O U T K A S T

Day one of your argument you stayed strong and moved through the house like a queen in a castle that had been overrun by a jealous beast.

Your skincare routine? Luxurious.

Your work calls? On point.

Your outfit? A soft two-piece lounge set that hugged every curve like it missed you.

When dinner came, you threw yourself into it like you were being judged on Top Chef. You marinated lamb chops for hours. Cooked up homemade honey butter biscuits with a dash of cayenne in the butter… just the way… he… liked it. But you made it very clear: that plate was yours and yours alone.

As you cooked, Smoke lingered around the kitchen and his massive frame leaned against the fridge while watching you plate your meal like a hawk. His nostrils flared as his eyes burned holes into your skin. He couldn’t believe his woman wasn’t offering him a plate of food, but he also wasn’t a man who would beg.

While completely ignoring his existence, you sat at the dining table with your legs crossed, lips glistening with lamb jus and smirking between each bite like you were daring him to say something. He didn’t. But oh, the look he gave you… Girl run

When Saturday rolled in the silence started to feel dangerous. This was the one day out of the week when Smoke would usually hit the gym with Stack, run errands he couldn’t get to during the week and any other ‘man shit’ that you didn’t care to know about. But not today. Today, that man made it a point to stay his ass at home. All. Damn. Day. And worse? He did it wearing only grey sweatpants and no shirt.

Every inch of Smoke was carved out of marble by God. Smooth brown skin stretched over thick muscle and broad shoulders. His gold chains swung low, catching the light every time he reached for something. And those damn sweatpants? They hung low. Way too damn low while leaving nothing to the imagination.

You were sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, but your eyes kept sliding up catching every stretch, every shift, and every flex Smoke would make.

When he purposefully reached his arm up to stretch, that’s when he caught you. “Fuck you staring at?” His voice was deep and sharp. His lips curled into a smirk even as his eyes narrowed, knowing exactly what you were doing.

Your mouth went dry but you sucked your teeth and rolled your eyes before firing back just as sharp. “Ain’t nobody looking at you, nigga.” You turned your head fast, placed a nearby throw blanket onto your lap, and squeezed your thighs shut like you weren’t damn near vibrating with need.

Smoke let out a scoff and dropped onto the armchair across from you, legs spread wide, one hand rubbing the scruff along his jaw, the other dragging down his thigh like he didn’t know what that did to you. But he knew. Of course he knew. Because he’s a SLUT. Smoke was a man born with sin in his bloodstream and you were his favorite outlet.

“You real bold when your pussy hungry,” he goaded without looking at you, just low enough to make your stomach flip. “Real fuckin’ bold.”

You didn’t respond. Your throat tightened and your fingers curled into the blanket as heat spread between your thighs like wildfire. You hated how your body betrayed you. How your nipples perked beneath your tank top just from hearing his voice like that. How your lower belly tightened at the memory of his mouth, his hands, his— Stop. You weren’t going to fold. Not this time. No. This time you had a point to prove… So you stayed quiet.

Smoke leaned forward then, his forearms braced on his knees, honey brown eyes finally locking with yours. He was so beautiful it made your chest hurt. That hard jaw. That slow burn in his stare. The way his gold tooth caught the light when he smirked.

“You gon’ act like you don’t hear me? I said…” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rougher, “… you real bold when your pussy hungry.”

You tossed the blanket off your lap like a challenge and stood up, storming past him toward the kitchen. But before you could make it, his hand snatched your wrist. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped.

“I ain’t touchin’ you,” he said coolly, pulling you gently, slow and patient, until you were standing right between his legs. “I’m remindin’ you. That mouth? That attitude? That little fake-ass silent treatment you think you givin’? That shit don’t work on me, pretty girl.”

He looked up at you like you were the last good thing in a ruined world. And then his eyes dropped trailing slowly down your body, soaking in every soft curve, every part of you he knew like scripture. “Go on. Keep walkin’ away,” he muttered, voice like hardened steel. “But I know damn well you miss how it feel when I grab the back of that neck and tell you to hush while I—”

“Don’t.” You said it too fast. Too breathless.

He grinned. That arrogant grin that made your knees weak and your pride falter. “You really mad?” he asked quietly, now wrapping a hand around your thigh and easing you a fraction closer. “Or you just don’t wanna admit that I had a reason to knock that pretty boy barista out his damn shoes?”

You sarcastically laughed at Smoke’s audacity. “That man smiled. That’s it. You almost went to jail over a smile.”

“Don’t care.” He leaned forward, nose brushing against your lower belly, breath warm through the cotton of your tank. “Anyone smile at you like that again, I’ll put him in the dirt.”

You stared down at him, your fingers twitching by your sides. “You’re a damn lunatic.”

“Yup.” His eyes lifted, black and unrepentant. “Your lunatic.”

You wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream and bite and ride and cry and maybe all at once. But instead, you turned your head, stared at the wall, and whispered, “Don’t talk to me.”

Smoke scoffed and his grip tightened before he kissed the inside of your thigh, right on that special spot that always makes you forget how to think straight. The kiss was gentle… dangerous… knowing “Aight, baby,” his voice muffled against your skin. “I won’t say a word.” But the fire in those orbs told a different story.

When you finally pulled away, storming back into the kitchen to cool down, you could feel his stare trailing behind you like a shadow with claws. You stood next to the kitchen island hoping for a moment of peace but instead your heart rattled like a stray bullet in your chest. The room felt too hot, too still… way too still, like the moment right before a thunderstorm when all the air gets sucked out of the sky and the ground doesn’t know whether to shake or stay still.

You ran your hands through your hair and let out a frustrated sigh. After 24 hours of being strong, you couldn’t let yourself fold from a little thigh kiss. You weren’t even hungry, but your hands moved on autopilot, opening the fridge, grabbing things, pretending like your body wasn’t still humming from the feel of his mouth on your thigh.

Smoke wasn’t slick and you weren’t safe. Not from him and not from the heat building up under your skin like it was trying to boil you alive. Behind you, the sound of the armchair creaking and his footsteps thumping across the hardwood made you hold your breath. You didn’t bother turning, you already knew the look on his face was smug and cocky like he was just biding time until your pride finally tapped out.

“You heavy-footed on purpose?” you muttered without looking at him. “Or you tryna make sure I know you comin’ so I don’t swing a skillet at your head?”

Smoke didn’t say a word but you heard the slow grind of his teeth and a slight click when his tongue hit the back of them. Then, the fridge door beside you opened. His arm brushed yours with intent and his skin was as hot as a stovetop. He reached in and grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a long, long drink like he had been parched since war-time.

You still didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Instead you stopped fiddling with the random assortment of ingredients and crossed your arms under your chest so tightly your hands started going numb. But none of that mattered. Smoke was standing so close now with his presence wrapping around you like a weighted blanket made of lustful desire, silently daring you to keep dismissing him.

“You really don’t want me talkin’ to you?” he asked finally with his tone full of challenge. “Even though your thighs damn near gave up and invited me in just now?”

You turned your head and squinted your eyes at him. “You punched an innocent man for smiling at me!”

“And I said a barista don’t need to be starin’ at what’s mine like he got a fuckin’ chance!”

“You don’t own me, Elijah,” you mumbled.

That was the first time you’d said his real name in days. And you had the nerve to use it while telling him that he doesn’t own you.

Smoke’s jaw ticked. His nostrils flared. And then he laughed like he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with you right now. “I don’t own you?” he repeated, stepping in now, cornering you against the counter. “You right… You right, you grown, huh? Real grown. Is that why you been sittin’ in this house clenching your lil thighs every time I so much as stretch?”

“Back up,” you whispered. It didn’t sound as strong as you wanted it to. Not when your back hit the cold of the cabinet and your front was all warm-blooded temptation and hard muscle.

Smoke leaned in like a snake slithering across grass before striking its prey. His lips brushed your ear, and his voice dropped to a place that made your belly twist. “Tell me to back up one more time, baby,” he taunted, “and mean it.”

You swallowed thickly, chest rising fast beneath your thin top.

His hand settled on the counter beside your hip, the other drifting ever so gently down the side of your arm, brushing like a warning. “Say it,” he taunted again. “Or let me remind you why you don’t ever sleep right unless I’m wrapped around you.”

Now it was your turn to clench your jaw but your breath betrayed you. Your thighs pressed together again, heat rushing back like a tidal wave. “Why you always gotta be like this?” you breathed, voice barely holding on.

He chuckled darkly. “Because I know what’s mine.” His hand slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing the dip of your waist. “And I know when she lyin’… putting on a front.” He kissed your neck just once to test the waters. It was soft but full of possession.

And when you didn’t stop him, when you didn’t shove him away, he nipped your collarbone and muttered, “You gon’ keep fightin’ me or you gon’ let Daddy fix this?”

“I’m still mad at you,” you said, even as your fingers gripped his sweatpants.

“Stay mad then,” he growled, lifting you up onto the counter like you weighed nothing. “But don’t pretend you don’t need me.”

It took all your might to not whimper when his hand slid between your thighs, the heat of his palm making your eyes roll back. “I told… you not… to talk to me,” you gasped.

Smoke smirked against your throat. “Then put that pretty lil pussy in my face and shut me up.”

Your eyes squinted into a glare and heat rushed up your neck as your lips parted in disbelief. Your body wanted him. Badly. But your mind… that damn stubborn, bratty, prideful-ass mind was not about to let him win this round so easily.

And so… you did what any unhinged woman dating Elijah Moore would do and shoved a hand into his perfect face… and mushed him. What color roses do you want at your funeral? You pushed his cocky expression away like you were slapping a mosquito. The suddenness made him take a step back, just long enough for you to hop down from the counter in one quick motion and scurry away like a rabbit setting itself free from a snare.

“I said don’t talk to me, nigga!” you yelled, snatching your composure back like a silk robe off the floor.

You stormed out the kitchen, and tossed a middle finger over your shoulder. “And put some damn clothes on! Walkin’ ‘round this house like I could buy you for the night with two dollars and a half-stick of gum!”

Smoke stood still like a statue and for a second he didn't know if he was dreaming or if his woman was truly out of her damn mind. Then that low, dangerous laugh rolled from his chest like thunder over wet concrete. It was a sound that did nothing but pour gasoline on the flames already licking between your thighs. He loved when you got like this, wild-eyed, stubborn-lipped, and sass pouring from your throat like it was made of honey and broken glass.

He knew you’d fold. And when you did… he’d be the one to catch you.

The rest of the day you avoided Smoke like the floor was lava and he was the devil waiting at the bottom. You locked yourself in your shared bedroom and buried yourself in the sheets like they could protect you from the walking sin on the other side of the door. You distracted yourself for hours. Scrolled through your phone. Scrolled again. Played lo-fi beats. Switched to gospel. Thought about cooking. Decided not to because that would involve you leaving your sanctuary. Thought about apologizing. Decided not to because it would be a cold day in hell before you apologize to him. Thought about touching yourself… Absolutely did not… yet.

Eventually, your body gave in to exhaustion. The softness of the pillows, the hum of the AC in the background and the scent of Smoke lingering on the sheets rocked you into a tense, twitchy sleep. And then your mind betrayed you.

Of course your unconscious mind decided to betray you as you went off into dreamland. Dream-Smoke had his mouth everywhere on your body. On your neck. Down your chest. Between your thighs. This version of Smoke was utterly ruthless. He said your name like it was a threat and a prayer. His hands gripped your legs like he was holding onto the only thing that made sense in this godforsaken world.

“Open up, baby. Yeah, just like that…”

Your body arched in your sleep, your mouth parted, a soft moan fluttering against the dark. And right when you were about to reach that shimmering edge, Dream-Smoke pulled back and taunted in your ear, “Shouldn’t’ve told me not to talk, huh?”

You gasped yourself awake and the bedroom was cloaked in darkness, only a soft sliver of moonlight slipped between the curtains. Your chest heaved and your pajama shorts were damn near soaked through. The cotton stuck to your core like it had a vendetta. A frown pulled at your lips and a tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it.

You turned your head to look at the blinking alarm clock through wet eyes and frowned again. It was currently 2:03 AM and you couldn’t believe you somehow slept the entire the day away.

Peaking over your shoulder you let out a disgruntled sigh. Smoke was laid out like he didn’t have a care in the world. One arm slung behind his head, chest rising and falling with calm, heavy breaths. That same damn pair of grey sweatpants still clung to his hips. He looked peaceful. Angelic even. You wanted to punch him and make him suffer for what Dream-Smoke started but didn’t finish. But since you already got away with mushing him in the face you didn’t want to test your luck and simply whined.

A shaky, bratty, needy whimper left your throat as you wiped your still falling tears and leaned over, gently nudging Smoke's shoulder. He grunted and cracked one eye open. “What, baby?” His voice was sleep-worn and you tried not to focus on what hearing it was doing to your already wounded up body.

You pouted in the dark, nose wrinkled, lips trembling. “This is ALL your fault.”

Raising your voice early in the morning got Smoke’s full attention and he blinked slowly, as the remnants of sleep cleared from his face like a curtain lifting. His eyes found you in the moonlit darkness. You looked so adorable to him, pouty-lipped, flushed cheeks, and thighs pressed tightly together under the covers.

“The fuck you yellin’ at me for and cryin’ this early in the morning?” he asked, now fully awake, his tone clipped with concern and confusion.

You sniffled. “I… I need… I want… I want… to touch myself,” you admitted, lip quivering dramatically. “And since I’m still mad at you… I need you to leave the bed.”

Smoke blinked once at you and then again into the darkness like he was on an episode of The Office. He didn’t expect to be so entertained by your antics today and he started to chuckle to himself. This wasn’t a typical ‘I love how bratty my girl is acting’ type of laugh. No, this was a dark, ‘this girl done lost her fuckin’ mind’ laugh.

“You woke me up,” he said slowly, to make sure he got all the details correct, “to tell me that you’re horny… and I need to leave our bed… so you can touch what belongs to me?”

Your throat tightened. When Smoke repeated everything out loud it did sound kind of insane but that was besides the point. “You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin and pointing it to the door. “Now go.”

Smoke let out a final chuckle and didn’t move. He leaned back on one elbow, eyes gleaming in the dark like he could see the mess you’d become under those covers. “You really out here throwin’ tantrums at two in the morning ‘cause you can’t handle how badly you want me to fuck that attitude out of you?” he teased.

“I am handling it,” you bit back. “I’m asking you to leave. Like a grown woman.”

His tongue slid along the inside of his cheek. Then he reached down, adjusted himself in those sweats just slightly, and let out a hum that made your thighs twitch. “You sure?” he asked gently, like he was talking to a skittish wild animal about to bolt. “You sure you want me to leave, baby?”

“Yes,” you whispered, even as your legs squirmed beneath the blanket. “I don’t need you. I can do it myself.”

“Mhm… is that right...”

Smoke sat up slowly before swinging his legs off the side of the bed. He stood to his full height and then without saying another word he discarded his sweatpants, letting the moonlight shine on his intimidating half-hard manhood. You sat in complete shock, unsure what to say or what to do. Your mouth stayed agape and you could’ve sworn you didn’t breathe for 2 minutes, Your whole body burned with need and you hated this feeling.

And he spoke again in a cruel velvet-slick tone, “Go on then.” He climbed back in bed and laid on his back with his hands behind his head like he didn’t just take his pants off. “Show me how you don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was so thick it felt like smoke itself. It crackled with the weight of what you wanted to do and what your pride wouldn’t allow. Your fingers trembled under the blanket. You hated him, yet you wanted him. And you hated how badly you wanted him. All of this only made the leaking faucet between your thighs turn into a full blown fire hose.

He bit his bottom lip before antagonizing you. “Might help if you stop cryin’, baby. You can’t see your lil fingers down there with all them tears foggin’ up your eyesight.”

Your fists balled with annoyance but your thighs began to slightly part. Smoke didn’t move or touch you. He didn’t even acknowledge the way he could smell your sweet aroma in the room. He just gave you a look that said, ‘You can play this game all night, pretty girl… I’ll be here when you break.’

And you were so, so close to shattering. You stared at him like he’d summoned a demon into the room and dared you to dance with it.

Smoke stretched his long body across the bed like he was on display. Like he wasn’t a man who just dropped his pants in the middle of a silent standoff and dared you to stay proud. With his arms folded beneath his head, the swell of his chest rose and fell as if he weren’t aware of the war going on inside your body. The tension. The hunger. The absolute need that clawed at your insides like a caged animal. His dick sat heavy between his thighs, thick and idle, like it had time to wait. Like it knew it would be fed eventually.

“You got five seconds before I close my eyes and go back to sleep,” he grumbled without looking at you. “So go ahead. Get to rubbin’. Let me hear how good you make yourself feel without my help.”

Your lip trembled. You weren’t crying anymore, not from frustration anyway. But your thighs were sticky, your panties were soaked through, and every nerve ending in your body was throbbing like you’d been edgewalking through purgatory. Still… you weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction of begging. So you huffed in a loud and obnoxious manner before wiping your cheeks like a toddler who just got scolded. You then yanked the covers off your body and laid flat on your back beside him, arms stiff at your sides.

Smoke turned his head slightly, one brow arched. “Thought you said you didn’t need me,” he said, tone sharp and mocking.

“I don’t,” you snapped. “I just need space.”

He smirked. “You sound stupid.”

You glared at the ceiling. “You look stupid.”

Another beat of silence. Then your hand slowly dragged beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts, and your breath hitched. You weren’t even doing anything yet, and your whole body tensed like you were about to commit a crime.

Smoke didn’t move but he watched from the corner of his eye. You could feel his eyes burning into the side of your face, heavy and loaded. Like if he blinked, he might miss the exact moment you broke. Your fingers brushed against your panties and found them soaked, the cotton clinging to your folds like it was trying to apologize for being in the way. You let out a shaky breath and your fingers twitched as you slid them beneath the fabric and gently grazed your clit.

The behemoth of a man next to you exhaled through his nose but he didn’t say a word as he continued to observe. You rubbed slow circles, small and hesitant, still stubborn as hell and still trying to prove a point you were seconds from losing as a soft and breathy moan slipped out.

Smoke turned his head toward you fully now, his gaze dark and unreadable. “You always make yourself sound so pretty,” he said, voice lower now, rough and molten. “But it don’t hit the same, do it?”

You didn’t answer him but your hips rolled in response to his question. Your hand moved faster. Your breath stuttered. Your back arched. Still—not a word. You didn’t plead or cry for help. To prove your point you used your own hand and held back the silent scream in your throat. Then you finally felt it… that build. It climbed your spine and tingled through your limbs, coiling low and tight in your belly like lightning trapped behind your navel. But just as your toes curled and your moans grew louder… Smoke’s hand slammed down on your wrist and you yelped.

He was above you now, face inches from yours, his chest heaving, lips parted. “That’s enough,” he growled. “This little show? Over.”

“Wha—? I didn’t even—” you started, but he cut you.

“You really gon’ make yourself cum when I’m layin’ right here?” he snapped, pressing your wrist into the mattress with one hand while the other dragged your shorts down in one brutal yank. “Tryna act like you in control of somethin’ when this pussy don’t even belong to you no more?”

You whimpered as his mouth crashed into yours, all heat and dominance, devouring your lips like he was punishing you for breathing without permission. His tongue pushed into your mouth while his hips settled between your thighs, and you could feel all of him, heavy and hot, grinding against your bare heat.

“You should’ve just asked,” he murmured against your mouth, voice trembling with restraint.

You blinked up at him, dazed and breathless. “Asked… what?”

“If I was done bein’ mad,” he answered, dragging his tip along your soaked entrance, teasing but never pushing in. “Cause I wasn’t. Not yet.” And with that he slid in excruciatingly slow. So slow you nearly blacked out.

“Now,” he growled, gripping your throat just enough to make your heart flutter, “you don’t talk to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he filled you inch by inch, until all nine inches of his rock hard flesh stretched you out causing your back arch off the bed. Once he was completely sheathed inside of your warm gummy walls Smoke didn’t move. Not yet. He held himself still with his hand still resting on your throat—not choking, just a firm reminder of who was in control. Of whose name was stitched into the folds of your body like ownership. Like scripture.

Your lashes fluttered as a soft, broken whimper escaped your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed, watching your face intently. “That’s what I thought.”

The weight of him, the heat, the way his body caged yours like a storm rolling over weak land, every bit of it made your spine tremble. He didn’t have to say it, didn’t need to ask… he already knew. This wasn’t about sex anymore. This was about submission. About surrender. About you thinking you could ignore him, silence him, deny him, and still sleep soundly next to him every night.

His hips rolled meticulously and grinded so deep you swore you saw stars behind your eyes. His pace was punishing in its patience. Purposeful and steady. Like he wanted you to feel the agony he felt every second you ignored him. Every breath you wasted pretending you didn’t need him.

“You really thought you was gon’ touch yourself in this bed?” he grunted, lips ghosting over your jaw as he rocked into you again. “While I laid next to you? Like I ain’t the one that got this pussy cryin’ in the first place?”

You couldn’t even respond. Your mouth opened but no sound came out, just a sharp inhale, a choked moan, and the clenching of your legs around his hips.

He groaned low like he felt your apology in the way your walls pulled him in tighter.

“This one… if for every time you rolled your eyes at me,” THRUST.

“This one… is for every time you walked away from me,” THRUST.

“Fuck… and THIS one is for every time you told me not to talk to you,” SLAM.

You whimpered beneath him, nails digging into his arms as your pride cracked wide open and your body begged to be ruined. You couldn’t handle this torturous unhurried fuck session. You needed your walls plowed to smithereens and you needed it to happen right now. “I hate you,” you gasped.

“Shut up. You love me,” he corrected with a smirk, snapping his hips against yours harder now. “You love me when I got you stuffed full and dumb off my name.”

Your moans turned shameless… so soft, high, and desperate. Each slow thrust had you melting further, your bratty resolve unraveling like a ribbon. And Smoke? He watched the transformation like it was art. “There she go…” he whispered. “There’s my girl. Ain’t no talkin’ now, huh? Just that lil mouth open like you got somethin’ to say… but still don’t know how to say sorry.”

You finally met his gaze, eyes wide and glassy with need. “I’m—” you tried.

He pressed his fingers against your lips. “Nope.” Another thrust. Brutal. Deep. You cried out. “Don’t say shit else to me... Just take it.”

He dipped his head, kissed the corner of your mouth with an intimacy that contrasted the way he was owning you from the inside out. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, hips rising to meet him while chasing the edge of pleasure like you’d die if you didn’t reach it soon.

“I got you,” he whispered, his breath warm and ragged against your ear. “Go on, baby. Let go. Let me take it.”

Your orgasm crept up your spine like a threat, your whole body tightening under him. “Smoke—” you breathed, one hand tangling in the bedsheets beneath you, the other clutching his shoulder like a lifeline.

“I know, I know. Shhh, baby,” he cooed. “Come on. I got you.” And when you finally shattered—mouth open, legs shaking, eyes rolling—he never let up. He kept fucking you through it, hips grinding, mouth pressing kisses to your throat and chest, whispering your name like prayer and punishment all at once.

You went limp beneath him and he pulled back just enough to look you in the face, brushing a lone tear from your cheek. “You still mad?”

You blinked up at him, dazed and ruined. He smirked again. That same crooked, devilish thing that started it all. “Yeah… you look like you still got a fuckin’ attitude.”

Your chest rose and fell in shallow waves with your skin covered in sweat as you lay there boneless and ruined beneath him.

Smoke hovered above you like a storm cloud that refused to pass. His body didn’t press down; he just hovered, solid and still, like a hunter watching his prey breathe after the first strike. His arms caged you on either side, head tilted slightly as his gold chain swung gently from his neck and tapped your collarbone. Your legs still trembled from the aftershock and your thighs involuntarily locked around his waist, trying to pull him closer.

But Smoke didn’t move, he was so deep inside of you that you could barely think. And instead of chasing his own pleasure like any other man might, he just stared and studied you like you were the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on. You felt the subtle twitch of him inside you, ready, but not rushing. Not desperate. Because Smoke wasn’t a man ruled by impulse. He was ruled by control. And he wielded it like a blade.

“You done squeezing my dick?” he asked quietly, voice low and relaxed, like he had nowhere else to be but right here. “Or you need a minute to remember where you at?”

You blinked slowly, lips still tingling from where he kissed you, still too blissed out to string a proper sentence together. But he waited—patient, immovable—as your brows knit together, that ache you just got rid of was already building again and you finally realized… he wasn’t finished. He still hadn’t moved. And now, you were too aware of it. Too aware of the way he filled you like he’d been carved just for you. Too aware of the steady rise and fall of his chest. Of how warm and thick and ready he still felt inside you.

“Smoke,” you whined, voice hoarse and fragile.

He cocked a brow, his gold tooth glinting in the dark. “Yeah, baby?”

Your thighs flexed around him again, a needy little roll of your hips that made you whimper even as you tried to hold your pride in place. His hand slid slowly up the side of your throat, fingers curling around the hinge of your jaw to tilt your face up toward his.

“You feel that?” he murmured.

You nodded weakly, lips parting.

“I been sittin’ still. Holdin’ back,” he whispered, each word slipping into your mouth like honey and heat. “You been cryin’, whinin’, beggin’ me to leave. But I ain’t goin’ nowhere, baby.”

He leaned down, forehead nearly touching yours. “I stay when you bratty. Stay when you act like you don’t want me. Stay when you try to punish me with silence.”

A soft, broken sound spilled from your lips.

“I stay… ‘cause you mine.” Then finally… he moved again. Just a slow roll of his hips. Barely there. Just enough to make you feel the stretch again. Just enough to remind your body that your first orgasm was nothing but the beginning. Your nails found his back again, dragging lightly over the skin of his shoulders as your breath caught.

“You thought I was gon’ break first,” he said, dragging himself out slowly before sinking back into you. “Didn’t you?”

You moaned, head tipping back, throat arching beneath his palm.

“You thought that lil attitude was enough to make me lose my cool.” Another thrust. Deep and slow. The kind that made your vision blur.

“But you forgot who you dealin’ with,” he grunted as his lips brushed your ear. “I can fuck this perfect pussy slow like this for hours and still not cum.”

You whimpered again, your hips twitching, your body betraying you as your heat reignited. He kissed the curve of your cheek, your jaw, your ear.

“You don’t get quick fucks when you act like you don’t need me.” His hand slid between your bodies, fingers slipping down until they found that tender, swollen bundle of nerves. “You get discipline.”And as his fingers began to move in calculated devastating circles, his hips continued their cruel rhythm and your body began to shake again.

You could barely breathe. Every inch of your body was coated in sweat, your skin fever-hot, while your senses flooded with overstimulation. Smoke hadn’t let up and he hadn’t sped up either. That was the worst part… or maybe the best. He moved with purpose and mastery. Every grind of his hips was deep, as he poured himself into you like he was trying to combine your souls into one. And his fingers… God. The pads of them circled your clit with such devastating precision, you swore you were unraveling on a molecular level. Like you were coming apart from the inside out.

You gripped at his shoulders, his back, his biceps, wherever you could reach… but you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t change the pace. Couldn’t make him move faster no matter how much your legs shook or your voice cracked. “P-please,” you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for. Release? Mercy? More?

Smoke leaned down, brushing his lips against your cheek with a smug grin carved into his face. “Oh… You beggin’ now?” he asked. “Wasn’t too long ago you was flippin’ me off and actin’ like I was walkin’ around here like a cheap thrill.”

His voice vibrated against your neck, dragging goosebumps down your spine. “You wanna cum again, pretty girl?” he murmured, fingers pressing down just slightly harder, swirling against your clit like he was drawing a map to your breakdown. “Is that what all them little tears are for?”

You whined, nodding frantically, your thighs beginning to quake again. Smoke didn’t speed up. He didn’t need to. Your body was desperate for him and would greedily take whatever was given. He knew you so well he could fuck you out of a meltdown without ever changing rhythm.

“You don’t deserve to cum yet,” he said lowly, pulling his mouth back to hover just above yours. “But I’m gon’ let you anyway. Just so you remember who got you moaning so loud our neighbors might file a noise complaint tomorrow.”

He moved in again with one solid and controlled stroke that made your eyes roll and your nails dig so deep into his back you swore you could feel muscle give. Your body started to quiver. “No—no, wait—” you whimpered, because you felt it building too fast, the peak rising like a wave with nowhere to go.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice laced with hunger now, though his pace never changed. “That’s it. Go on. Cum on my dick.”

He kissed you and swallowed your cries as your walls constricted around him and you came again, harder than before. Your body jerked beneath him as your second orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave smashing through a dam. You sobbed into his mouth, a mix of bliss and frustration and pure, helpless surrender. Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your nails dug into his flesh like he was the only thing keeping you from drifting away.

Smoke pulled back just enough to look at your face that was flushed and tear-streaked, while your mouth hung open in silent shock as you rode the aftershocks. “I don’t think that attitude is gone yet” he rasped, still deep inside you, still hard as stone. “You need another reminder. Don’t you, baby?”

You nodded weakly unable to form words.

Smoke slid his hand up your ribcage, slow and reverent, until he cupped the side of your face. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, tugging it gently. “I ain’t even started your real punishment yet.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Two days you gave me attitude,” he murmured, kissing your chin. “Two days you walked around this house actin’ like you forgot what my name felt like between your thighs… I'm nowhere near done with you yet.”

You gasped, your fingers twitched around his arms, already worn down and so full of him. You didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes or lifetimes that passed with him moving inside you like that—slow, deliberate, dominant. Your body felt swollen with sensation, soaked in the aftermath of two back-to-back orgasms that had left your breath scattered like glass shards across the mattress.

Your skin was hot to the touch, your muscles limp, your mind foggy with a heady mix of defiance and surrender. And through it all, Smoke hadn’t broken his rhythm. His stamina was inhuman, like he fed off control, fed off the way your body twitched and sobbed under his. The way you needed more and hated that it had to come from him.

But then… Something shifted. His eyes… those dark, obsidian things dragged across your face. He licked his lips, slow and thoughtful. Then he pulled back again. All the way out. You cried at the loss of fullness and rose your hips involuntarily trying to chase him. Smoke grinned but it wasn’t a playful or kind grin. Without a word, he grabbed your hips, flipped you over onto your stomach, and yanked your ass up until you were on your knees, chest pressed to the mattress. He spread your legs with his own and ran a hand down your back.

“You said I looked like I could be bought for two dollars and some gum,” he growled, dragging himself against your folds, wet and swollen and already twitching from anticipation.

You swallowed, face buried in the sheets. You remembered and silently cursed to yourself.

He leaned down, mouth grazing your ear as he lined himself up behind you. “Good thing for you, I don’t charge. But I do collect.”

And then he slammed into you. No warning. No patience. The thrust knocked the wind out of your lungs. “E-ELIJAHHHH! F-FUCKKK!” you cried, hands gripping the sheets like a lifeline.

Smoke’s pace was nothing like before. All that held-back heat, all that restraint? Gone. His hips snapped against you with vicious precision, his grip digging into your hips as your ass slapped against him, over and over, filling the room with the sound of skin meeting skin and your broken cries.

“This what you wanted?” he grunted, every word punched out between thrusts. “All that mouth, all that attitude… This what you needed to calm down?”

You couldn’t even answer. Couldn’t form a thought. Your voice was raw with whimpers and your tears stained the pillow as you arched back into him on instinct, chasing every brutal, perfect stroke.

He reached around and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back just enough to whisper against your jaw. “You talk big,” he hissed, thrusting deep, “but this pussy always tell the truth.”

You sobbed out a yes. Or maybe his name. Or maybe just a noise—because that’s all you were now. A body molded to his pace. A vessel of heat and ache and want. And then… He slowed again. But this time, his strokes were hard and measured. That had your eyes rolling and your teeth sinking into the pillow to stop yourself from screaming his name like a confession.

“You feel how deep I am?” he groaned, voice thick and low behind you. “You gon’ run your mouth next time a man so much as smiles at you?”

You shook your head quickly, biting down on your bottom lip as you wavered between reality and subspace.

“Use your words,” he demanded before landing hard smacks on your ass that turned your ebony skin bright red.

“No—no, Smo- Daddy! I won’t, I swear—” you gasped, voice choked and high.

“Damn right you won’t.”

He dragged you up by your waist, pulling your back against his chest, one arm wrapping across your ribs, the other snaking down to rub your clit in slow, punishing circles again.

“Let another nigga smile at you again in public and I’ma bend you over right then and there,” he whispered, biting your shoulder. “Make sure everybody knows who you belong to.”

You cried out again, the pleasure building faster than your body could handle. It was too much but you loved every second of it. And Smoke? He was relentless. Focused. Determined to etch his name into your skin, your bones, your fucking soul.

“You gon’ cum one more time for me,” he ordered, fingers working faster now. “And then I’ll think about lettin’ myself nut.”

You couldn’t even reply because your body was already shaking. Your walls were already spasming around his brutal rod. You felt your mind spiral into that place that only he could take you. The place where pride didn’t exist and control was something you gave him freely.

“Go on, baby,” he ordered. “Make my dick shiny. Cum for me.”

And you did. Harder than you’ve ever climaxed before. This orgasm felt spiritual like your soul kissed the feet of God before asking for forgiveness and traveling back into your human vessel. You screamed his name into the pillow like a secret finally confessed, your body convulsed, your legs collapsed beneath you as he held you upright, grunting through clenched teeth.

Smoke held you there, both of you trembling in the twinkling moonlight shining through the bedroom. Your back was slick against his chest, your breath short and stuttering. His arm was still banded tight across your stomach, the other gripping your thigh with bruising intensity, like he didn’t trust his body not to break you if he let it go free. You felt every inch of him—still deep, still pulsing, still holding on with that impossible restraint that made you ache in places words couldn’t touch.

“Fuck… Fuck… Don’t move,” he moaned, his voice cracking down the middle—low, rasped, and dangerous. “Don’t.”

You didn’t dare disobey your man. You were already trembling too hard, barely tethered to your body. Your face was damp with tears, your thighs quaking, your walls still fluttering in waves around him.

“Shit, baby…” he growled, his voice buried somewhere between awe and agony. “You tryin’ to milk me dry, huh?”

You whimpered. Not out of pain. But because you felt it—felt that slow-building quake start to rattle through him. The way his grip tightened. The way his hips stilled just for a beat too long. You felt the flex in his abdomen, the tension coiling at the base of his spine like a spring being wound to the brink of snapping.

Your last orgasm clenched down onto his dick perfectly and now he was close trying to fight against it. You turned your face slightly from the pillow, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “Why’re you holdin’ it in?”

Smoke gritted his teeth tightly. “‘Cause once I let go…” he hissed, “you ain’t gon’ be able to walk, let alone keep talkin’ shit like you ain’t mine.”

You shivered under him. “But I am yours,” you whispered, the confession slipping out with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

That broke him. Smoke let out a low, raw groan as his grip shifted. He grabbed your hips with both hands, holding you still as his restraint finally began to splinter.

