the candles. His mouth devoured mine while his hands mapped every inch of my body, tracing the curves of my waist and sliding firmly up to cup my ass, lifting me just enough to drive deep inside me.

A broken cry shattered against his lips. It was absolute perfection— he always filled me up completely, hitting every single sensitive nerve with a rhythm so precise and devastatingly right that I immediately lost all sense of time and space.

He slowed his pace just a fraction, keeping his heavy-lidded eyes locked onto my face. Nnamdi didn't just feel what I was feeling; he watched it. He knew every micro-expression by heart, the exact tilt of my head when he hit my sweet spot, the way my eyelids fluttered, and the precise moment when the pleasure started building into a blinding, unbearable wave. He knew when I was right on the verge of cumming, and he knew the exact cadence that would force me to beg for more. Hearing those broken, breathless pleas tumble from my lips was his absolute favorite thing in the world.

"Look at me, pretty lady," he mumbled against my jaw, his deep voice thick with possession.

As the coil inside me wound tighter and tighter, my eyes instinctively drifted shut, my head rolling back as I tried to surrender completely to the incoming wave. But Nnamdi wouldn't have it.

His large, warm hand slid smoothly up my painted stomach, tracing a path through the dark smears of pigment until his fingers wrapped firmly around my throat. His thumb pressed gently against the side of my neck while his long fingers spanned around the curve of my hip, anchoring me in place. He was fiercely dominant, demanding every ounce of my attention.

"Open your eyes," he commanded, his deep voice vibrating through my entire soul as he hammered into me from above me, driving me relentlessly toward the edge.

I forced my eyes open, staring straight into his dark, burning gaze as the orgasm finally tore through me like a lightning strike. My vision blurred, my back arching off the drop cloths as I cried out his name, completely undone by the intensity of his gaze locked onto mine while he dismantled me piece by piece.

My body spasmed tight around him, milking every drop of friction as I shattered completely under his hands.

And as the aftershocks rippled through my trembling limbs, leaving me breathless and gasping against his chest, I knew with absolute, dizzying certainty that this was only the first.

The first wave of my climax still lingered in shivers across my skin, leaving me boneless and gasping against his chest. But he wasn't about to let me drift.

Before I could catch my breath or even begin to recover from the blinding intensity of the first wave, Nnamdi's hands shifted. With effortless, commanding strength, he pulled me up, settling me right against his hips as he sat up, seamlessly shifting us into the lotus position.

Wrapping my legs around his waist, I found myself facing him entirely, pulled flush against his broad, heated chest. The intimacy of the position was almost indecent. Every single inch of our skin was slick with a mix of sweat and smeared black paint, sealing us together like a second skin.

Nnamdi loved this position for a reason. It was devastatingly dangerous for me, especially when I was already this sensitive. He knew my weaknesses by heart. The exact angle, the deep, unyielding pressure, and the way he could anchor me against his body while he fucked me. He knew it made me surrender completely, stripping away any remaining shreds of my defenses with a terrifying quickness.

And I didn't even try to fight it. Not a single ounce of me wanted to. A slow, proud smirk touched the corners of his lips as he felt my surrender, knowing he had completely broken me in the best possible way.

Outside, surrounded by the quiet Florida wilderness and thankful that there wasn't another soul for miles, the only sound in the candlelit studio was our ragged breathing and the soft slap of skin against skin.

He grabbed my hips, lifting me just an inch before driving up into me with a heavy, deliberate stroke that made my vision white-out.

"Fuuuuck..." he groaned, his voice dropping into a low, filthy rasp right against my ear. "Look at you. Taking every inch like a good girl for me. You love this, don't you, mama?"

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, letting out a shattered whimper as he set a punishing, gorgeous rhythm. But Nnamdi wouldn't let me hide. His large, warm hand came up, sliding into my hair and gently tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.

Instead of demanding I stay open-eyed this time, his mouth captured mine in a kiss that was heavy, wet, and intensely sensual. He devoured my lips while his hips kept hammering upward, driving me straight toward a second orgasm with terrifying speed. The friction was excruciatingly good, melting the remaining marrow in my bones.

"I've got you, baby," he murmured, his breath hot against my lips as he kissed the corners of my mouth, pressing deep, reverent kisses to my cheeks and eyelids even as he tore me apart from the inside out. "You're doing so good, pretty lady. Let go for me. Come on, sweetface, give me one more."

The combination of his filthy, praise-filled reassurances, the rough slide of his hands gripping my waist, and the relentless, deep thrusts shattered my last remaining thread of control.

My second orgasm ripped through me with a violent, electric intensity. I cried out against his mouth, my eyes fluttering shut as my inner walls clamped down tight around him, milking every single pulse of his length.

The sudden, vice-like squeeze of my climax was his undoing. A dark, guttural growl tore from the back of Nnamdi’s throat. His rhythm shattered, turning wild and frantic as his own control snapped.

"Ah, shit—," he groaned, burying his face in my neck as he surged upward one last, punishing time, burying himself as deep as humanly possible.

His body went rigid, a series of powerful, shuddering tremors wracking his massive frame as he poured himself into me. He held me so tightly against his chest I could feel the erratic, thunderous thrum of his heartbeat matching my own, both of us dissolving completely into the paint-soaked drop cloths beneath us, breathless, trembling, and entirely undone.

For a long, lingering stretch of time, neither of us moved. We remained completely fused together right there on the paint spattered drop cloths in the center of the studio, neither of us willing to break the spell or disrupt the heavy, exhausted bliss washing over our skin.

Nnamdi’s arms were still wrapped securely around my back, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythms against mine. The smeared black paint had dried cool against our skin, locking us together in a messy, artistic embrace.

"You good, baby?" he murmured quietly, his warm breath brushing softly against the crown of my head as his fingers traced lazy, rhythmic circles up and down my spine.

I let out a soft, contented sigh, pressing my cheek a little deeper into the warm hollow of his shoulder. "I think I might actually be paralyzed, Mr. Oguayo. But in a very good way."

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated right through me, kissing the top of my head with a lingering, tender reverence.

As the frantic thrum of our heartbeats slowly began to quiet down to match the steady crackle of the surrounding candles, I turned my face slightly, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The dim amber light caught the soft, affectionate crinkles at the corners of his dark eyes.

"Thank you," I whispered softly, my voice laced with genuine awe as my fingers gently traced the edge of a black paint smudge on his collarbone. "For bringing me here... for letting me in to see what you create. It's... Nnamdi, it's genuinely breathtaking. All of it."

A faint, handsome flush darkened the warm skin of his cheeks. He looked away for a fraction of a second, a rare flicker of bashfulness crossing his sharp features before his heavy-lidded gaze locked back onto mine.

"I told you it was my quiet place," he replied, his voice dropping into that smooth, comforting register that always melted my defenses. "I just... I'm glad you like it. Even if half the inspiration was just you sitting around looking pretty for the last eight months without knowing it."