“Say it again.”

“Smoke—”

“Say. It. Again.”

Your voice caught in your throat, but you gave it to him, every word thick with truth and heat. “I’m yours,” you breathed. “I’ve always been yours.”

He let out something between a moan and a curse as he started to move again. Each thrust was rough with purpose, his rhythm tight and controlled even as his body fought against itself for release. “I should’ve made you say that two days ago,” he murmured into your neck. “Could’ve saved us both a whole lot of trouble.”

You could feel him on edge now. His hands were shaking. His thighs flexed with every grind forward. His jaw locked. “Fuck, baby… you feel too good,” he rasped. “Too fucking good.”

You whimpered, barely holding yourself up as he rutted into you like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

“Where you want it?” he choked out, voice frayed and thick with hunger. His hand fisted the meat of your ass, keeping your hips tilted perfectly, helplessly open for him.

“Tell me. Right here?” he ground into you deeper—deeper—and your whole body jolted like he’d struck a nerve that reached your soul.

“Want me to fill this pretty pussy up?” he growled, hips snapping forward again, rough, rhythmic, merciless. “You want me to cum so deep you leak for days, huh? So every time you open your legs, you remember who the fuck owns it?”

You tried to answer, but your voice cracked around the sound of your own moan.

Your body was done. Shaking, oversensitive, strung out from back-to-back orgasms—but still hungry for him. Still desperate to take all of him, to feel the final blow. The one he’d been holding back since the minute he put his hands on you.

Smoke’s thrusts became heavier and it became obvious he was losing the reins. His grip on your hips turned bruising, and a deep, guttural snarl ripped out of him like it came from the base of his spine. “Answer me, baby! Where. You. Want. It?”

“Inside,” you cried, head buried in the sheets, hips bucking against him. “Please, Smoke, fill me up.”

Smoke roared before grabbing you by the back of your neck and forcing your chest flush to the mattress. His other hand yanked your ass back into him, hard enough to make your eyes roll. His body collapsed over yours, hot and massive and trembling as he began to pound into you like a man possessed. No more teasing. No more patience. Just raw, primal need.

“You fuckin’ take it,” he growled in your ear. “You take every drop. That’s mine. You hear me? Mine. This pussy… this whole fuckin’ body… you think I’m lettin’ it walk around untouched, unclaimed? Nah. Nah, baby. I’m leavin’ my fuckin’ mark.”

His thrusts were devastating now. Every stroke came with the full weight of his body. His hips snapped forward like punishment, his chest slick against your back, his voice a broken, dirty prayer in your ear.

“I can’t—” you gasped, sobbing against the sheets.

“Yes, you… can,” he growled, his voice deep and guttural, hips pounding harder now. “You will. You gon’ take every drop I give you… then lay here… and thank me for it like a good girl. Understand?”

You felt the tremor roll through his body as his thighs tensed, his back flexed, and the ragged stutter of his breath grew as he chased his own breaking point. He was close. So close. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice sharp as a razor. “Say you’re mine while I paint these walls. Say it with my dick buried in this pussy.”

You cried out, clawing at the sheets, tears streaking your face. “I’m yours, Smoke! I’m yours, please—cum inside me!”

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself so deep you screamed, and then he moaned your name like it was the last word he’d ever say.

You were on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness when you felt Smoke’s hot and heavy load spilling into you in thick waves as his body seized behind you, every muscle locked in place. His nails dug into your hips as he held you there, stuffed full, claimed and ruined. His head dropped into your neck, his moan drawn-out, ragged, the sound of a man breaking as he finally gave in.

He stayed like that. Still pulsing inside you and panting. His lips grazed your skin, open-mouthed, breath hot. Then, after a long, heavy silence—he exhaled and murmured low, almost reverent: “Mine.”

And this time, you didn’t argue. Because your body? It agreed.

.

.

.

.

.

Authors Note: This was just a one shot to get all the horn horn energy out before I finish my series🥴🙂‍↕️ I understand mean Smoke isn’t for everyone but… HE IS VERY GORGEOUS TO MEEEE!!!

Late night had settled over Elias’s condo. Leon Thomas drifted from the speakers, lulling the room into a comfortable silence. Dim purple lighting washed over your soft brown skin, making it that much more alluring.

Somewhere nearby, a window was left cracked open and a gentle breeze blew through the curtains across your damp skin, raising goose bumps that sent chills over your body. The air carried the rich, woodsy scent of Elias’s cologne mixed with cooling sweat and the intimate evidence of what you two had been doing for hours. 

Stack shifted so that he was between your legs again. His warm, bare chest rested against yours as his eyes wandered over your features, hands on either side of your head. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, your jaw, down your throat. It had only been 15 minutes, and he was already ready for more of you.

“One more baby? Lemme have you again.” His southern drawl came out sweet and enticing. You traced your fingers down his spine as he continued placing tantalizing kisses across your exposed flesh.

“What we doin’ Stack?” 

He hummed against your skin in confusion, never stopping his torrent of kisses.

“I’m spending more nights at your place now than my own and we been doin’ this for a hot minute now. We spend most of our time together anyway.”

Stack made his way back to your lips now, leaving a soft one at the corner of your mouth. 

“What you gettin’ at, sweetness?” He pulled away to look at you fully now. 

“I just mean… is this all? We just gon’ keep hookin’ up and calling each other friends even though we both know it’s more?”

He held your gaze but his expression was unchanged. 

“You know you special to me. Ain’t nobody else got me like this.” His hands were roaming your thighs and hips now. His kisses made their way down your tummy, ending with a lingering one above your navel. “We know what it is, why we gotta go and complicate it?”

Before you could answer, the conversation died how it always did. With him between your legs and you too lost in pleasure to continue pressing. But truth be told, you were tired of being his favorite option instead of the only one.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the time the weekend came you’d made your decision. You had spent enough time waiting around on Elias to finally claim you. Your mama taught you at a young age that you should never beg a man for anything. What one won’t do, another will. And it was for this reason that you finally said yes to Malik’s offer to take you out for dinner and drinks. He worked in the building next to you and had been chasing you for a while now. You had turned him down more than a few times hoping that Stack would finally put a label on things. But after your previous conversation with him, it was clear that wasn’t happening any time soon. So, today when Malik asked what you were doing that night while y’all ate lunch together, you told him the truth. 

Nothing special. 

You made your way to your car after work and settled your belongings in the passenger seat. Like clockwork, your phone lit up with a photo of Elias as it began to ring. You stared at the screen for a moment before opting out of answering. Friday nights had been you and Stack’s thing for months now. You would pick the take-out and he’d pick it up after work along with a bottle—or two— of wine for your movie night. It had become so routine that he never even considered you wouldn’t be attending.

By the time you got home your phone was ringing again. With a deep sigh, you answered this time.

“You a hard lady to get a hold of. Y’know, I was startin’ to think you were avoidin’ me.” He chuckled to himself. He was currently at the liquor store perusing different kinds of wine, hoping to find something you guys hadn’t tried before. “What you in the mood for tonight? White or red?” 

You fidgeted with the sleeve of your shirt uncomfortably as you thought about how to respond. You didn’t necessarily want to lie to him, but you sure as hell weren’t gonna tell him the truth either. Your answer landed somewhere in the middle of those two options.

“I actually got plans tonight. Some of my girls wanna check out this new spot downtown.” Biting down on your lip nervously, you waited for his response. The other end of the line went so silent you almost thought he hung up. 

“Stack?”

Stack was stunned silent. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t spent a Friday night with you. Even if you didn’t come to his place, usually he would just come to yours. The sudden change in routine made him deeply uncomfortable. But alas, he reluctantly quipped,

“Since when you busy on Friday’s? You seein’ somebody else or somethin’?” He was teasing but when you didn’t laugh, he leaned in closer. The silence was not comforting.

“Since tonight. My girls wanna see me, and it’s been a minute since I’ve been out.” You replied simply, suddenly growing irritated that he was prompting you to explain yourself. Stack swallowed and shifted awkwardly on his feet, nodding as if you could see him. He wanted to continue pressing the topic, ask the specific name of this new spot that was more interesting than him or his club. But his pride got the best of him.

“Aight…ladies’ night. Handle your business then, baby girl. Don’t have too much fun without me. Let me know when you make it in the house safe.” 

You promised you would before quickly ending the call. The refusal did not sit well with Stack. He had recovered smoothly from your rejection in the moment, but now that the call was over, he was stuck staring at the same bottle of Moscato he had been holding for the past five minutes. It wasn’t like you to say no to him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As much as he hated to admit it, Stack didn’t really have back up plans. He always reserved Friday nights for you no matter who else he was seeing. He sat on his couch for a while, sipping the wine he’d picked for the two of you earlier. He scrolled through his recent messages debating who he should hit up, if anyone. Honestly, his roster had been thinning out the more attached he became to you. They just weren’t like you. They didn’t laugh like you or smell like you, and the more time he spent with you the more intoxicating your presence became to him. 

Truth be told, he was disappointed. Stack kept a line up. There was no shortage of women in his life— he could have anyone he wanted within a single text or call. But you were his favorite. There wasn’t anyone else he wanted to lay up with and kiss on but you. With other women, he usually just skipped to the main event. Minimal foreplay, surface level conversation. Nothing like what he had with you.

Stack’s train of thought was interrupted by his phone ringing. He snatched it from the cushion next to him, nearly dropping it as he tried to answer. A disappointed groan made its way from his mouth when he realized it was just one of his homeboys. Not you. He’d never admit it, but he was hoping that maybe you would change your mind and decide to stay in with him after all— even though he’d never ask.

“Yo” He answered boredly.

“Aye, Stack. What you on tonight? Lil’ Ms. Fine as hell over there?”

Stack chuckled and shook his head. It was no secret that you were the finest woman on his roster, and again, his absolute favorite. You were the only woman he had a silent claim over.

“Naw, she’s with her girls. Said somethin’ about a new spot openin’ up downtown, I don’t know.” he felt his annoyance bubbling to the surface again as he reiterated your words. He had no right to feel possessive over your time, but he couldn’t help it.

“Yeah we gon’ head over there too. You tryna pop out?” 

Stack fixed his mouth to say no. He was aware that it was probably clingy to follow you to the exact place you told him you would be—on the one night you’d taken space from him. Still, the idea that he could feign bumping into you, and that maybe through a turn of events you would end up ending the night with him after all, got the best of him. And there was still something ugly and jealous tugging at him about the way you never answered when he asked if there was someone else.

“Yeah I’ll meet y’all over there. Gimme like 45.” He ended the call with his homeboy and went straight to his closet.

Girls night, huh? He tutted to himself as he scanned his clothing, looking for something to wear. Unfortunately for you, he was about to crash your party.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Any time Elias Moore stepped into the building, he was the main attraction. The SmokeStack twins were known by people clear across the Mississipi delta— and in other places too. Tall tales and fables alike had been whispered through the grapevine for years now. Stories about men who’d encountered the twins but never lived to tell the tale. Gossip about the havoc they wreaked in Chicago prior to returning to their little hometown… mysteriously, with enough money to open a club of their own. 

Stack didn’t do lines. Upon arriving to the club, hushed whispers and watchful eyes oriented toward him immediately. There was a confident swagger in his walk as he headed straight to the front of the line, like he always did. He slipped a crisp $50 bill to the bouncer out of respect before dapping him up. Then, he made his way inside. No fuss, no muss. 

Vibrant neon lighting flashed across the club, highlighting its lively crowd. Music thumped through the floors and radiated into Stack’s chest. The crowd parted instinctively for him as he found his way through the room. Women stared lustfully, admiring his confident walk and the million-dollar smile he’d flash if you were lucky enough. Stack was fly, it was no secret. He only wore the best and he was always iced out. 

“How you doin’, daddy?” a tall, slim woman cooed as Stack brushed past her. His gaze raked over her, and he nodded in acknowledgement as he made his way into his section. If he wasn’t VIP, he wasn’t attending. 

“Stacks-A-Billion! You made it. My nigga finally got from up under that girl and graced us with his presence.” Donte clapped Stack on his back and pulled him into a brotherly hug. The other men at the table did the same, greeting him one by one like he was a don. 

The night was smooth at first. Real smooth. Stack was in the middle of chopping it up with one of his old flings who he’d cut loose when his eyes caught a familiar face. There you were. He froze completely as he took you in.

You were wearing all black. Leather shorts that sat on your hips low and hugged them just right and a lace-up sleeveless biker top. Black heels adorned your feet, and you were wearing your signature gold jewelry. The corner of his lips twitched upward into a smile involuntarily and he licked them as he took in your appearance.

However, the smile quickly dropped from his face when he realized that your girlfriends were nowhere to be found. Instead— you were with some tall guy. Stack looked hard and long to ensure he wasn’t imagining things. 

Nope. No girlfriends. This was definitely a date. 

Immediately, Stack tuned out the woman that had been talking to him. The music in the club dulled to a thumping pulse, and suddenly he had tunnel vision. He couldn’t help the possessive ugly feeling that arose deep in his chest as he watched the man’s hand brush the small of your back when he leaned in to whisper something to you.

You didn’t see him for several minutes. But when you did— your eyes locked with his. You were caught. Completely and totally caught red-handed in the act. Stack stayed where he was, but he held the piercing stare long enough that you wished you could disappear. Then, he turned back to his boys as if nothing had happened.

It stayed like that for a short while. Stack kept mingling, talking to people who approached him. He managed to make it through half of another drink before he became so consumed with a silent possessive rage that he turned from his boys mid-conversation and headed straight over to you. The crowd parted for him like the red sea.

“ ’Scuse me patna, I need to talk to her for a second.”

Malik looked startled, he hadn’t seen him approach. He looked like he wanted to say no, looking between the two of you as the tension rose. Apparently, he waited two seconds too long, because Stack increased his proximity to the man with one large step, a cold stare closed the rest of the distance between them. 

“I ain’t askin’, I’m tellin’ you. Don’t get hurt boy.” He snarked; tone laced with southern venom. And with that, Malik scrammed.

Stack grabbed your bicep, gentle enough not to hurt you— but with enough force that you knew now was not the time to test him. He guided you to the backdoor of the club and slammed it open. The cold air kissed your hot skin and instinctively made you flinch.

“Let go of me, Elias” you snapped, snatching your arm away once it was just the two of you. He turned toward you with a look that made it hard to pinpoint his emotions.

“Who the fuck is that?” He snapped back. You looked away towards the busy street and crossed your arms defensively. The distant sound of impatient drivers filled the silence.

“A friend.”

He sucked his teeth and responded, “Don’t gimme that shit girl, a friend? I just watched how that nigga was lookin’ at you, and it ain’t nothin’ holy or friendship-like on his mind.” Stack was trying to remain as calm as he could given the situation.

“We grabbed food and decided to stop by for a drink, that’s all” you sighed. You rubbed your temples out of frustration. Why the hell was he even here? Stack’s eyebrows lifted at your confession. He stepped closer and cocked his head to the side.

“Fuck you mean y’all just had dinner? That’s what we doin’ now? You goin’ on two-part dates with random niggas?” Now his voice was starting to raise. He looked away in an effort to find his composure, but he felt his heart beating fast with panic. This was the second part of the date?

“I’m not your girlfriend, Elias! I can see who I want, why do you care anyway.” Your voice rang out sharp and shrill against the brick walls of the alley.

Instantly, his head snapped back towards you. He stepped closer. One step, then another, until your back was against the cold brick wall behind you. One of his palms came up beside your head and he leaned in close enough that you could tell what liquor he’d been sipping on. His eyes flicked from your eyes down to your lips, and back again. Almost like he was trying to make sure they were the same as they were the last time he’d tasted them— untouched by anyone else.

“If you ain’t mine…why you lyin’ to me ‘bout who you with, baby?”

And for that, you did not have an answer. You simply looked at him blankly. After a long hard stare, you scoffed and pushed him by his chest away from you, refusing to give him an answer that he already had. You turned around to make your way back inside to find your date. He was probably scared shitless.

“Tell ol’ boy don’t get caught alone in no dark alleys.” Stack’s voice rang out sharp from the alley as you walked away. You rolled your eyes hard.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A week went by after your encounter with Stack at the club. You’d sent texts, called a few times. He was radio silent. He had stopped randomly popping up at your place with tokens of his affection, and he hadn’t made any attempts to reach out to you himself. Your last text which read, “How long are you gonna do this? Say something” had been delivered nearly 12 hours earlier and he still hadn’t responded.

You were in the middle of sulking and smashing a bag of hot Cheetos when your phone pinged. A soft gasp escaped you and you quickly picked it up.

Lias ❤️‍🔥: You ain’t mine right? Lose my number.

Your heart sank as you re-read the message. So he gets to keep a revolving door of women, but you go on one date now you’re the bad guy? Furiously, you typed out your next response. Your jaw dropped when you pressed send and the message went green.

He blocked me you gasped to yourself.

A few hours went by, and it never came. You kept waiting for it— a slick little follow up, the way he always did when he knew he had gone just a little too far. The response sat final in the text thread. You stared at it until your screen went black. You guys had fights in the past but never like this. Stack had never shut the door completely before, really he had never fully opened it either. But this time felt different.

Fine.

From that moment, it was on. You started answering Malik’s calls on the second ring, you let him take you out to dinner, and when he asked you if he could see you two nights in a row you said yes. One night, he kissed you outside the restaurant after the date. He waited to see if you’d pull away, instead you leaned in deeper. The kiss felt nothing like Stack’s. But the attention was real and constant, and it was better than the half-ass relationship Stack had been giving you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Four days. That’s how long Stack lasted before he tried to fill the void you left behind. 

The woman’s name was Tasha, she was real thick and real bold too. He met her at his club, she was staring him down like she heard all the rumors about him and wanted to know if they were true. This night, she’d been looking extra hard, and Stack was always aware of watchful eyes. 

He took her back to his place with full intent on giving her what she was looking for. Another easy and forgettable night with a face he probably wouldn’t remember in a few months unless they gave him a reason to.

The night started off easy enough once they made it back to his place. Tasha started kissing on him while he was preparing drinks, talking about all the things she wanted to do to him. Her perfume was too sweet and sharp in a way that made him miss the signature fragrance you always wore. Stack wandered over to the couch and sat down, legs spread wide. Tasha was on him immediately, she straddled him without waiting for an invitation, rolling her hips real slow like she already knew what he liked.

Out of habit, he rested his hands on her waist. His fingers didn’t dig in or stroke, wander to her ass, he just sat there looking bored. Tasha continued to pepper kisses across his jaw and he allowed it. But when she made her way to his lips— he turned his head sharply. 

The woman’s body tensed and she pulled away with a frown.

“You good?”

“I’m straight.”

Hesitantly Tasha got back into her groove, dragging her nails down his chest. The silence stretched and he could feel her getting frustrated in the way her body tensed. Still, he kept the same bored expression.

“You sure you good? Cause you actin’ real bored for a man who invited me over.”

Finally, Stack looked at Tasha. She was pretty. Nice body, pretty smile. There wasn’t anything wrong with her, but still Stack didn’t feel a pull low in his belly or any urge to flip her under him. There was no interest in hearing what she sounded like when she came or moaned his name. He just kept thinking about you. How your thighs slotted perfectly over his and how your mouth always tasted like whatever chapstick you’d chosen that day.

“Yeah, you right. I think you should go.” He mumbled, gently lifting Tasha off him by her hips. She didn’t move from where he placed her on the couch. She continued to sit, staring at him in blatant disbelief.

“You serious right now?”

Stack stretched and reached over, grabbing the remote. He clicked a button and the television came on, filling the silence of the room.

“Yeah.”

If looks could kill Stack would’ve been six feet under. 

Tasha rose from the couch hastily, snatching her bag from the coffee table before leaving. The door slammed behind her harder than it needed to and the echo of it sounded through the apartment. Still unphased, Stack let out a heavy sigh as he started flicking through different movies on Netflix. He kept the tv on, letting it consume the silence. Quiet had never bothered him before you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Smoke stopped by to check on Stack two days later. Ever since they were in the womb, he knew when something was wrong with his twin. He didn’t knock when he stopped by, he always came in unannounced. Smoke walked into the kitchen and dropped the greasy takeout bag on the counter. He looked his twin over like he was diagnosing how bad the heartbreak was— and he’d never seen it this bad. Not even with Mary.

“You look like shit. Y’ain’t been sleepin’, have you?”

Stack was sitting motionlessly, halfway watching a basketball game with no idea of who was in the lead.

“I’m fine, what you got to eat?”

Smoke nodded his head silently as he started unpacking the food. But he didn’t leave the topic alone just yet.

“Y’all still on that silent treatment?” Now it was Stack’s turn to ignore the question, that was all the confirmation his brother needed. “Once you start catchin’ feelings, nobody else taste the same. Y’know that right?”

At this, Elias shot his twin a look that said leave it be. 

“Ain’t nobody catchin’ feelings.”

“You put that fine ass stallion out the other day ‘cause she wasn’t the one you wanted in yo lap.” Smoke’s voice stayed flat, bored almost. “That sound like not catchin’ feelings to you?”

The temperature in the room stayed the same despite the heaviness of Elijah’s words. As much as Elias wanted to curse at his brother and tell him he was wrong, he was right. Still, he mumbled an annoyed “whatever” and sat across from him at the table, fighting back a smirk when he noticed his favorite Indian food.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bad news came the next Tuesday. The gym had put a hurting on Stack, and he was making his way from his car to his front door when Smoke pulled up. Evening was settling over the city, and his shirt was still clinging to his back with sweat from his work out.

“I got bad news.” Smoke said simply. Stack wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt as he slowly approached his brother’s car. If it warranted an in person visit, it was more than bad.

“What.”

“Saw ya girl at the comic bookstore on 5th street. She was with ol’ boy from the club, tall nigga.”

Stack went totally still and the towel in his hand stopped moving over his neck. 

“She still dealin’ with dude?” 

Shrugging once, Smoke held his hands up.  “Look like it to me. They was walkin’ out together and he was holdin’ a bag for her. Looked real comfortable if y’ask me.” He took in his twin’s ragged appearance before adding, “If you love that girl don’t wait too much longer. He got plans for her. I can tell.” That was all. He didn’t comment further, ask what his brother planned to do, or offer further advice. He delivered the last sentence and held Stack’s stare for a second longer than necessary before leaving.

When the conversation with his twin ended, Stack stood in his living room for a long while thinking hard. It was one thing for y’all to be at the club, but a bookstore date? Nah. That’s too close to home. He couldn’t stomach the idea of you going on real dates with this man. Smiling at whatever stupid thing he said, letting him touch you. The uncomfortability of it all settled deeper under his skin the longer he pictured it like a petulant sunburn. You weren’t even trying to hide that you were dealing with this guy anymore. You were just out here, dating in the open like he’d never put his mouth between your legs and made you shake.

Autopilot mode was the only way to describe Stack’s thought process once he entered the shower. The night at the club kept replaying behind his eyelids. The way you looked at him when he caught you. How you went back to Malik instead of staying, instead of going home with him. And especially— how you kept seeing this man even after Stack had told you to lose his number. Pride and jealousy wrenched together in his gut until he couldn’t tell which hurt worse.

When the water from the shower was cut off, he had already made his decision. The only way through this was to make you his. Quickly, he got dressed. Grey sweatpants a black t shirt, and the chain you always played with when you sat in his lap. He was out the door before the water had even fully dried on his skin.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the time Stack was halfway to your place he was fully dry and his thoughts had unfogged enough for his good sense to be activated. He couldn’t come over empty handed. He shook his head at the thought of coming to your place and agitating you without having food to soothe you after. Only a fool would do something so stupid. So, like a good boy, he stopped and ordered your favorite food and grabbed your preferred wine and some flowers for good measure. His elders always taught him you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. 

The bags sat in the passenger seat of the car and Stack kept looking over at the flowers like they might disappear if he didn’t check. By the time he pulled up at your place he had rehearsed what he wanted to say a million times over in his head. He was coming to fix things, and he brought things you liked because some part of him thought it might make a difference. He knocked on your door in that familiar rhythm only he used. You knew it was him without checking the peep hole.

When you swung the door open, your attitude was on full display. There he was, bags in one hand and flowers in the other. The familiar scent of his soap clung to his skin and his hair was still damp. The second he laid his eyes on you his expression softened and he forgot everything he planned to say. Except for,

“You datin’ niggas now?” His voice was pained and tight. Your gaze dropped to the items he was holding and drifted back up to his face. Grudingly, you stepped to the side and allowed him to come in.

He watched with greedy eyes as you sauntered into the kitchen to grab wine glasses, hips switching and jiggling your ass as you walked.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is a man who told me to lose his number actin’ brand new?” You grumbled, avoiding eye contact. Stack shut the door behind him with a quiet click. The bags were set down with more care than his voice had. Suddenly, the space felt a lot smaller than it did before. Stack crossed his arms over his chest and his eyes moved over your face like he was looking for something.

“You out here goin’ on dates, my patnas tellin’ me you still spendin’ time with ol’ boy after I caught y’all at the club.” Your expression remained unchanged as you uncorked the wine and began pouring the glasses. “Why you bein’ like this?”

When you still didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow in annoyance, he increased his proximity. You felt the solid heat of him against your back. He wasn’t touching you— yet. Just letting you feel the warmth of him against you. Then, he brushed his lips against the back of your neck and said, 

“Tell me baby. Why you doin’ me like this, hm? Like I ain’t never stroked you so deep you cried for me ‘cause it felt so good… like this lil body don’t react every time I touch it.” As if on cue he pressed his lips against the side of your neck and you let out a soft involuntary sound, leaning back into him instinctively.

“You made the rules stack. Don’t get mad when I finally start playin’ by ‘em. And you damn sure don’t just get to show up with food and these sorry ass flowers like that fixes everything.”

He pressed his back against your chest fully now and mumbled, “Look at me.” When you didn’t, he gently turned you in his arms by your waist. His voice was barely above a whisper when it came out. “I don’t wanna see you with nobody else. I don’t wanna think about somebody else knowin’ how sweet those pretty lil moans sound when you get like that. So I need you to tell me it still belong to me.”

The audacity of this man was astonishing honestly. You stared at him unblinking. The raw honesty in his voice almost had you until you remembered that last nasty text he’d sent. Then your eyes sharpened.

“I’m not yours. You never claimed me.”

“I’m claimin’ you now” he replied simply, as if it was obvious.

“No” you shook your head firmly. “You only sayin’ that because somebody else wants me. You comin’ over here today doesn’t change that.” His hands came to rest on either side of you on the counter, trapping you in between his arms. 

“I’m sayin’ it ‘cause I mean it. I’m done pretending I don’t”

When he leaned in, you instinctively leaned back. You held his gaze for a moment and he respected the distance. It lasted for only a second. Once his thumb brushed over the exposed skin of your belly, you allowed him to catch your waist and pull you in. Initially the kiss was pride and anger. Teeth and tongue, both looking for dominance. 

The second time your lips joined, it was slow enough for him to slide his tongue against yours in a tantalizing rhythm. A small sound escaped your lips without permission, and Stack’s breathing changed when he heard it. By the time you went in for a third kiss, you were on top of the counter and he was fully between your legs spreading them wider. His hands were roaming under your shirt like he’d been starving for the feel of you.  

“You still mad, I know.” he said the words in between needy kisses. “But I know you missed me just as much as I missed you.” He voice had dropped several octaves and it was rough with lust. Your pulse quickened against his lips as he kissed your throat and he squeezed your hips to show he noticed.

“Fuck you, Stack”

“Oh I’m bout to, baby. Don’t even worry that pretty lil head.”

With that, he lifted you from the counter and you reflexively wrapped your legs around his waist. Straight to the bedroom you went.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Clothes hit the floor in random pieces until they were all gone. Stack made himself comfortable between your legs and gazed over your features as if he was still deciding how nice he was gonna be to you. Whatever he saw made his pupils become more dilated with lust— most likely your stubborn unwillingness to secede.  When he kissed you his tongue moved slow and thorough like he was trying to make you forget every bit of the argument you two had.

A hand drifted between your legs and he groaned against your lips when he found that you were already wet for him. His eyes flicked down to your sex and back to your face, watching your expression closely as he slid his middle and ring finger inside you. A satisfied grin made its way across his features when your lips parted and your lashes fluttered against your cheekbones.

“This pussy gon’ tell me it missed me even if you don’t.” he cooed as he continued his torment, curling his fingers just right against that spongy spot inside you. Your thighs twitched and a shaky breath passed your lips. Your hips chased his fingers and he drank in every little pleasured expression greedily. He paid close attention every time your expression changed.

“Tell me it’s mine” he murmured. When you shook your head stubbornly, he used his other hand to push your—his— t-shirt under your collarbones and just above your breasts. He latched a hot mouth to your areola, drawing a surprised cry from you as he suckled your nipple gently into his mouth. Your refusal to give in to him ignited something. A third finger joined the others and pressed harder, thumb circling your clit with precision until your thighs started shaking.

“Say it baby, stop playin’ with me. This pussy loves me just as much as I love you.”

A small squeak escaped you as your hips chased his hand desperately. You’d been craving his touch just as much as he’d been craving your presence in his bed at night. Still, in all your stubbornness, you uttered,

“Make me”

When the words he desired never passed your lips, he withdrew his fingers and sucked them into his mouth, holding your eye contact steadily as he tasted your essence. Hungrily, you tugged at his sweats. Stack drew his teeth between his bottom lip when his length sprung free, hard, thick, and leaking pre-cum. You nearly drooled at the sight, not having seen it in two weeks. Before you could touch him, he shifted you onto your back. And before you knew it, your calves were pinned on either side of your hips.

Stack dropped his forehead to yours as he gently dragged the head of his dick between your folds, nudging your clit intentionally each time. He waited until your expression grew needy with want before gently pushing past your entrance. He stretched you slowly, head dropping further into your neck the further he sank into you. When he was buried inside you, he let out a deep exhale. Like he’d been homesick and was finally home.

“Fuck— I missed bein’ this deep inside you. You feel that baby?” He lifted his head now, longingly staring into your irises. “That’s me puttin’ it back where it belong. Go on dates if you want, keep lettin’ that nigga buy you books. But this right here still answer to me. Say it.”

Instead of answering you whimpered and the sound make his stomach tighten. He adjusted his angle so that the head of his dick massaged intensely into that swollen bundle of nerves that only he seemed to find so easily. Your eyes flew open and a high-pitched moan flew past your lips. His breathing hitched as he watched the way your lips trembled. Something real close to satisfaction settled over his features.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Whenever I kiss that lil spot just right you start shakin’ for me. Keep them pretty eyes on me. Wanna see what you look like when you finally stop fightin’ it.”

And true to his word, he stayed right on that spot. Your walls started fluttering around him and he noticed the change immediately. He slowed his strokes, deliberately dragging them out to hear you moan real pretty for him. When your first orgasm hit, your mouth fell open and your eyes went glassy. Stack drew his bottom lip between his teeth as the sight and kept grinding through it, relishing in the way your expression grew desperately needy.

“That’s one. Still ain’t said it though.”

You were still riding through the aftershocks of your first orgasm when he hooked both your legs over his arms and folded you deeper into the mattress. The new angle forced a high-pitched sound he hadn’t heard before from your lips and his eyebrows rose in both enjoyment and surprise.

“Stack— wait. Too much” you stuttered through deep breaths.

“Nah. You said make you, right?” He ground against that small bundle nerves in slow circles and your face twisted with ecstasy. Stack’s own expression tightened with hunger as he watched you. “So I’m gon’ make you. Say it belong to me.”

Unwilling to relent, you shook your head even as waves of pleasure crashed through your core. He saw the refusal sitting behind your eyes and his strokes got meaner, more precise and deliberate. Your stomach clenched again and your thighs trembled against his arms. He felt every little flutter and took pleasure in knowing the words he desired were an orgasm away.

“Say it, baby.”

“It’s yours Elias, it’s yours.” You cried as your second orgasm rose slowly but intensely. His eyes closed and the words fell over him like a prayer. The confession hit him harder than expected. When he opened them again, he was completely focused and he drove deeper.

“Again” he mumbled against your lips.

“It’s yours” you whimpered brokenly. He leaned down and brushed his lips over yours. Not really kissing, just letting you feel the soft heat of his mouth against yours while he kept up that focused rhythm between your legs. Every time the head of his dick dragged over that spot, your pussy clenched and fluttered around him.

“Stack—” you stuttered, voice still shaking. “It feel… it feel so good when you dig in me like that. Right there, please, I think I’m gon cum again”

He moaned softly against your lips, a low intimate sound that was pulled deep from his chest. He kept repeating that same motion, intentionally grinding into that little spot over and over again in relentless strokes. He watched your face the whole time. His eyes tracked the way your brows furrowed and how your lips parted every time he pushed inside you a little deeper. The orgasm started pulling out of you in long, drawn out waves. Those little sounds that Stack had missed so dearly kept spilling past your lips as you creamed around him in messy gushes. His jaw went tight when he felt it.

Right as the orgasmic wave hit its peak, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. His were dark with need.

“Open”

You opened your mouth without hesitating, and he let a string of saliva drop from his lips onto your tongue. The second it landed you swallowed and your orgasm intensified hard. Your pussy clenched around him in intense, rhythmic pulses and another rush of cream squelched around his dick. The wet sounds got obscenely loud and Stack’s gaze stayed locked on your face. He admired the way your expression cracked even further, like the sight of it was doing something to him.

“That’s it, good girl baby.” He groaned against your mouth. “Take it just like that. Let me feel how wet you get when I stroke it real deep like this. Tell me again. Who it belong to?”

“You” you sobbed, completely fucked out at this point. “It’s yours, Stack. I promise.”

Something in his expression softened and he kissed you deep and slow while he continued fucking you through the aftershocks, never fully letting the overstimulation fade.

“I got you, mama. This stays mine. These legs stay open for me… this soft lil pussy only gon’ get wet like this for me. Promise me.”

“Yes, anything. You can have whatever you want. This pussy’s yours” your voice was still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

“Fuck— gon’ make me cum talkin’ to me like that girl” he growled. Only when you had promised yourself to him several times over and your body was trembling non-stop did he bury himself as deep as you’d take him. His eyes stayed locked on yours as he came, and a low, primal sound left his chest while his dick pulsed hard inside you. He watched your pretty face the whole time, like he needed to see you were taking it.

After, he stayed inside you, still breathing hard. One hand stroked over your hip where it met your belly like he still couldn’t believe you’d given yourself to him like this. His pupils were still dilated and searching your face.

“You mine. That ain’t changin’” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question. Just a fact he decided to force into existence. You didn’t answer. You were still shaking and your adrenaline was still pumping. The anger hadn’t fully subsided yet but something warm and tender was taking its place. He kissed you again, slower and deeper this time, and still didn’t pull out.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

please respect my work 💌 Everything posted here is written by @brownsugarletters. Please do not repost, copy, translate, claim as your own, upload to AI tools, or share my writing outside of Tumblr without permission.

I put a lot of care into these stories, so please keep them here and respect my space.

December 23rd always arrived like the perfect storm in their town. The air was sharper, the lights brighter, the anticipation hummed beneath everything. Snow clung stubbornly to the edges of the sidewalks and rooftops, refusing to melt, as if even it understood the importance of staying put this close to Christmas.

Annie’s car turned onto their street just as dusk began to settle, the sky bruised purple and blue. Their brownstone stood out even among the already festive row of homes. They had warm light spilling from the windows, garlands thick with pine and ribbon draped along the iron railings, wreaths layered so full they looked like they might breathe. She slowed as she pulled into the driveway, headlights washing over the garage door, then eased inside, the door rolling shut behind her.

Every part of the car was filled with bags. The trunk was full. The backseat was full. Even the passenger-side floor was crowded with bags.

She sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, smiling to herself.

She’d been shopping for weeks telling herself each new ornament or strand of lights was the last. It never was. But today was about finishing touches. The things people didn’t consciously notice but she did. Like the extra ribbon, new ornaments for the front tree, and a ridiculous, oversized nutcracker she’d sworn she didn’t need and bought anyway.

The door from the house opened before she even reached for her purse.

Smoke stepped into the garage, already pulling on a jacket, his breath fogging faintly in the colder air. He took one look at the car, then at the mountain of bags visible through the windows, and let his head fall back with a groan that echoed off the concrete.

“Annie,” he said, dragging her name out like a warning and a plea all at once.

She let out an unapologetic and light laugh then stepped out into the garage. She wore a long coat cinched at the waist and a scarf tucked just right. When she turned toward him, her eyes were bright, almost mischievous.

“Don’t start Mr. Moore,” she said sweetly, already reaching back into the car for her purse.

He walked closer, hands braced on his hips, peering inside like the bags might multiply if he looked too long. “You said this was supposed to be a quick run. And you were only grabbin’ a few things,” he muttered.

“I did,” she replied easily. 

He straightened and looked at her then, really looked at her. The way she stood there smiling, completely unbothered, practically glowing in a way he hadn’t seen before. There was something about her energy lately. She was lighter and more playful. It was completely dangerous for his patience.

She stepped into his space, fingers sliding up the front of his jacket, smoothing it like she’d done it a thousand times before.

He tried to hold onto his annoyance, really he did, but she tipped her chin up and kissed him before he could say another word. Her mouth warm against his in a way that made the garage and the bags and the groaning fade into the background. When she pulled back, she was still smiling, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Go inside,” he said finally, his voice lower now. “I’ll get the bags.”

She hummed in victory, pressing another quick kiss to his lips before stepping past him. “Thank you, baby.”

She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed toward the door, heels clicking softly against the concrete, already thinking about where she was going to put everything. The house smelled like pine and cinnamon when she stepped inside, warmth wrapping around her instantly.

Behind her, Smoke let out another long sigh as he turned back to the car, already bracing himself for what he knew was going to take multiple trips.

She moved through the house with purpose, shedding her coat as she went, the deep burgundy and wine-red tones of their décor wrapping around her. The garlands along the stair rail were thick with navy ribbon, lights woven carefully through the greenery so they glowed warm instead of bright. The tree in the front room stood tall and full, decorated in the same rich palette just like everything else in the house.

She headed straight for the kitchen.

Baking always grounded her, especially this time of year. She washed her hands, tied her hair back, and started pulling things from the cabinets laying them out neatly on the marble counter. The music playing low in the background blended with the quiet hum of the house, and for a moment, everything felt exactly as it should.

Behind her, the garage door opened and closed. Then again.

Smoke moved back and forth, arms loaded with bags and boxes, setting them down with soft thuds that carried through the house. Each trip seemed heavier than the last, and by the third one, she caught the sound of him exhaling slowly, like he was trying not to say something.

By the time he returned again, she was already mixing dough, hips shifting slightly as she worked. The faint irritation he’d carried in with him faded almost immediately. There was something infectious about her mood tonight, something light and warm that made it hard to stay annoyed for long.

She started talking without really meaning to.

“I think Stack’s kids are gonna like what I got them,” she said, scooping dough onto a baking sheet. “I tried not to overdo it, but I don’t know. Marcus is still really into those dinosaur things, and Natalie’s been obsessed with drawing lately.”

Smoke leaned against the counter, listening. “And Joseph?”

She smiled at that. “I got some books, and that jacket he wanted. He’s trying hard to act grown, but he’s still a kid, ya know?”

He nodded slowly, watching her move around the kitchen like the space was built around her.

She kept going almost absentminded. “I wrapped theirs in the navy paper. I thought it looked better with the ribbon.”

“You already wrapped them?” he asked.

“Most of them,” she said. “I wanted it done before tomorrow.”

He took another look around the house, at the careful way everything tied together. He’d teased her about the decorations, about the shopping, but the truth was he loved this part of her. The way she poured herself into things. The way she gave without hesitation.

She slid the baking sheet into the oven and closed the door, brushing her hands together lightly. When she turned back toward him, she was smiling again, softer this time.

“Christmas Eve’s gonna be fun,” she said.

He watched her for a beat longer than necessary, something thoughtful settling behind his eyes. She wasn’t anxious. She wasn’t distracted. She was genuinely happy, and she hadn’t been this talkative in a long time.

Whatever had shifted in her, whatever had her buzzing with quiet excitement, he felt it too. And instead of questioning it out loud, he let himself lean into it, letting the warmth of the season fill the space between them.

Annie wiped her hands on a towel and immediately started on another batch, moving with the easy confidence of someone who had done this dozens of times before. She reached for another bowl, already mentally counting how many trays she could fit in the oven at once.

Smoke hovered for a moment, pretending to inspect the bags he’d brought in, but his attention was clearly elsewhere.

“You look good,” he said like it had just occurred to him.

She smiled without looking up, the corners of her mouth lifting as she poured flour into the bowl. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just being honest,” he replied, stepping closer.

She felt his body behind her, the warmth of him cutting through the cool air that crept in every time the garage door opened. His hands slid along her arms, slow and deliberate, palms warm against her skin as he moved them up and down like he was grounding himself there.

She leaned into it just a little, smiling to herself, but kept stirring. “You’re gonna mess me up.”

“I’m not touching anything important,” his voice low now.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye clearly amused, and went right back to talking, picking up exactly where she’d left off about how many kids usually came through on Christmas Eve and whether she should make another batch with chocolate chunks instead of chips.

He kissed her cheek, soft and unhurried. Then her neck. Then her shoulder, lips lingering just long enough to make her pause before she forced herself to keep going. She shifted slightly, but didn’t turn around.

“You’re distracting me,” she said, still stirring.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hands slid around her waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin where her shirt lifted when she moved. He traced the curve of her hips, slow, familiar, then let his hands drift lower, resting briefly at her thighs.

She laughed under her breath and finally looked back at him. “What are you doing?”

“Helping,” he said simply.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real irritation in it. “If you want to help, you can cut the cookies.”

He ignored that completely.

“You really are glowing,” he said instead, like the thought had been sitting on his tongue for a while. 

She paused, then shook her head lightly, smiling despite herself. “Thank you. But I know when you’re trying to butter me up.”

He leaned in again, lips brushing her jaw. “I’m just trying to make cookies.”

His hands were still there, and she was suddenly very aware of how much skin she was giving him access to without meaning to. She shifted again, intending to step away, but he followed easily, closing the space without effort.

“I think,” he murmured, half-teasing, “you’re gonna need a little more cream to finish this batch.”

That did it.

She laughed, a soft sound that slipped out before she could stop it, shaking her head as she set the spoon down. “Elijah.”

“Am I wrong?”

She turned then, fully facing him, still smiling, still trying to pretend she wasn’t affected.

The kiss started slow, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Somewhere between the second and third kiss, the kitchen faded into the background. The oven timer went ignored. The cookies sat forgotten on the counter as they got lost in each other, hands finding places they’d found a thousand times before.

Christmas Eve morning arrived quietly. The street wrapped in that early hush that only existed before families woke up and traffic remembered itself. Snow dusted the sidewalks in a thin, untouched layer.

Annie padded downstairs wrapped in her oversized faux-fur robe, the hem brushing the floor with every step. It was heavy and indulgent. She’d bought it because it made her feel decadent even before she’d had her coffee. Beneath it, she wore nothing meant for outside, but she wasn’t planning to be out long.

She grabbed the bags of decorations she’d set aside the night before and pushed open the front door. Cold air rushed in immediately. The brownstone looked good already, but Annie wasn’t finished yet.

She stepped onto the front stoop and surveyed her work with a critical eye.

The garlands were lush and dark, layered with burgundy berries and navy ribbon and lights woven carefully. The wreaths were full and undeniably rich. Still, Annie had woken up knowing something was missing.

She set the ladder up near the railing and started adding the new pieces. Heavier ornaments for the front greenery, another strand of lights tucked beneath the garland instead of laid on top, deep wine-colored bows placed just far enough apart to feel balanced. She worked thoughtfully, breath fogging as she reached overhead, the robe shifting around her legs.

That was when she heard a sharp, dismissive, unmistakably judgmental sound. And she froze mid-reach

Across the street, her neighbor stepped out, wrapped up in a coat. They locked eyes almost immediately. The neighbor’s gaze slid past Annie’s face and straight to the decorations, her mouth tightening just a fraction too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.

She let out another small sound that was more of a scoff, and turned, deliberately, to look at her own house.

Her decorations were fine but predictable. The lights were placed safely, garlands thin but neat, wreaths modest.

The comparison was unkind.

Annie watched the assessment happen in real time, irritation blooming hot in her chest. She climbed down the ladder slowly, hands gripping the sides, then turned fully toward the street.

“Did you say something?” she asked, voice calm but edged.

The neighbor glanced back, startled just enough to be telling. “No,” she replied, a beat too quick. Then, after another look at Annie’s house, she added, “Your decorations just look…interesting.”

Annie’s lips pressed together for half a second before she smiled sweetly yet absolutely unamused.

“Interesting how?” she asked, adjusting the belt of her robe, letting it fall just a little more open than necessary.

The neighbor shrugged, eyes flicking back to the garlands. “They’re just a lot.”

Annie tilted her head, gaze sweeping deliberately across the street, taking in the thinner ribbons, the sparse lights, the lack of depth. “I guess it depends on what you’re used to.”

Silence stretched between them, cold and brittle.

“Well,” the neighbor trailed off, forcing a thin smile,

Annie smiled wider. “Well is right.”

She turned back to her ladder without waiting for a response, climbed up, and added another ornament with pointed care. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the neighbor hesitate, then retreat back inside, the door closing just a little harder than necessary.

Annie exhaled softly, satisfied, and went back to work.

After a few minutes of decorating, she heard the same door open again.

Her neighbor’s husband stepped out onto the front walkway, coffee mug in hand, still half-dressed. Annie felt his eyes settling on her. But she simply stayed focused on what she was doing.

Reaching up, she adjusted a strand of lights along the garland, the robe shifting as she stretched, faux fur brushing the steps of the ladder.

“Morning,” he said after a moment. His voice sounding far too casual, like he hadn’t been staring for far too long already.

“Morning,” Annie replied, not turning around yet.

She could practically hear the way his gaze traveled up her body. He took a sip from his mug, eyes still on her.

“Looks like you’re adding more,” he said, nodding toward the decorations. “I didn’t think you had room left.”

She glanced back over her shoulder then, just briefly, meeting his eyes with a polite smile. “Yes, well, you can always make room for the right things.”

That earned her a look that lingered a second too long before he masked it with a grin.

“Guess that’s true,” he said.

He stepped closer to the edge of his walkway, still keeping a respectful distance. Annie continued working, letting the silence stretch just enough to be uncomfortable. She could feel the irritation it would spark once his wife realized where his attention had gone.

And yes, she was doing it on purpose.

“You must get tired of all this,” he added. “Most people would’ve stopped decorating days ago.”

Annie climbed down the ladder and reached for another ornament, fingers brushing over the deep wine-colored ribbon. “I don’t get tired of things I enjoy doing.”

She caught his reflection in the window. His mouth curved and he straightened up a bit.

“I bet,” he said quietly.

She turned toward him fully this time, robe shifting as she moved, expression open and pleasant. “Your house looks nice too.”

It was a lie and he knew it.

He followed her gaze back toward his own decorations, then laughed under his breath. “Yeah, we did what we could.”

Annie tilted her head, eyes warm. “And that’s all that matters.”

Across the street, curtains shifted.

She saw it. He didn’t, or at least pretended not to.

He took another step. “You always make the block look better.”

“That’s the idea,” she replied smoothly, already turning back to her ladder.

She could feel him watching her again as she climbed, the robe parting slightly at the back, the movement slow and unhurried. When she reached the top, she paused just long enough to adjust the garland with exaggerated care.

“You know,” he said, clearing his throat, “if you ever need help with this stuff–”

“I’m good,” Annie interrupted lightly. “But thank you.”

She didn’t look at him when she said it, and somehow that made it worse.

He lingered a moment longer, like he was deciding whether to push his luck, then finally stepped back toward his house. “Well. Merry Christmas, Annie.”

“Merry Christmas,” she replied.

She didn’t turn around until she heard his door close.

Annie went right on back to decorating.

At least until another door opened, but this time it was theirs. Smoke walked out, the air somehow got cooler with him there. He stared at her with concern as she balanced on the ladder.

“Alright,” he said from behind her, voice calm but firm. “That’s enough.”

She turned slightly on the ladder, one hand still gripping the side rail. Smoke stood at the bottom, arms crossed, eyes already tracking how high up she was instead of what she was doing.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve done this a hundred times.”

“I know,” he replied. “But you know how I feel about you doing this.”

He stepped closer, one hand coming up instinctively like he was already prepared to catch her if she slipped. Annie looked down at him, the robe pooling around her ankles, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“You don’t trust me,” she teased.

“I don’t trust the ladders,” he said. “And I definitely don’t trust them when you’re on them without me out here.”

She sighed dramatically, but she smiled as she climbed down anyway, letting him steady her when her feet hit the ground. He didn’t let go right away, his hands warm at her waist.

“Go on and stand over there,” he said, nodding toward the front door. “I’ll finish it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Instead, she stepped aside and watched him climb up, immediately more careful than she’d been, adjusting the last of the decorations with methodical focus.

“Don’t forget the bow on the left,” she called up. “It needs to be centered.”

“I see it,” he muttered.

He shook his head but fixed it anyway.

They fell into an easy rhythm after that with her calling out small instructions and him pretending not to need them. The house looked even better when he was done.

When he climbed down, she looked up at the front of the brownstone with clear satisfaction.

“That’s perfect,” she said.

Smoke followed her gaze, then looked back at her.

She bumped her shoulder into his as they stood there, then immediately launched into something else, words tumbling out of her like she’d been holding them in all morning.

“I can’t wait for tonight,” she said. “Your outfit is going to look so good with the lights. Especially the coat. And the gloves.”

He grimaced. “I already told you I’m not wearing that.”

She turned to him slowly. “You are.”

“I’m really not.”

She folded her arms, faux fur shifting dramatically. “Then I guess you don’t want any more of my cookies.”

He stared at her, the metaphor hitting him immediately. “That ain’t fair.”

“It’s extremely fair.”

He dragged a hand down his face, already defeated. “You really gonna hold my shit hostage?”

“Yes,” she said immediately.

He let out a low grumble. “Fine. I’ll wear it. But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

She smiled victoriously, stepping closer to straighten his jacket. “You don’t have to be happy about it,” she said. “But you are gonna look good.”

He looked down at her, expression softening despite himself. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

She kissed his cheek, quick and sweet. “It’s Christmas.”

It was already edging toward evening by the time everything was set up, that in-between hour where the sky hadn’t decided whether it wanted to go dark yet. The lights strung along the front of the brownstone had come alive one by one, reflecting off the snow that had been tracked thin across the sidewalk. Music played softly from a speaker tucked near the door. And their tables were full.

Stacks of neatly wrapped gifts sat arranged by size, bright paper and thick ribbon catching the glow of the lights. Steam rose continuously from the insulated hot-chocolate dispensers, the scent rich and sweet, blending with the smell of fresh cookies Annie had baked. Plates were replenished almost as quickly as they emptied.

They hadn’t even been outside long, and already people were lining up.

Annie stood near the front, wrapped in red and white, her Mrs. Claus–inspired dress impossibly festive and undeniably eye-catching. The faux fur trimmed the neckline generously, the skirt flaring out just enough to feel playful, cinched at the waist with a wide black belt that pulled everything together. On anyone else, it might’ve looked cute. On Annie, it read differently and not because she meant it to, but because her body refused to be subtle. Her cleavage was full and unapologetic, the dress riding just low enough to make the look feel far naughtier than intended. And her black heeled boots just completed the fantasy.

Smoke stood beside her, solid and striking in his red suit. The coat fit him perfectly, dark accents breaking up the red, gloves tucked into his pocket when he wasn’t handing out gifts.

Kids gravitated toward Annie almost immediately.

They crowded close, eyes wide, tugging gently at her sleeves as they talked over one another. She bent down without hesitation, lowering herself to their level, listening intently like every word mattered. She laughed easily, reacted big, remembered names after hearing them once. She made them feel excited.

Parents watched with fond smiles as their kids clung to her, some snapping photos, others just letting the moment happen.

And Smoke noticed everything.

He handed out toys, exchanged greetings, nodded along to conversations, but his eyes kept drifting back to her. The way she knelt and leaned in close when a child whispered something. The way her laughter carried cutting through the cold.

But the kids weren’t the only ones drawn to her.

Fathers lingered longer than necessary, men found reasons to ask questions, and Annie met all of it with the same easy charm. She was friendly, gracious, never crossing a line, but not dulling herself down either. She was radiant and glowing with the kind of happiness that invited attention without asking for it.

Smoke caught a few of the looks that lasted too long. He felt the possessiveness low in his chest. Still, he stayed where he was, close enough that anyone paying attention could see exactly who she belonged to.

And Annie, blissfully occupied, kept going.

She poured hot chocolate, passed out cookies, and knelt again and again without complaint. She hugged children who asked, laughed when they showed her their mittens, listened as they explained what they hoped to find under the tree. She was glowing from the inside out.

The line ebbed and flowed naturally, people coming in clusters, laughing, lingering, stepping aside to let others through. And eventually, the supply bins started looking thin.

Smoke leaned in toward Annie, speaking close to her ear so only she could hear him over the music and chatter. “We’re gonna run out if I don’t grab more.”

She nodded immediately. “There’s more in the hall closet. And there’s a big box in the dining room.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, already stepping away.

She reached out without thinking, fingers brushing his sleeve briefly as he passed. “Okay.”

He disappeared inside the brownstone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Annie alone out front for the first time that evening.

She started to rearrange the remaining toys on the table when a man approached with two children. They bounced with contained excitement, tugging at their father’s hands as they came closer.

Annie’s face lit up instantly.

“Hi,” she said warmly, crouching down to their level. “Are you two ready for Christmas?”

The kids nodded enthusiastically, talking over each other, words tumbling out too fast to fully catch. Annie laughed, fully engaged, asking them questions, reacting with exaggerated surprise at their answers. She held their attention effortlessly, the way she always did.

Their father stood just behind them. And from the moment he stopped, his attention was no longer on his kids.

Annie leaned forward slightly as she spoke, hands resting on her knees, the neckline of her dress shifting with the movement. The faux fur framing her chest did nothing to hide the fullness there. If anything, it drew the eye straight to it.

The man’s gaze dropped. He swallowed, lips pressing together before he bit down on them absently. His eyes traced a slow path downward, entirely unconcerned with discretion. When he realized he’d been staring too long, he licked his lips, a nervous, reflexive gesture that only made it worse.

But, of course, Annie didn’t notice.

She handed each child a gift, their faces lighting up instantly. “Merry Christmas,” she said softly. “Don’t open it yet. Save it for tomorrow, okay?”

They nodded again, clutching their packages tightly.

Annie rose back to her feet then, brushing her hands together lightly as she turned her attention to their father. “Did you want some hot chocolate too?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stared at her.

Up close, she was even more striking. The dress hugged her perfectly, the contrast of red and white against her skin impossible to ignore.

“Uh,” he said finally, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”

She reached for a cup, pouring carefully, steam curling up between them. She handed it to him with a polite smile, already starting to step back.

But he didn’t take the hint.

“So you do this every year?” he asked, voice a little too smooth.

“We do,” she replied easily. “It’s one of our favorite traditions.”

“That’s really generous,” he said, eyes drifting again despite himself. “Not a lot of people would do all this.”

She smiled, practiced and kind, but her body language stayed neutral. “We’re happy to.”

He shifted his weight, glancing briefly at his kids before looking back at her. “Your husband’s lucky,” he added, tone casual but loaded. “The whole town’s lucky, really.”

Annie tilted her head slightly, still pleasant. “That’s nice of you to say.”

There was a beat where he clearly considered pushing further.

“So,” he began, leaning in just a fraction, “you always look this–”

The front door opened behind her.

Annie didn’t turn right away, but she felt the change in energy. Smoke stepped out onto the stoop carrying two boxes, his eyes sweeping the scene instinctively: the man standing too close, the way he was angled toward Annie, the way Annie’s posture had subtly shifted into polite deflection.

He cleared his throat as he crossed the short distance from the door to the table, setting the extra boxes down where they belonged. He moved unhurriedly, but there was a quiet precision to everything he did now. He simply made his presence unavoidable.

When he reached Annie, he slid his arm around her waist in a way that looked casual to anyone watching. His hand rested against her side, thumb pressing lightly as if to anchor her there.

Annie leaned into him without thinking.

She shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his chest, her body aligning with his. She didn’t look at him right away, still focused on the family in front of her, but Smoke felt the way she relaxed just slightly once he was there.

The man did not.

Smoke watched him closely now, watching the way his gaze barely flicked up to acknowledge Smoke’s arm around her, how it didn’t register as a warning or a deterrent. The man’s eyes shamelessly dipped again, following the line of Annie’s neckline like Smoke wasn’t even part of the picture.

The man asked another question to keep her attention, and Smoke felt a slow, steady heat settle in his chest.

Another family just so happen to approach, their excitement evident even from a distance. Smoke glanced at them, then leaned down slightly toward Annie.

“Go help them,” he murmured quietly, voice calm but firm.

He gave her waist a gentle series of taps, a silent nudge that carried meaning only she would recognize.

Annie nodded, immediately turning her attention toward the newcomers. She slipped out from under his arm easily, already smiling and shifting into that welcoming presence that drew people in so effortlessly.

“Hey,” she said brightly, stepping toward the new family. “Come on up.”

As she walked away, Smoke stayed exactly where he was.

He didn’t need to look to know what the man was doing. But he did anyway.

The man’s eyes followed Annie as she moved. He tracked the sway of her walk, lingering as she bent slightly to reach for the new supply of gifts. His focus narrowed, expression tightening with something like fixation.

Annie leaned forward, reaching toward the box.

Before the man could lean with her, Smoke shifted just enough to block his view completely. His body a solid wall between the man and Annie. He turned his head slightly, finally giving the man his full attention, his expression neutral but unreadable.

“You get everything you needed?” Smoke asked.

The man blinked, clearly startled, eyes snapping up too late. He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Smoke held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. “Alright then. Merry Christmas.”

There was no smile in it.

The man muttered something in return, shifting his weight awkwardly before calling to his kids. He ushered them away quickly, shoulders tense as he disappeared back into the crowd.

Smoke waited until they were gone before turning back toward Annie.

She was still focused on the family she was helping, completely unaware of how close the moment had come to turning sour. Smoke stayed close after that, positioning himself subtly at her side.

The rest of their time out there went on the same way.

By the time the last family drifted away and the street finally quieted, the cold had finally settled deep into Annie’s bones.

The music was turned off. The tables stood mostly empty now, crumbs scattered across disposable plates, lids half-loosened on the hot chocolate containers. The lights on the brownstone still glowed warmly, but the energy that had carried them all evening had faded.

Smoke was already moving boxes inside. He hadn’t said much since they came in to start putting things away, and when he did, it was clipped. 

Annie moved around him, gathering ribbons and unused wrapping paper, brushing snow from the edges of bins before bringing them inside. She talked as she worked, but Smoke only responded with brief sounds that barely counted as answers.

Eventually, she stopped pretending not to notice.

“Okay, what’s wrong, huh?” she asked while setting a box down near the door. 

Smoke didn’t look at her right away. He adjusted the lid on one of the containers, fingers pressing harder than necessary. “I’m just tired.”

Annie studied him for a moment, arms folding loosely over her chest. “Tired my ass, spit it out.”

That made him pause.

He straightened slowly, finally turning to face her. The entry hall light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Why’d you wear that tonight?” he asked.

The question landed wrong immediately.

Annie blinked. “What?”

“That outfit,” he clarified, voice steady but tight. “Why that one.”

Confusion and agitation flickered across her face before she could control herself. “Because it’s Christmas Eve?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Her brows drew together. “It is an answer.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “You knew how it looked.”

Annie’s posture stiffened instantly. “Looked how?”

“You were practically spilling out of it.” he said, finally saying it outright.

Her head tilted back slightly, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m serious,” he replied. “You had men staring at you all night.”

She let out a short laugh that held no humor. “That’s not my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” he shot back.

“You implied it,” she said quickly. “You asked why I wore it like I did something wrong.”

Smoke’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t like it.”

Annie stepped closer, her voice lowering but growing firmer. “I can’t help how my body looks in clothes. I wore a Christmas dress. That’s it.”

“You knew how it looked on you and to anyone else” he said. 

“And?” she asked. “I’m not allowed to feel good about myself?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what it sounds like,” she replied, frustration rising. “I was out there doing what we always do.”

Smoke’s hands clenched at his sides. “And I had to stand there watching men look at you like you were something they could have.”

“That’s their problem,” she snapped. “Not mine.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not dressing for them. I dressed for me.”

Smoke looked at her, eyes dark with something complicated. “Well, I ain’t like it.”

Annie crossed her arms tighter now. “So what, you want me to wear something just so you don’t have to feel uncomfortable?”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” he said, frustration creeping back into his voice. “I just wanted you to think about it.”

“I did think about it,” she replied. 

Smoke looked away, jaw working, clearly holding back. Annie watched him, chest rising and falling, equally wound up.

The tension hung between them like a wire pulled too tight. Then his shoulders dropped, just slightly, like something inside him finally gave way.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Annie didn’t look at him at first. She was straightening one of the boxes near the wall, like she needed something to do with her hands. 

Smoke watched her for a moment, really watching how the soft white trim of the dress framed her collarbones, how the red fabric hugged her just right, how she still carried that warmth even when she was upset.

“I was wrong,” he said.

She paused, then slowly turned to face him. “Wrong how?”

“I came at you too hard,” Smoke admitted. His voice was lower now, stripped of the edge it had earlier. “That wasn’t fair to you.”

Annie searched his face, guarded. He took a step closer.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he continued. “You ain’t do anything wrong.”

He hesitated, then let out a breath that almost sounded like a reluctant smile. “Truth is I actually love that outfit. I guess I was just projecting.”

Annie scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“That don’t mean that I liked all them no good men looking at you,” he added quickly. “But that’s something I gotta deal with, not you.”

He closed the distance between them then, hands coming to rest at her waist, thumbs brushing the fabric. Annie inhaled, instinctively leaning into him even as she tried not to.

“I shouldn’t have made you feel like you did something wrong just by being you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her.

Annie stiffened for half a second, still holding onto her frustration, but then his mouth softened against hers and she melted, hands coming up to grip his jacket.

He kissed her again. And again. Along her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, little apologies scattered in every touch.

“Elijah,” she murmured, breathless, even as she tilted her head to give him better access. “I’m still a little mad.”

“I can tell,” he said, kissing her anyway. 

She huffed out a quiet laugh despite herself. “You think kissing me is just gonna fix everything?”

“I’m hoping it helps,” he said, lips brushing her skin. “At least a little.”

She sighed, shoulders finally relaxing as she gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It does. But I’m not letting you off that easy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, until she forgot what she’d been annoyed about for a split second. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

“So,” he murmured, voice low and playful now, “how do I make it up to you?”

Annie shrugged, deliberately casual, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “I don’t know.”

Smoke chuckled softly and kissed her again, lingering. 

Then he pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark but warm. “I’ll admit something else,” he said quietly. “I’m still a little mad too.”

She raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he said, kissing her once more, slower, like he was savoring it. “I know you really only wore this to get some attention from me.”

She leaned in close, voice teasing. “Guess I’ve been a little naughty then.”

Smoke’s lips curved against hers.

She laughed softly. “Guess that means I won’t get my gifts this year.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still firm on her waist. His expression shifted into something unmistakably smug.

“Oh, you’re getting a gift,” he said.

Annie’s eyes flicked up to his, curious. “Just one?”

He smiled. “Santa got you a big one.”

Smoke didn’t give her time to overthink it. His mouth was back on hers with a kind of kiss that made the rest of the room disappear. His hands traced along her sides like he was relearning every curve he already knew by heart. Annie let out a soft sound against his lips, fingers fisting in the fabric of his jacket as she tried to pull him closer.

The kiss grew heavier, the air between them charged. Annie shifted into him, hands roaming, clearly intending to return the favor, but Smoke caught her wrists mid-movement and guided them gently but firmly behind her back.

Annie tilted her head back slightly, eyes half-lidded, a slow smile pulling at her mouth.

“So,” she murmured, voice smooth and teasing, “what do I gotta do to get back on the nice list?”

Smoke’s lips curved as he pulled back just enough to look at her. His gaze was dark. “You gotta be a good girl,” he said calmly.

Annie didn’t argue. She just nodded.

“That easy?” he asked.

“Mhm,” she hummed.

He leaned in again, kissing her slow and deep, like he was rewarding the answer. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers.

“Naughty girls don’t stay that way if they really try.” he murmured

She leaned into him again, completely willing and ready to prove just how good she could be.

Whatever tension had been hanging between them earlier had melted into something warmer, darker, playful.

“I don’t have to be naughty,” she said softly. “I can be a good girl.”

Smoke’s brow lifted slightly, amused, intrigued. He didn’t interrupt her, just watched.

She took a small step back, smoothing her hands over the front of her robe, her voice dropping into something sweeter. “I can be good for you, Santa”

A low sound left Smoke’s chest before he could stop it. “Oh?” he murmured. “Is that so?”

Annie nodded, eyes bright, stepping closer again. “Mhm. I’ve been waiting all year.”

She let herself sink down slowly, gracefully, until she was kneeling in front of him. Her hands settled on his thighs, thumbs brushing small, absentminded circles on the fabric.

Smoke exhaled sharply, head tipping back for just a second before he looked down at her again. “You know what you look like doing this, right?” he said, voice roughening.

She smiled up at him, lashes fluttering. “I’ve just been waiting for Santa to come by.”

A mix of humor and heat flickered across his face as he played along. “And where’s your husband, huh?” he asked. “I can’t imagine he’d be too happy coming home to find you like this.”

Annie’s smile faltered just enough to sell it. She shrugged lightly, hands still moving against his legs. “He doesn’t care about me. At least not like Santa does,” she said.

Smoke swallowed, gaze dropping briefly to her hands before meeting her eyes again. “Even so,” he said, quieter now, “letting Santa touch you however he wants still makes you a naughty girl.”

Annie bit her lip, eyes never leaving his. “Maybe,” she whispered. “But I told you I’ll be good.”

Smoke watched her from above, the sight of Annie on her knees staring back at him hit him like a freight train. Her red dress hugged every curve, the soft glow of the Christmas lights casting shadows that made her skin look like it was lit from within. Her hands on his thighs were rubbing slow circles that sent heat radiating up his legs. He could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the way his body betrayed him even as he tried to hold onto the last thread of control.

“Annie,” he said, voice gravelly, but she didn't stop. 

Her fingers trailed higher, slipping past the waistband of his pants. She tugged them down just enough, freeing him from the confines of his underwear. His dick sprang free, thick and heavy, already straining toward her in the cool air of the room. The sudden exposure made him hiss through his teeth, every nerve ending alive and begging.

She paused there, eyes dropping to take him in fully. He was rigid and pulsing slightly with his heartbeat. Her gaze lingered, appreciative, hungry, before flicking back up to meet his. Those eyes of hers were locked onto his with a promise that made his stomach tighten. 

Her hand wrapped around him, fingers curling firm and warm around his shaft. She stroked him slowly at first, base to tip, thumb swirling over the head where a bead of precum had already gathered. Smoke's breath caught, hips twitching forward involuntarily as she worked him with that perfect rhythm, like she'd mapped every inch of him a thousand times over. The friction was exquisite, building pressure low in his gut.

Leaning in closer, her tongue darted out, licking a long stripe from the base all the way up, swirling around the sensitive underside before flicking over the tip. The wet heat of her mouth nearly undid him right there, a low groan ripping from his throat as his hand found her hair, fingers threading through the soft strands without pulling.

“I'll show you how good I can be,” she murmured against his skin, lips brushing him with every word. The vibration of it sent a jolt straight through him.

Before he could respond, her mouth closed around him. She took him in deep, lips stretching around his girth as her tongue pressed flat against the underside, sucking with a slow, rhythmic pull that made stars burst behind his eyelids. 

Smoke's head fell back for a second, a ragged curse escaping him as she set a pace, bobbing her head, and hollowing her cheeks with one hand stroking what her mouth couldn't reach while the other cupped him lower, rolling gently.

The room narrowed to just the wet sounds of her mouth working him, the obscene slide of her lips, the way her free hand gripped his thigh for leverage. He couldn't look away from the sight of her like that. Her eyes stayed on his when she could, watering slightly at the edges but never breaking contact, challenging him silently to let go.

Pleasure built like a relentless storm. His grip tightened in her hair, guiding her now, hips rocking shallowly into the heaven of her mouth. She took it all, humming around him, the vibration pushing him closer to the edge. His balls drew up tight, breath coming in sharp pants as the tension snapped.

"Fuck– Annie–" He came hard, pulsing in waves. 

The first thick spurt hit the back of her throat, and she swallowed greedily, milking him with her mouth. But he pulled back just enough on the second surge, ropes of hot release spilling across her lips, dripping down her chin onto the swell of her breasts. The sight of it prolonged the high, drawing a final shudder from him.

She pulled off slowly, tongue swiping her lower lip to catch what lingered, eyes still locked on his as she sat back on her heels. Her chest heaved, breasts heaving with the evidence of him streaked across them, a satisfied, wicked smile curving her mouth. 

The sight of her kneeling there, unashamed, eyes locked on his with that wicked spark snapped something primal loose inside him. He reached down, fingers curling under her chin to tilt her face up fully, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth where a trace of him lingered.

"Up," he said, voice gravel-rough, pulling her to her feet with a firm grip.

Annie rose gracefully, her body brushing against his in the process, the heat of her skin radiating through the fabric of her dress. She swayed just a touch, lips parted, but he didn't give her a moment to catch her breath. His hand slid to the small of her back, guiding her toward the stairs. 