I let out a breathless, fond laugh, swatting playfully at his chest. "You were stalking me with a paintbrush for months?"

"Observing," he corrected smoothly, a wicked smirk touching his lips as he tightened his grip around my waist. "Appreciating my muse. There's a distinct difference, pretty lady."

The moment was so effortlessly sweet, warm, and deeply intimate that it made my chest ache in the best possible way. Beneath the imposing, quiet exterior of an NXT wrestler and a man of a million secrets was a complete sweetheart who had built an entire sanctuary just to share his soul with me.

After lingering on the floor for a while longer, slowly untangling ourselves from the canvas and the mess of dried paint, Nnamdi finally helped me up.

"Come on," he murmured, pulling me gently toward the sleek, modern bathroom we had toured earlier. "Let's go get this off our skin."

Once we stepped into the glass-walled shower and the warm, rainfall water washed away the sweat, the paint, and the exhaustion of the evening, a sudden logistical realization hit me.

I leaned against the tiled wall, looking up at him as he rinsed the dark pigment from his braids. "Wait... We didn't bring any extra clothes. I left my apartment in a backless dress that is currently sitting in a puddle of black paint on the floor."

Nnamdi paused, turning off the water and sliding open the glass door. He reached for one of the plush, oversized charcoal-grey towels, wrapping it securely around his waist before stepping out to grab something from the double vanity.

He turned back with a knowing, infuriatingly smug grin plastered across his handsome face, holding out a neat stack of fresh clothes.

"Please tell me you didn't pack an entire wardrobe for me in advance," I blinked, stepping out of the shower and wrapping my own towel around myself.

"Of course I did, sweetface," he laughed softly, handing me a pair of clean, soft cotton sweatpants and one of his oversized, premium black graphic T-shirts. "Though, let's be real... I already knew you'd end up wearing my clothes by the end of the night anyway."

I rolled my eyes, a fond, helpless smile breaking across my face as I took the clothes from his hands. "You're entirely too smug for your own good."

"Just thorough," he teased, pressing a warm kiss to my lips. "Take your time, babe. I'm gonna go clean up."

Sometime in the deep, hazy hours of the night , after the candles had burned down to stubborn little pools of wax and the studio had grown blissfully quiet , we had finally migrated to the low platform bed in the back room, only to lose control and fall completely undone all over again in the dark.

When the first pale wash of dawn began to bleed across the Florida sky, tinting the horizon in shades of bruised violet and soft gold, I woke up feeling completely wrapped up.

Nnamdi was still sound asleep beside me, one heavy, muscular arm thrown protectively over my bare waist, keeping me flush against his warm chest.

Careful not to wake him, I gently lifted his arm, slid out from under his warm weight, and slipped back into one of his oversized t-shirts.

Padding quietly across the cool hardwood floors, I made my way toward the side windows to watch the sunrise paint the tree line in brilliant shades of amber and rose. But as I passed the main studio space, my steps stuttered to a complete halt.

The easel, which had held the rough charcoal sketch from the evening before, now bore a completely finished masterpiece.

I walked closer, my breath catching as I stared up at the canvas. It wasn't the exact pose from when I had been modeling on the stand; instead, it was something raw, fluid, and intensely intimate.

Set against a stark, deep black background, the striking silhouette captured the sweeping, elegant arch of a woman's back, illuminated by brilliant highlights of white and charcoal. It was fluid, abstract, and breathtakingly powerful, the visual embodiment of vulnerability and grace.

A profound wave of pride and fierce affection swelled in my chest. Even though it didn't match the rigid lines of the pose I had held, it captured something so much deeper. It captured how he felt when he looked at me.

Standing there in the quiet solitude of the morning light, staring up at the piece he had stayed up to finish long after I had drifted off to sleep, a quiet inner dialogue settled over my heart.

For eight whole months, I had wondered about the quiet corners of his mind—those moments when his gaze would drift inward and he would retreat deep into his own head. I used to think it was just a wall he put up to keep the noise of the world out. But seeing myself through his eyes, translated onto a canvas with such fierce, unspoken devotion, I finally understood.

He didn't disappear to push me away. He retreated to a place where he could love me louder, capturing the small, hidden pieces of us that words could never quite reach. He saw me not just as a girlfriend sharing his space, but as his art, his muse, and his peace.

And as I heard the heavy floorboards creak behind me and felt two warm, heavy arms wrap around my waist from behind, pulling me back against his bare chest as a low, morning-rough voice murmured against my ear, I knew I never wanted to be anywhere else.

"Early riser, sweetface."

I leaned back into him, resting my head against his shoulder as we both looked up at the canvas.

"You stayed up and finished it," I whispered, a fond smile breaking across my face.

"Couldn't sleep," he murmured, pressing a slow, tender kiss to my temple. "Had to get it out of my head. What do you think, pretty lady?"

I covered his warm hands with my own, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my spine.

"I think," I whispered back, my heart swelling to bursting, "it's perfect, baby."

He let out a low hum, before slightly squeezing his arms, "I know."

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

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

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

A/N: thank you to @jennakaoriiii for this request. i hope you enjoy! <3

“alright, awesome work!” your coach calls out, clapping his hands as you skate back toward the middle of the rink. “go take a drink and relax for a bit. i’m gonna work with ricky on his part and then we’ll meet back up to go over the duo choreo.”

you nod, taking deep breaths out of your mouth.

you’ve been ice skating for as long as you could remember.

from pretty much since you could walk, your parents brought you to the community frozen pond.

for your 4th birthday, you got your first pair of skates.

by the time you were 7, you’d been taking lessons every monday and friday after school at the local arena.

at 10, you were performing recitals for said arena.

and just recently, about two years ago, by the age of 29, you’ve officially gone professional.

truth be told, you don’t remember life without skating. and honestly, you don’t want to.

you accept his offer of double high fives and a quick hug before gliding back towards the entry, where your husband joe and daughter kaylina are sat, watching you with matching toothy grins.

“you looked beautiful my love,” joe compliments, holding out a hand and helping you off the ice before offering you a kiss.

you cup his bearded face with both hands, standing on the tips of your blades.

you thank him in between kisses, causing him to chuckle against your lips.

you pull away, brushing your nose lightly against his, and kneel down to your daughter’s 3’11 level.

“how do you skate like that, mommy?!” she asks with a heavy lisp, as a result of her two front teeth falling out two nights ago while munching on a pre-dinner fruit salad.

you smile softly, brushing stray curls out of her face. “lots of practice, sweet girl.”

“how much?” she asks curiously, watching as you take a seat on the bench and go to re-tighten your skates.

“well,” you begin, untying the multiple rows of laces. “i started when i was about four.”

she gasps dramatically, causing you and joe to both chuckle. “younger than me?!”

you nod, giggling softly. “that’s right. grandma and grandpa got me a teacher and i never stopped learning.”