They moved together in the dim hallway, the pieces of the evening's chaos scattered around them. As they passed the pile of unpacked decorations near the base of the stairs, Smoke's gaze snagged on a length of extra garland. He snatched it up without breaking stride, the needles rustling softly in his fist. Annie glanced back at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes, but she said nothing, her heels clicking up the steps ahead of him.

The bedroom door creaked open under his push, the room bathed in the warm flicker of a single bedside lamp and the multicolored spill from the string lights draped over the headboard. The bed dominated the space, sheets already rumpled from earlier that morning. Smoke kicked the door shut behind them, the sound sharp in the quiet.

He turned to her then, garland dangling from one hand, the other reaching out to trace the curve of her jaw. His eyes bored into hers, dark and commanding. 

“Would you do anything for Santa?” he asked, his voice low, threaded with challenge.

Annie held his gaze, her chest rising and falling quicker now. A slow, defiant smile curved her lips.

“Yes,” she breathed.

That was all he needed.

Smoke moved like a storm breaking, hands gripping her hips as he practically hurled her onto the bed. She landed with a soft gasp, bouncing once on the mattress before he was on her, his weight pressing her down just long enough to flip her over onto her stomach. The sheets tangled beneath her, cool against her heated skin, her dress riding up to expose the smooth expanse of her thighs and the swell of her ass.

“Arms,” he commanded, kneeling behind her, voice steady but edged with hunger. He shook out the garland, the ribbon whispering as it uncoiled.

Annie twisted her head to glance back at him over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and heat. She didn't move, didn't offer them up. Instead, she arched her back just a fraction, testing him, her body a deliberate provocation.

Smoke's hand came down without hesitation, palm connecting with the curve of her ass in a sharp, resounding smack. The sound cracked through the room. 

Annie whimpered, the sound high and needy, her body jolting forward on the bed, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Arms,” he repeated, firmer this time, his free hand already soothing the spot he'd struck with a slow, circling rub.

She shivered, breath hitching, but complied this time. Reaching her arms back toward him, wrists crossing obediently at the small of her back. 

“Good girl,” Smoke murmured, approval rough in his throat. 

He looped the garland around her wrists, the greenery cool and prickly against her skin, the ribbon pulling taut as he knotted it secure. Not too tight to bruise, but firm enough to hold her exactly where he wanted. He tested the hold with a tug, watching her body respond, the way her hips shifted against the mattress, seeking friction.

Annie tugged lightly against the tie, a soft moan escaping as she settled fully onto her stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, ass lifted. 

The room pulsed with their shared rhythm now, Christmas lights casting festive shadows over her restrained form, turning the moment into something sacred and sinful all at once.

Smoke's hands moved with purpose, he yanked downward on her dress in one swift motion, the fabric tearing with a sharp rip that echoed in the quiet room. Her breasts spilled free, swaying slightly as she shifted on the bed, the cool air pebbling her skin instantly.

He palmed them from behind, his large hands cupping the soft weight, thumbs circling her nipples with slow, deliberate pressure. Annie had been so sensitive lately, and now it hit her full force. A deep, throaty moan escaped her lips, her back arching into his touch, body trembling as sparks of pleasure shot straight to her core. 

“Elijah…” she gasped, the sound raw and needy, her bound arms flexing uselessly against the garland.

His other hand trailed lower, sliding over the curve of her ass still hugged by the ruined dress bunched at her waist. He swiped upward along the seat of her panties, fingers pressing firmly against the damp lace, feeling the heat radiating from her. She was soaked already.

Annie gasped sharply, her hips bucking involuntarily, wiggling her ass back against his hand in a instinctive plea for more. The movement was playful, desperate, her black heeled boots scraping lightly against the bedspread as her legs parted just a fraction.

His palm came down on her ass again, sharper this time, the sting blooming hot across her skin. She made a sound that made his dick twitch against her thigh.

“Be nice for Santa, Annie,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Don't make me have to punish you.”

She whimpered, her body stilling. He could see the way her thighs pressed together, the way her breath hitched in her chest.

He slid his hand between her legs again. She gasped, her body jerking, her hips moving instinctively, seeking more friction. He could feel her getting wetter, her body responding to his touch, to the slight edge of pain from the garland.

He slipped a finger under the hem of her panties, brushing against her bare skin, and she moaned, a sound that went straight to his dick. He could feel her getting wetter, her body responding to his touch, to the slight edge of pain from the garland.

He slid a finger inside her, her wetness coating him instantly. She was tight, her body clenching around him as he started to move, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.

She moaned again, her hips moving in time with his hand, her body writhing under his touch. He could feel her getting close, her body tensing, her breath coming in short gasps.

But he wasn't ready for her to come yet. He wanted to draw this out, to make her beg, to make her plead for release.

"You come when I say you can. You hear me?" he said, his voice low and commanding.

She nodded, her body stilling, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He could see the way her hands fisted in the garland, the way her eyes fluttered closed, her lashes dark against her cheeks.

He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "Good girl," he murmured. "Now let's see how long you can hold out for Santa."

Smoke pulled his fingers free from between her legs, slick and glistening with her arousal. Annie's body trembled beneath him, her bound wrists twisting slightly against the garland as she pressed her cheek into the mattress, breath ragged. 

"Taste yourself, Annie," he said, his voice low and commanding. "See how good you can be for Santa."

He brought those fingers to her mouth without warning, tracing her parted lips before sliding them inside.

She didn't hesitate. Her tongue swirled around them eagerly, lips closing tight as she sucked, hollowing her cheeks with a hunger that mimicked how she'd taken him downstairs. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, lost in the act, treating his fingers like they were him–lapping at the salty tang of herself on his skin, moaning softly around the intrusion.

Smoke pushed deeper, testing her, curling them against the back of her throat until her body jerked, a soft gag bubbling up from her chest. Her eyes watered, lashes clumping, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she relaxed into it, throat working to take more, her whimpers vibrating along his knuckles. The sound went straight through him, heat pooling low in his gut.

He withdrew slowly, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his fingers for a lingering second before snapping free. Annie gasped, licking her lips instinctively, her chest heaving as she looked back at him over her shoulder.

His palm came down on her ass again, lighter this time but sharp enough to sting, leaving another faint red bloom across her skin. She yelped, hips bucking involuntarily, the black heeled boots still strapped to her feet scraping softly against the sheets.

"Stay still," he murmured, voice rough, but his gaze dropped lower, fixed on the soaked center of her panties. 

The thin black fabric clung to her folds, the wetness seeping through in a dark, obscene patch that made his mouth water. He licked his lips slowly, savoring the sight of her like this. Mrs. Claus undone, dress torn open, breasts swaying heavy and free beneath her, ass arched high and marked by his hand.

Annie couldn't help herself. Her bound arms strained behind her back, shoulders flexing as she pushed her ass up higher, practically begging without words. She was a vision of impatience, every wiggle an invitation, her soaked panties shifting with the movement to reveal more of her glistening heat.

Smoke bent down behind her, his breath hot against the slick folds of her exposed center, the scent of her arousal filling his senses like the sweetest temptation. He gripped her thighs firmly, spreading them wider, and dragged his tongue along her length in one slow stroke from her clit to her entrance and back again. 

Annie shattered instantly. Her body bucked against the mattress, heels of her black boots digging into the sheets for purchase.

"Oh God," she gasped, her voice muffled against the bedding as he dove in deeper. 

His tongue circled her clit with firm, insistent pressure, then plunged inside her, tasting the flood of her wetness, lapping at her like he was starving. She moaned loud and broken. Her bound hands flexing uselessly behind her back, fingers curling into fists as she strained against the garland, aching to tangle in his hair, to pull him closer, to do anything but submit.

Her body betrayed her further, rocking subtly back and forth, trying to set the pace, to grind against his mouth for that perfect friction she craved. Smoke felt the greedy little movements, and growled low against her skin, the vibration making her cry out sharper. He gripped her thighs harder, nails digging into the soft flesh just enough to sting, yanking her back onto his tongue one last time before pulling away entirely.

She collapsed forward with a whine, trembling, her ass still raised high, glistening and begging.

"Since you wanna be such a naughty girl," he said, voice rough and commanding as he straightened up, wiping his mouth, "why don't you ride me until I say so."

Annie twisted her head to look back at him, eyes hazy with need, cheeks flushed, lips parted on a breathless plea, but he was already moving. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide. He patted his thigh once, sharp and expectantly.

She didn't need more invitation than that.

Smoke watched Annie straddle him, her body sinking down onto his length with a slow roll of her hips that made his breath hitch. Her hands were still bound behind her back with the garland, forcing her chest forward, her torn dress hanging open so her breasts swayed freely with every movement. The black heeled boots she still wore dug into the mattress on either side of him, giving her leverage as she started to ride him, her thighs flexing, her body already slick and hot around him.

She knew exactly what she was doing. 

Annie leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear, moaning low and throaty, the exact sound she knew unraveled him every time. 

"It feels so good," she gasped, her voice breaking just right. 

Her hips circled first, grinding deep in that teasing rhythm he loved. The one that dragged her inner walls along every inch of him, before she picked up speed, bouncing rough and fast, chasing her release with shameless abandon.

He gripped her thighs hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh, but she didn't stop. She rode him like she owned him, her moans turning sharper, more desperate, her body clenching tighter around his cock as she hurtled toward the edge. Sweat glistened on her skin, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, nipples peaked and begging for attention. She was a vision–Mrs. Claus turned wild.

But Smoke saw it coming. 

The way her breaths stuttered, her eyes fluttering half-shut, her rhythm faltering as her orgasm built too close, too fast. He wouldn't let her have it, not yet. His hands clamped down on her hips like iron, yanking her flush against him, forcing her to sit fully impaled on his lap. 

She was buried to the hilt, he was throbbing deep inside her, but she couldn't move, couldn't grind or bounce. She groaned, entirely frustrated. Her bound hands flexing uselessly behind her as she tried to rock against him anyway.

"Uh-uh," he murmured, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, thumb flicking her nipple just to watch her squirm. "Look at you, squirming on Santa's lap." 

His other hand stayed firm on her hip, holding her still while her body trembled around him, so close to shattering but denied. He licked his lips, eyes dark as he drank in the sight of her. 

"What would you like for Christmas, Annie? Tell Santa what you want."

She bit her lip, eyes glassy with desperation, hips twitching under his grip. "To come," she breathed, voice raw and pleading. "Please, Santa, let me come."

He chuckled low, the sound rumbling through his chest as he thrust up once, shallow and teasing, making her gasp. 

"Only good girls get that gift," he said, his thumb circling her nipple again, slowly and torturously. "And you're still on the naughty list, aren't you? Gotta earn it first." 

Annie's head fell back with a frustrated whine, her body clenching around him in silent protest, but she didn't fight it. Not yet. She was his to toy with, and they both knew it.

Smoke released his grip on her hips, and Annie surged forward immediately, her body taking over with a desperate rhythm. She rode him hard, hips slamming down and her chest bouncing with every thrust. 

Her full, heavy breasts swayed hypnotically in the dim glow of the room. Her black heeled boots dug into the mattress on either side of him, giving her leverage, the sharp clicks echoing faintly as she chased what he wouldn't yet give.

His gaze locked on her breasts, mesmerized by their movement. They seemed bigger than usual, fuller, spilling forward with a weight that drew his eyes like magnets. He reached up slowly, palms cupping them with care, thumbs grazing the hardened peaks. 

And as he squeezed gently, rolling her nipples between his fingers, Annie's moan ripped from her throat. She tilted her head back, throat exposed. Her body shuddered under the heightened sensitivity that made every touch electric.

"Fuck," she gasped, her voice breaking as she yanked hard at the garland. Her arms flexed, muscles taut, but the ties held firm. "Please, I wanna touch you. Let me–"

"No," he cut her off, voice gravelly and unyielding, his hands still kneading her breasts, thumbs circling relentlessly to draw out those delicious whimpers. "Hands stay tied. You ride Santa like this, or not at all."

She whined in frustration again. Her hips stuttering for a beat before picking up speed again, grinding down deeper, her inner walls clenching around him in protest and plea. Sweat glistened on her skin, but she didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Smoke pulled out of her abruptly then, his dick slick and throbbing, denying them both the release that hovered so close. 

Annie sighed, her body clenching around nothing, but before she could protest, he gripped her hips and shoved her back onto the bed. She landed on her back with a soft thud, the mattress dipping under her weight, her legs splaying open.

He took her in, chest heaving, eyes raking over the beautiful mess she'd become. The red fabric was yanked down to her waist, her full breasts spilling free, nipples peaked and flushed from his earlier attention. Her hair, once neatly pinned for the holiday, now stuck to her sweat-dampened forehead in dark curls, strands clinging to her neck and cheeks. Black heeled boots still hugged her calves, scuffed from the night's chaos, adding a wicked contrast to her vulnerability. She looked wrecked.

Smoke climbed over her in one fluid motion, caging her bound body with his knees bracketing her hips. He crashed his mouth down on hers, the kiss filthy, all tongue. He sucked her lower lip hard enough to sting, then plunged his tongue deep, mimicking what he wanted to do to her core, sloppy and possessive. Saliva slicked their chins as he angled his head, growling low into her mouth.

Annie arched up into him, her tied wrists flexing uselessly behind her back, and wrapped her thighs tight around his waist, heels digging into his ass through her boots. She pulled him down harder, her body grinding against his length where it pressed hot and heavy between them. Her moan vibrated into their kiss.

Smoke flipped Annie over with a firm hand on her hip, guiding her body into position. He brought her knees up under her, pressing her chest down into the mattress, her bound wrists pulling taut against the garland as her cheek pressed into the sheets. Her ass lifted high, presented to him.

He positioned himself behind her, gripping himself and running the thick length up and down her slick slit, coating himself in her arousal. The heat of her pulsed against him, her folds swollen and dripping, begging without words. Annie whimpered, her hips twitching back instinctively, chasing the contact.

"Not yet," he murmured, voice gravelly with restraint. 

He teased her clit with the head of his dick, circling it slowly, pressing just enough to make her gasp and shudder, her thighs quivering. Once, twice, three times. He dragged it out, watching her body tense, her breath hitch into needy little sobs.

Then, with a low groan, he thrust into her, burying himself deep in one smooth motion. She was tight, clenching around him, her wetness easing the way as her walls fluttered in response.

"Put in some work, Annie," he commanded, his hands settling on her hips. "Show Santa you're worth it."

She obeyed instantly, pushing back against him, her ass bouncing off his pelvis with each roll of her hips. The rhythm built quickly, skin slapping skin, as she worked herself on him. 

Smoke watched, transfixed by the jiggle of her flesh. He brought his palm down on her ass leaving stinging smacks that rippled the plump skin. She groaned with each one, but it only made her grind harder.

"Faster," he growled, smacking her again. "You need to make Santa come. Do it right, and maybe you'll earn your way off that naughty list."

Annie's response was instant. 

She pushed back faster, harder, chasing that edge even as she focused on him. Sweat slicked her skin, her hair sticking to her neck, breaths coming in ragged pants. 

Smoke gripped her hips bruisingly tight, his fingers digging into soft flesh as he took over. He met her every movement, pounding into her with controlled power, the bed creaking under them, the room filled with the wet sounds of their bodies and her escalating cries.

He could feel his release building, the coil tightening low in his gut. She was milking him with every plunge. Of course, she was close too, but he held the reins, driving them both toward the brink without mercy.

Smoke pounded into her harder, the bed creaking under the force of his thrusts, his hips slamming against her ass. Her wetness slicked every stroke, her body pulling him deeper despite her bound hands. 

"You don't come until I say so," he growled, voice rough and commanding, sweat beading on his brow as he watched her back arch, her thick thighs trembling. "Hold it, Annie. Be good for Santa."

She was a wreck beneath him, moans spilling from her lips in broken gasps, her fingers twisting desperately into the garland binding her wrists. The rough greenery bit into her skin just enough to heighten every sensation, her body rocking back to meet him even as she fought the building wave inside her. She gripped the ties tighter, playing with the ends, tugging futilely while her hips stuttered, chasing what she couldn't have.

"Please," she whimpered, voice hoarse and needy, turning her head just enough to reach out with one straining hand. "Hold my hand. Please."

He grunted, a low rumble from deep in his chest, his rhythm faltering for half a heartbeat. Part of him wanted to deny her, to keep her fully at his mercy, but the plea in her voice cracked something in him. 

He laced his fingers through hers, squeezing hard, anchoring her as he drove into her with punishing force. Her palm was hot and slick against his, her grip tightening like a lifeline.

The connection pushed him over the edge. Heat coiled tight in his gut, exploding as he thrust deep one final time, spilling into her with a guttural groan. Her walls fluttered wildly around him, so close to shattering, but he pulled out quickly leaving her empty and gasping. Her body shuddered on the brink without release. 

Thick ropes of his come painted her thighs and ass, marking her as his, while she collapsed forward, chest heaving, a frustrated whine escaping her throat.

He released her hand slowly, breathing ragged, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he took in the sight of her, still tied and denied. 

"Not yet," he said, trailing a hand down her spine. "Remember naughty girls have to wait their turn."

Annie clenched on nothing. Her inner walls fluttered in desperate need, wetness dripping down her thighs in a glistening trail. Her body trembled. 

He looked down at her, chest heaving, a rare softness breaking through the dark intensity in his eyes. 

"I guess since you've been so good for Santa," he murmured, voice rough but warm. "I'll allow you one gift. What do you want?"

She swallowed hard, her gaze locking onto his. "Untie me," she whispered, voice shaky with pent-up longing. "Please."

He nodded once, reaching for the garland twisted around her wrists. His fingers worked quickly but carefully, loosening the rough green strands until they fell away, leaving faint marks on her skin that he traced with his thumb. 

"There you go," he said softly. 

Annie pushed herself up on shaky arms, her muscles quivering from the strain and denial. Her pussy throbbed, slick and empty, the cool air teasing her overheated folds. She turned to him, eyes shining, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss. Her tongue sought his immediately.

Smoke groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her as he pushed forward. His strong hands gripped her shoulders, guiding them both back until she lay flat on her back, the mattress dipping under their weight. 

Her legs hooked around his waist instinctively, thighs clamping tight, heels digging into the small of his back. Her arms stayed locked around his neck, fingers threading into his hair, holding him close as their kiss turned messy, tongues sliding wet and deep.

He settled between her legs, his hard length pressing against her slick core but not entering, just teasing with the heat of him. Annie arched up, moaning into the kiss, her body finally free to cling and writhe against his. 

Smoke broke away just enough to nip at her lower lip, his forehead resting against hers, eyes dark with promise.  His hands gripped her thick thighs, his fingers sinking into the soft, plush flesh with a possessive squeeze that made her gasp into his mouth. 

"Hold them open for me," he commanded, voice a low rumble against her lips, guiding her hands to the backs of her knees. 

She obeyed instantly, her shaky arms pulling her legs wide, black heels pointed toward the ceiling, exposing her completely. Her pussy glistening, swollen and clenching in desperate invitation.

He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of his tip pressing against her slick folds. With a slow, deliberate push, he sank into her, stretching her inch by inch. Annie moaned out loud, the sound raw and broken, her head tipping back into the pillows as her walls fluttered around him. 

Missionary always unraveled her like nothing else; they avoided it for that very reason. But here, pinned beneath him, it hit different. Smoke always went impossibly deep, his girth filling her to the brink, every ridge and vein dragging against her sensitive inner walls until she could only take so much before her breath stuttered.

"Fuck, Annie," he groaned, bottoming out with a roll of his hips that ground him against her deepest spot, sparks exploding behind her eyes. She whimpered, her body arching off the bed, thighs trembling in her own grip as he set a rhythm of long, powerful strokes that claimed her over and over.

He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit, swollen and slick under his touch. He rubbed firm circles, matching the pace of his thrusts, the dual sensation ripping a storm of moans from her throat. 

"Smoke. Oh God, Smoke," she cried, her voice pitching higher with each snap of his hips, the wet sounds of their bodies colliding filling the room.

He picked up speed, power building in every thrust. His pelvis slammed against hers with bruising force. His muscles flexed under the strain, eyes locked on her face as she shattered beneath him. 

Her thighs slipped from her grasp, quivering too hard to hold, and she clawed at the sheets instead, twisting the fabric as her moans turned into breathless sobs of pleasure. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around him, pulling him in, teetering right on the edge.

Smoke grunted with every powerful thrust. The raw, guttural sounds ripped from his chest as he drove into Annie's clenching heat. Annie was lost beneath him, her moans fracturing into desperate pleas, her voice hoarse and breaking. 

“Please, Smoke…let me come. I need to come so bad.”

He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her cries as his hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt. When he pulled back, a smirk tugged at his lips, dark and knowing. 

"I'll let you come, Annie," he rasped, voice gravel over steel. "If you promise to give Santa one thing."

She bucked wildly under him, thighs quaking around his waist. “What?” she moaned out, the word half-sob, half-gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Smoke kissed her again as he ground his hips in a slow, devastating circle that made her vision spark. Then he pulled back just enough, eyes locking on hers, and thrust in hard, digging so deep she felt him in her core, rearranging her from the inside. 

"Have my baby," he growled, the words punched out with the force of his body claiming hers.

Annie's breath seized, her fingers clutching the sheets for dear life as she held on through the onslaught. Each plunge stretched her limits. He was hitting that spot that turned her mind to static. She couldn't focus, couldn't form words, only fragmented whimpers.

"Have my baby, Annie," he repeated, voice low and insistent, slowing his rhythm just enough to pin her gaze with his own. He stared down at her, unblinking, hips rolling deep and waiting.

Her eyes widened, hazy with lust but sharpening as she met his stare. The weight of it sinking in. She paused, then nodded frantically, a small jerk of her head. Her body screamed it even if her voice couldn't.

Smoke thrust again, harder, splitting her open with a single, punishing stroke that arched her spine. "Say it," he demanded, breath hot against her ear. "I need to hear you say it."

"Yes," she gasped, the word tumbling out in a rush. "Yes, I’ll have your baby. Now let me come!"

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her as he nipped her jaw. "Don't be rude, baby." His thumb circled her clit again, relentless, while his dick throbbed inside her. "Say please."

"Please," she begged instantly, voice cracking, body wound so tight she was trembling. "Please let me come."

That did it. 

"Come for me," he commanded, thrusting one final time.

Her release exploded through her like a dam breaking. Her eyes rolled back in her head, mouth falling open in a silent scream that shattered into a wail. Her body arched off the bed, pussy spasming wildly around him, gushing wetness that soaked his thighs. Waves of ecstasy ripped through her, toes curling in her boots, every muscle seizing in bliss as she shattered completely.

Smoke groaned, the sight and feel of her undoing pushing him over. He thrust through her climax three more times, hips grinding until he buried himself flush against her cervix and came. He collapsed over her, both of them panting, bodies locked together in the aftershocks, the Christmas lights casting a soft glow over their tangled, spent forms.

It was still early enough that the sky outside carried that glow that made the house feel hushed and unreal, like it was holding its breath. Annie woke up smiling. Her body felt warm, loose, pleasantly tired, and her mind felt light. Everything about the morning felt right. She stretched beneath the covers, hair a mess, skin still warm from sleep.

She didn’t think much of anything as she slid out of bed. She reached for her robe and slipped it over bare skin without a second thought. The fabric brushed against her calves and pooled around her feet as she tied it loosely at the waist. She padded out of the bedroom humming softly, already thinking about coffee and cinnamon rolls. Completely forgetting about anything else.

The brownstone looked even more magical in the morning light. The garlands and lights from the night before still glowed softly. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the living room, branches heavy with ornaments and lights, gifts packed so tightly underneath that some had been stacked against the wall. The whole house smelled like sugar cookies and pine. It was all warm and familiard

Annie walked straight into the kitchen without looking up, already reaching for the coffee pot.

“Morning,” a familiar voice said.

She froze.

Slowly, Annie lifted her head.

Smoke was sitting at the kitchen table cup of coffee in his hand. Across from him was Stack, leaned back in his chair with a grin that stretched way too wide.

Annie’s eyes widened. “Oh my–”

“Damn,” Stack looked her up and down, amusement lighting his face. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Smoke shot him a look without even turning his head. “Relax.”

Annie let out a startled laugh, instantly tugging the robe tighter around herself even though it already covered everything it needed to. “Why are you here?” she asked Stack, half-laughing, half-mortified.

He shrugged. “You said be here early. I just didn’t know how early.” His eyes flicked to her robe again. “Or that it was gonna be this kind of party.”

“Don’t start,” she warned, already backing toward the stairs. 

Stack just laughed.

Annie turned quickly, intent on making a clean escape upstairs before this could get worse, but she barely made it two steps before the sound of excited footsteps thundered through the house.

“TT!”

Her niece and nephews came barreling in like a holiday tornado, socks sliding on the floor, voices overlapping, arms already reaching for her. Before she could even protest, they were on her—hugging her legs, clinging to her robe, talking all at once.

“You’re up!”

“Did Santa come?”

“Can we open presents yet?”

Annie laughed despite herself, the sound bright and full, her embarrassment melting away under the sheer force of their excitement. She bent down instinctively, wrapping her arms around them, pressing kisses into curls and foreheads.

“Hey, ” she said warmly. “Good morning to you too.”

Smoke watched from the table, lips curved into a fond smile, coffee forgotten for the moment. Stack leaned back again, shaking his head.

The kids finally loosened their grip enough for her to stand properly, though one still clung to her leg like a koala. Annie adjusted her robe again, cheeks warm but eyes bright, the glow still unmistakably there.

Smoke stepped in smoothly, clapping his hands once to get their attention. “Alright, alright,” he said, voice warm but firm. “TT’s gotta go finish getting ready.”

A chorus of protests immediately followed.

“But Uncle Smoke–”

“We wanna open presents now!”

“Just one!”

He laughed, bending down as he spoke, scooping his niece up and settling her on his hip. “Not yet,” he said gently. “Everybody has to be here first. That’s the rule.”

As if on cue, his nephews latched onto his legs, one on each side, clinging like they had no intention of letting him go anywhere without them. Smoke barely flinched. He adjusted his stance automatically like this was second nature.

Annie lingered for a second, watching the scene unfold. Something unspoken passed between them. Smoke caught her eye and nodded his head toward the stairs, silently telling her he had it handled.

She smiled back at him, before turning and heading upstairs.

As Smoke led them back into the living room. He loved this part of the holidays. He loved the noise, the mess, the way the house felt too small and somehow still perfect. But moments like this always carried an ache with them too. Everywhere he looked, there were kids with little hands, big questions, and endless energy. Everyone around him had built this life naturally. And he and Annie wanted it just as badly.

He shook the thought away before it could take root too deeply.

“Alright,” he said, lowering himself onto the couch with a dramatic groan, his niece immediately curling into his side while the boys sprawled across the floor at his feet. “Movie time.”

He put on a holiday movie, the room filling with bright colors and cheerful music. His niece leaned closer, legs tucked under her, already deep in conversation.

“Uncle Smoke,” she said, tugging on his sleeve. “At daycare we learned about reindeer. Did you know–”

He smiled, nodding along as she spoke, responding at the right moments, even as his eyes drifted to the Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner. The presents underneath it waited patiently, ribbons crisp, tags carefully written in Annie’s handwriting.

The doorbell rang once, then again.

Sammie arrived with Pearline right behind him and their baby bundled up against her chest. The baby let out a tiny yawn that instantly drew everyone’s attention.

Soon after, more voices filled the space. Annie’s cousins, aunts, uncles, came in. Kids were shedding coats and shoes as fast as possible, laughter bouncing off the walls. Bags of food were set down. Hugs were exchanged. The living room grew fuller, warmer, louder.

And then her grandmother arrived.

The energy softening around her presence. Smoke stood to greet her, respectful and affectionate, leaning down to hug her carefully.

“Morning, baby,” she said warmly, patting his cheek. “The house looks beautiful.”

He smiled. “Annie did good this year”

“Of course she did,” her grandmother replied knowingly.

By the time Annie came back downstairs, properly dressed now, the house was alive. Kids ran back and forth, voices overlapping. Music played softly in the background.

Smoke watched Annie step into the room, the way her face lit up as she took it all in. Their eyes met again across the space, and this time the look they shared was full of love, pride, longing, and gratitude all tangled together.

Annie naturally slipped into motion like she always did. Hosting came as easily to her as breathing. She clapped her hands lightly to get everyone’s attention, smiling wide as she scanned the room, already mentally organizing people into groups.

“Okay,” she said brightly, voice carrying without effort. “Kids first. Everybody grab a spot near the tree.”

The children practically tripped over one another rushing toward the living room, socks sliding on the floor, laughter and squeals filling the air. Annie laughed along with them, gently guiding the smallest ones forward, reminding them not to push and to wait their turn.

She passed out gifts one by one, reading names aloud, handing boxes into eager hands. The reactions were instant and loud with gasps and happy screams.

“You remembered!”

“This is the one I wanted!”

“Thank you, TT!”

Once the kids were fully occupied, Annie shifted her attention to the adults. 

“Alright,” she said, waving them closer. “Adults turn.”

Groans and laughs followed, but everyone moved in anyway. Gifts were passed around, teased over, shaken jokingly before being opened. Wine glasses clinked softly as wrapping paper piled up again.

There were smiles, surprised laughs, appreciative murmurs.

Eventually, Smoke stood and cleared his throat slightly. “Alright,” he said, stepping closer to her. “I got something for you too.”

Annie turned to him, eyebrows lifting in surprise even though she knew it was coming. He handed her the first box. She opened it carefully, and froze.

“Wow,” she breathed.

It was the purse she wanted. The one she’d stopped to admire more than once, pretending she didn’t want it that badly. 

He handed her the second box. When she opened it, her eyes widened again, laughter bubbling up as she lifted up a pair of designer heels. “You are not serious.”

“You deserve it,” he said.

Annie hugged him this time, arms wrapping around his neck. “Thank you, baby,” she murmured.

When it was time for Smoke’s gifts, Annie handed him the first one easily. He opened it to reveal a cologne, lifting the bottle with a thoughtful nod. 

“I already know this smells good,” he said.

She smiled knowingly.

Then she passed him the second gift. 

“This one,” she said softly, leaning in just enough for only him to hear, “you don’t open until we’re alone.”

Smoke looked at the box, then back at her, curiosity immediately sparking in his eyes. “That so?”

She nodded once, lips curling into a small, secretive smile. “Just trust me.”

He didn’t push it. His gaze lingering on her a second longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between them as the room buzzed on around them.

The rest of the day unfolded slowly. The house stayed full, every room occupied by some version of joy. Wrapping paper never quite made it to the trash, abandoned toys scattered across the floor as kids moved from one thing to the next, showing off their favorites, trading pieces, arguing briefly and then laughing just as fast.

Cards came out at the dining table, voices rising with every win and loss. Someone turned the music up just a little louder. Glasses clinked as drinks were poured, conversations overlapping in that familiar way that only happened when everyone felt comfortable enough to talk at once. And the kitchen stayed busy.

Annie eventually settled herself on the edge of Smoke’s chair, perched sideways with one leg draped comfortably over his knee. A mug of hot chocolate warmed her hands, steam curling up toward her face as she sipped it slowly. Smoke’s hands rested on her automatically, one at her hip, the other steady at her thigh, holding her in place like it was the most natural thing in the world. Every now and then his thumb traced small, absentminded circles, grounding and affectionate.

She leaned back into him without thinking, her shoulder brushing his chest. He adjusted instantly, shifting just enough to support her weight.

Across the room, one of Annie’s cousins stood rocking her baby gently, dark circles under her eyes but a smile on her face. 

“Hey,” she said after a moment, nodding toward Annie. “You wanna hold her for a bit?”

Annie’s face lit up immediately. “Yes, absolutely.”

She carefully passed her mug off, already standing, arms reaching out with instinctive ease. The baby was placed into them. Annie adjusted her hold gently, tucking the baby closer against her chest, rocking just slightly.

Smoke watched closely, his hands never leaving her even as she shifted. One slid to the small of her back, steadying her as she settled again, the other resting over her hip protectively. He leaned in just enough to look down at the baby too.

Annie swayed gently, humming without realizing she was doing it. The baby’s movements slowed, little fingers curling into the fabric of Annie’s sweater. Within minutes, her breathing evened out, head tucked comfortably beneath Annie’s chin.

For a moment, everything felt suspended.

Smoke tightened his hold just a little, and she leaned into him, eyes still on the sleeping baby, heart full in a way that was both beautiful and bittersweet.

After a while, the family started to clear out. 

Coats were being pulled on and keys searched for. Then the last few kids were herded out, half-asleep, clutching new toys under their arms. Voices faded down the front steps, laughter dissolving into the cold night air. Eventually, the door closed for the final time, the lock clicking into place with a soft, definitive sound.

Annie leaned her forehead briefly against the door and let out a long breath.

“I’m exhausted,” she said, voice warm but worn, turning slowly to face the living room.

The house looked beautifully lived in. 

Empty mugs on side tables. A deck of cards abandoned mid-game. Wrapping paper still peeking out from the trash. The Christmas tree continued to glow, steady and patient, lights reflecting off the ornaments and the deep burgundy ribbons Annie had tied herself.

Smoke stood nearby, watching her. He looked relaxed on the surface, but she could feel the tension on him even from across the room. He’d been quietly wound all evening, eyes flicking to where she’d tucked his second gift away.

“Go sit,” she told him gently, nodding toward the couch. “I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t argue. He dropped onto the couch and leaned back, elbows resting on his knees as he watched her cross the room. Annie moved slower now, her energy finally catching up to her. She picked up the small box from where she’d hidden it earlier, fingers lingering around it for a moment before she turned back to him.

Smoke straightened when he saw it in her hands.

She walked over and didn’t stop until she was right in front of him. Without a word, he opened his arms, palms up in invitation. Annie smiled softly and climbed into his lap, settling herself comfortably astride him. His hands came to her hips immediately as she adjusted.

She held the box between them, resting it lightly against his chest.

“I know it’s small,” she said quietly.

Smoke frowned slightly, eyes flicking from the box to her face. “Annie–”

“But it’s the only thing you really wanted for Christmas,” she continued, voice steady but emotional, biting her lip as she watched him. “The one thing we’ve been praying for.”

Confusion flickered across his face as he took the box from her hands. He turned it over once, then twice, brow furrowing deeper. Slowly, carefully, he peeled the paper away. When he opened it and pulled out what was inside, his entire expression shifted.

In his palm sat a tiny red and white pacifier.

For a second, Smoke didn’t move. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. His eyes lifted to Annie’s face, searching, disbelieving.

Annie swallowed, nerves finally catching up to her. She nodded once, lips trembling into a smile. “I was trying so hard not to tell you last night when you asked,” she admitted softly.

His breath left him in a rush. “Wait, are you–?” His voice cracked. “Annie?”