“wow!” she exclaims. “i wish i could skate like you.”

your heart swells.

knowing that there’s a fantastic chance you’ll be able to do what your parents did, teach their daughter the art of figure skating, it brings you so much joy.

you chuckle again, stroking her cheek with your knuckle. “after my show, once i have enough time, i promise i’ll take you onto the ice with me. deal?”

she nods, jumping up and down with a squeal.

just as you’re finishing tying the second bow, the sound of someone skating over to the three of you gets closer, causing you to look up.

“heyyy!” you greet ricky, jumping up and wrapping him into a tight hug.

he greets you back with matching excitement and turns to your husband and daughter.

“ricky, this is my husband joe and daughter kaylina,” you begin to introduce everyone, interlocking fingers with your man. “guys, this is ricky. he’s my partner in the big showcase coming up.”

“hi, ricky!” your daughter acknowledges him cheerfully, causing him to chuckle.

“it’s so nice to meet you guys,” he says cheerily. “i’ve heard such good things.”

when joe does nothing but offer a quick nod, confusion comes over you.

normally, he’s incredibly outgoing and friendly around new people. why is he acting like this now?

you narrow your eyes, just for a quick second, before ricky clears his throat.

“well uh,” he begins nervously, turning to you. “i just wanted to relay a message from coach. we just finished up my choreo so we’re gonna start on ours in like fifteen-ish.”

you nod, putting on a smile to prevent making the situation any more awkward. “sounds good, thank you.”

you two share another hug before he flashes a half smile to your family and gets back in the rink, wasting no time skating away.

you watch him for a moment before turning back to joe, who’s already helping your daughter into her coat.

“leaving already?” you ask, unable to hide your disappointment.

joe doesn’t look up. instead, he just gives you a quick nod. “we’re gonna go start on dinner.”

you blink in confusion.

normally, he happily stays for your whole practice and you three drive home together as a family.

what’s happening?

“hey,” you say quietly, gently touching his forearm. “is everything okay?”

he looks into your eyes for a few moments before nodding again. “fine. i just wanna get a head-start on the food, that’s all.”

choosing not to push any further, you nod and look down at the rug beneath your feet.

“we’ll see you at home,” joe mutters, kissing the top of your head before walking away, hand in hand with your daughter.

“bye, mommy!” kaylina calls out, her little pink glove waving at you, before turning back around towards the door.

you stand there helpless, watching them until they’re out of sight.

“hey, everything alright?” your coach asks, placing a friendly hand on your back.

“y-yeah fine,” you reply, and you two head back onto the ice.

“mommy!” kaylina calls out, running down the flight of stairs near your front door.

you smile, squat down to her level, and wrap her in a tight hug, attacking her with kisses.

her giggles are like music to your ears, especially with how anxious you’ve been since joe walked out the way he did earlier.

“hi babygirl,” you greet her. “have you been good for daddy?”

she instantly nods, holding up a hot pink glittery crayon. “we colored and played barbies! but daddy had to stop because he’s making dinner.”

you give her a warm smile, nodding. “i’m sure the food will be done soon so we can play afterwards, okay?”

“okay!” she replies, wrapping her little arms around your neck.

you hug back tightly and pull away to give her a kiss on the cheek before she’s back up the stairs.

you watch until she’s out of sight, before the sound of a sink turning on snaps you back to reality and right towards the kitchen.

inside, joe is hard at work, washing and peeling some potatoes.

you walk over and place a loving hand on his back, causing him to look over.

“oh hey,” he greets you, focusing back on the task at hand. “didn’t even hear you come in.”

now he’s not even bothering to kiss you hello, despite not being able to get his hands off you the few times you’ve come home on your own before this.

something is definitely wrong.

you take a deep breath, dropping your hand and placing it in your jacket pocket.

“that’s weird, because you’re always damn near opening the door for me. not that i’m ever walking through it without you on nights that i have practice anyway.”

he stops in his tracks.

“wanna tell me what that was back there?” you continue, nodding towards the living room. “why you walked out and left me a nervous wreck for two hours thinking i did something wrong?”

he places the vegetables down, shuts the faucet, and looks down at you.

“what would you have done?” he asks, leaning against the sink.

you narrow your eyes. “what are you talking about?”

he shrugs, sticking out his bottom lip. “what would you have done if you had to find out, with zero warning ahead of time, that i was performing in my first professional show with a woman?”

any expression you had in that moment drops from shock.

you knew joe could be jealous sometimes, but to judge your professional relationship with someone he doesn’t even know? this is a new low.

“so that’s what this is all about?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

when he doesn’t answer, you continue.

“you made me feel like a piece of shit, thinking i did something wrong, because you’re jealous that i’m working with someone who you didn’t even bother to get to know?”

“why should i bother? he was all fucking over you!”

the guy gave you a singular hug. he can’t be serious right now.

“oh, give me a break, joe! it was a hug.”

“so what?! who is he to touch what’s mine right in front of me?! not to mention i don’t even fucking know him!”

“you didn’t even give him a chance!”

“i don’t have to know him to know that he has a thing for you.”

you go to stand your ground even further, but nothing comes out. just the feeling of hot tears streaming down your face.

“you know what? fine.” you drop your car keys on the counter, hold up your hands, and turn to walk away.

he narrows his eyes. “fine what?”

“if you still don’t trust me two years into marriage, then fuck you. that’s what!” you call out, before practically running out of the room and darting upstairs.

it’s been over an hour.

you haven’t moved, haven’t taken a shower, haven’t even changed out of your practice outfit.

all you’ve been doing is sitting on the bathroom floor, back against the door, head in your knees, crying.

you told yourself he wasn’t worth it. that whatever the fuck he thought was going on between you and ricky would only be proven right if you didn’t defend yourself.

but nothing sounded more heartbreaking to you than your own husband not trusting you. and not just that, but doubting your loyalty towards him.

you lift your head and use the sleeve of your hoodie to wipe your tears before standing up.

in one stride, you grab the first pair of pajama shorts and oversized hoodie you can find out of your dresser, and head back to the bathroom.

within moments of the water hitting you, you feel instant relief. like a strong pair of arms are holding you and nothing could ever hurt you again.

god, you miss joe making you feel this way.

except, when you go to wash your lower half, that’s exactly what’s occurring.

two muscular, tattoo filled arms are wrapped around your waist.

you look out of the corner of your eye and begin to feel lips — his lips — feathering soft kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder.

you turn in his arms, your eyes beginning to sting all over again once they meet his.

they’re so full of guilt. so full of sorrow.

you can absolutely tell how regretful and sorry he is from his face alone, but you need to hear it.

“baby i…” he’s only said two words so far, but the rasp speaks volumes.

he only gets this way when he’s about to beg for forgiveness.

you’ve only heard it one other time, when he accidentally dropped the antique plate that your great grandma made as a wedding gift to you two before she passed away.

from the second you told him gravity is natural and forgave him, he got on his knees and ate you out until the sun came up the next morning.