She nodded again, this time more firmly. “I’m pregnant.”

Shock gave way to pure, unfiltered joy crashing through him all at once. His hands tightened on her hips instinctively. 

“How far?” he asked quickly, already smiling, eyes shining.

“Almost ten weeks.”

Smoke blinked, his mind racing. He did the math without even meaning to, his thoughts jumping back to the little trip they’d taken in October where they refused to leave the bed unless absolutely necessary. The memory hit him like a wave, and his smile widened until it felt like his face might split.

“October,” he murmured, half to himself, half to her.

Annie laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

Smoke pulled her into him suddenly, arms wrapping tight around her, holding her like he was afraid she might disappear. Annie laughed into his shoulder, clinging back just as hard, her face tucked against his neck.

“This–” he said, voice thick, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes wet but glowing, “this is the best Christmas present you could’ve ever given me.”

She smiled through it, brushing her nose against his. “I figured.”

He kissed her then with everything they’d been carrying for years. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, hands still firm and protective at her back.

“Mr. and Mrs. Claus,” he murmured with a soft laugh. “Looks like we’re finally getting our miracle.”

Annie closed her eyes, smiling, the Christmas lights glowing around them as the house settled into a quiet that felt full instead of empty.

-

-

-

She needed this.

This moment alone after her shitty day at work. This time to herself after putting up with Smoke acting like he could run shit. This was her damn house that she took care of. Fuck it if Elijah fronted a few bills. He only did it because he was a control freak. But this was Annie’s house, her business, and she needed this.

That morning, she realized she was out of coffee creamer after the pot had already been made, and Annie needed a perfect, homemade cup of coffee with her hazelnut creamer to start her day right. Then, her pantyhose ripped on the way out the door, and she hadn’t shaved in weeks, so it was between wearing shitty ass tights to the office or hairy ass legs. Then, she remembered that she was supposed to leave early that day because she needed gas, and since Smoke had been acting like he ran her life, she decided today would be the day she wanted to be an independent woman and pump her own gas. Then, when she showed up to work, inevitably late, her boss was standing near her desk with a stack of folders that took her all damn day to sort through. There’d been no lunch. No break. No chance to call her man.

So how could anyone blame her?

She needed this, damnit.

Over the years, Annie had found that when life was doing her in, the best way to fix it was to either manifest and set some intentions or to orgasm. She’d been doing the first thing often enough, and though the latter half of her day had settled some, there was a lingering frustration that needed to be overcome.

And her man wasn’t there to fix it because he had his own life, and his own house, and his own shit to do.

Reaching over into her side table drawer, she pulled out their vibrator. It was cute and petite and an electric blue because when Smoke had chosen it out of the sea of other toys, he’d commented that it looked “tough” (He meant to say that it would look good settled between her thighs and pussy lips as he used it to tease her later that day—but he was too shy in the environment to admit it). Annie twirled it in her hand, contemplating her next move. Smoke had put rules and regulations on their vibrator like he was the damn FDA, and the most important rule was that she couldn’t use it without him.

When she’d heard it, disbelief had entered her system. Who was he to be demanding shit? Who was he to be calling shots like that? He knew how sexual Annie was and how important an orgasm and pleasure could be. But Smoke saw that electric blue vibrator as theirs. It was theirs to explore with, theirs to use together. So if he wasn’t in her home and on her bed, Annie was not to be permitted access to it.

But this was her damn house. The house she made a home. The house she would have paid every bill for if her man wasn’t such a damn control freak.

When the vibrator hit her clit, a bolt of energy ran through her. All throughout her body, her muscles tightened, and a sharp gasp parted her lips. When Smoke would use it on her, he'd start all slow and shit, dragging it through her folds on the lowest setting just to piss her off. But Annie didn't want to be teased right now. She wanted release and pleasure as quickly and as easily as possible. Knees wide open, feet pressed into the bed, and head thrown back, she felt every ounce of the day begin to wash off of her. She started to forget all about the coffee and the pantyhose and the gas and being late and her boss and all those stupid folders. The only thing she cared about was how good her body felt right now and how quickly she was about to tumble over the edge.

~~~~~

When he stepped foot into her home, nothing seemed too out of place. He placed his keys in the dish and shrugged his jacket off. He removed his shoes and set them right beside the haphazardly-placed heels she had worn to work.

Smoke hadn’t heard from his girlfriend since that morning, but if he knew anything about her, the text saying she was out of her favorite hazelnut creamer was the perfect set up for an awful day. He’d already been at work himself, so he couldn’t save her, but he made sure to buy her a fresh bottle as soon as he could. Settling the creamer in the fridge, Smoke went in search of his girlfriend. He wasn’t the type to call out for her because she was the type to only be in one of two places: the living room or the back patio. And when both of those places came up missing, his attention was sparked.

It was like his body tuned in to find her. His ears perked up at every shuffle and buzz. His feet tingled with every vibration.

“I know she better not,” the man mumbled under his breath, gritting his teeth and already in motion toward her bedroom. He kept his steps light no matter how much he wanted to stomp. He needed to see this. He needed to look upon her wrongdoing.

The closer he got to her open bedroom door, the more her sweet moans filled his ears. He could tell she was exhausted by the whine that accompanied her cries of pleasure, and even though he wanted to halt her when he saw their—his—electric blue vibrator, he refrained. Shoulder pressed into the doorframe, he analyzed the roll of her hips and how her jaw dropped open when she shifted the toy upwards. He marveled at the sheen covering her body and how she went harder than he normally would.

He could tell she was chasing it, and as much as he hated it, he knew she probably needed this. Annie was a woman of order—after his own heart. She had systems. Procedures. Those misplaced heels at the door had been one sign that she was losing it, and her work attire which was tossed in piles on the floor and across a chair was another. He hated how much he knew she needed this, but he kept quiet and sat back watching the show nonetheless.

~~~~~

Her need had turned carnal.

She craved it. That release. That pleasure. That succumbing to her own body and crumbling as the result of her own efforts.

She’d been holding the toy in place, but now she was growing more courageous. She attempted to move and her body thanked her by releasing a tremble up her spine—encouragement that allowed her the peace of mind to circle her clit. She did it quickly, completely uncaring because if she was going to have this, she wanted it now.

Nails piercing the fabric of her sheets and feet grounding her in place, Annie felt herself tipping gloriously over the edge of her desire. Her body trembled. Her thighs ached, but that meant nothing because she was getting what she deserved after a long ass day where nothing went as planned. Bright color filled her eyes and her chest practically lifted into the air as she came with the vibrator between her legs, pressed right up against her clit.

And when she turned it off and the last buzz rang out softly in the dense air, her heart sank.

She was finally able to pay attention to her surroundings again, finally about to care, and the first thing she noticed was his cologne. Strong. Teak. Spice. It was his signature scent, and Annie could pick him out in a line up of men with her eyes closed—and she realized then that her eyes were closed. She was afraid to open them, afraid of the jumpscare that would be an angry Elijah upon seeing their—his—vibrator where it didn’t belong without his permission.

But, shit, this was her house and her bed and her pussy and her bad day. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted. Yeah—so believable.

There he stood: shoulders filling out the doorframe, eyebrows set in a scowl, jaw working in an effort to calm himself down.

As scared as she was, as regretful as she was, Annie could never deny the fact that her man was sexy as fuck. He was all shoulders and unsettling disposition, and that was the biggest turn on for a bitch with a bad day. Where her body had previously calmed down from the height of her orgasm, deciding that the awfulness of today had been rid from her, she was sparked again by greed to be taken care of by her Elijah. This was her bad day, and she should be receiving treatment from all sides.

“Hey, baby,” Annie breathed, shaky and sultry at the same time. She attempted a smile and her best and brightest soft eyes, but he wasn’t giving in.

“Put it down,” Smoke huffed, stepping one foot into the room. He had to gain control quick because Annie thrived off doing the exact opposite of what she was told. Her pout grew deeper and her finger moved back toward the button on the underside of the toy. She needed it. Turning it on and yelping from the vibrations that ran through her oversensitive body, she tried again to get her way.

“But, ‘Lijah—”

“I said put it down, Annie,” he interrupted, reaching for her wrist, but contrary to the response he hoped to gain, Annie moaned. Right in front of his face like she hadn't been properly touched or taken care of in ages. And that's truly how she felt inside her body. She watched her man scrunch his face in confusion and disbelief, rubbing the vibrator against her cunt as the feeling of Smoke's heavy breath brought her to the edge again.

“You in big trouble, baby girl,” he gritted, looking down at her, lust quickly clouding his eyes. His hand reached for her waist, but he didn't make her stop.

Got 'im, Annie thought, throwing her neck back in silent, wicked laughter when he began to kiss her pulse point. Her stomach curled deliciously, and even though she'd just cum, she felt like she could go for the rest of the night.

"Just give me what the fuck I want," she grumbled in his ear. Teeth marked her skin in response, keeping the memory of him on her body, and she laughed lowly from her throat. "Come on, baby," she coaxed, hips rutting against the vibrator and his left thigh. "Take care of what's yours, Daddy." The plea left her mouth raw. Her climax was near, desire at an all-time high. It was just in her reach, and just as her pussy clenched around nothing, Elijah sharply pulled the toy away from her.

Annie trembled against the sheets, orgasm ruined in a way that left her fluttering in disappoint. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and before she knew it, her head was turning away from her man's face.

"Turn over," Smoke bellowed, wrecked in his own unique way.

"Fuck you," she croaked, too concerned with the view of him putting the toy far out of her reach. She writhed in the sheets, throwing a fit at him ruining this for her. "The fuck you even doin' over here? Don't you got a house or business to tend to or something? Always in my fuckin' face." Every word was laced with annoyance. She was pissed, angry, livid, because her bad day was just getting worse and worse. Now she was in trouble and her orgasm had been stolen and she was having a horrible day.

"I know yo' morning started off bad or whatever," Smoke deadpanned, "but you ain't finna talk to me like you ain't got no fuckin' sense. Now turn that ass over."

Huffing and groaning—like she ain't want it when she really, really did—Annie assumed the position. Smoke enunciated each word to make sure she heard him good and clear, and the woman could tell that even though punishment was coming her way, he was also working to soothe her and alleviate all pain because he understood.

"You know better, baby girl," the man roared, hand coming down to rain hits upon her ass. Gasping, she grabbed ahold of a pillow, stuffing her face in it to hide her moans. "You don't touch my shit when I ain't here," he growled. "This my pussy, and that's my damn toy. But since you had such a bad day and you obviously ain't thinking straight, I'll go easy on you."

"Please, Daddy," she moaned, pressing her ass back into his hand. One spank landed on the back of her thighs far too close to her pussy for her to hold it in any longer. She rattled off every thing she needed done to her. She needed to be put in her place, needed to be reminded that she was his, needed to remember why it was important to listen to what she was told.

~~~~~

When it came to Annie, Smoke grew soft. It was something she had teased him about early on in their relationship because no matter how much she pissed him off, he was always going to give her whatever she wanted. She commanded his attention with ease, and how can you blame him when she pled with such a pretty, whiny voice; when she batted her eyelashes and apologized for doing what she shouldn't have?

They'd end up in this position again—with her not listening and doing something she had no business doing—but for now, he was giving in, letting her have it, and showing her just the type of rough nigga he could be—because she'd asked.

Each thrust of his hips felt like an ambush, stealing her breath, looting her ability to do anything other than cry out his name. He smacked her ass with each stroke, and when she recoiled against his pelvis, he couldn't help what happened next. Leaning into her, he pressed the arch of her back further into the bed, stuffing her face into her emotional support pillow.

His thrusts sped up, and his words came out wet and reckless.

"This my shit," he slurred, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose. "This my damn pussy and you gon' listen to what the fuck I got to say."

"Y-yes, Daddy," Annie stammered, clawing herself up the bed.

"Fuck you think you goin'," Smoke questioned warningly, dragging her impossibly closer to him.

"Nowhere," she avowed. "I swear I-I ain't goin' nowhere!" The woman begged for forgiveness and appealed for mercy, but all she wanted was for him to go harder, stronger, rougher. She needed it to help her forget what had occurred up until this point. The only thing she needed to remember about today is that she had wound up with her face down and ass up with her nigga fucking her into the mattress. The more he tightened his hold on her hips, the closer she got to that glorious restructuring of her brain.

Fucked out of her mind is what Elijah called it, fucked silly and without a single care in the world.

So close.

Almost to the tipping point.

When Smoke reached over to retrieve the vibrator once more, he knew this would be the thing to successfully rid her mind of any thoughts. He pressed it into her folds, rubbed her clit, held it there until she was stuttering all the while making sure that his strokes stayed consistent and that she couldn't possibly want for more.

"Imma cum, Daddy," she thundered. Tears fell down her face, darkening the cloth of the pillow, and the man knew then that she was ready.

"Cum for me baby girl," he permitted, and as she broke apart, he held her through her fall, succumbing soon after.

~~~~~

Sheets changed, bodies clean, and clothed in soft fabric, Annie clung to Smoke's body, seeking refugee in his hardiness. He stroked up and down the length of her back, and she slipped further and further into him.

"I bought you creamer," Elijah admitted softly. His eyes that had been on the ceiling took in the woman's face. A glorious calm had settled into her features but her eyes looked appreciative because he understood. He cared.

"Thank you," she whispered, cuddling closer into his warmth.

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

word count: ~2,800

a/n: i hope you enjoyeddd

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

annie x fem!oc/reader

MISSISSIPPI MOONSHINE: part one; part two.

A BLOSSOMING LOVE: masterlist (completed).

NSFW! ALPHABET: one part.

DEVIL IN A BLUE DRESS: one part.

NIGHT TIME LOVIN’: one part.

HER GOOD GIRL: part one; part two.

KISSIN’ YOU: one part.

MAKE ME FEEL BETTER: one part.

WHOLE LOTTA WOMAN: 500 special overview; part one; part two (coming soon).

LOVE REAL SOFT: one part.

OVERSTIMULATED BLISS: one part.

NEED YOU LIKE AIR: one part.

a blossoming love universe

RAISING FLORA: one part.

BIRTHDAY WISHES: one part.

annie x smoke

STRONGER THAN PRIDE: one part.

BIG BROWN EYES: one part.

PAPA’S HERE: masterlist (completed).

HE LOVES ME: one part.

UP TO NO GOOD: part one; part two.

PERFECT STRANGER: one part.

LATE NIGHT TEMPTATION: one part.

THE SWEETEST TREAT: one part.

HARD HANDS SOFT SKIN: one part.

IN YOU I SEEK COMFORT: one part. IN YOU I SEEK RELEASE: one part. IN YOU I SEEK HONESTY: one part.

FAMILY IS EVERYTHING: one part.

OFFICE SIREN: one part.

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING: one part.

TOUCH ME, TEASE ME: one part.

CABIN FEVER: one part.

AMERICAN SCANDAL: part one; part two.

TURN DOWN THE MUSIC: one part.

YOU MAKE ME FEEL: one part.

AIN’T ONE OF THEM: part one; part two; part three (completed).

THROUGH THE YEARS: part one (ongoing).

SILLY OF ME: one part.

text threads

WHILE AWAY: masterlist (completed).

GIRL’S TRIP: masterlist (completed).

FAMILY VACATION: (coming soon).

annie x fem!reader x smoke

FORBIDDEN LOVER: part one; part two.

THEY CALL ME SUGAR: masterlist (ongoing).

GETTIN' IN THE WAY: part one; part two; part three (completed).

annie x smoke x male!oc(s)

LET US HELP: one part.

annie x stack

HERE I AM BABY: one part.

pearline x fem!reader

SUN DON’T SHINE: one part.

NSFW! ALPHABET: one part (ft. annie).

annie x fem!reader x pearline

WANT YOU BAD: one part.

wunmi x micheal

When the storm hit, it was quick, relentless, and unprecedented. For days, the national weather service had been declaring that the storm would hardly make its way to the Delta. It was said that the storm would touch the top of Memphis, hit Tupelo, and then go on East—but that was far from the truth.

The morning ice started pummeling Clarksdale, Elijah had been days into making sure his home was in order. His generator was charged. The fridge was stocked. The pantry was full. Faucets were dripping. Windows were well insulated. Salt covered all important walkways outdoors. Their little town hadn’t had real snow in too long to remember, and while he was riddled with anxiety disguised as man-of-the-house concern, his daughter was bouncing off the walls in excitement.

“We’re gonna get real snow, Papa,” Ariya looked out the window with wide eyes, envisioning blankets of white across their backyard. She was stunned already, full of that hopeful energy Elijah always wanted his child to have. The man looked over at the five-year-old, chuckling through his worry as he watched her with her gaping mouth pointed toward the window.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he responded warmly, moving forward and looking outside with her. “If it doesn’t get too bad, I’ll make sure you get to make you a snow angel.”

The little girl laughed, tilting her head as she raised her eyebrow in confusion. The giggle was too much for his heart, and he couldn’t stop thinking of how she was the perfect combination of himself and his wife in one.

“What’s that, Papa,” she wondered aloud, still laughing from her confusion. But he explained it to her nonetheless, told her how it worked, demonstrated the movements—and she hung onto every word, transfixed and elated.

Ariya was Elijah and Annie’s only child, and at five years old, she was light years ahead of other kids her age. She was smart and wise and quick-witted like both of her parents. She was a chunky li’l thing with full cheeks and bleeding confidence. She was quiet at times and loud at others, and she was loved with everything her parents had to give.

The pair sat there looking out the window, letting the quiet mingle between them comfortably.

On the other side of the room, Annie popped her head in to see what they were up to. She’d just gotten off the phone with the rest of the family, had just checked the weather for the tenth time today, and she was looking to spend some much needed time with her two favorite people.

The woman smiled when she first saw them, taking in the calm emotion behind their faces as they watched the yard, awaiting snow. One snowflake drifted into view for the first time today, and without a moment to spare, both Elijah and Ariya’s eyes went wide.

“Y’all are adorable,” she cooed, walking fully into the room. Her heart swelled when they both turned toward at the same time, realizing for the hundredth time how similar the two were. Ariya had her big eyes, but something in the depth of them reminded her of her husband. She moved with steady steps, scooping her daughter up into her arms.

“Hi, Mama,” Ariya sighed, resting her face in the crook of Annie’s neck the second she was comfortable. The little girl had missed her mid-morning nap “to watch for snow,” and now that it was past noon, she was beyond tuckered out. Annie rubbed a hand up the length of her back and then back down, humming deep from her chest. Her daughter’s breathing slowed down before it evened into a slow rhythm—calm and consistent.

Elijah watched the whole thing, eyes becoming drenched in heavy emotion. He always wanted this: Pure calm. Watching the two ladies in his life like this had him feeling like luck ran through his body, like he’d been destined to live in peace with the two of them forever.

While he was apprehensive about the incoming storm and could feel it making its way inside his body, he was content about getting to spend a few days cooped up with the two of them. In his mind, he had everything planned out, snacks, games, movies, Ariya’s much-needed quiet time. He filed it all away, awaiting the time that he could cross the first thing off his list.

He was ready—just him and his girls.

The door shut quietly, clicking into place behind the couple as they departed from their daughter’s bedroom. They always put Ariya to bed together whenever they could. It was routine. It worked.

Elijah sighed deeply, elongating his back as they descended from the second story. His body ached, pained in a way it hadn’t felt since he was in the trenches. Something was awakening all his old pains, bringing back all his old war memories along with them. He flopped onto the couch, unable to hide his groan from the woman who watched him like a hawk.

“It’s this weather,” she shook her head, moving with ease to light incense about the room. Elijah squinted his eye, gripping at his knee as it randomly spasmed.

“What you talkin’ about, woman,” he urged, trying to hide his pained voice from her keen ears. But she could hear the way he gritted his teeth and bit down on his tongue.

“I’m talking’ about all that pain you’re in,” she informed. She pointed out the window and to the wind that was kicking up. “The change in weather got you achy, and you been running around like a crazy person to make sure everything’s prepared.” She shook her head, her eyes wrapped in concern. She’d been telling him to slow down for days, but Elijah wasn’t a man to listen to reason when he got like this.

“Would you prefer we lose power and not have any groceries,” the man bit back in question, refusing to actually hear what she’d said. His question was rough and loaded, and when he was feeling better, there was no way he wouldn’t regret it. Annie titled her head, knowing this mood of her husband’s.

“Don’t get snappy with me, Elijah Moore,” she warned with sharp eyes. “You know that’s not what I’m sayin’. You just always end up worryin’ yourself to the point of exhaustion when you don’t have to do things alone.”

The man looked at her, eyes softened as he listened. She was right—she always was. For the last few days, he’d been out in the freezing cold air, hitting up every store he could to make sure the house was stocked. He’d been in the cold ass garage checking on that generator past the time Annie had told him to come inside for a break. He never listened and now he was paying for it.

Annie tilted her head, pouting slightly at the sad look he wore. She clapped her hands together and was already on the move with her mind made up.

“Let me fix you something that’ll help your nerves,” she insisted gliding toward the kitchen without giving him a chance to respond. This was what always happened when you lived with a woman who dabbled in herbal remedies. Any ache, pain, cough, or anxiety was healed in a matter of minutes using whatever concoction she had thought up, and while he wasn’t the biggest fan of it in the beginning of their friendship, he’d grown to appreciate it with time.

“How’s that,” Annie asked after she’d given him time to drink the tea, a mix of lavender, mint, and ginger to hit all of his most pressing needs. Her attention followed him as he drank it, allowing the hot liquid to run down his throat.

“It’s good,” he breathed deeply, pulling her down to sit on the couch beside him. The tea had already made its way through him, landing in his belly comfortably. When his wife settled into a comfortable position, he immediately switched his own. After putting his mug on the coffee table and laying on his stomach with his face in her lap, Elijah let his heart slow down for the first time since before the storm warnings.

He couldn’t be bothered with what the news outlets were reporting.

He couldn’t be concerned about anything other than how beautiful his life was.

Annie’s hands ran along his head, smoothing his waves before her nails decided to trail the side of his neck. Something curled in her belly when the man let out a low groan against her thighs, wrapping his arms around her middle in an effort to get closer. He was always sweetest like this—when they got a quiet moment between nap times, when he was done pretending with himself and the rest of the world.

She watched the tension fully leave his shoulders once her hands began their journey there. Calmly, she worked at his shoulders. The muscles were loosening now, calm like she always hoped he’d allow himself to be, but that didn’t stop her from giving him a small massage.

“Careful, baby,” her husband grumbled into her thighs. He squeezed at her middle, bringing them impossibly closer together. His eyes were shut, and his words cut through her smoothly. “You keep touchin’ me like that and we might have to head upstairs.”

She knew he meant it, and he knew she’d enjoy it just as much as he would. That’s how they operated: off of mutual understanding and trust after years of falling continuously in love. Humming in response with a small smile, Annie let her hand continue it’s journey. Along the side of his ear, down the edge of his jaw, across his neck. Her fingers dipped under his shirt, exploring his body like she hadn’t been doing so for years. Elijah groaned again, deeper this time like her fingers were pulling something out of him. Desire spun around their love.

Elijah grabbed Annie’s unoccupied hand, and with soft, honest lips, he kissed her palm.

“I’m happy to be here with you,” he breathed. He took in the beauty of the moment. How it was cold outside but warm inside. How his wife was providing him stability. How the tea was swirling in his belly. How their five-year-old was dreaming away upstairs. It was beautiful, picture perfect. “I’m happy that I’ll be spending the next few days with just my two girls.”

Annie, who had previously been riding a high after successfully quieting her husband’s mind and body, halted in her spot. She’d forgotten to tell him, had forgotten to even ask, and she knew this was going to come back to bite her in the ass if she didn’t act quick.

The woman scrambled, attempting to put words together into a coherent sentence.

“Um…about that,” she began, afraid of his reaction. She braced herself, ready for the words to come out as she recognized how calm his body felt right now, knowing he would soon lose all that peace. “I—I actually invited—”

*Ding Dong*

The couple both looked up, shocked—one more than the other. They shouldn’t have been expecting anyone. That wasn’t the plan. And the people on the other side of the door were here way earlier than they were supposed to be. The couple sat there throwing questioning looks at each other. Elijah’s face said, “We aren’t expecting anyone, are we?” And Annie’s face looked like it was still computing an answer with a large loading icon sat on her forehead. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to break it to him. The doorbell kept ringing, and it seemed that whoever stood on the other side was either obnoxious as hell or really needed something direly.

Elijah was quick on his feet, tension returning, body snapping into that quick-thinking soldier, and Annie was right behind him.

“Elijah,” she called after him to no avail. He was locked in, too concerned with the other side of the door to hear her repeating his name like a chant. When his hand gripped the knob, she turned her eyes to the floor, waiting for the inevitable.

“What’s up, family,” Stack shouted, far too loud, far too inconsiderate. There was a bag over his shoulder and one at his feet before he shuffled through the front door and straight past his brother. What was behind him was the even bigger shock.

Sammie, Pearline, and Delta Slim all stood on the front porch. They were bundled in thick coats and heavy layers of hats, scarves, and gloves, but nothing was fighting well enough against the cold. The only thing keeping them between warmth and freezing in the beginnings of the winter storm was Elijah standing smack dab in the middle of the doorway. The man was stunned, confused by how his day was ending up like this.

“Come on in, y’all,” Annie bypassed her husband, easing his hand off the doorknob as she greeted their guests.

“Thank you so much for letting us stay, girl,” Pearline chirped appreciatively as she shuffled through the door first. Annie waved her off like always, hardly being able to accept because she had always been taught to be there for the ones you loved. As Slim and Sammie moved in, they said the same, and the woman responded like she always did—with a wave of her hand.

Elijah was gobsmacked, still frozen in his spot. There were people in his home, sitting on his couch where he had just been face planted in Annie’s thighs and raiding the kitchen had just perfectly stocked. Bags were resting at people’s feet and along the walls, coats were thrown over the arms of couches, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand what was going on.

Naturally, he turned to his wife, and the look she gave him told the whole story.

“Annie,” he growled, volume so low that only she could hear.

“Just listen to me,” she attempted to reason, putting her hands out to halt his rebuke, but he didn’t let it faze him.

“You invited them over to weather the storm without askin’ me?”

The accusation hit her hot despite its truth. Her face stung from embarrassment. It was mostly from the fact that she didn’t have time to warn him. They both knew that regardless of what he had to say, Annie always got her way—so if she wanted them here, then they were gonna be here. She simply hated that he had no say in the matter, that she hadn’t given him time to process that it wouldn’t be just the three of them.

Their daughter was upstairs sleeping. Their living room was being overrun. And their foyer was dense with her husband’s emotions.

The man looked hurt and annoyed and angry, but he couldn’t take it out on her. Without her needing to say anything, he understood why she wanted them there. They were family, and for a woman like Annie, it made the most sense to have everyone together at a time like this. It’s what he loved about her, how big her heart was, how she passed that onto Ariya.

“Slim don’t have no business bein’ in that old house by himself,” Annie whispered, eyebrows tight and low as she explained herself. Her hands swung about in the air and her chest rose fast to make him understand. But of course he always did. “Sammie and Pearline’s apartment building don’t even have a generator, ‘Lijah,” she continued. “Why wouldn’t be let them stay? And we both know your brother. If he has to be locked up for days at a time with no hot bodies or family around, he’ll go crazy.”

She stared at him wide-eyed, hoping she’d gotten her point across. The storm was worsening. With the wind picking up and the chance for large sheets of ice, it made the most sense for everyone to stay together—safe and sound. Annie and Elijah had plenty of space, plenty of food, plenty of water to accommodate the rest of their family.

Although he was upset at his detailed plans being twarted, he couldn’t resist that look she gave him, big eyes and open heart.

“Fine,” he sighed, turning toward the living room with an exasperated look. The tea she’d given him was still working through his system, so while he wanted to argue, its warmth was still calming his senses. He lowered his eyes, leveling his tone. “Don’t go making no more decisions without at least consulting with me first,” the man maintained.

Annie smiled apologetically one last time before wrapping her arms around his neck. She pulled him in close, and as she kissed his lips smoothly, she felt him relaxing again.

“Yes sir,” she hummed against him. Her nails dragged along the nape of his hair, and when he shuttered, the grin rose on her lips. “Thank you for understanding, papa,” she cooed, voice soft on his face. Her breath ghosted over his skin, pulling him into her smooth embrace.

“Baby,” Elijah groaned. His palms landed heavily on her hips, dragging her impossibly closer. He needed to feel her grounding aura. The storm was looming over the house, snow growing stronger and thicker as it pummeled the roof. His lower body warmed enough to forget winter was even a season. Annie felt like Heaven against him, cushioned in glory.

“I’ll take care of you later, ‘Lijah,” the woman moaned directly into his ear, planting a kiss on the side of his face. She squeezed his bicep, sent him a smile, and glided past him with ease. He watched her enter the living room from behind, eyes dragging down her body. Desire sat heavy behind his gaze, and beside it there was love.

“Where my niece at,” Elias practically yelled around the biscuit in his mouth. Annie had baked them fresh that morning, and the man couldn’t help but to take one with a slab of butter and stuff his mouth. He walked through the home like he owned the place, flopping down into Elijah’s chair. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, Slim, Sammie, and Pearline shook their heads with quiet laughter. Slim sat on the couch with Sammie and Pearl on the love seat.

“She sleep, nigga,” the older twin rumbled, moving across the floor in quick, heavy steps. He knocked his brother’s feet to the ground, pulling him up out the chair. “Get yo’ ass up. I’m fine with you being here, but you ain’t finna sit in my chair.” They all knew what was coming.

Elijah’s chair was Elijah’s chair.

Nobody sat there unless were his wife or daughter. Nobody tried him unless they wanted a problem. And of course the younger twin was ready to start something.

The twins fought, pulling each other in opposite directions as Elias tried to remain in the seat and Elijah tried to pull him up. The rest of the room watched with amusement or disdain. Annie stood nearby, arms folded under her chest, shaking her head at the display; Her eyebrows pulled tight, lips pursing at the brotherly immaturity. Across the room, Sammie was laughing; Slim was slapping his knee; Pearline was egging it all on.

But Annie was pissed.

“If y’all wake my baby up then I know something,” the woman of the house rose above the rest of the room’s voices. She pointed her eyes toward every one of them. “All y’all asses gon’ be out in the snow. I swear.” She swiftly gained control, resulting in the three other onlookers shutting their mouths and the twins deciding to back down for now. Elijah glared at the younger twin while Stack just laughed, finally moving out of his seat.

When Elijah took his place, cushioned by his favorite place to sit, all eyes were on him—but he couldn’t focus on it much when Annie came to sit in his lap.

“We all gotta live in this house for the next few days,” Annie began, leaning her back against her husband. With his arms around her, she laid down her rules. “No loud yelling, especially when Ariya is sleep. No keeping her from her nap time. No arguing. No sitting in my man’s chair. No going outside for any and everything lettin’ all my warm air out. And no waking me up early in the morning for breakfast. You wait ‘til I’m ready or you can fix it yourself.” She looked them each in the eye, staring them down so they understood how serious she was. Annie appreciated her peace, and she honored her calm. She wanted herself and her husband and daughter to be content, and with added members in the home, she needed to make sure they comprehended the words coming out of her mouth.

“Damn,” Stack groaned, sinking into the couch. He rolled his eyes with a laugh, quirking his lips as he shook his head in disbelief. Most of those rules were directed at him—if not all of them. He was the classic younger brother, disturbing the peace without even realizing it. But they loved him nonetheless. “If I knew it was gonna be this many rules I would’ve stayed at home,” he chuckled out a huff, looking around the room for anyone who agreed.

“Wish you would’ve,” Elijah grumbled under his breath so low that only Annie could hear. The woman punched his shoulder, stuffing down her laugh as she mumbled out her condemnation.

“Nigga, you was just talkin’ ‘bout how you ain’t wanna be alone,” Slim interjected, reminding Elias of what he’d mentioned in the car. The couple’s eyebrows shot up as they watched the rest of the group begin to go back and forth, trying to piece together the correct details.

Stack sat up in his seat on defense already. He knew it was true, but he didn’t want his brother and sister-in-law to know how much he’d missed them. Before Ariya, before marriage, before adult life, the three of them were always together. You couldn’t see one of them without the other two being nearby.

Things changed when Elijah and Annie’s friendship morphed into something romantic. Stack was still there, just from a distance. Then they got married. Then had their daughter. And while he spent plenty of time with his niece, spoiling her and doing anything the little girl wanted, he still missed his two friends dearly. Annie was more than his twin’s wife, and Elijah was more that his brother.

“No, I wasn’t,” he argued nonetheless, scoffing in objection.

“You were though,” Pearline joined in, smirking from her seat at Sammie’s side. She’d been there when the conversation happened, and if he hadn’t insisted on picking everyone up on his way to Annie and Smoke’s then this wouldn’t be happening.

“You said you couldn’t wait to spend time with the family and play in the snow with Ari,” Sammie added on thoughtfully, recalling how Stack had spoken with solemn hope.

“Mane, whatever,” Elias huffed, turning in his seat and away from the group. He folded his arms tight and turned his nose up.

From his chair, Elijah shifted Annie in his lap. He shook his head, laughing lowly and from his gut. He looked over at his brother with a knowing expression.

“I’m ready to spend the next few days wit’ you too, brother,” he admitted. Stack’s gaze rose in surprise, bottom lip falling into a pout before he could catch it. He shook it off and shrugged his shoulders like it meant nothing to him, but the whole room knew.

“See,” Annie asked pointedly, smiling brightly at her family. She was happy that they seemed to get over that initial struggle, happy to all be bundled together for the storm. “It’s that simple,” she clapped her hands, standing from her husband’s lap to go check on Ariya.

As the day progressed, the storm worsened, moving in quick and settling over Clarksdale like it had found a new permanent home. The house rattled around them. The windows shook. The siding crackled. Out in the yard, chairs were beginning to vanish from view as snow piled up around them. It suffocated the grass and weighed down the trees, transforming the outdoors into nothing but a view of white.

Inside the home was alive. Slim had insisted on playing music to liven everyone’s spirits, so with him on the harmonica, Sammie on the guitar, and Pearline on vocals—with the help of little Ariya—they weathered the growing storm outdoors.

“You hear me singin’, Papa,” the girl asked her father when he entered the room. She had a bright smile on her face as she sat beside Pearl. She invaded the woman’s space, placing herself underneath Pearline’s arm and into her side.

A grin was brought to Elijah’s face at the sound of her voice. He’d just come from his routine trip outside. Every few hours as the snow settled, he went out and shoveled the driveway and sidewalks. It wasn’t necessary because none of them were going anywhere soon with how bad the roads were getting, but it helped his nervous energy anyway.

“You sound beautiful, baby girl,” he affirmed, pulling off the layers Annie had expertly wrapped him in.

He searched high and low for his wife, and when she was found, she was in the kitchen at the stove with his brother talking her ear off.