“i need you to know how sorry i am,” he continues between shaky breaths, almost as if he’s trying to stop himself from bursting into tears at any moment. “i made an ass out of myself at the rink today. you were right, i had no right to act like that towards ricky and, especially you, when it was my first time meeting him. i just….panicked.”

the way you want to slap the shit out of him right now. but, being the understanding wife you are, you let him continue.

“the truth is, well i guess you know this already but, i’m fucking addicted to you. you’re my wife. fuck, you’re the mother of my child. and seeing a guy get that close to you it just….it triggered something in me. it’s like a protective switch went off.”

“i just wish you let me explain,” you exclaim, a singular tear rolling down your cheek. “i felt so bad about myself thinking i did something wrong from the second you left.”

he wipes your cheeks with his thumb and cups them, tears of his own filling his eyes now. “i know, baby. i know you did. and you didn’t deserve to feel like that. you never should again.”

you sniffle in response.

“i don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but i just needed you to know how sorry i am, sweetheart. and how much i love you and the life we have together. more than anything in this world.”

you watch on as he sinks to his knees and presses a kiss right below your belly before looking up at you.

you run your fingers through his long, black locks. “you know i can’t stay mad at you for too long, joe.”

he smiles, grabbing ahold of your hands and kissing the inside of your palms.

“i probably shouldn’t this soon but,” you continue, taking a moment to enjoy the hot water cascading into your curls and down your back. “i forgive you. and i love what we have too. so much.”

he lets out a sigh of relief before standing upright and grabbing your face, smashing his lips against yours.

you kiss back immediately, throwing your arms around his neck.

“up baby,” you hear him mumble into your throat, as he lightly taps your sides.

you do as he says and jump, wrapping your legs around his waist when he catches you.

the feeling of the cold tiles against your back sends a chill down your spine, causing you to quietly moan against his lips.

“already got you a moaning mess and i ain’t done shit yet,” he mumbles in between kisses below your ear.

the same man that was just on his knees apologizing to you is now right back to his cocky self? not on your watch.

you grab ahold of his face and turn it towards you. “you want me to go right back to hating you? shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

he stares at you in disbelief for a moment before licking his top lip and letting out a chuckle.

“you done lost your mind girl,” he teases, looking back up at you. “but i’ll let you have it tonight.”

you watch on as he lowers his hand to his rock hard member, eventually sliding the head up and down your folds.

you curse under your breath as he begins to enter you, his length reaching further and further inside your core.

“j-joe! wait!” you call out, digging your nails into his back.

he chuckles again, much darker this time. “nah, baby. you wanted this, now take it. all of it.”

tags: @uceyliyahh @christinabae @bebesobrielo @biancasreign @myamericannightmare @partypoison00 @li-da-savage @xbriexx @tribalchief2112 @isabella-2025 @chasssssworld @wrestlingprincess80 @amethyst09 @luvrgirl4roman @skyesthebomb @mselenalovebug @moxley99 @wooahmiri @romanreignshairdresser @fearlesschimera @esposadomd @voidstiles18 @bloodlineslut @sharmelasworld @caralinda0914 @justazzi @trippiexlove @fafomama @gabriella-15 @transparentphantomface @sualeo @yana3sworld @lovelyjay45 @lexisnicole25 @usocrazy @psilovey0u @nanamiismine @lovelikebuttahbaybee @dwill484 @jeysslut ♡

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“Mornin’, baby,” he rumbled. His long hair was already pulled into a messy bun, his dark eyes crinkling as he smiled. “You sleep okay?” 

You stretched your arms above your head and nodded, watching as Jimmy’s smile widened. You couldn’t help but smile back, reaching out a hand to gently brush his beard. “Did you?” 

“Mm hm,” Jimmy hummed, leaning into your touch. “Had a good dream too.” 

“Oh?” You scratched beneath his jaw and Jimmy practically purred at the feeling. “What was it about?” 

“You, of course.” 

You laughed and Jimmy’s grin was so wide it split his cheeks—a burst of sunshine. He leaned back down to kiss your lips, that tickling feeling causing you to laugh again. 

You heard the door creak and another voice rumbling from the doorway. “Damn, y’all already up?” 

You and Jimmy poked your head out from underneath the sheets, watching in amazement as Jey handed both of you a Starbucks cup. 

“How long you been up, uce?” Jimmy asked. It was a rare sight to see the younger twin up before sunrise.  

“I dunno, I woke up and y’all was still out.” Jey winked at you. “Had to get my best girl her favorite drink.” 

You sat up and brought the cup to your lips, letting out a hum of contentment. “Mm, this is perfect, baby. Thank you.” 

Jey leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his round eyes sparkling in the morning light. 

“Happy birthday, pretty girl.” 

Jey had climbed back in the bed after returning from his coffee run, the three of you snuggling and giggling until Jimmy finally padded to the kitchen to make you breakfast. 

You and Jey lingered behind, still giggling like teenagers until both of you grew lonely and followed Jimmy into the kitchen. He was quick to fuss at the sight of you. 

“Nope, don’t even start that shit. Go on back to bed now. Go on.” 

“We miss you!” you pouted. “Why can’t we watch you cook?” 

Jey hugged you from behind. “Yeah, uce. We was feelin’ bad laid up in there while you do all the work.” 

Jimmy waved a spatula menacingly in your direction. “You can live without me for a few more minutes. Jey, you better get this birthday girl outta my face so I can treat her to breakfast in bed.” 

Now it was Jey’s turn to pout. “Come onnnnnnn, why can’t we stay in here with you?” 

Jimmy pointed at him with the spatula. “If you don’t both go back to bed I swear to god I’m throwing all this out.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

Jey seemed to assess the seriousness of the situation and quickly swept you off your feet, carrying you back to the bedroom.  

“Jey!” you squealed, giggling as he threw you over his shoulder. 

“We can’t risk it!” Jey exclaimed. “I ain’t missing no breakfast.” 

He threw you down on the bed like a sack of potatoes, letting out a loud groan. “There!” he said triumphantly.

Before you even realized what was happening, he was pouncing on you, his large body effectively pinning you to the mattress. 

“Jey!” 

The two of you wrestled playfully until you finally shoved him off, still laughing even as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his favorite spot behind your ear. The bruise he kept there was practically permanent now. He was always worrying his teeth into the mark, ensuring it would never fade. For him, it was proof that you were his. A reminder to the world that he had effectively claimed you. 

“Jey…”

Your laughter broke off into a sigh, reaching up to card your fingers through Jey’s mullet. He let out a pleased hum, his teeth continuing to nip there until he finally pulled away. The wetness from his mouth cooled against your skin, some of his saliva dripping down your neck and pooling in your collarbone. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Jey murmured, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to your cheek. His beard tickled the same way his brother’s had. “I love you so much, baby.” 

You grinned, leaning forward to brush your lips together. 

“I love you more.” 

Jimmy found the two of you like that—Jey’s body keeping you pinned to the mattress as he claimed your mouth as his. 

“Damn. And here I thought y’all missed me.” 

Jey broke away from your lips with a laugh, glancing over his shoulder at the older twin. “You had her all to yourself while I went out for coffee, uce. I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Jimmy grinned. “Fair enough. So, y’all want this breakfast or not?”

Breakfast was delicious, as usual. Both twins were good cooks but Jimmy was especially talented. He loved cooking for both of you, always eager to take care of the two people he loved the most. You noticed during breakfast that he was always glancing over at either you or his brother, as if to reassure himself that you were both happy and satisfied. 

“It’s delicious,” you praised. “Thank you so much.” 

Jimmy had smiled then, another gorgeous sight, before saying, “Of course, baby. Anything for my birthday girl.” 

You tried to help clean up the kitchen after breakfast, but Jey wouldn’t hear of it. 

“You go get dressed, mamas,” he said. “We goin’ out today.” 

And you did. The twins took you shopping, ensuring you went to all of your favorite stores—Louis Vuitton, Saint Laurent, Cartier, Chanel, Hermès—not letting you leave until you’d made at least one purchase at every store. 

Whenever the three of you were out in public, the twins always made sure to keep their hands on you. Jimmy liked wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you close, his large hand casually lifting up your shirt so he could touch the bare skin of your hip. Jey liked holding your hand, his long fingers clutching tightly around yours–as if your touch kept him grounded. Stable. 

They had promised to be on their best behavior today and they remained true to their word. There was one close call in the Chanel store when one of the sales associates (a man, of course) handed you your bag and your fingers accidentally brushed together. Jey’s eyes had burned possessively, but Jimmy quickly grabbed him by the arm and whispered in his ear, reminding him of the promise they had made. 

You were grateful you didn’t have to correct him today. You didn’t want to ruin your birthday by having to punish one of them for bad behavior. 

They took you to your favorite spot for lunch then back to a few more stores to finish shopping. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of your tall, scary Samoans fumbling with all the bags you made them carry. They grumbled the entire time, but they still swiped their card every time you asked. It was clear that no matter how much they complained, they were exactly where they wanted to be. 

By the time you got home, you found a new dress laid out on the bed—a long, gorgeous piece with a split in the side that came up to your hip. 

“Bought it last week for you, baby,” Jimmy murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple. “You’ll wear it for us, won’t you?” 

How could you not? Especially since it matched the new Saint Laurent heels you’d just bought. You made sure to wear your new earrings and bracelets the twins had bought you at Cartier, as well as the new perfume they’d gotten you from Chanel. 

The twins wore all black, both of their gold chains glinting in the light. Jimmy wore a suit jacket, complete with gold cufflinks, and gold huggies in each ear. In contrast, Jey had decided to forgo the suit jacket, instead rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt to reveal his tattooed arms. He had diamonds in his ears instead of hoops, matching the diamond in his nose. 

Your stomach flipped at the sight of them. They both looked devastatingly handsome, but dangerous too. You didn’t miss the matching set of grills in their mouths, their canines studded with diamonds but no less sharp. 

“You look like a million bucks, ma,” Jimmy breathed. He was already reaching for you, his hands resting on your hips to pull you in. “So fuckin’ pretty.” 

His lips immediately found his favorite spot beneath your jaw, his teeth already worrying into the small bruise he kept there. No matter how much makeup you wore, you could never really hide it. Not when the nearly feral Uso twins were so determined to claim you as theirs. 

Jey was quick to press himself close to you too, his golden teeth once again returning to his own favorite bruise behind your ear. 

Your knees felt weak, your body already thrumming with arousal at the feeling of their mouths on you. A part of you was tempted to drag them back into the bedroom, but you’d worked too hard on your hair and makeup to waste it. 

“Don’t we have dinner reservations?” you asked, your words breathless.

The twins forced themselves to pull away, though their hands still lingered on you, as if they couldn’t bear to let you go. 

“You sure you wanna go out tonight?” Jey murmured. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on the split in your dress, his gaze already possessive. “We can stay here if you want, baby.” 

You scoffed. “You just don’t want me to go out in a nice dress.” 

“Nah, it ain’t that,” Jey lied. “I just… you know, if you wanted to stay in and let us take this off you, we can…” 

You let out an indignant sound when Jey’s hands reached for the zipper of your dress, already eager to remove the offending fabric. Thankfully, Jimmy intervened. 

“Don’t start, uce,” he warned. “It took us months to get this reservation, remember?” 

Jey stuck out his bottom lip, the same way he always did when he didn’t get what he wanted. His hands still lingered on the zipper, the temptation to remove your dress and carry you back upstairs too strong to ignore. Jimmy eventually had to grab his arm and yank him away. 

“I ain’t gonna ask our birthday girl to put you in yo’ place tonight, but I will if you don’t behave,” Jimmy hissed. “You promised me good behavior and I better see it, uce. Otherwise, you ain’t gonna like what I do.” 

Jey pouted, but you were pleased to see that he didn’t argue. Instead, he threw you an apologetic glance and stuffed his hands in his pockets, as if keeping them there would help him resist the urge to touch you again. 

Jimmy gave a curt nod. “That’s better.” 

You couldn’t deny the small shiver of pleasure that ran down your spine at the sight of Jimmy’s easy dominance. It was rare for Jimmy to have to reel his brother in. Usually they were getting into trouble together, requiring you to step in and take control. It was a nice change to see the older twin step up and take charge, all in an effort to make your day even more special. 

You liked it. 

Jimmy took your hand in his. “You ready, baby?” 

You nodded, subconsciously squeezing your thighs together as your arousal grew. “Yes, sir.” 

Jimmy’s smile widened. “Good girl.” 

The reservation was at the nicest restaurant in town—the one you had been wanting to go to for months. You couldn’t help but grin in excitement as Jimmy pulled the car around, dropping the keys off with the valet. 

“Are we really doing this?” you asked in amazement. 

Both twins offered you their arms, looking pleased at your excitement. 

“Of course, baby,” Jey replied. “Anything for our best girl.” 

The restaurant was even more beautiful than you imagined, the ceiling covered with intricate constellations made of gold. The maître d' led the three of you to a table in the corner where a nearby string quartet played soft classical music. You saw Jey’s eyes flash in anger when the maître d' graciously pulled out your chair for you to sit, though Jimmy was quick to urge him into his own chair before he said anything. 

You tried to look at the menu, but you found your eyes wandering to the twins instead. They just looked so beautiful. Their golden jewelry twinkled in the ambient lighting, the diamonds on their grills flashing every time they spoke. You felt lucky to be here with them—your pretty, but dangerous guard dogs. 

And they were still your guard dogs. The fact it was your birthday hadn’t changed that. You didn’t miss the way their eyes remained watchful, their hands still resting possessively on your thigh beneath the table. When the waiter arrived to offer some wine, Jimmy was quick to take control of the conversation, his body language making it clear that the waiter didn’t need to speak to anyone else at the table but him. 