“You in here botherin’ my woman,” Elijah questioned funnily, throwing his coat over a nearby chair. Stack turned around while rolling his eyes. He leaned against the kitchen island, chowing down on something Annie had given him.

“Yep,” Elias laughed, tossing his head back as he finished his bite. He wiped his hands, humming from his throat at the taste. “That some good ass chicken, Anne,” he praised, moving back toward her side. His hands reached toward the pot, reaching to grab another bite before he was shooed away by a slap on the hand.

“Don’t make me put you out of my kitchen,” Annie joked, chuckling to herself because she had told him that three times already. She sent a look over her shoulder, smiling broadly at her husband. She beckoned him to her side without even meaning to. “Hi, baby,” she moaned as he kissed her neck, forgetting all about the other pair of eyes in the room.

“I hope y’all don’t be doin’ all that around my niece,” Stack condemned, shaking his head. “Some of us are innocent little children of God and shouldn’t be subjected to y’all freak shit.” He shook his head while turning his nose up in faux disgust. And as he spoke, the couple was looking at him with confusion etched into their faces.

“Innocent my ass,” Annie howled, ready to take them all down memory lane. She turned the burner off, shifting her attention away from the food and onto her brother-in-law. “Do you remember that time you got caught with Jessica Monroe in the library doing everything but reading books?”

“Or when Jessica found out you was foolin’ ‘round Amber Jones and Charlene Taylor at the same damn time,” Elijah countered smoothly, mind rolling with all the things his brother ever did. Innocent was a word never associated with Elias Moore.

“Or,” Annie started, laughing already, “when we went off to college and you thought the world was your oyster and ‘there’s plenty of fish in the sea’ meant fuck with as many of them as possible?”

“Or,” Elijah moved in, laughing despite himself, dimples on full display, “or when Mr. Smith next door came home early and caught you with his wi—”

“Okay I understand! Damn,” the man shouted, halting their attack. They all laughed too loud, stomachs shaking and becoming tight as they reminisced over their childhood and young adult lives. They’d spent so much time together and knew each other inside and out. The memories they’d made over the years were embedded in their hearts, and as you grow, things change. None of them were the person they used to be, growing into maturity with age.

Annie was just as headstrong and kind as she was then, but she now understood the value in rest, peace, and protecting one’s energy. She didn’t allow her kindness to be taken for granted. She didn’t let anyone walk over her like her younger self did. Elijah had mostly grown in his disposition. He was an angry young man at no fault of his own, but he learned that while it was not his fault that he’d been traumatized by his father and the death of his mother, he was still responsible for making sure he didn’t pass on any of the trauma to others. So he went to therapy, and he started to heal, and he opened himself up to love—that’s how he and Annie finally became what they were now. And Elias was far less whoreish that he had been. He’d gone to therapy when he found out how well it worked for his brother, and learning that he used sex to fill a void rattled him into shape. He was far more respectable now, far less concerned with a person’s body and more about who they truly were—who he truly was.

They were grown with grown people lives and responsibilities to attend to.

“I've missed this,” Annie smiled to herself. The three of them had known each other for most of their lives, and when adulthood got in the way, they hardly had time to be together as a group. With them, Slim, Sammie, Pearline, and Ariya all under one roof, it felt like they could all breath again.

By six o’clock, it was half-dark outside, sky white with snow, and by seven, Annie had everyone seated at the dining room table. With plates stacked high with oven roasted chicken, creamy mashed potatoes, honey-glazed carrots, and green beans, the room went quiet as they stuffed their mouths.

“This taste amazing, baby,” Elijah spoke up first, breaking the quiet air of the dining room filled with nothing but satisfied, full faces. They all hummed in agreement around their forks and glasses, and Annie wrote that off as another success in her book. Another night of feeding her family well.

At the end of the table, Ariya and Elias giggled loudly, whispering half-successfully. Elijah already had his ears tuned in. He picked up bits and pieces or their conversation.

“...in the living room,” he heard his brother plot, squinting his eyes as his words turned to mumbles after that. “...after dinner,” Ariya laughed, practically cackling before her uncle hushed her with a hearty laugh of his own. At that point, Elijah saw Sammie join the conversation, leaning in from his daughter's other side to add his two cents. “...let me help,” he whispered, resulting in a loud exclamation from the five-year-old as whatever her plans were seemed to fall in line.

As Elijah looked at her, she reminded him of her mother—determined, controlled, and headstrong. She knew what she wanted, and she always got it. He knew that she was due for bedtime soon—she did too—so if she successfully got away with whatever they were discussing, he wouldn't be mad at it.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“Where's Ari,” Annie threw toward her husband in question. The pair had just finished cleaning the kitchen, having washed the dishes and wiped everything down good. Delta Slim still sat the the table—telling them stories of the last time he remembered it snowing this bad—but no one else was around. No Sammie. No Pearline. No Stack. And no Ariya.

It was the little girl's bedtime, and she desperately needed it. She'd had too much excitement all day, getting off track with her usual routine due to the snow and all the bodies in their home.

Elijah shrugged, and just as he was about to tell her about the whispering they'd done over the dinner table, they heard laughter coming from the living room.

When they entered the room, it looked nothing like the living room they knew. It was ransacked, everything thrown askew with a large structure blocking most of the room's center. From the couch to Elijah's chair to the loveseat stood a massive blanket fort. It was built with all the throw blankets Annie kept in the living room, all the extra sheets and comforters from the linen closet, and every pillow in the house it seemed.

From inside, lights illuminated the fort, throwing shadows across the blanket walls, and they could make out four distinct figures.

Walking into the living room behind them, Slim's eyes went wide at the obstruction that hadn’t been there just one hour ago.

“When the hell did this happen,” he puzzled, eyebrows tight in confusion, but the couple looked just as confused as he did. Elijah sighed, as the group inside the fort giggled, trying to remain as silent as possible and failing miserably.

“I'll go in,” he decided listlessly, tired from the day, his constant snow shoveling, all the loud talking in his normally calm home, and his anxiety. He told his wife to head upstairs and run Ari's bath. He was sure that he could handle this one last task for the day on his own. As he prepared to go in, Slim announced that he was retiring to one of the downstairs guest bedrooms for the night, so after they left, Elijah sprung into action. He was impressed by the group's handy work and how quickly they had finished the fort, but it was time to turn it in for the night. If he was tired, he knew Ariya was too.

On his hands and knees, the man crawled through the fort. He lifted the first layer of the entrance, finding another two layers of thick blanket obstructing his view of the inside. When he finally pried it back, he saw them: Stack, Sammie, Pearl, and Ari piled up with blankets, pillows, and snacks like they hadn't just gotten done eating. The little girl had her face full of candy, and Elijah had to conjure up years worth of emotional regulation work in order to not lose his shit.

He just sighed, closed his eyes for a beat, and spoke calmly.

“Let's go, baby girl,” the father drawled, working through his own exhaustion as his voice slowed. He saw the pout forming quick on her lips. The candy on her face and hands was already in her system, and it was working against him and every word he had to say.

“But I don't wanna go to bed,” Ariya argued, fuming in the beginnings of a temper tantrum. She crossed her arms in front of her, angry in that overstimulated little kid way, and Elijah didn't know what to do. She hardly acted out, hardly disobeyed with so much anger.

“It's past time for you to head to bed, Ariya,” he started, evening out his tone so that she could tell how serious he was being while also not allowing her to think he was upset with her. He understood why she was acting out. Part of it was because of the candy she'd eaten which he'd get onto his brother and cousin about later, but the other part of it was that she wanted to be up and about with everyone else.

“I said no, Papa,” she lashed, stomping her little foot against a pillow, causing his brow to raise.

“You said no,” he questioned, wanting to make sure he'd heard her correctly, and she responded with hot eyes shooting his way.

Everyone looked around at the display.

They were shocked, embarrassed that this was partly their fault, unnerved by the staring contest going back and forth between the little girl and her father. From the corner, one of them spoke up, moving in to deescalate the situation.

“Come on, Ari—” Stack began, wanting to save his niece from the trouble she was walking herself into, but Elijah stopped him.

“Nah. She know this ain't how we operate,” he retorted, shooting his brother down. “Your mama's running your bath,” he turned toward his daughter again, tone strong. “I expect you up there in five minutes. If I got to come back down here and get you, it's gon' be a problem.” He cemented his words with a look—simple and definitive—and he backed out of the fort without another word, cutting his gaze toward Stack, Sammie, and Pearline because if anyone knew better, it should have been them.

“Who gives a five-year-old candy this late at night,” Elijah grumbled, marching up the stairs. “They ain’t steppin' they asses in my house for at least six months after this shit. Got my nerves working and my pressure up.” He was pissed, rightfully so, but he was desperately trying to not lose his shit before the storm had lifted.

From the upstairs bathroom, the woman of the house could hear it all. Her ears perked up at the sound of her husband’s voice, concerned with his tone.

“Who you talkin' about,” Annie questioned, sticking her head outside of the bathroom door to be met with her husband’s face set in a deep scowl. She cocked her head to the side, trailing her eyes over his tense body. His muscles were flexed, fists clenched, jaw tightened. When she looked behind him, she had another question to ask: “And where my daughter at,” she wondered aloud when she didn't see Ariya following behind him. And the man let out a loud growl.

“She downstairs hyped up on candy talkin' about she ain't ready to go to bed like it was a choice ,” he huffed moving through the hallway with wide steps. “Li'l girl ain't never had the nerve to talk to me like that before.” The man shook his head, disbelief settling in his chest. Annie followed him all the way to their bedroom, and when he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, he finally allowed himself to breathe deeply.

The words made no sense to the woman. Ariya didn’t talk back. Elijah didn’t get upset with her—not like this. And somehow candy was involved? Which meant Elias, Sammie, and Pearline were involved.

Annie moved to her husband’s side, rubbing his shoulders soothingly as she spoke lowly to not rattle him more.

“What did you say to her,” she asked once he’d caught his breath. The man relaxed his shoulders for what felt like the millionth time today.

“Told her she had five minutes to get in that bath or else,” Elijah informed, leaving his wife stunned. Annie blinked, clearing her throat.

“Or else what?”

Annie and Elijah didn't believe in putting their hands on their daughter. They never had, and they never would—but those were fighting words. If Ariya was serious about not wanting to go to bed, they’d be shit out of luck. The man knew it, and his wife’s question and tone made his body tighten again.

“Ion know,” the man groaned, hands over his eyes. They'd only been locked in the house for one day and it was already doing something rough to his system. He needed normalcy, needed to feel in control. He knew it was the same thing that Ariya was experiencing, knew her routine being ruined was causing her to act out.

But he just couldn’t find it in him to solve problems right now.

“Mama,” the little girl knocked on her parents' door.

Both of their heads shot up at the sound, their daughter’s little voice cracking around Annie’s name. When the door creaked open, her eyes were on the floor, face full of sadness and regret for her actions.

The woman’s eyes dropped in sadness, and without thinking, she moved to a squatting position.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Annie beckoned, urging her daughter forward. With her eyes on her feet, Ariya walked into the room. She couldn’t look at her papa. She felt too bad about acting out, heart hurting from the way he’d looked at her downstairs. She folded herself into Annie’s arms, letting her mother hold her.

The woman rocked her daughter back and forth, smoothing a hand down the back of her head. She could feel wet tears falling onto her shirt, and with her motherly instincts, she began to sooth her daughter with soft humming.

Elijah watched from the bed with exhausted eyes. He hated feeling this way, hated feeling emotionally and physically wrecked, hated putting so much emotional labor into his wife.

The couple was equal in everything they did. They both contributed to the household in the same ways: financially, physically, and emotionally, their jobs were the same. But when Elijah felt like this, it caused Annie to pick up his slack.

When Ariya had calmed down, her mother moved her out of her embrace to look her in the eye.

“Now,” she began, wiping her daughter’s tears and forcing her to look her in the eyes. “Why did you talk back to your papa?”

“I didn’t mean to, Mama,” Ariya pouted, bottom lip trembling, eyes growing wet again. She was frustrated and too tired to even think straight. The candy in her body was clouding her need for sleep. “I wanted to stay with Uncle Stack, Sam, and Pearly,” she whined, pointing downstairs to emphasize her feelings. She’d been glued to at least one of them all night. Whether it was Pearline while they all sang songs or Stack and Sammie at dinner—she had them wrapped around her finger.

“I understand that, sweetheart,” Annie breathed, rubbing her hands down Ariya’s arms to calm the child’s stress, “but we have rules, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she responded wetly, wiping her face. Annie nodded along to her words, emphasizing her answer.

“Why do you go to bed at a certain time,” the mother questioned, waiting for her daughter to speak.

“So I can have energy,” Ariya whined again, words getting caught around a small cry. Grabbing her hand, Annie provided her comfort while making sure she understood she wouldn’t be getting out of anything.

“Yes. And why do you listen to Mama and Papa when we tell you to do something?”

“Because you know best,” the little girl whimpered, reaching her arms out for another hug. Annie quickly obliged, taking her daughter into her embrace and squeezing her tight. She didn’t move until she felt Ariya relax, and when she did, she wiped her face one last time before pointing with her head toward the other side of the room.

“Go say sorry to Papa,” Annie declared, pushing the girl toward the man she’d been avoiding eye contact with since she first entered the room. Her steps were small, and her little fingers pulled at each other in worry.

“I’m sorry for not listening, Papa,” she quipped, finally looking into her father’s eyes. She thought she’d be met with scrutiny—thought his eyes would be angry with her—but they were soft around the edges, thankful for her small words.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” Elijah whispered as they embraced. Both of them were far too similar in the way they allowed themselves to feel, quiet unless their emotions were hot. They hugged until they both felt a million times better, and when Ariya left her father’s arms, there were no more tears left in her eyes.

“Run on to the bathroom,” Annie instructed, ushering the girl out of the room. She had a hand soft on her back, voice gentle. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Are you okay,” the woman asked her husband after the door closed. She talked softly, moving into his side.

“I’m good,” he breathed, straightening his spine before falling back onto the bed. He looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief at his day. “I just need to relax, but I can’t do that with this storm and all these people in my house fuckin’ shit up. Do you see what they did to my living room? Fucking ridiculous. Then they just had to show up when I was hopin’ to get some real stress relief from you.”

The man rambled on and on about every thing that had upset him today—how Elias had no home training, how Slim kept going on and on with his stories, how Ariya had the nerve to back talk, how Sammie and Pearline kept sneaking off to do God knows what—and it all seemed to circle back around to how he just wanted to kiss on his wife in peace.

Annie laughed, unable to resist it. Her husband was hilarious without even trying to be, and his growing frustration was amusing to her.

“When the house goes to sleep, I’ll take care of you, suga’,” she announced, kissing the side of his face and squeezing his thigh. Swaying her hips on her way to the door, Annie slipped out of the room with ease.

The entire Moore home was hushed besides the sounds coming from Elijah and Annie’s bedroom and the snow mixed with ice hitting the side of the house.

You could hear the weather ticking against the windows, tapping the glass as it made its way to the ground. When they’d checked the forecast a few hours again, the snow was supposed to have been over with by now, but it was still holding on strong. Elijah swore he could hear it getting denser as the night progressed, but his wife was successfully pulling his mind back to the moment at hand.

“Fuck, woman,” the man cried as Annie was fifteen minutes into deep-throating his length. He’d already cum twice, stress replaced with straight pleasure turned overstimulation in the best way—but it didn’t seem like Annie had any plans to stop. She’d needed this just as much as he did. She had been giving to others all day without them even asking before she offered, but she just wanted something to be her choice. To give to Elijah like this made everything else fall into line for her, and the woman had a need to fill.

“Just one more, papa,” she moaned against his hot arousal as his thighs trembled. She had tears streaking her face, and her chest heaved as she attempted to quiet the sounds her mouth was making around him. She sucked him like she needed him to remember this more than anything else—more than his anxiety about the weather, more than his stress and frustration about his lack of control.

He let her guide him through it. He let his body surrender to her mouth and her hands and her body. And she took everything he had to give, swallowing him with pride blooming in her chest.

~~~~~

Day two of being stuck inside started off way smoother for all of them. But of course, it didn’t last long.

It seemed like the entire house knew not to cross over into Annie’s kitchen unless they stated their business first. Elijah was close by her side, helping to prep breakfast. They moved together in learned ease, silent while falling into their roles. Annie whipped up some pancake batter after Elijah had bacon and sausage cooking in a pan. On the griddle, the woman poured up her pancakes, cleaning up as she waited for them to be ready to flip.

“Can I get some more juice, Mama,” Ariya asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Annie and Elijah both had their hands full, so sending the girl off to have her uncle fill her cup, they returned to their tasks.

“He ain’t comin’, Mama,” Ariya returned with an upset face, eyebrows drawn together in anger. Annie huffed in agitation. All these adults in this house and can’t nobody do right, she thought in her head. She moved quickly, trying to finish up so she could just get the juice herself, but before she could, Elijah spoke up.

“Elias, get yo’ tail in here,” he shouted above the sounds of the bustling kitchen. He made sure not to use foul language while his daughter was around, but he so badly wanted to cuss his brother clean the fuck out.

“I’m gettin’ the juice,” he entered with his hands up, already knowing where this was going. He walked toward the fridge, pulling out the apple juice and sitting it on the counter. “I said I’d be here in a second,” he gritted his teeth, pouring the cup to the top.

“No you didn’t,” Ariya argued, hands on her hips. She stared up at him, expression reminding him of Annie’s and making him shiver at the familiarity. He indeed hadn’t said anything of the sort, too stuck in his phone to even register what the girl had asked him to do. He passed the juice off and watched her bounce toward the living room, but when he looked up, the woman was perfectly mirroring the look Ariya had just given him. Annie hand one hand on her hip and the other wrapped tight around a spatula. Her eyes were shooting daggers at him.

“Don’t be lyin’ on my baby,” she pointed the utensil at him. “And don’t think I forgot about all that shit from last night. Candy, Elias? It was after nine o’clock.” Her words came out quick, cutting through them as her husband watched from the stove. He smiled under his breath, as she fussed.

“Look,” Stack started, excuses falling out of his mouth, “I wasn’t the only one involved—”

“Oh, we know,” Elijah joined in, turned to look at his brother with a gaze that was far less dark than yesterday. The man’s disposition had evened out with the help of Annie, becoming brighter and less angry. He was easier to deal with now, and the whole house was thankful for it.

“When we get through eatin’,” the man of the house began, directing his words toward his daughter, “we're gonna go outside, okay?” Ariya's eyes opened up wide, smile breaking out onto her chunky li'l face. She'd been waiting forever for the chance to play in the snow, and all morning she'd been looking out the window, beyond excited by everything she saw, astounded that the outside world had changed so much so fast.

She shouted out in exclamation, dancing in her seat and making everyone break out into laughter. She looked at her mama, raising her eyebrows.

“You wanna make a snow angel with me and Papa,” she whispered like it was a secret, but everyone heard her because the little girl's excitement was just too loud. Annie chuckled, nodding her head as she swallowed a piece of bacon.

“Of course, sweet girl,” Annie hummed.

As soon as breakfast was done, they all moved to get ready. Walking past the giant fort that still stood in his living room, Elijah scoffed, but he kept moving because Ariya was pulling him behind her.

“Hurry up, Papa,” she demanded, following her mama up the stairs and pulling him with her.

Suited up in a bunch of layers because there was no real need for winter clothes in a normal southern winter, the family ventured outdoors.

Ariya looked like a big ole marshmallow. Her outer layer was a light pink bubble coat that Elijah had insisted on ordering a few months ago just in case the weather wanted to be funny. And it perfectly insulated the child. Beneath that, she had on two jackets and a long sleeve shirt, two pairs of gloves, two pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, and boots. She had earmuffs and her jacket hood pulled tight, and Annie didn’t skimp on making sure her face was slathered with Vaseline.

They were all wearing some version of that same outfit, severely not used to the winter weather as Southerners. Slim was convinced that he had experienced cold like this before, and as a result, his layers were lacking in density.

The wind chill hit them first, rushing right past them, damn-near knocking them over. Elijah pulled Ariya’s hood over her face more, holding her hand in one and Annie’s in the other as they walked through the backyard. Sammie and Pearline were right behind them, giggling as snow fell on the tips of their noses. They stayed close to each other, sharing the same air. Elias was next, running past everyone with a loud laugh. He picked Ariya up, causing the little girl to let out a squeal as he twirled her around. Then came Delta Slim. The thin jacket around his shoulders let the wind reach his body. The cold was unbearable, but there was no way that he was going to admit it, so he followed behind them stubbornly.

“Look, Uncle Stack,” Ariya shouted, throwing snow into the air and watching it fall around her. She laughed carelessly, excited about experiencing this new thing.

The adults watched her clumsy steps as she failed to gain appropriate footing on the snow, and when she fell down, they all moved to help her up, each of them overtaken by the same goal.

Pearline was at her side first, hoisting her up out of the snow pile she had found herself in. And Ariya just laughed, jumping up and down as snow fell around her. She was too hyper, and when Annie saw the girl start running back and forth with Sammie and Stack, she turned toward her husband.

“She finna sleep so good,” she whispered, pulling her phone out to take some pictures. Her husband moved into her side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they watched the chaos happening on the other side of the yard.

“Big time,” he hummed. His head rested against hers, body taking in the warmth of the moment. He loved when all of his family got together—even when they came with a bunch of mess and frustration. He loved them despite it all. He watched on as Stack taught Ariya how to make snowballs, plotting against Sammie and Pearline who were busy taking their own pictures.

Annie switched to video quick, ready to catch it all.

The young couple had their backs turned away from whatever the twin and his niece were getting up to. They were blissfully unaware that they were targets.

“They finna get got and they don’t even know it,” Slim breathed, shaking his head with a laugh that let too much of the cold air in his lungs. As the man choked on the cold, Elijah turned his head.

“You good,” he questioned, chuckling at the face Slim made when the wind came rushing back.

“Hell naw,” he groaned, pulling his jacket tight, shivering in his shoes. He scrunched his body up, trying to conserve some of his warmth, but nothing helped. “I’m takin’ my Black ass inside,” he waved off, already turning around. His steps were wide, knees hardly bending as he rushed toward the back door. He shouted over his shoulder: “Show me that video later!”

What the woman captured on video was enough to keep them all laughing for the rest of the day.

Elias and Ariya hid behind a big oak tree, making a pile of snowballs beside them. They laughed. Cackled behind their hands as they waited for just the right moment. Pearline and Sammie were recording a TikTok, waiting for the countdown when it happened. Stack entered first, running up behind them with his hands full of snowballs. The five-year-old was next, wobbling close behind, feeling more confident on her feet in the snow. In the screen of her phone, Pearline saw them rushing forward, and she didn’t even get a chance to warn Sammie as they began to get pummeled by Stack’s mighty throws and Ariya’s snowballs hitting them from down low.

Sammie fell backwards. Pearline fell trying to catch him. And they all laughed. Loud. Unrestricted. Free.

Pearl and Sammie had no time to prepare. What they threw back at the other pair was less like a snowball and more like fresh-fallen snow—because it was.

You could hear Elijah and Annie laughing in the background of the video, shouting for Sammie to get off his behind and fight. That’s when the four of them turned toward the couple. They charged them. They ran. They closed in too quick for either of them to do anything. As Annie ran around the house, the video cut out.

They were all falling over in laughter as they gathered around the woman’s phone. They were stood at the kitchen island, sipping from large mugs of hot chocolate. Her daughter sat on the edge of the island, her husband stood to her left, Pearline to her right, the rest of the men behind them.

“Y’all did not have to attack us like that,” Annie scoffed in amusement, remembering how Elias stuffed snow down the back of her jacket, how she lost Elijah in the struggle, how her own daughter had turned on her in a quick second.

The room shouted over each other, bringing other bits of the winter day to mind, and Elijah just listened to it all.

This was the first time that he’d been truly thankful that they were all together. It had been a rough first day with them all here, but the snow was quieting outside and the storm was lifting. He watched them laugh about the most foolish of things, and the entire time, he was thinking about those three snow angels now pressed beside each other in the snow.

Even though he’d wanted to spend the snow days with just his two girls, he couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed his whole family while also having time to enjoy his wife and daughter.

As they went through Annie’s phone, he smiled dopily at the pictures of them all snow-covered and happy. As Ariya began to slip off to sleep, Annie passed her to him. He rocked her, easing her into rest and aiding her in drifting into dreams about more snow than she knew how to handle.

And when she was out for the count, he and Annie excused themselves, gliding up the stairs to tuck their daughter in for bed.

They watched over her, light flakes of snowing falling outside, nothing but love surrounding them all.

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

a/n: just under 10,000 words smhhhh. i was planning for this to be short lol- i hope you've enjoyeddd

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

It had been nearly a month since Smoke returned from his trip and spent nearly the entire night setting Annie's ass straight, and for almost 30 days, things were peaceful. Truly peaceful. Somewhere between being pushed against the side of his Cutlass and being thrown on top of the hood and denied orgasm after orgasm, something clicked into place in the woman's brain. Something had clicked for Smoke, too.

It had gotten too hard for either of them to deny the way they felt. In the haze of everyday life with its expectations and work obligations and shady business deals, they only wanted to end the day with each other.

Smoke had stopped complaining about how far out in the country Annie lived. When he'd show up at her home—now at a more reasonable hour—he'd rev the engine just once, faintly, then he'd climb her steps and knock, lightly. And Annie would answer the door with a soft smile before ushering him in. Sometimes he came with take out. Sometimes she'd cook. But they always wound down together, debriefed their days, held each other close until night had claimed their bodies.

It was easy in a way neither of them knew a relationship could be.

Smoke didn't know what peace was, but Annie had always been that for him—even more so now.

And Annie hadn't known how to accept peace into her life—but she worked on being able to welcome it one day at a time. She wasn't fighting him as much anymore. She would smile politely when he'd slide her money. She would mutter a thank you when he held her hand on busy sidewalks. She would watch as he fixed her Chevy: starting with those new tears, then fine tuning things steadily with his shirt off in her front yard.

He hadn't had to get rough because of her behavior in a long time, and it had eased something in both of them. Now his roughness was something they got to choose—something Annie got to be rewarded. Smoke was sweet when she needed to be fucked real slow and passionate. But when she needed to be reminded of the thrill his danger brought to her system, he was quick to turn rough, quick to whisper filthy words in her ear.

~~~~~

It was night once again, but this time, the wind was swirling something fierce, pulling heat high in the air and cooling it too quickly. The temperatures mixed dangerously—diametrically opposed but wanting so desperately to become one.

A tornado formed before most people had a chance to prepare, and when the older man arrived at the young woman’s home, she was nowhere to be found. Smoke pounded on the door frame, yelled her name through the wood, but it was no use. Her car was gone, and he had absolutely no idea where she could be.

Pacing the length of her porch, he pulled out his flip phone. He clicked her contact with ease—the first one saved—and as it rang, the sky turned a deep purple. He’d come by because she hadn’t been answering her phone. The tornado warning had flashed across his television screen, interrupting the 9 o’clock news, and when he had called her while pacing the length of his living room: Nothing.

The same thing was happening now. He dialed her over and over and over again with no response, and there was no mistaking the panic in his heart. Fear set in, and as the man who practically ran every aspect of his world took a deep breath in, it came out shaky and broken and nearly a sob.

The clouds raged.

The sky shifted through colors.

The wind blew the woman’s wind chimes.

The rain pelted the metal roof.

I gotta do something, the man thought to himself, terrified that his girl was somewhere out there unsafe in the middle of a storm. He bounded down the steps, taking two at a time. Shivering rain hit his hot, stressed skin when he crossed into the yard. Soggy grass squished beneath his feet, and when he swung the driver’s side door of the Cutlass open, he was shook by what he saw out of the corner of his eye. Down at the end of the driveway, he watched that old ass Chevy making its way around the bend. Headlights shaking. Windshield wipers moving rapidly. He couldn’t see the woman just yet, but he could feel her.

Pure shock and disbelief entered his system. His head shook rapidly in his confusion, and he stood there with his car door half-cranked open while watching the Chevy slow its pace. When Annie got out, she bounded toward the porch, windbreaker thrown high over her head because the man had paid to get her hair done just days ago.

And Smoke stood there was his mouth wide open.

Ran hit his body as the storm moved past the little house. It still raged—it raged horridly—but it moved on in the distance now and up toward the city. The sky turned from purple to green then softened into a sea foam blue. When the bewilderment was done running itself through his body, the older man took a look in the direction the young woman disappeared to. The porch was empty—Annie nowhere to be seen, again—but she’d left the front door open for him.

The man turned his body completely, shutting his car door and saving the clean up for another time. The rain was lighter, but as he walked toward the porch, little droplets stuck to his eyelashes. It worked to cool his anger, but it made sure that his confusion lingered. Because even though the storm was passing through, he still didn’t understand why the woman hadn't been home.

Each step he took was weighted.

Each sway of his arms made his heart swell with emotion. Fear. Anger. Confusion. Relief.

He almost didn’t care where she’d been because at least she was safe. But he wasn’t about to let her off that easy. The remnants of the storm dripped off his body—wet and wild with emotion. The first step into the home, however, caused the wild feelings to settle into one sharp direction.

Smoke was a hardy man. He didn’t show fear. Didn’t let it consumed him or rule his thoughts or actions. He thought clearly in everything: when he ran the streets, when deals went bad, when he had to handle a nigga for playing with his money. He always rose to the occasion, but with Annie, he was terrified. When she didn’t answer his banging on the door or his million and one phone calls, his stomach had dropped in fear, and the feeling of that was unsettling.

Wired eyes searched the home for her. The door was shut now, locking out the unpredictability of the outside world and creating a bubble around the pair. Annie came running out of one of the back rooms, warm towels in her hands and a pep in her step.

“I’m so sorry,” her words tumbled out, mouth moving miles a minute as she apologized while reprimanding him about being out in that rain. She shook her head, ran her eyes all over him as she toweled his skin dry, but her eyes never met his. Her nimble fingers drifted to his clothes next in an effort to get him out of the wet fabrics. They clung to him—tight at his biceps and around his thighs. She could see every fine detail that she loved about him most. The plains of his chest. The delicate shape of his stomach. The soft bulge in his pants.

Annie’s fingers grew quick as she fought to quiet her brain. She was on a mission to get this man out of his wet clothes not ogle him. Her fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers and clothes too heavy now that water had touched them, but he was finally bare from head to toe. Her wandering eyes quickly darted away from the sight of his thick length, deciding instead to do a once over elsewhere before tightening a towel to his waist.

“You scared me,” she heard the man croak at a low volume. His voice came out strained and tired, and for the first time all night, she met his gaze. It broke her apart just like she expected it to because Smoke’s eyes always did something to her soul. Becoming soft at the edges, her own eyes held his—unwavering. She placed a hand on his chest, mouth opening and shutting. Not to say something slick. Not to get rude or disrespectful or to come up with some lie. Annie apologized deeply, explaining the situation.

“I went to check on Ms. Ethel down the street,” she choked out, words wet from the rain and her emotions. “Her grandson Jimmy don’t get home ‘til late, and I ain’t want her to be alone. So I sat with her ‘til he got there.”

“That don’t explain why you ain’t answer my phone calls,” he began heatedly, voice clear and harsh. The roughness made her body shake. The look on his face made her lean in. “Or why you ain’t tell me you was goin’ out. Or why yo’ ass was drivin’ back in that storm when you could have stayed where you was at.” Smoke listed off every truth there was, standing bare in the woman’s living room. The towel did little to shield his naked body.

Annie swallowed thickly at the heft in his voice; But when he was right, he was right.

She rattled off something about her phone being dead.

He responded by pointing at the charger in her wall.

Then she muttered off about feeling it was safe to drive back.

And he looked at her like she was insane. Because she was. The storm was gone now, but she had driven back in the thick of it, not expecting him to be there. Not expecting to be cornered the way she was now. He continued to spill his thoughts, voice rough and loud.

At that, Annie let her eyes shift into a roll. Her arms crossed beneath her chest. Her weight shifted to one foot. Her attitude was coming up quick, beginning to take over her function the more he hammered his points home.

If this nigga say one more thing I’m gon’ go off on his ass, she thought to herself. She was sick of the interrogation and how it felt she was standing on trial for capital murder. She’d been out because she was trying to be a good person. If he can’t understand that, then that’s his problem, she continued in her mind while the man stood tiredly in front of her. Her eyes shifted once more, leaving his to look down past his chest.

“Anything could have happened to you, woman” Smoke breathed, running a hand down his face in exhaustion. “What would you have done if that Chevy gave out on you in the middle of that drive? Huh?” He got close to her face, waiting for an answer she wouldn’t give him. Her lips twisted in anger, trying not to let her attitude slip out and ruin things more. She so badly wanted to lay every bit of her brattiness on him—say something stupid about how she’d flag somebody down or make the trek home through the storm—but that look on his face halted her.

He really was scared—terrified even. His eyes were wide. Fists clenched. Muscles bulging. Feet tapping as if all they wanted to do was pace across the floor.

Annie softened as she took him in. Her lips twitched again, not from her anger or attitude but from her guilt. Reaching down, she grabbed one of the man’s trembling hands. She tightened her hold, running her thumb in soothing circles.

She couldn’t help the way her eyes went to the edge of his towel.

“I should have charged my phone,” the young woman admitted softly. “I should have told you where I was at and stayed there ‘til the storm passed. I wasn’t bein’ safe. And I scared you. And I’m sorry.” Giving his hand a squeeze, Annie took a step forward. Her chest pressed against his bare one, the soft, dry cotton of her shirt mingling with his damp skin. Her eyes stared into his, and simultaneously, their gazes shifted. “Can you forgive me, baby,” she questioned hotly, tone turning sweet and low with a different emotion now. Her lips drifted toward his neck. She landed light kisses to his skin—heavier ones near the edge of his ear—and her breath caught when he grabbed her hips roughly.

Annie’s head swirled when Smoke turned her head to the side and began planting his own lips to the surface of her skin. It was heated and angry yet full of care and that beautiful softness she couldn’t get enough of now. Over the past month, she’d really grown to appreciate his sweet moments. They reminded her in a different way of his care, and every time she saw that calm wash over his face, she rededicated herself to making sure he felt that as often as possible.

She wanted to be his peace. She wanted to be where he found comfort. She recognized the fact that she had brought him worry tonight, but she vowed to help soothe that in her own special way.

Kissing her neck and chest softly, Smoke palmed Annie’s ass while guiding her back. He massaged her in a way that pulled needy moans from the back of her throat. Cries of apology and consideration for his stressed system. But he was already on the mend because his girl was safe, and above anything else in the world, that was what he needed most.

Since the couch was the closest surface for their bodies to land, that was exactly where Smoke guided them. He stepped gently into the woman, holding her body with ease like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Each foot forward sent one of her feet back. And each kiss to her body dragged a moan out of her mouth.