While Jimmy certainly had more self-control than his brother, he still had the same territorial instincts. The same temper. And it didn’t take long for it to flare. 

“And what would the beautiful lady like to order this evening?” 

The waiter hadn’t meant anything by it, of course, but the twins didn’t see it that way. They never did. You watched as both twins stiffened, the table suddenly quiet and thick with tension. Jimmy’s smile never wavered, though it looked sharper now. Dangerous. 

“Who the fuck you think you talkin’ to, uce?” Jey snarled, already beginning to stand. “You think we just gon–” 

“Jey,” Jimmy interrupted, his voice calm. “Sit down.” 

Jey froze. His angry eyes cut over to his brother, his fists still clenched at his sides. 

There was a beat of silence.

Then another.

Then, to your utter amazement, Jey actually listened. He didn’t argue. He didn’t pout. He simply sat back down in his chair, his mouth obediently shut while his dark eyes burned in anger.  

Jimmy tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket, that dangerous smile still curved on his lips. He motioned to the waiter. 

“C’mere, uce. Lemme tell you something.”

The waiter blinked in confusion, though he still skittered nervously to Jimmy’s side, already apologizing. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean–”

“Lemme just make myself clear,” Jimmy interrupted. His voice was perfectly calm, but his eyes were flashing just as dangerously as his brother’s. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t talk to him. You talk to me. Got it?”

The waiter paled. “Y-yes, of course, sir. I sincerely apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

Jimmy’s smile widened and you could see the waiter’s eyes linger on just how sharp his canines were. “You ain’t offend me, uce. You just seemed a little confused about what’s going on here. But you ain’t confused no more, are you?” 

The waiter quickly shook his head, already taking an unsteady step backwards. “Of course not, sir. I completely understand. Please, will you excuse me for a moment? I forgot my…uh, my pen. I’ll be right back.” 

You watched as the man practically fled to the back of the restaurant, no doubt already informing his manager of the terrifying Samoan at table twelve. 

You sighed. At least you’d gotten to try the wine before they kicked you out. 

But to your surprise, no manager arrived. Instead another waiter came to take the man’s place—an older gentleman who only spoke to Jimmy and pretended you and Jey didn’t exist. You sipped on your wine in silence while Jimmy ordered entrees for everyone. 

You glanced over at Jey and were surprised to see that his anger had dissipated. His body seemed more relaxed now that Jimmy was taking control of the situation, unbothered by his brother’s easy dominance. 

When the food arrived, you were still thinking about the new dynamic unfolding between the three of you. Or maybe it wasn’t new. You’d seen Jimmy tug on Jey’s leash before, but it hadn’t felt like this before. It hadn’t felt like dominance. Not like it did tonight. 

But tonight was different. Tonight Jimmy was stepping into a new role—a role you normally played. Tonight Jimmy was in control of both of you. 

At first you were surprised to see Jey go along with it so quickly, but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Jimmy had been taking control of his brother long before you came along. To him, this was normal. Natural. Jimmy always called the shots. You just had never seen it unfold this way before.

“You alright, angel?” Jimmy murmured, taking your hand. He’d noticed that you’d zoned out. 

You quickly nodded, smiling. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m alright. Better than alright, actually. Today has been perfect.” 

Jimmy smiled wider, the sight radiant, before turning to his brother. “You wanna do it now, uce?” 

You stared in confusion, but Jey just matched his brother’s smile, looking excited. “Hell yeah. I think it’s time.” 

Jimmy pulled out something small from his jacket pocket, the sight a familiar blue. 

You let out a breath. “No way…” 

Jimmy held out the Tiffany & Co. box, that radiant smile still on his lips as he presented it to you. 

“Me and Jey picked it out last time we was in New York. Spent over an hour with that lady tryin’ to get it right.” 

You took the box with shaky hands, glancing at both of them in disbelief. “Are you… are you serious?” 

Both twins chuckled, but Jimmy offered your hand another reassuring squeeze. “Open it.” 

You did.

Inside was a gorgeous necklace—a silver chain with a large diamond pendant. You traced your fingers across the gem, your hands still shaking. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. 

The twins shared another look.

“Flip it over,” Jey murmured. “We put something on the back.” 

You obeyed, letting out a small gasp at the sight. Engraved on the back was a small J. 

“Just so you ain’t forget about us,” Jimmy joked, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

Jey pressed a kiss of his own to your other cheek, his eyes warm. “Happy birthday, baby.” 

You smiled, emotion welling in your throat. This was the best birthday ever. 

The ride back home had been a blur. You sat in the back with Jey, your body still buzzing from the wine, pressing your face into his neck to take in more of his scent. Jimmy kept glancing at you both in the rearview mirror, driving carefully below the speed limit as he transported his precious cargo back home. 

Jey carried you upstairs and laid you gently down on the bed, his body already hovering over yours to press gentle kisses to your cheek. 

“Feelin’ okay, mamas?” Jimmy murmured. You hadn’t even realized that he had knelt between your legs to remove your heels, his calloused fingers warm against your smooth skin. “Tell me what you need.” 

You smiled, something warm and easy. “I need you,” you murmured. “Both of you.” 

Jey knelt on the bed beside you, a large hand wrapped around your throat to pull you in for a kiss. His grip was loose, almost tender. He didn’t want to hurt you.

“Sweet Jey,” you whispered against his mouth. “My sweet boy.” 

Jey let out a soft sound, almost a whimper, before kissing you again. 

Another hungry mouth was gliding along your collarbone, warm breath fanning across the diamond resting above your heart. You could feel dominant hands reaching around to unzip your dress—hands that could only belong to Jimmy. 

“My gorgeous girl,” you heard him whisper. “Always so perfect f’me.” 

He peeled the dress off you easily, his mouth leaving searing kisses to your already heated skin.

You weren’t sure whose thigh was pressed between your legs, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the feeling of their mouths on you, the scent of their cologne dizzying your senses. Your lips were beginning to tingle as they took turns claiming your mouth. 

They weren’t being rough tonight, but they didn’t exactly know how to be gentle either. It wasn’t in their nature. You could feel it in every squeeze of your hip, every nip against your sensitive skin. They were holding back—the same way they often did when they wanted to be good for you. They wanted to take care of you tonight. Wanted to make you happy. Tonight wasn’t about them. It was about you. 

“You’re so beautiful, honey,” Jey murmured. “Such a pretty girl.” 

You let out an appreciative sound, your body thrumming again when that thigh pressed more insistently between your legs. Your hips instinctively chased the feeling, your heart racing as another mouth leaned down to press more kisses to your neck. 

You were so lost in the feeling of pleasure that you almost didn’t notice the pain. 

It started slow at first. The kisses began to turn more ravenous, teeth beginning to dig in deeper to the delicate skin of your neck. You let out a small moan, your body instinctively going limp at the feeling. They’d marked you so much that you’d come to expect this—crave it, even. You’d learned a long time ago that you would bare your neck to these men, even at the risk of them tearing your throat out. How could you not? They were just too beautiful, just too perfect to resist. 