"Smoke," Annie purred when her ass hit the arm of the couch. He hoisted her up gingerly, beginning to suck on her skin. She tasted sweet, just as sweet as he remembered her being, but it still managed to cloud his mind. The man nipped marks into her skin. He groaned against her body. He pulled her legs up in his hold, towel dropping to his feet. Annie was still fully clothed—leggings and a tee being the only things stopping the man's rush.

He moved to kiss her full on the mouth, swallowing every exhale and moan like they gave him life. His lips made her eyes roll back and the way his dick rutted against the fabric of her leggings made her cry out in need. But when he had successfully pulled her shirt over her head and had begun to work at her waistband, she halted his movements.

"Wait," she demanded breathily, scrambling off of the couch. Her knees immediately sunk into the hardwood floors in front of her man, and with one look up at him, she saw his face settle in understanding. "I wanna make you feel good, Daddy," she sighed, taking his length up in her hands and staring in awe. She sat back on her haunches, starry-eyed at how thick and long he was, at how his tip was swollen and dripping in precum.

Annie took an experimental lick, circling the head of his dick just once. Then she blew cool air on it, indulging in the man's shiver.

"Stop playin' games," Smoke belted in anticipation because Annie didn't get down on her knees for him very often. When she did, she normally took it as a punishment, but now, she was giving it to him like a gift.

Laughing, the woman made an offhand comment about him being so uptight, but then she leaned back in and did exactly as he said. Annie wasted no time in fitting her jaws around him. She took him down the back of her throat, gagging as she let him move through her slowly, and when he bottomed out, she pulled him back out to eye his soaking length. She continued the move: taking him to the extent of her throat, choking, gagging, then slurping at his tip on the way back out.

Above her, Smoke's head rolled back, eyes on the ceiling and blinking rapidly because he had no idea how he was meant to last long with her in this position. She was speeding up her assault now, choking purposely just because she noticed the way the sound had his dick jumping and thighs clenching hard. Annie sucked him in, moving her head back and forth with control. She'd had one hand at the base of his dick the entire time, but now she was moving them to rest on his thighs. She used nothing for leverage—just pure strength and determination.

Her eyes shot up to see the way he was facing the ceiling, and the laugh she let out around him was filthy.

"You can't take it, Daddy," she questioned aloud, stroking his throbbing length. Her hand twisted from base to tip, then back down again, and her mouth engulfed him once more.

Smoke gritted his teeth at her words, absolutely appalled.

"Watch that mouth, li'l mama," he growled, snatching her hair up in his right hand. He guided her head, forced her to take him deeper, met her head with his own harsh thrusts. Her gags became honest, each stroke he gave her encouraging her to choke around him. He was too thick, too long, but she couldn't get enough of the way he filled her so wonderfully. Sitting further back on her calves, Annie fully slackened her jaw, relaxing her throat as he forced her head down on him.

Reaching low between her legs, the young woman landed her hand to her clothed pussy. The man's efforts toward pleasure had increased her own, and her entire body felt like it was on fire. Fingers rubbing her clit through her leggings, Annie couldn't push down the moan for long, and by then, Smoke had already realized what she was doing.

"There goes my pretty li'l slut," the older man cooed after her cries had vibrated around his length. He watched the tremble of her thighs, slowly pulling his dick out to the tip before thrusting back in harder than he had so far. He continued the motion of fucking slow then harsh, and when her moans became consistent and her own fingers quickened their pace, he started going fast.

Annie was foaming at the mouth, spit gathering at the corners of her mouth and falling down her chin. It dripped down on her chest, shining beautifully on her skin. She slurped at his length, tongue dragging along the vein at the underside of his dick. She felt her pulse increase suddenly, light flashing behind her eyes as her clit thrummed beneath her fingers. She couldn't verbalize her need to cum, but she knew what he'd do to her if she didn't ask for permission.

The woman continued her pursuit, sucking his dick while rubbing at her clothed pussy, but her eyes bore into his. She communicated everything she need with just one long, labored look. Her body needed its release, and it was coming fast.

"No," Smoke bellowed, pulling his dick from her mouth. He bent forward, pulled her hair roughly while she heaved. Annie breathed heavily, trying to regain function after taking the man as severely as she had. She'd moved her hand away from her pussy, saddened by the fall in her peak, but wanting to obey the man's words. She leaned into his direction, hoping for a kiss, but he pulled her back by her hair once more. "I wanna eat that pussy 'til you cum baby," the man grumbled into her ear, air dense with arousal.

Annie was sat on the arm of the couch again before she knew it, and her leggings were laid on the floor beside the man's towel in a flash of a second. Panties hugging her wet center, the man looked past it as if he could see her heated flesh through them. And when he began to eat her pussy, he didn't even attempt to move the obstruction to the side. He ate her through the fabric, chewed at her folds, swallowed her arousal, sucked her clit off the bone. For his Annie, the man was insatiable, and his avid need for her was what guided every encounter.

Arms shivering as she held her body up on the unstable surface, Annie looked upon the wild hunger Smoke exhibited. She always loved when he ate her pussy because his thirst for her overcame all of his function. His left hand softly kneaded at one thigh. His moans softly nudged at her folds. But everything else was rough: how he took her up in his jaws; how he sent a teasing spank to the side of her ass; how has right hand clawed at her other thigh without thinking about it.

Every now and then, he'd come up off of her to mutter something soft and rough at the same time—praise and degradation mingling. He called her his filthy baby, his pretty li'l bitch, his perfect slut. And Annie took every title like it came alongside an award-winning trophy. He always made sure to emphasize that she was his, and as he muttered mine into her parted thighs, the young woman almost let herself fall over the edge.

"Pl-please, Daddy," Annie begged, beginning to make her petition. "I need it so bad, baby," she whined unapologetically, completely lost to her body. Her hips rocked into his face. Arousal coated his chin. "You make me feel so good, Daddy. Make my pussy wanna cry."

Her thighs were shaking violently and her belly was in a full on flutter by the time he looked up. His eyes stayed locked on hers as she pleaded, light at the corners while his forehead stayed scrunched—that delightful mix of soft and rough.

And he let her have it, pulling back from her clothed pussy to answer her solemn request.

Annie came with a loud shudder. Smoke's name was at the tip of her tongue as she held onto his face with one hand and kept her body from falling back with the other. Thighs shaking around his head, she praised him for every ounce of kindness he'd delivered unto her.

Annie's back was against the wall as Smoke held her in his arms, thrusting dick up into her. His pace was fast, breathing labored because she just felt too good around him. Every time he pulled out, she chased him, pussy pulling him back in before he had even had time to stabilize himself. She fluttered, and he moaned. He tap lightly against that soft spot, and she whined in delicious pleasure.

"I love this fuckin' dick," the woman slurred. Her body was fully relaxed as she had the wall behind her and the man in front of her. He held her up, fucked her too damn good, and it had her eyes in the back of her head.

"Yeah," he breathed huskily, strokes steady. "You like bein' fucked with this dick?"

"I love it," she admitted. "God, I love it so much."

"I know you do," Smoke growled. "You drunk on this dick. You love this good ass dick." His forehead fell to her shoulder, back hunched as he kissed her heated skin. The man was losing his cool. Each drag against her walls had his knees buckling. Each time he pulled out to the tip, he wanted to weep. "And I love this pussy, babygirl," he whimpered, words etched in emotion.

"Yeah," she asked, the whine only increasing.

And the older man could only possibly respond with an uptick in his pace. He fucked her walls fast and with the renewed spirit of a man overtaken with adoration. He cared so deeply for Annie. He wanted the world for her—past the money he could give her or the experiences he could ensure she'd have. He wanted her to have the world and every dream she had ever possessed—and he wanted to move through that idealized life right alongside her.

"Cum with me, baby," he breathed against her temple. He kissed her there with all of the love he'd kept silent, and he lingered—softly. "Pl-please. I need you to cum with me."

The plea was pure—an honesty that resulted in tears being brought to Annie's eyes. She held the man's face in her hands, looking into his teary brown eyes with her own. And she nodded, completely unable to respond with words.

The room filled with heavy breaths, sharp whines, and the vulgar yet delicate sound of wet skin meeting wet skin.

They breathed their love faintly—between the tears and thick huffs.

They broke apart airily—like the calm that hit after a Mississippi storm.

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

word count: ~4,250

a/n: the end—fr this timeeee :3

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Again, Smoke Moore was not a man to be played with, but for some reason, Annie loved to do the playing: pissing him off, raising his pressure, bringing him close enough to the edge that he couldn’t do anything other than fuck her ass up. Her toxic ass loved that side of him, thrived in being the target for his aggression. The older man’s roughness warmed her insides so much so that she tended to lose herself in the feeling.

When he left her home after that night, ripping through the early morning air like a man the world waited for, he sat a wad of cash on her dresser. Proceeding to peck her lips, he whispered something soft and possessive about being his good girl. And she so badly wanted it to be true, but her bratty side always won over the side that wanted to please him.

~~~~~

The sun crept low toward the horizon, swirling the air on its descent and bringing forth a sharp emotion. It smelled of a devious nature—destructive, dangerous, venomous—and the young woman couldn’t help but lean in for a whiff. It had been nearly a week since the man left on his trip, and she was getting antsy without him. Going from being laid out by the nigga of her dreams to laying in her bed with a too-big shirt on and no prospects was causing a pout to drift over her lips.

Every time she asked when he’d be back, he always responded with: “shit’s touch and go right now” or “it’s business, baby” or “when I get back” if she was already pushing him toward a pissy mood. Annie had honestly tried her best to keep her latest punishment fresh in her mind as a reminder of how far her man could push her, but when her friends called, every bit of training went right out the window.

Trail ride. 20 minutes south. Where trees blocked the Sun—even if She wasn’t already flirting with idea of night.

Smoke had prevented her from going to trail rides with this particular set of friends before. They were reckless women who encouraged her to disobey him because they knew Annie wanted to get him riled up. They lived for the thrill, lived for the drama, lived for whatever they’d hear once Annie filled them in after a night of punishment. But Smoke was hundreds of miles away now, and that only added to the young woman’s excitement. She could practically see it now: Smoke Moore would inevitably find out that she was running the streets; his brother would probably be the one to tell him with a sly grin on his face; and the man would scowl and grit his teeth and come home just to fuck her past the point of no return.

Annie swooned as she dressed, mind swirling around all the thoughts of her in various positions. She looked over her appearance one last time. She’d chosen a pair of dark wash booty shorts, a pink camo crop top, and some boots—dusty from the last trail ride or horse show she’d been to. She looked delicious. Titties high. Thighs full. Braids sweeping down her back in a way that made her remember how Smoke had wrapped his hand around them tightly and pulled.

Danger flirted with Annie, and she flirted right back when she jumped into the backseat of her friend’s car and drove through the fresh night.

A groan slipped from the man’s lips as he allowed himself to wash the day from his body. It had been a long one filled with stupid negotiations and even stupider people that needed to be handled, but everything was back in place; And his trip was over. He had touched back down in Jackson just hours ago, heading straight from the airport to home. From there, he’d had things to check up on at his businesses—one errand being to see if that order of tires had come in Annie's beat up old Chevy—and he was hoping to make the young woman the final thing on his agenda.

He had missed her dearly, more than he knew she’d let him admit, but he was itching to see her, to feel her, to taste her.

He smiled lowly as the water ran over his tired skin, shoulders relaxing from the heat, muscles unclenching themselves in the safety of the bathroom. For a man always on high alert, he hardly ever got this level of calm. Eyes closed, he let the shower head run along the plains of his back. Tawny skin glowing, he hummed and stretched and moaned before reaching to turn the faucet off.

Stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, all he could think about was getting back to his Annie. It had been too long, and his nerves were wound tight. Rifling through his chest of drawers, his hands paused at a sound.

His phone was ringing across the room—loud and annoying and making the floor practically shake. When he answered it, his nerves only spun up around each other even more.

“Aye, bro,” he heard the moment he flipped the device open. Stack’s voice cranked over the loudness and music and laughter going on on his side of the phone. It made Smoke scrunch his face up, one—from the loudness, and two—because the twins had just been together not even hours ago.

“What’s up,” he growled. He was at the ready because even though Stack was the playful one of the two, he could always hear that seriousness in his voice, an urgency to act on something.

“Yo’ girl out here wildin’,” the younger twin shouted clearly.

“What,” Smoke questioned, head rearing back like he’d heard something completely off the wall—and he had.

“Annie,” Stack clarified. “She out here caked up with some young nigga. Sittin’ on the back of his four-wheeler and everything!” The man was appalled, and the brother who was across town could hear it in the strain of his voice. Teeth grinding against each other and fingernails piercing his palm, Smoke hung up. His chest was heaving, anger crossing through him thickly.

“All she had to do was listen,” he mumbled under his breath, throwing on a hoodie and a pair of sweats. “All she had to fuckin’ do was not piss me off, but here we go.” Smoke hated repeating himself, hated having to make the same point over and over again, but it seemed that Annie loved having to relearn the cost of his anger and exhaustion. She kept pushing him too far, but tonight was different. Caked up with another nigga when she had him? Nah, that wasn’t gon’ fly.

The young woman could still feel the way the night air had ripped through her braids. It had been ages since she got to ride a four-wheeler, but, of course, some man had to offer when he saw them thighs and that ass in those little bitty shorts. She’d been bent forward in a cooler when he tapped her on her shoulder, and when Annie looked back, it was Mookie—a li’l fling from before Smoke entered the picture.

But he definitely didn’t appear little right now.

Mookie was tall, and the night air hit so right and heated that he’d thrown his shirt over the handles of his four-wheeler. Sweat flanked his chest, down his stomach and toward the waistband of his boxers—peaking out from his bootcut jeans. He looked good as fuck, but now that she had Smoke, a man like Mookie wasn’t her type. She liked 'em older, liked 'em only if they were her man. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still have fun though. When he asked her to take a ride with him, her friends answered for her, pushing her into the man’s sweaty chest and dazzling smile. She said yes; And he helped her swing her leg over the seat, watching the way her jean shorts shifted unapologetically.

Mookie rode her through hills and valleys, past cow fields and thick lines of trees, and the wind had her braids flowing behind her, wrapped around the humid air. And she thought of Smoke—she always did. By the time they returned back to their little corner of the function, Annie’s heart was beating fast. The adrenaline of the ride coursed through her veins, but her memories of Smoke were doing all the heavy lifting.

And she didn’t even know that she’d already been spotted. That the younger of the two Moore men had already informed the man that she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Annie stayed sitting on the back of the four-wheeler. Both of her legs were swung to one side, but to avoid the heated plastic from how intense the drive had been, her calves brushed Mookie’s to reach a cooler spot. And he welcomed her, nudged her with his sweat-covered shoulder before flashing that white smile.

“Ain’t seen you in ages,” he laughed breathlessly, trying to pull her into his orbit. But all Annie did was hum and nod her head and utter an is that right. “Yeah,” he muttered back, scooting in closer. “I heard you gotta nigga now. That true?”

The young woman’s attention snapped toward her friends as they snickered. She watched them whisper things under their breaths, and she could just imagine the answers they were giving to his question. Something about Smoke or something coy or something sly and full of half-truths, but she simply answered his question with another question.

“Why you wanna know that?”

“‘Cause I need to know who I gotta get in the ring wit’,” he chuckled like she was playing games, but the woman was truly uninterested and trying her best not to roll her eyes in the man’s face.

“Yeah, okay,” she raised her eyebrows mockingly, laughing when she looked across to her friends. They were cackling, falling all over each other because he really thought he’d win a fight between him and her nigga. But he didn’t know she was with Smoke—which was a feat of its own because everyone around was looking at him with pity while he looked googly-eyed at the girl who belonged to Smoke Moore.

“You sayin’ I can’t do it,” Mookie scoffed, scrunching his forehead.

“I’m sayin’ you ain’t even on my radar, baby,” Annie scoffed back, shaking her head. She was about to tell him to cut his losses before something bad happened, but then she heard it—an engine revving. His engine.

Above the height of the music and laugher and horses trotting and four-wheelers stirring up dirt, she could hear the man coming. It sparked that rush in her heart once more. It reinvigorated the humming in her lower body. She didn’t know whether to stay or run, but the sound rang again and she knew he was getting closer. Time was limited. When Mookie spoke again, the young woman jumped in shock, having been lost in her mind.

“Huh,” she slurred, leaning close to hear him over the various noises around her.

“I said, who yo’ nigga,” he shouted above the music. The revving had stopped and even despite the loud ass music and laughing, something else had begun to penetrate. It was a sense of danger and unease. Stomachs churned as it approached, but no one had words to describe what it meant or had a means to escape it. Annie’s mouth opened in an attempt to come clean, but then a voice boomed over the height of hers and everything around them.

“I am. You got a problem with that?”

It was almost as if the air was sucked out of the outdoors. Heads turned. Mouths hushed. Conversations stalled in the middle as everyone zeroed in on the burly man.

Smoke’s eyes were hot with fire was he looked upon Mookie, completely ignoring Annie who was trying to quiet the way smoke and flames filled her system. All she’d been able to think about was him, and now he was here; She couldn’t deny the way it felt like she had conjured him up herself. Behind him was Stack—a shit-eating grin taking over his face—and the young woman couldn’t help the roll of her eyes. Of course he’d been there, but it pissed her off more to know that she hadn’t been aware of his presence, that she’d already been in trouble much longer than she thought.

“I-I—naw, Smoke,” Mookie stuttered, scrambling to get off of the four-wheeler. Grabbing his shirt from the handle bars, he threw it over his head in an attempt to look more decent. Sitting half-clothed beside another man’s woman was never a good look, but the attempt didn’t help his case any. “I was just catchin’ up with an old friend,” he laughed nervously, looking back to Annie for an assistance she wasn’t ready to lend. “Didn’t know y’all was foolin’ around.”

The young woman’s ears became fogged as her man hurled threats. She was barely listening as her eyes took in his appearance. Tired from work and travel but refreshed in a way only she could tell. His sweatpants were sitting low on his hips—a filthy ease she couldn’t get enough of. Between the haze of her arousal, she could pick up on bits of the heated conversation: Mookie vowing that he meant now harm; Smoke pressing hard anyway ‘cause the nigga must have been living under a rock to not know Annie ran with him.

Everyone knew Smoke, so everyone knew Annie belonged to him. It was simple. It made sense.

But the man in front of him was acting stupid, and the eyes around them were growing larger with anticipation. A Moore man insulted—especially this publicly—was not something anyone wanted to be on the receiving end of. Moving in closer, Stack watched, eyes low and at the ready for whenever he was called upon to act. Annie’s eyes watched the scene—Stack’s stalking, the twitch of Smoke’s hand before his head began to drift toward the younger twin. She jumped into action just before that look that would cement everything could be sent from brother to brother.

“Calm down,” she sighed, moving off the four-wheeler like a pro. Her walk toward the older man was calculated—her hips switching dangerously because she knew he liked it, her eyes locked on his because one look between them communicated a million words. When she was stood in front of him, her arms went around his neck, completely unconcerned with the eyes watching. Her friends held in their giggles now—terrified yet intrigued. Everyone else turned away because Annie was Smoke’s girl, and that dangerous walk had their eyes wanting to wander. “It was innocent,” she purred, kissing the edge of his mouth. “I just wanted a ride.” Her lips moved toward his jaw. Then his neck. Then his hoodie, leaving a glare of lip gloss on the fabric. “Lighten up, Daddy.”

She laughed when his breath hitched, catching in his throat.

“Annie,” Smoke growled, hand meeting her hips and holding on tight. His anger was only growing steadily, increasing as he took in her appearance. He tried to think logically, but her ass was hanging out of those shorts, and that crop top made her look good enough to eat. Shaking his head once and huffing in annoyance, he nodded in an off direction before completely turning away. “Get yo’ ass in that car,” he mumbled, pushing her hip where he wanted her to go.

And Annie huffed, grinding her teeth; But she obeyed because she was already in a world of trouble. Saying goodbye to her friends and accepting their prayers and well wishes, she looked back just once before doing as told.

She watched Smoke send that look, finality filling the air as Stack moved to action. Her eyes flashed as Smoke crossed his arms and Stack snatched Mookie up before dragging him off to meet his Maker.

Annie's walk toward the Cutlass had been filled with a tension she couldn’t comprehend. She was scared and aroused and full of guilt all at once. She could have tried to help Mookie more, but it probably would have just made it worse for him. She could have just stayed with her friends, said no to the ride. She could have stayed home like Smoke would have told her to. But where was the fun in all of that?

Each step brought let her closer to her demise and a night full of getting fucked through the mattress—or that’s what she thought. Smoke was gaining on her, gait wide and long. She’d been taking her sweet, precious time making it to his car, and the longer she walked the better she realized just how far away from the function he had parked.

When the Cutlass came into view, it was tucked away near a line of trees, and the music from the trail ride was just a distant thump. Her heart pounded, pussy purring as she took a look back. There he was, anger held up in his expression.

Her feet sped up.

His did, too.

But he still made it to the car at the same time that she did, halting her attempts to get into the passenger’s seat by placing a hand over the door handle.

“I’m gettin’ real tired of yo’ shit, woman,” Smoke’s voice rumbled, penetrating her system. Annie felt crazy because no matter what, Smoke always got her hot and bothered. She felt it was only a matter of time before she folded, and she hoped to God that time would come soon.

“It was just innocent fun,” she played off, leaning her ass against the pale blue car. She arms crossed under her chest, and her weight shifted beautifully.

“Innocent,” he laughed mockingly. “You know exactly why I don’t let yo’ ass come to these damn trail rides. Out here in the middle of nowhere like you ain’t got no home trainin’.”

“You ain’t my daddy, Smoke,” she growled, rolling her neck at him, and the man’s eyebrows raised in shock.

“Oh, so you don’t remember cummin’ all over this dick less than a week ago? Screamin’ my name like it was the only word you knew?”

“That’s not fair,” she scoffed like the words were crude. Her eyes drifted toward her feet, unable to handle looking at him for too long. There wasn’t much fight in her this time around. She knew she was in the wrong, knew her punishment would be much worse if she resisted. The young woman’s simple need for the man pushed her brattiness away—for the time being.

Lips twitching into a pout, she spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Smoke,” Annie whimpered, leaning into his body like it would save her. And he scoffed but allowed it to happen nonetheless. “I won’t do it no more,” she vowed, words coming out strained and desperate. “I’ll be good from now on! I promise—”

“Nah,” he cut her off, shaking his head cause he’d heard those words too damn much. She was always sorry, always gonna do better, always gonna change her ways and be his good girl—but she never honored her promises. She pushed and pushed and pushed until he broke each and every time, using her sweetness to win him over, but he wasn’t falling for it again. Not when she had taken things to the extreme. “I be easy on you, baby,” he started, moving his hand to her waist. “I’m soft with you—softer than I’ve ever been. I let you off easy. I let you get yo’ licks back. But I think I give you too much grace because you be knowin’ better.”

The woman choked, trying to get a word in but he wouldn’t let her. She was sorry, truly this time. Her body needed him, desperate to be filled and fucked and taken control over. She needed him, and each of his heavy words was making her legs tremble harder and more consistent. She pressed her thighs together and moved to speak once more—but again, he cut her off.

“I want to be sweet with you, woman,” he spoke strained, tightening his hold on her waist. “But you make that shit hard.”

At that, the man turned her around, pressing her front into the side of his Cutlass. Hot skin meeting the cool surface of the car, Annie moaned while a shiver ran straight down her spine.

“Daddy,” she cried when he pressed his body against hers. In the seat of his sweatpants, she could feel how hard he was—thick and throbbing as he watched her tremble against his car.

“This little ass outfit,” he growled, pulling at the waistband of her shorts. She was tempting as hell, and that only made him more upset. Niggas had been looking at what was his all damn night. He grunted once, smacked the side of her ass. “Who you wear this for?”

“I was gon’ take pictures for you,” she lied, biting her bottom lip at the sting. The memory of nights ago still lingered in the faint marks and bruises on her backside.

“I’m sure you was,” he breathed sarcastically because he didn’t believe a word she said. She wasn’t supposed to be at a trail ride to begin with, so she definitely wasn’t going to share any of the evidence with him. Reaching around her body, the man’s hands drifted lower. “Who you belong to,” he questioned in her ear, humid air swirling as his tone dripped in dominance.

“You,” she whined, pressing her ass against the bulge in his pants. His fingers were pulling at the zipper of her shorts, popping the button open before pulling the zipper down low and slow.

“Say it right,” he demanded, hands pulling her shorts down an inch. His fingers ghosted the outside of her panties, waiting for her to obey his order.

“I belong to you, Daddy,” she corrected with a moan. “Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore.”

The man let out a satisfied sound, not yet allowing her to hear the praise she so desperately wanted. He watched her nails claw at the car, trying to find something to hold on to as his fingers drifted below the band of her underwear. She was soaked, dripping arousal all over the place. From the moment she’d heard the revving of his car, she was instantly ready for the man, and since then, the need had only increased exponentially. Annie was damn near crying by the time his middle finger reached her clit, but when it did, he pulled away.

“Tell me why you deserve it,” he roared down the back of her neck, keeping her body in place. He played with her folds, teasing the pleasure she so badly wanted. He hadn’t seen this side of her in a long time—the side that would say and do anything just because she needed it just that bad. She was always desperate, but this was pure and carnal at the same time.

Annie racked her brain for reasons why. She’d been horrible as of late, mean and rude and disrespectful. She didn’t deserve it, and they both knew that. This was a form of punishment she hadn’t experienced before—straight torture. The party thrummed on behind them, but neither of them cared. They were in their own world. Nothing else mattered.

When the words fell from her mouth, they were timid and shy. But above all, they were honest.

“I don’t deserve it, Daddy,” she cried, resting her forehead against the car and pushing her body into his hand. “I don’t deserve it, but I want to. I promise I do.” Her hips rocked slowly, testing the leash she’d been given, testing his dominance while simultaneously surrendering to it because there was no other way to possibly live. She needed him. Craved him.

Dragging herself against his palm and trembling in his hold, Annie's pussy cried in his hand.

Smoke was done talking.

He was done with words and lies and pleas for more.

Pressing a hand against her back, he made sure her chest stayed flush with the car. Then he started fucking her with his fingers, not even allowing her to adjust to the intrusion.

“Oh, fuck,” Annie moaned loudly, fluttering around his thick fingers. He filled her so beautifully. So perfectly. Like he was created to fill her. Like she was molded to fit around him. Her hips kept up their rocking, grinding back into his hand with a soft quiver. “D-Daddy,” she cried, jaw dropping when he shifted the pressure, dragging slower, fucking deeper.

“You try to run shit, but we both know I’m in charge ‘round here,” the man barked. “I got you wit’ yo’ shorts down against the side of my car where anyone could see you.” It was true, and the truth made her moan filthily. “You my slut, Annie,” he continued. “My perfect girl.”

His pace turned rough, fucking her so deep in an attempt to break her. He hated having to prove the same point over and over again, but if he had to, he would. Fingers flexing inside of her, he began pressing against that soft spot against her walls. The woman cried, moaned, yelled for more. The hand against her back made her chest feel like it was caving in against the car. His pressure was rough—just like she needed it to be—and just as the man expected, her legs began to give out, folding in on themselves as he stroked her walls.

“Stand that ass up,” Smoke yelled through gritted teeth. He watched her try. Watched her fail. Watched her body begin to burn from the inside out. “You want it,” he questioned darkly in her ear. The hand at her back moved around to the front of her. He held her body close to his, thrusting his fingers with more fervor now that she was stable again. He could feel her on the very edge. “You want that fuckin’ nut?”

Annie moaned brokenly, leaning her head back against his shoulder. When she looked up at him, her eyes were wet around the edges, and the sight of his tight expression didn’t help any. One hand moving to the back of his head, she watched him while he took control of her. The other helped him to support her, pressing against the back of his hand that held her body together.

“I want it so bad, baby,” she whimpered, looking through his soul.

The man’s face stayed tight—still angry—but his eyes flashed in recognition. An idea popped into his head; One that was cruel and sure to get his point across. He kept his pace steady, shifting his hand subtly so the heel of his hand grazed her clit. When her mouth opened and her eyes rolled back, his mouth fluttered against hers.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” he cooed against her lips, laughing darkly as she broke apart.

The orgasm thrusted the woman into a state of shock. She forgot where she was. She forgot who she was. She forgot what she was even doing. But she couldn’t mistake the easily recognizable aura of Smoke Moore. He was tantalizing. Controlling. More dominant that she’d ever experienced before. And it was beautiful. Annie had surrendered to him with an ease that she absolutely was not ashamed to have exhibited. He was the type of nigga who deserved that side of her—the soft, pliable, easy side. He was the type of nigga who deserved easy after dealing with all the shit he did.

When she came to, she’d been thrown up on the hood of the man’s car, head flung back and spine arched as he swallowed every ounce of her cum. Her shorts were long gone. Her panties were slung over the side mirror like a trophy the man wanted every passerby to see. He sucked her dry, ate her off the bone, brought her to the edge of a second orgasm like the professional eater he was.

Annie raked her hands down the side of his face, holding him in place as she rocked against his tongue, but the spank to her thigh made her jump.

“Hands to yourself,” Smoke rumbled, quickly returning to his task, and she obeyed without any hesitation or protest. It was hard not to touch him because all she wanted was to feel his skin against her palms. The man’s thick lips surrounded her clit. He sucked harshly, pulling the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks around it. The sound was obscene. The sight made her fingers twitch. Every couple of seconds, he’d pull back and spit at her folds before swallowing her and starting all over again. The feeling was addictive, but when she was mere seconds away from cumming, the older man slowed his efforts.

The young woman’s eyes fluttered in confusion. She looked down, eyebrows creased together as she took in Smoke's state. The man was quiet, too quiet, but then he started up again, and she hushed up the protest that was vying for its chance to fall from her mouth. He picked up right where he left off.

It was just as harsh.

Just as nasty.

Just as full of sweat and spit and tears.

Annie found herself getting lost in it again, completely overtaken by his ability to fuck her so delightfully.

But then he slowed once more—right when she reached the top of her peak.

Annie’s thighs trembled in his hold. Her throat grew wet in frustration, but then—he continued.

Fast. Hard. Filthy. Dangerous.

Her face tightened in need. Her body trembled atop the car's hood. Every muscle in her body flexed, waiting for that beautiful breaking moment.

But again, the man slowed.

Then he stopped all together.

“Daddy,” Annie released breathily, sitting up on her elbows to get a better look at the man. All she could see clearly in the darkness that surrounded them were his bright, hooded eyes and his tongue that sat outstretched toward her clit, waiting. She shook her head, confused beyond belief, but then he raised his eyebrow, and she got the message.

Her hips raised experimentally, clit swiping at his tongue and making her lips fall into a deep pout.

“Please,” she cried, failing to keep a steady rhythm as the feeling of his rough tongue spread across her pussy with no help from him at all. She worked as best she could, bucking up then down, swirling her hips when it got too hard to keep up one constant motion. But it all felt impossible. She was so close to an orgasm, but the closer she got, the further she felt the goal post was moved. Smoke was playing with her heart because every time her body shook, he pulled back. No tongue on her. No hands at her hips. No orgasm in sight.

When he’d come back to her clit, he’d lean in harder just to piss her off. And it worked every time no matter what.

Her frustration was exactly the effect Smoke wanted it to have. He was having too much fun watching her get annoyed as he forced her to get off on his tongue. She’d completely lost herself in him, and not once did she seem concerned with her surroundings. She was happy to be fucked silly, and the fact that she wasn’t given her second orgasm yet made her feel insane.

“Why you doin’ me like this,” she groaned, the bass in her voice making the words land with a bite. She couldn’t understand what was happening, and instead of an answer, all she got was Smoke taking over control again. She sighed with exhaustion and excitement as he pulled her body into his mouth. He massaged the fat of her ass while she grinded her hips against his face.

Relief was the only thing she wanted in this moment, and she could feel it quickly approaching. Her hips snapped. Her hands fell to his head. Her thighs locked him in place. Moans turning loud and incessant before slipping into soft whines of pleasure, she felt the warmth begin to spread.

Then Smoke stopped.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

Annie shouted the words without thinking, raised her voice knowing she was on thin ice. The man was breathing heavily in her face within seconds, pressing her into the car with damn near all his force. The hood was cool against her flushed, fucked skin, but his words were what sent a chill down her spine.

“Who you talkin’ to, li’l mama,” Smoke wondered aloud, looking at her like he’d ruin her right then and there. And he would—was going to very shortly.

“Nobody,” Annie quipped. She attempted to lower her eyes to look away, but the man was quick. He scooped up her throat in the palm of his hand, noting the way her pulse spiked.

“Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he muttered against her lips, choking her and making her eyes flutter up at him. He tested the pressure—going hard then soft then hard again—and each iteration made her thighs quiver. “You must have thought I’d just let yo’ ass have whatever you wanted tonight? But this a punishment,” he reminded smoothly. “I gave you that first one so you could have something to aspire to, babygirl. But you gotta work to deserve that again.”

Annie's words were coming to bite her in the ass. She’d told him she didn’t deserve it. His kindness. His care. His sex. But he gave it to her anyway and in the worst possible manner.

In an instant, he was between her thighs, pants and briefs around his ankles while his dick stroked her walls. He tapped at the back of her pussy, flirting with the idea of ruining her function. With the way his hand stayed at her throat, and his hips moved with intention, she knew she'd leave tonight unable to walk, knew she'd have stories to tell tomorrow, knew the evidence would be riddled all over her body.

The pace was steady, mimicking a Mississippi second as he rocked into her smoothly. Smoke was a calculated man. He had planned every aspect of this night in his head. From the moment he got that call to now, he knew he'd end up buried deep inside of her and showing no mercy. The specific details changed and adjusted as he went, but one thing stayed constant, and that was the fact that he was going to fuck Annie's ass up.

The man began to mutter into her ear every issue he'd had with her recently: her attitude, her slick ass mouth, her disrespect, her lying, her disobeying his rules, her entertaining another nigga. She was his and his only.

Each time he added a new grievance, his hand tightened its hold. And each time that happened, Annie apologized—deeply, honestly, reverently. She made sure he knew she was sorry, that she'd do better because, God, did she want to believe it. His roughness was addictive, but his sweetness made her body just as hot. She knew she brought him stress, knew he was going to care for her no matter how she badly behaved. But right then and there, she dedicated herself to doing better—even if that was done bit by bit, day by day.

The young woman's hands were thrown over her head as he stroked her walls in time. Her moans had turned greedy, deep howls that sounded more animalistic than anything else. Smoke was growling right alongside her, body succumbing to that delicious flutter of her walls. Her orgasm was approaching quickly, but she knew he wouldn't let her have it, so she learned to enjoy the way her body felt. She payed attention to the spike of her pulse, the flutter of her pussy around his length, the twitch of his dick. And when he pulled out sharply and came all over her thighs and the hood of the Cutlass, she watched in renewed awe.

Chest rising and falling fast, Smoke fought to recover his breath. He hadn't intended to cum in the middle of her punishment, but he'd be lying if he said that pussy wasn't reckless. His heart was pounding, breath ragged. Eyes meeting Annie's he saw an emotion in them that he hadn't seen before—awe and wonder. Then her hands moved from their place above her head and fumbled toward the white, hot streaks he'd left on her thighs.

She raked it off of her skin. Brought it toward her face. Stuffed her mouth with the remnants of his climax. Then she moaned like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted, like his cum was an oasis in the middle of a desert and she just couldn't help but take a drink.

Smoke groaned at the display, dick immediately hardening again when she dipped back in a second time. She swallowed his cum with reverence in her eyes, and that was what finally made him believe she deserved to feel relief.

He was marveled, folding inside of her while their eyes locked in on each other. They moaned into each other's faces, made promises that neither of them knew how to keep, but they would—somehow. In the middle of trees and wide open land with a party going on hundreds of feet away, they committed themselves to each other in the form of a carnal act. But it went beyond the moment they were in, beyond any knowing.

Annie's heartbeat shifted, taking the shape of Smoke's and vice versa. They melded into one, both fucking with the same goal in mind. Annie wanted to help him reach his climax, and Smoke wanted to do the same for her. His lips glided up the side of her neck, molding themselves to her jaw before fitting to the edge of her mouth. He kissed her there—softly, with purpose. And Annie damn near cried.

"Smoke," she breathed densely. The air was clouded, humid and wet like any other Mississippi night. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and as she pulled him close, and he allowed it.

"That's my good girl," he groaned against her face. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

And all Annie could do was nod and press herself into his neck for refuge as her body began to unfold itself.

When they both came, they came together: bodies slick, minds far off, thighs trembling, souls rested for the first time in a long time. The feeling of Smoke painting her walls with such force worked to pull one last orgasm from the woman, and as she clamped down tight, she milked her lover dry.

Laid atop the hood of a pale blue Cutlass in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a Mississippi night, two souls became one, two hearts opened themselves up for more.

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

word count: ~6,550

a/n: the end :3

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Smoke wasn’t a nigga to be fucked with, and everybody in and around Jackson, Mississippi knew that to be a fact. He ran shit—had been running it since he and his brother left Clarksdale for something deeper South; and way before then, too. Everywhere he went, his name was known, felt in the way it penetrated a heart like a bullet to soft flesh. Most notoriously, folks knew the twins by the businesses they’d run for decades: Auto body shops as covers; Laundromats to clean the money they earned off doing illegal shit; Towing companies because multiple streams never hurt. Kept the cops from poking around in they business—but everyone knew.

As a result, the man was well respected, and his success was looked at as something to attain. But it didn’t come by with luck. It was strategy, planning, real hands-on, back-breaking, soul-cursing work—but he did it anyway because he had real shit to handle.

When people saw Smoke coming, they moved off sidewalks to clear his path or dapped him up real polite-like. Some people would watch as he strided with a head held high, shoulders back, and jaw clenched. And they’d wonder what was circling around in the head of a man like that—giant as he. He was mystique personified—quiet, hearty, confident, edged with something raw and dangerous.

The only person who didn’t give a shit about his reputation, though, was Annie Laveau.

She was a young thing he’d been fucking around with—just by a few years. She was slick at the mouth and thick in the thighs with pretty brown skin that shined brighter than any piece of jewelry a reckless nigga like Smoke had ever bought. She’d turned his head without trying too hard, and she had him keeping tabs on her before she even allowed him to hear the sound of her name fall off her lips.

But, of course, she knew Smoke Moore; She had to be living under a rock to not have heard of the SmokeStack Twins, but he didn’t need to know all that, didn’t need to know she had always dreamed of the care he gave her: older man putting money in her pocket and checking her when her mouth breathed too hot a fire. It made her insides blaze to see that flashing in his eyes. When he’d have just enough of her disrespect, she could always tell the instant when she’d go from flat on her feet to laid on her back.