The teeth dug in deeper, this time hard enough to draw blood, and you couldn’t stop yourself from whimpering. 

“Hey!” 

Jimmy’s sharp voice had your eyes flying open in alarm. You watched as he grabbed Jey by the hair and pulled him away from you, his lip curled into a snarl.  

“We said we ain’t doin’ that shit tonight,” Jimmy growled. “And you promised me you’d behave.” 

“Man, I ain’t even do nothin’.” Jey struggled in his brother’s hold, trying to swat him away. “Get off me.” 

You watched with wide eyes as the twins struggled. They both looked equally dangerous now—their dark eyes flashing and gold teeth glittering. Jey tried to test the balance of power, but Jimmy wasn’t in the mood. He gripped Jey’s hair tighter, ignoring his little brother’s hiss of pain. 

“I told you ain’t gonna like what I do if you don’t behave,” he snarled. “Want me to throw you out of here?” 

Jey’s own lip curled this time, once again the menacing animal you’d tried to tame. He looked like he had an angry retort on his lips, though his words evaporated at the sight of you. 

You were still laying on your back, your eyes wide as you watched the confrontation go down. But that wasn’t what stopped him. The bite he’d left was bloody now, small droplets of blood dripping from the torn skin and onto the sheets below. 

He froze. 

“Yeah, you see that shit?” Jimmy was positively livid. “Trying to hurt our sweet girl on her birthday? Are you insane?” 

Jey let out a hurt sound, his brow now furrowed in distress. 

“You lucky I don’t throw your ass in that fuckin’ dog crate. Since you wanna be feral.” 

Jey went limp in his brother’s grasp. It seemed as though all the fight had bled out of him, his expression devastated when he saw the blood on your neck. 

“Bite her again and I’ll do it,” Jimmy threatened. “That or put you in a fuckin’ muzzle.” 

Jimmy finally released Jey’s hair and the younger twin whimpered, now turning his sad eyes towards you. 

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I-I ain’t mean to do it.” 

You reached out a tentative hand, brushing your fingers through his soft beard. Jey’s pretty eyes fluttered, leaning desperately into your touch. 

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “But you need to be good tonight. Can you do that for me, pup? For me and your brother?” 

Jey nodded, offering Jimmy an apologetic look. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I will. I will, I promise.” 

You reached up to pet his hair, urging back down to your lips. You wanted to show him you weren’t angry, no matter how his brother felt. 

“It’s alright,” you whispered again, brushing your lips together. “Just be good, Jey. I know you can.” 

Jey nodded quickly. “I promise,” he whimpered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I promise I will.” 

You smiled. “Good boy.” 

You let him kiss you again, savoring the taste of his repentance on your tongue. Jey’s hand reached up to grab your throat again, but his touch was gentle, almost reverent. He tilted your head back more and moved even closer, his body warm against yours. 

Jimmy leaned back and watched. You couldn’t fully decipher the look on his face, but you could tell he was watchful—vigilant in the way Jey touched you, the way his tongue began to press eagerly into your mouth. He was making sure his twin kept his word and handled you with care. You had no doubt that if Jey did something he didn’t like, he’d follow through on his threat and find the muzzle you kept in the bedside table. 

The thought alone had small flickers of arousal simmer low in your core. 

Jey took his time with you. You could tell he was greedy for more, but he was holding back, his fingers flexing dangerously above your windpipe. You could tell he was resisting the urge to be rough with you, the same way he usually was whenever you were soft and pliable like this. 

“So pretty,” Jey mumbled against your mouth. “I want you so bad, baby. You don’t even know.” 

You offered him a lazy smile, still content to lean back in the pillows and allow him to lavish you with attention. 

“You want me?” 

Jey nodded, nipping at your bottom lip. “You all I ever think about, ma,” he murmured, the words strangely vulnerable. “Just wanna be yours.” 

You reached up to thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him even closer for another kiss. You’d forgotten just how cute he could be whenever he was tame.

“Sweet boy,” you whispered. “You’ll always be mine. My sweet, pretty boy.” 

Jey let out a broken noise at your words, pressing his hips even closer so that you could feel his erection in his slacks. The fingers around your neck twitched again, struggling to maintain control as he titled your jaw up. You could feel his sharp canines nip at your bottom lip again, this time harder. 

You pulled away before he could draw blood. “Jey…” 

Jey looked distressed, still trying to chase your lips. “No, no, I’m sorry. I ain’t gonna bite. I-I can listen, I promise.” 

Jimmy let out a low growl, his hand shooting out to once again grab his brother by the hair. 

“Don’t ever fuckin’ listen do you?” Jimmy yanked him off you, those amber eyes simmering with rage. “I’m throwin’ your sorry ass in a dog crate. I don’t even fuckin’ care no more.” 

“Wait, wait, please, I’m sorry.” Jey didn’t even try to fight his brother’s grip, holding his hands up pleadingly. “I just… I just… fuck, I can’t… I’m sorry…” 

Jimmy dragged him off the bed, his other hand reaching out to grab Jey by the collar of his dress shirt. 

“Actin’ like you ain’t fuckin’ trained,” Jimmy hissed. “Actin’ like you can’t fuckin’ listen.” 

It took you a moment to realize that Jimmy wasn’t playing around. He was fully intending to drag Jey by the hair all the way to the dog crate and shut him up there for the rest of the night. That wasn’t what you wanted. Not yet, anyways. 

“Jimmy.” 

You didn’t say his name very loud, but Jimmy still paused, his gaze at you apologetic. 

“I’m sorry he don’t know how to listen, baby,” he murmured. “But I’ll take care of it. I promise.” 

You sat up on your elbows, watching as Jey trembled in his brother’s grasp. He looked devastated, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. 

“I know you will, sweetheart,” you said, kindly. “But it’s my birthday. I want to give him one more chance to be good. Can we, baby? Please?” 

Jimmy hesitated. “You sure? I don’t want him hurtin’ you tonight.” 

“He won’t.” You leaned back against the sheets, spreading your legs so the twins could now get an excellent view of your lace panties. The fabric was already wet, the lace clinging to your soft folds. “He’ll be a good boy for us. Won’t you, pet?” 

Jey’s teary eyes were wide, his gaze flickering between you and your leaking sex. “I swear I will,” he gasped. “I ain’t gonna bite. I ain’t gonna hurt you, baby. I promise.” 

He took a step towards the bed but Jimmy yanked on his hair again, causing another whimper to escape his lips. 

“Just ‘cause she willing to forgive don’t mean I am,” Jimmy hissed. “You fuck up one more time and you’re out. I’ll put that damn muzzle on you too. Don’t think I won’t.” 

Jey nodded quickly, his expression desperate. “I’ll listen,” he gasped. “I’ll listen. I’ll behave, uce, I swear.” 

Jimmy didn’t seem convinced, but he still dragged Jey back to the bed.

“This what you want?” Jimmy asked you, holding his little brother up by the hair for you to examine. “This wild thing?” 

You smiled, endeared by the sight of Jey’s desperate whimpers. “He’ll be tame for us, baby. Won’t you, pup?” 

Jey nodded pitifully, still whimpering even when Jimmy finally released his hair. 

“Fine,” Jimmy muttered. “He better prove it too. Go on, mutt. Show our birthday girl that you’re tame. That you’re obedient.” 

Jey’s eyes were still teary when he crawled back onto the bed, reaching out a tentative hand to brush your leg. 

“Please,” he whimpered. “Please, lemme show you. I’m sorry, baby. I swear I am.” 

“Alright, alright,” you murmured, spreading your legs even further. “Then prove it to us. Show us what a good boy you can be.” 

Jey pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, lowering himself between your legs to get closer to you. You could feel his warm breath fanning across your overheated skin, his kisses tender. You reached out to pet his hair and Jey let out a low rumbling sound, almost like a purr, as he leaned into your touch. 

He wrapped his long arms around your legs, his massive hands settling on your thighs. His body was coiled as tightly as a spring, his muscles trembling as he resisted the urge to dive forward and devour you. But he didn’t. He wanted to prove he could be good. That he was a tame, obedient dog who listened when given a command. 

“You’re going to prove you’re my sweet boy, aren’t you?” you whispered. “That you’re not that wild, feral animal again. You’ll listen now, won’t you, pup?” 

Jey nodded, sweetly rubbing his cheek into your inner thigh. “I ain’t ever wanna hurt you like that, baby,” he whispered, tears still shining in his eyes. “It’s just so hard…” 

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” You ran your fingers through his hair. “You try so hard to be good. So go on, show me. Show me you’re in control. That you’re my obedient boy who listens.” 

Jey’s mouth moved closer to your pussy, his breath now tickling the rapidly dampening fabric. His pink tongue darted out to lick his lips, as if he were hungry. Ravenous. 

The bed dipped as Jimmy joined you on the bed, his expression still wary as he gazed down at his brother. 

“You let me know if he hurts you, baby,” he murmured. “You tell me if I need to punish him and I will. I don’t want you liftin’ a finger tonight.” 

You smiled, leaning back to look at him. “I will,” you promised. “I know you’ll take care of me.” 

“Always.” 

Jimmy leaned down and brushed your lips together, his kiss gentle too. You sighed as he reached up and cradled your cheek, feeling safe beneath those warm, calloused hands. 

Something cold ghosted across your wet folds and you shivered, realizing that Jey was using those golden teeth to tug your panties to the side, still trying to be gentle even though his muscles were trembling with restraint, his entire body coiled like a predator resisting the urge to strike. 

“Good boy,” you whispered, still petting his hair. “So good for me.” 

Jey let out an appreciative sound, his tongue dipping gently between your soaked folds. His brown doe eyes were still wide, still staring up at you even as his tongue tenderly lapped against your skin. Somehow your massive, terrifying guard dog looked cute. 

Jimmy leaned back to watch, his expression amused now. “He wants it bad,” he chuckled. “Don’t know if I’ll let him fuck you though.”

You continued to pet his hair, letting out a shaky breath as his tongue licked further down, now gently nudging at your empty hole. 

“We’ll see if he earns it,” you replied. “If he’s good.” 

Jey pulled back just enough for his grills to catch in the light again. His canines looked sharp, the diamonds on his teeth twinkling dangerously, but you weren’t afraid. You knew he would be gentle with you, especially if he was under the watchful eye of his stern older brother. 

“And what about me?” Jimmy murmured, his breath warm in your ear. “I been good too?” 

You grinned, gazing up at him. “You’re always my good boy,” you murmured. “So good that you wanna take care of me. And your brother too.” 

Jimmy’s eyes flickered down to Jey, watching as he continued to gently lick up into you. You smiled wider when he reached down and brushed some of the curls from his brother’s forehead, his expression fond. 

“I’ll always take care of you,” he murmured. “Both of you.” 

Jey let out a pleased sound, his eyes still staring up at you both in devotion. His tongue was now pressing incessantly inside of you, his movements still slow and syrupy. You could feel the diamonds on his grills brush against your sensitive skin, the feeling sharp, but not unwelcome. 

Jimmy’s large hand moves further down to rest beneath your jaw. His touch was a little more firm than Jey’s. A little more dominant.

He tilted your head back and kissed you more deeply, claiming every inch of you for himself. You swiped your tongue across the cool metal in his mouth, the diamonds scraping your lip before you pull away again. 

You lean back to look at him. At this angle, Jimmy just looks so big—so powerful with his broad shoulders and rippling muscles. You can see them beneath his black dress shirt, the gorgeous ink on his chest peeking out from the top where he had undone the top button. He reached out another hand and his golden watch caught in the light, the same gold as his earrings and chain. And when he smiled again, you saw more gold in his mouth—a shining Midas with a wolfish grin. 

Jey’s tongue delved in deeper and this time you couldn’t hold back a moan, instinctively reaching out for Jimmy to ground yourself. You glanced down at Jey and saw that his eyes were half-lidded now, his nose buried against you as he pushed that talented tongue even deeper. You could feel yourself getting wetter—your sweet nectar leaking out of your hole just for Jey to swallow it all. 

Jey let out a low moan, the vibration from his throat causing more pleasure to shoot up your spine at the feeling. Then his tongue curled, finding that magic spot inside you that stars exploding across your vision. You fell back against the pillows, vaguely hearing Jimmy’s soft chuckle beside you. 

“Does it feel good, angel?” he murmured. “Your puppy doin’ a good job?” 

You nodded, clinging to him. “S’good,” you breathed. 

Jey pressed his face even deeper, his tongue now massaging that spot over and over again just to watch you writhe in pleasure. Your slick was smeared across his face, small drops of it dripping down his beard, but he didn’t care. He doubled his efforts instead, diving in just to taste more of you, his hips beginning to roll into the mattress at the sound of your low moans of pleasure. 

You came three times from his mouth alone. It wasn’t until you were shaking from overstimulation that Jimmy finally allowed Jey to fuck you, his eyes still watchful lest Jey break his promise and bruise your delicate skin. He was protective like that. 

Thankfully, Jey knew better than to disobey him. He tried his best to be gentle—his hands determined not to grab, his teeth determined not to bite. 

But it was just for tonight. 

The Uso twins had given you this as a gift for your birthday—one brother with his dominance and another with his obedience—to prove their love and devotion to you. It wouldn’t last. You knew it was only a matter of time before their true nature returned. 

These men weren’t known for their gentleness. These men were dangerous. They fucked like animals. They claimed you like territory. They snarled and bit and drew blood even after all their promises that they wouldn’t. That’s who they were. 

But for your birthday they were this—your sweet, gentle boys. Jey would be tame for you. Jimmy would hold his brother’s leash for you. 

It was the best birthday present ever. 

previous part: part five