~~~~~

The pale blue Cutlass blazed through the city, cutting the air in half as it rode low and controlled. A veined hand gripped the wheel taut while the other settled around a pre-roll. Smoke curled in the dusky air—of the man’s namesake—brushing past his knuckles as he urged the vehicle toward the edge of town.

The young woman had always been an anomaly to him, especially when he learned of how far out she lived. Most of her time was spent in Jackson—working, hanging with friends, running the streets—but the rest of the time, she was at home, 20 minutes away from all the noise in the middle of the woods. And Smoke didn’t care. It only peaked his interest and made him want to know more about her, what about quiet pulled her to live where sound hardly penetrated.

The woman didn’t know he was coming, but she could sense it. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, her thighs clenched tight. Smoke always had that effect on Annie. Even now with a tight nightgown on, her hair wrapped up, and her body begging for a sleep it wouldn’t be awarded for hours to come. When she finally heard the road of his engine, she sat up quick, hand fumbling for the remote to turn off the newest episode of that one Wayans Brother show ‘bout the wife and kids.

Her skin prickled in heat and desire, and no matter how hard she fought to push it away, nothing worked. He was revving that engine, testing her affinity for quiet—though he shared the same characteristic. Her eyes drifted toward the full-length mirror across the room, raking over her appearance and satisfied with what she found.

This nigga can’t never come at an appropriate time, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes as she crossed her bedroom. Spraying perfume in the places his nose gravitated toward the most—her neck, titties, wrist, ankles, the back of her knees—the woman heaved a nervous breath. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she’d been on edge recently, increasingly needy for a feeling only Smoke could give her. Her lower body thudded with each engine cry, and her fingers pulled at each other in anticipation.

Suitcases thudded around in the backseat as the rugged man traded pavement for rock and dirt roads. He could just barely make out the glow of her home beyond the trees, so he revved to announce his presence. Revved again to let her know that he expected the door to be open for him when he got there. He wasn’t in the mood for games tonight. He needed his soft place to land, but in the backseat, the suitcases reminded him that he didn’t have much time to be idle.

Business trip. Few states west. Normal for a man like him with his hand too deep in foul shit.

Rolling his shoulders back, Smoke pulled the car to a slow stop outside Annie’s home. He surveyed. Made sure everything was as he left it. When he walked toward the front door, he shifted toward her car. He slow-walked it, head tilted to the side as he eyed the rear driver’s side tire—nearly flat.

“This woman,” he huffed, annoyed but never uninvested in assisting her. He was back at the Cutlass in three short steps, throwing the trunk open and fishing for his air compressor. It took two seconds—would have been quicker if it wasn’t dark outside—but the tire was reinflated with ease. He filed the instance away, marking up a mental todo list so he could get her a new set of tires when he was back in town. It wasn’t the first time he’d had an issue with her and that old ass car. She refused to let him buy her something new, refused to listen to him about keeping it checked up on, refused to let him do the checking.

While his auto body shop was a cover, the man was still passionate about vehicles, and she knew that. But Annie always had to be right no matter the situation or argument.

Attention restored to his original task, Smoke bounded up the steps. Hands on the knob, he readied himself to open the door that should have been unlocked, and when he tried?

Nothing.

No turn. No push open.

The grunt couldn’t keep itself down, because he knew for a fact she’d heard him coming, and if she hadn’t, she for damn sure heard him opening and closing his trunk, filling her tire, and walking up them steps. It was dead quiet, the only sound being cicadas and toads, and she was on the other side of that door playing with him.

“You betta’ bust a move and open this door, woman,” he shouted through the wood, not even caring to knock. He could practically hear her snicker, could see the smirk growing on her lips. “Yeah, you laughin’ now,” he gritted his teeth, speaking under his breath. His eyes drifted to the doorknob and remained there—locked in. “You laughin’ but just wait til I get my hands on you.”

The threat was clear, too damn clear, and across the house in her bedroom, Annie’s heart pitched in fear. She always loved pushing him, but it was late and he was tired. She knew he’d have her ass hanging off the side of the bed with no mercy if she didn’t act fast, and even though she’d probably end up in that position anyway, she at least wanted a chance at seeing the sweeter side of him tonight.

But, God, did she like it rough.

And Smoke's rough wasn't like any other roughness she could have found out in the wild. He laid hands better than any preacher in the Delta; He spoke truth to life better than any church mother this side of the Mississippi. When she needed to be handled, his roughness did the talking; But his sweetness was one of a kind, too. The man cared for her, kept her safe, kept money in her pocket, took her on dates and made everyone know she was his—though she fought him on that fact—and he knew how to fix her grandaddy's beat up Chevy Caprice like he'd manufactured it himself.

Keeping that in mind, her legs swung over the edge of her bed once more, and her feet carried her to the door of her bedroom. Through the doorframe and down the hallway she went to answer the man's call, and when she swung the front door open, he appeared to be that perfect, beautiful roughness right there in front of her.

"Who the fuck you think you talkin' to like that, Smoke," she sassed immediately, not letting him hear the way he made her feel. But he could see it in her eyes, how they lit up as his jaw clenched.

"I'm talkin' to the woman that can't keep that damn Chevy in workin' order," he growled, pushing his way into her home. His shoulders brushed hers, causing her heart to race at the feeling of his body in such a close vicinity. But her head spun when he kept walking, feet on a mission to her kitchen. She loved the way he took up space like he owned it, loved his unapologetic nature that came with an ease she had worked to understand.

Annie followed behind him, watching his upper back take over her home, the slight sway of his arms, the soft swirl of his hips.

"I don't know why you won't let me get rid of that thang for you," Smoke mumbled, washing his hands clean of the slick oil that coated his fingers. "It's too much trouble, and you deserve somethin' nicer."

"That thang is my granddaddy's car," she bit back with a nasty attitude. “I don’t need anything else ‘cause if it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.”

“That’s dumb logic.”

She rolled her eyes when he turned around just so he could see her annoyance. And in retaliation, he wiped his hands on her good towel just like she’d told him not to plenty of times before.

"What you doin' here anyway," she wondered aloud, confusion between her brows. "It's late, and I was on my way to bed. Then here you come bein’ loud in that Cutlass, tryin' to wake the dead."

"Oh, so you did hear me comin'," he griped. His veins bulged, forehead taut.

"Smoke," she sighed, rolling her eyes so hard that the man thought they'd get stuck.

"Nah," he refuted, shaking his head and stepping into her personal space. When he took a step forward, she took one back. "You knew I was outside and you ain't have that door open?"

"Smoke—"

"You testin' my patience, baby," he spoke strained. His neck craned to the side, taking in the way she kept backing up away from him. "I came all the way out here to get a piece of you 'fore I go on this trip, and now you wanna cut up?"

"How you know I wanna give you a piece," Annie questioned breathily. She was at the end of the line, back hitting the wall as he only increased his speed toward her. Her chest rose quick, protest in her throat but body completely caving already. She wanted it, needed it: that sweet roughness. She could hear the jingle of his belt, and her throat jumped at the thought of it wrapped around her neck like last time. Her eyes drifted down, the memory pulling her away for a moment too long.

Following her stare, Smoke took a long look at his belt, too. The memory burned just as hot for him, and the grin that blazed on his lips showed that the woman was in for it tonight. He reached a hand up, ghosting the nightgown and comparing the fabric to her skin. Her breath hitched each time he ventured off, and when his hand found purchase on her throat, she was about ready to call an audible.

"Baby," he breathed, voice dusky and raw. It made her insides churn and her head drift just a tad bit closer. But the man had her locked in place, grip constricting her movement—and breathing—bit by bit. "You ain't gotta want to do a damn thing. That’s my pussy, and she know it, too. Now fix that attitude before I gotta do it for you."

"Whatever," Annie mumbled, lips tight. She tried to face away but it was no use. At her lower body, her thighs were pressing together. A little further up, her arms were crossed beneath her breasts.

"You lookin' real pretty," Smoke complimented. His eyes were on her chest, the way her cleavage spilled out of the dress. "Think that's 'bout the best purchase I've ever made." It was a gift from weeks ago, but she hadn't let him see it on her body yet, and he was completely done pretending like the sight didn't make him want to pounce. It fit just right: having her titties high, her belly prominent, and her thighs flushed. It ended well before her knee, and barely covered anything, and she looked good as hell.

"Thank you," the woman blushed, throat still in his grip. He moaned at the sound, sweetness finally making its way through her brattiness—for now.

"You gon' be a good girl for me," the man asked darkly. He guided her body away from the wall with the palm to her throat and another at her waist. Each step brought her closer to her bedroom, each second that passed without a response brought her closer to a danger she couldn't live without.

Annie had been with a plethora of men, but none of them had been like Smoke. Where he was confident, they were insecure. Where he was a nigga driven by determination, they had no drive—no vision. Where he was a man that could dick her down for hours on end, they could only last minutes in her softness. And where he was dominant, they simply allowed Annie to walk all over them. But not Smoke; He was solid, and they both knew she needed that.

"I asked you a question, babygirl," he near growled as they passed through her bedroom door, but her mouth was still shut, mind clouded by her need to be put in her place. When he tsked, it was only a matter of seconds before he had her turned in the opposite direction, back to his chest. The older man worked his jaw, trying to reel in some of the aggression in his system, but it was no use; Annie was laughing.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny,” he barked, pulling her into his chest. His hand wrapped around her wrists, holding them at the top of her ass.

But she didn’t stop.

She just kept laughing. Louder and more insistent.

Smoke had had enough. Enough of her disrespect. Enough of her bratty behavior.

Bending Annie over the edge of her bed, he dared her to move, and she didn’t. But she did laugh—cackle even. It baffled the man and pissed him off past the point of being able to cope. The sound of metal flashing against leather filled the air, instantly replacing the hilarity in her throat. The young woman’s laugh died down into a fit of giggles, rumbling in her chest as she waited for her punishment to arrive. She wanted it, needed it, and when his belt rained down on the skin at the back of her thighs, she began to hiccup.

The pain was sharp, cutting at her deep brown skin and settling heavily. It lingered between the time he raised the belt above his head and brought it back down again. Livid was just one word to described the man. Aroused was a word that described them both. The grip of his palm around the leather brought heated friction to his skin, sparking up the emotion in his belly just as much as the bounce of the belt off her backside did. He became transfixed by the sound and sight. Annie was moaning, hiccuping around the giggles she wouldn't give up, and her thighs kept drifting closer to his hand, in need for more. Between her legs, her pussy throbbed.

"You like this shit," he accused with strain in his voice. His body was rumbling, belt raining down violently in the most perfect way. The accusation caused Annie to moan deeper. Her fingers tangled in her silk sheets, clawing for something to settle the rapid beating of her heart. He was taking her through the motions, completely unrelenting the entire time. “You fuckin’ slut,” he groaned, sweat prickling his forehead.

“Yes,” she moaned, rubbing her thighs together for more friction, and it only made him go harder.

The belt traveled higher—going from her thighs to the fat of her ass. Her gown had rode up high, exposing her skin and the black thong barely covering her pussy. Welps the color of red wine rose on she body, and down her face, tears as salty as the sea mingled with sweat just the same.

“Da-Daddy,” she choked. Her giggles were fully gone now, no more laughs filling the room. Just cries. Just pleads. Just calls of the man’s title she’d learned through experience only. The sound of her cry only made him scoff, so she reached back in search of the hand that had remained planted at her lower back. “Please, Daddy,” she begged once more, pulling at his wrist, not even knowing what she needed from him.

“You wanted this, remember?” The question was mocking, cutting through her and leaving her whimpering. “You wanted this when you heard me down that road. When I pulled up and you sat in this room like you wasn’t expectin’ me. When I had to fix that fuckin’ tire again. When you was mouthin’ off. I’m just givin’ you what you beggin’ for.”

The anger in his tone did nothing to quell her arousal and pain. She needed him—just like this—and she’d gotten that. But now she needed more.

Each time the belt landed, her body shook. She broke more every second. Annie could feel her heart stopping and her frame giving out from all the heavy pressure. Her stomach curled, and it felt like she was going to die—heaven flashing behind her eyes. But then, one last swipe of his belt hit her ass, and she came right there: on the edge of her bed with her gown up past her hips and her face buried in the sheets.

It was a full body breaking. From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, everything tightened before the pull snapped in half. She convulsed all over, crying in a pleasure she couldn’t possibly describe.

Smoke was appalled. His arm was reared back high in the air, paused as he watched her climax rip through her. She’d never come this prematurely, never came without direct permission.

“The fuck,” he mumbled in disgust and disbelief and delight all at once. She looked damn good, pussy leaking through her panties, all over her thighs, and down on the silk sheets. She seemingly had a talent that they’d both just discovered together; But this was already a punishment, and now she was blatantly disobeying his rules.

Smoke’s belt clambered to the floor, landing in a heap as he pulled his pants and briefs down his legs. His shirt was next to be torn from his body, ripped over his head quickly so his attention could stay locked on Annie who was clawing her way up the bed. The young woman knew what was coming, but she was still trying to save herself. In the midst of her climax—pussy still constricting, clit still throbbing—she could sense his anger, could feel it towering over her trembling frame.

“Turn that ass over,” he demanded while following after her. He grabbed her feet, flipping her body with a quickness so that her back met the cool temperature of the sheets. She was yanked down just enough, panties ripped off, gown tossed over her head, legs cranked open, and knees pushed into her chest.

Then he devoured her.

Locking his mouth around her dripping arousal, Smoke swallowed every drop of her cum. He sucked hard, lapped like a madman on his way to the electric chair. And Annie still hadn’t recovered from her orgasm. She was running from his tongue and praying to the Lord above for a calvary that wouldn’t come. She was at the older man’s mercy, and she had rightfully earned her punishment.

His hands stayed at the back of her thighs, pressing against the deep purple and red bruises to ensure that her legs stayed right where he wanted them. Her next orgasm was approaching fast. He could feel it in the flutter she was trying to conceal, and her moans and cries had evolved into gasps and chirps—one of the prettiest sounds.

Tongue working overtime, he swirled her clit, drawing more of her arousal from her entrance before dipping his tongue there. He drank from the source and moaned at its sweet and savory tang.

“Best pussy and nigga like me don’ ever had,” he groaned into her parted legs. Annie squealed from the vibration of his words, hands falling to his shoulders for stability. Then he smacked the side of her ass, growling deeply as he pushed her further into the bed.

“Smoke,” she gasped, throat raw. “I can’t ta-take it, Daddy!”

“Yes, you can,” he persisted roughly, palming her ass where his belt had landed the hardest. It stung just right. “You my good girl, ain’t you?”

While he uttered the words, he never once pulled off of her. He kept going, speaking between laps at her clit, eyes boring into hers and beckoning her to speak. He was still pissed about everything, but she had a way with him. Annie was the only person who could cause him to forget every lick of sense he had, but the night was still young.

“Ye-yes,” she replied, shaking on his tongue. Satisfied, the man fully dove back in, eyes now locked on the way her belly folded, the way her titties bounced, how her thighs were warm to the touch from her punishment.

Outside, suitcases sat at the ready for the trip he needed to take—somewhere far off and dangerous. But inside, he had his favorite and only girl ready to break open for a second time, and he hadn’t even begun to fuck her properly yet.

Pulling away from her with a pop, the man stood back, stroking his dick from base to tip while he watched her gain her bearings. Annie was locked up in shock, confused why her pleasure had been so suddenly stopped, misunderstanding that she wasn’t supposed to be enjoying herself in the first place. When her eyes fluttered open, her breath caught in her throat. The veins in Smoke’s hand bulged as he pumped his length, biting his bottom lip while getting off to the sight of her. It was too much, and it was too late at night, and she felt too open—but her legs didn’t close. She let him watch and indulge in her deliciousness: thighs coated in his anger and her cum, the two mingling perfectly.

Her hands drifted over her body, fingers ghosting skin softly. She pulled at her nipples, pressed her titties together—all while he watched and jerked off.

“You like that, Daddy,” she whispered into the air, dying to hear his answer to her question, though she already knew it. Of course he liked it—the man fucking loved it. She was putting on the prettiest show, flaunting her wet, tired, fucked out body just for him.

Smoke’s hand sped up as an answer to her question, but his mouth stayed closed. Then Annie got up on her knees; And winked; And turned around; And moved to all fours before arching her back, and the man had to stop himself from cumming then and there. His fist paused mid stroke, tightening around his dick and locking like a vice. She knew how much he adored her ass: when she switched her hips; when her too-little dresses rode up her thighs; and, especially, when she was bent over like this with nothing obstructing his view.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighed dreamily, taking one step in her direction. He pushed through the rough heat in his throat as she commanded his attention with ease. His fist worked his tip, keeping the head swollen as he noted the way she clenched around nothing. Her pussy was gaping, begging for attention. He shook his head like he’d been daydreaming. “You make it so hard to stay mad at you.”

“I know it,” she chuckled earnestly. Her head was thrown to the side of her body, watching how he stood behind her with his eyes held up in admiration. Biting the tip of her nail, she reached back with the other hand, ghosting her pussy lips. “Just put the tip in,” she whined, circling her clit lazily as she watched. She knew he was trying not to cum so early, but they both needed just a little bit more sensation.

Smoke felt his lower body spark from the persuasive tone. Annie was always good at ushering him in whatever direction she wanted him to go. It always started slow—in this instance with her arching in front of him—then it ramped up to her calling his name sweetly or full on pouting over what they both wanted.

He took another step forward, and his dick was just inches from her drooling center.

“Just the tip?”

His question was full of sarcasm, exasperated laugh tumbling into the room. He shook his head again, once, then he persisted.

When he penetrated her velvet walls, they both had to refrain from pressing any closer together. Smoke’s hands found Annie’s hips, and the woman’s eyes moved to stare at the wall directly in front of her. She needed the distraction because all that man’s thickness being behind her had her wanting to do something reckless. And she had just stepped back into his good graces. Annie fluttered around his head, still pulsing from her earlier orgasm and the denial of her second one. The feeling of him—raw and hefty—had her mind reeling.

Palms now cupping her ass, the man couldn’t stop imaging her riding his shit, taking control in the way he allowed before pulling her back in. Her arch deepened at the same time that she tightened her grip around him, and his fingers twitched in recognition. She always got him this way seemingly without much effort, but he didn’t mind it. Annie didn’t have to do anything special to make Smoke cave. Captivated by the feeling, the man couldn’t help but to give in and start fucking her fully and completely.

“Fuck that shallow shit,” he grunted, reaching over her arched back. His fingers wrapped around her headscarf that was tilted in one odd direction. Then he pulled until it came fluttering off. Her hair now revealed to him, Smoke wrapped the long braids around his fist, using the tension to provide stability while he continued to pummel her with dick.

“Oh—fuck—Smoke,” Annie moaned, each sound in time with his steady thrusts. He pounded with a purpose, set a pace that had her hiccuping again. Everything came flashing back into his mind again. Every annoyance. Every indiscretion. Everything she’d done to piss him off. Smoke still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she had cum without his permission, and on top of that, she had expected him to forget about it. She was almost successful in throwing him off, but with her attention only on how her body felt in this moment, she missed the trouble the man was plotting.

His pace quickened, hips snapping violently. It forced a greedy scream from Annie’s throat because that was exactly how rough she liked it. He pulled her hair tight, arching her back deeper. He smacked her ass, leaving handprints alongside the belt marks. But then it just kept getting quicker, harder, deeper to the point that her insides felt deliciously bruised.

“Daddy,” she slurred, hips falling back into him in an effort to lighten the blow. Her stomach was on fire. Her legs burned in exhaustion, but he wouldn’t stop. Smoke fucked her through the pain and filled her with more pleasure than she honestly needed it. When she began to scream bloody murder, his words got reckless.

“This what you wanted, huh,” he threw back hotly. His cadence was slow. Tone thick and heavy with the heat that had entered the room. “See you be fuckin’ wit’ them young niggas,” he roared, anger beading off of him in the form of sweat and his palm to her ass, “but I ain’t one of them, baby. This real grown nigga shit ‘round here, and it’s time you fully get a taste of who you fuckin’ wit’.”

Annie was overcome by sensation. Overstimulation had become one with her body making her ears ring and her toes curl and her pussy flutter and her mouth water and her thighs clench. She knew who Smoke Moore was—always had—but this was different, and she feared he was going to put her into her place for good. His punishments compounded all at once: the pounding and ass smacking and hair pulling—and those filthy ass words that stung in their own beautiful way. He called her his slut and his bitch, made her understand that she was the only woman he’d have folded up and fucked through the mattress.

Drooling on the silk sheets, she felt her body beginning to surrender once more as she slackened everywhere. Smoke being the attentive man he was saw it happening, so he pulled her up by her hair. Her back met his chest again while he continued to pull her by her braids. He brought her eyes to him, and with her mouth wide open in a moan, he spat in it—rough, honest, possessive.

“Yeah,” he growled, teeth bared in an ugly scowl. “You finna take all this dick. You mine, baby. Mine to fuck. Mine to bend over. Mine to command. My Woman. My Bitch. My Fuck Toy.” Annie’s eyes watered as she swallowed him, nodding her head profusely as his spit slid down the back of her throat—because, yes, she indeed was all those things.

For him and him alone.

The glide of him warmed her body on its way down. Something in the disrespect that was spitting in another person's mouth drove her crazy. She was practically sat in his lap now as he fucked up into her, and regaining a bit of her mind, the young woman started fucking him back. She did it as diligently as she could, throwing her hips back every couple of thrusts.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she pouted, bouncing closer to his rhythm now—not running but surrendering. “I’ll be good I promise.”

“You mean that shit?” He whispered in her ear.

“Yes! Yes, I swear!” She shouted back at him.

“Well, prove it then.”

The invitation was sent, the door open for her to do her very best. She fought back, head reeling but body staying right where she was. She met him thrust for thrust, and never once did she back down. The ache was glorious, and the stretch was taking her over the edge. When she felt her orgasm rising again, Annie couldn't help the way her body screamed for a release only Smoke could allow. Greedy, desperate, and hungry, she begged him for it. Pleaded. Negotiated her rights.

And he let her have it.

For the first time all night, she could come without guilt, and the moment he said yes, she took it and ran with it.

“Fuck, yes,” she cried, crumbling forward into the sheets. She fell flat as the orgasm wrecked her body, but Smoke chased behind her, continuing to overfill her with dick. “I’m sorry, Daddy! I swear—I'll be good!” Her words were hardly coherent, things about how she was thankful for his kindness and would listen from now on, but they both knew she'd be back on her bullshit soon enough. Annie thrived in pissing the man off. It was like foreplay for them, forcing their bodies toward each other.

“Ride this fuckin’ dick,” the older man barked, back propped against the bed frame as he put Annie to work. Smacking her ass. Pulling her hair. Forcing her hips into a steady bounce.

The time between positions had faded into a haze of pleasure followed by orgasm after orgasm. Annie had lost count of how many times the man had pushed her to the brink. Smoke had cum twice himself before quickly recovering. His trip was long forgotten, obligations left outside the woman's home as he succumbed to her body time and time again. He had kept calling her names—roughness being one of the only things he knew—but he was also soft with her. When she'd get tired, he'd do the thrusting for her. When she whined too deeply, he'd lean over and plant a kiss to the edge of her hairline to quiet the ache. He stayed right there through it all, and right now, Annie was trying to show him that she could hold herself together and talk him through the motions too.

She started riding deeper, slowing her grind as she fluttered around his length. Inner thighs pressing into his outer ones, she looked into his eyes—stare longing and persistent. She could almost see his point of breaking: when his rough exterior got fully broken down by his adoration. There was no mistaking that Annie had him hooked, and as much as he hated to admit it for the sake of an argument, there was nothing she couldn't do to ruin him.

"You feel so good," the young woman cooed against his lips, teasing him with the prospect of a kiss. Smoke hissed when she dragged her pussy up to his tip and just clenched around him. Then her hips snapped back down with haste. The sound reverberated as she continued the action, and her words just continued to get sweeter. "That dick make me so greedy, Big Daddy," she whimpered. "Make me lose my mind sometimes."

Her lips were breathes away from his, and how slow she was riding made his own eyelashes flutter shut on occasion.

"Baby," Smoke swooned, ecstasy taking over his body. The feeling of her wrapped around him combined with the scent of their oversexed bodies had his eyes rolling back. And Annie was beyond proud of the effect she had over him. She worked the lower half of her body into his, pressing her titties against his chest, and when his mouth opened in a delightfully gruff moan, she took him in for a kiss.

Her mouth engulfed the man's, swallowing both of their moans. Her tongue raked his. Her hands fussed with the hair at the nape of his neck. And when he came, she held him close while he painted her walls white and hot with his euphoria. And directly behind him, she fell apart for the last time, milking him dry as she collapsed into his spent body.

They were both fucked in numerous ways.

Their bodies were beyond tired, in desperate need of rest and sleep and energy. But there was no mistaking the way their hearts beat rapidly when they met each other’s gazes in the now quiet bedroom. They hid it behind arguments, money, and rough sex, and they weren’t going to stop that any time soon. But in that flash of time when all was said and done and they were both fucked thoroughly, each of them felt something oddly close to love thrumming beneath the surface.

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

word count: ~6,150

a/n: do we like the idea of a preview more than a summary?? i couldn't make my brain work enough to to come up with one this time around lmaoo

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

Sunlight spills through the open nursery windows in thick golden ribbons, warm enough to turn the dust floating through the air into glitter. The gauzy curtains sway lazily with the breeze rolling in from the Quarter, carrying the scent of rain-damp pavement, magnolia blossoms, and the faint trace of incense burning downstairs on Annie’s altar. Wind chimes clink softly somewhere on the back gallery, mixing with the distant sound of a trumpet player serenading tourists three streets over. Outside, the city buzzes with its usual mix of music, heat, and morning chaos.

But in here, the world felt gentler.

Autumn babbles happily to herself from the patchwork quilt laid across the rug, tiny gold bangles jingling around her ankles every time she kicks her feet. Her fat cheeks puff around the big toe currently shoved in her mouth, suckling as though it were the finest delicacy in all of Louisiana. Her chocolate curls were wild from sleep and haloed by the morning light, making her look less like a baby and more like a cherub the ancestors had handcrafted for Annie and Smoke’s enjoyment alone. She was perfection.

Annie leans against the doorway with sleepy eyes, her satin robe resting loosely around her shoulder as she watches her daughter. Her hand lightly caresses the small protection sigil Smoke had discreetly painted in the threshold, the blackened symbol nearly invisible against the wood unless you knew what to look for.

“Those toes providing you enough nutrients,” Annie teases softly, “or would you like some goodness fresh from the tap?”

Autumn lets out an excited squeal at the sound of her mother’s voice, nearly choking on her own laughter as she rolls onto her belly. She kicks her legs wildly behind her, determined to army crawl across the blanket despite only managing a few pitiful inches.

“Mm-hmm,” Annie laughs under her breath. “There goes that impatience. You just like your daddy.”

Autumn answers with another delighted shriek at the mention of her father, reaching for her mother with clumsy little hands.

“Calm down,” Annie giggles, pushing herself off the doorway and crossing the nursery barefoot. The old wooden floor creaks beneath her steps. “I was going to come to you.”

She scoops her into her arms, breathing in that powdery baby scent mixed with shea butter and chamomile oil. The infant immediately tucks herself against her mother’s chest with a happy little sigh. Annie pulls down one side of her night gown and settles into the rocking chair near the window, letting Autumn latch while sunlight pours over them both in warm, honey-colored waves.

Downstairs, the coffee maker gives a soft ding, followed by the familiar sound of cabinet doors opening and closing somewhere beneath the nursery floor. Annie smiles to herself. Smoke was up.

A second later, music crackles low through the house from the old speaker he refused to replace. One of Sammie’s blues records. He’d never admit it out loud, but he was his little cousin’s biggest fan and owned every album he’d ever made on cassette, CD, and vinyl.

Before long, the scent of breakfast begins creeping upstairs. First coffee, dark and rich enough to wake the dead. Then butter hitting hot cast iron. Bacon shortly after that. Annie closes her eyes for a second when the smell of sautéed bell peppers and onions finally joins the mix, followed by the unmistakable scent of seasoned shrimp cooking in garlic and Cajun spices.

Smoke was making his famous shrimp and grits.

She could already picture him downstairs moving around the kitchen, half-dressed, tattoos peeking beneath a black tank top, while he stood over the stove with the same ridiculous amount of focus he put into everything. Probably dancing a little too, if the faint sound of cabinet tapping was anything to go by. A soft laugh leaves her throat.

Annie loved it when Smoke cooked. Not because he was good at it, though Lord knew he was. It was the care behind it that always got to her. The way he plated her food like it mattered. The way he remembered she liked extra cheese in her grits and her peaches sprinkled with sugar. The way he’d slide a cup of coffee into her hands before she even realized she needed one.

She always told him she could taste the love in his food. And every single time, Smoke would roll his eyes like she was being dramatic, even though the smug grin tugging at his mouth always gave him away.

“You wanna go say hi to daddy, babygirl? I’m sure he could use some of this good loving, too.” Autumn blinks up at her with sleepy, milk-drunk eyes, one hand still gripping Annie’s robe as she finishes feeding. A soft little sigh escapes her once she’s full, cheeks warm and round as she settles against Annie’s chest.

“Yeah,” Annie murmured, kissing the top of her curls. “That’s my spoiled girl.”

The old hardwood creaked beneath Annie’s bare feet as she carried Autumn downstairs, the smell of breakfast growing stronger with every step. Annie hums along to Sammie’s record as she crosses into the kitchen, and to her surprise, there are two Moore men waiting to greet her.

“There’s unc’s baby!” Stack grins the second he spots Autumn. His whole face lights up so fast Annie nearly laughs. “Come here, Moonbeam.”

Autumn squeals at the sound of his voice, immediately reaching for him with little grabby hands.

“Traitor,” Smoke snorts.

“Don’t be mad that I’m the favorite twin,” Stack shoots back, reaching out for his niece.

“You don’t even like kids,” Smoke mutters behind his coffee mug.

“Correction: I don’t like outside kids. Moonbeam is different.”

Annie laughs under her breath as Stack carefully scoops the chunky chocolate drop from her arms like she was made of glass. Autumn immediately tucks herself against his chest with a happy hum, tiny fingers grabbing onto the gold chain around his neck.

“Aht-aht,” Stack warns gently, untangling her fist before she could yank it hard enough to choke him. “That chain cost too much money for all that.”

Autumn only blinks at him before smacking her tiny palm against his cheek.

“That’s what your ass get,” Smoke says, barking out a laugh loud enough to echo through the kitchen.

“Abusive like her damn daddy,” Stack fusses as he rubs his cheek.

“You’ll be aight.”

Autumn yawns suddenly against Stack’s shoulder, tiny mouth stretching wide before her face buries into the crook of his neck. The fight drains out of her all at once.

“Annnd she’s out,” Smoke notes, pointing the spatula towards her.

“She’s been up since before sunrise,” Annie nods softly.

Stack glances down at the chocolate cherub curled against him, his expression softening so fast it almost didn’t look like him at all.

“Y’all eat. I got her.” “You sure?” Annie asks.

“Please,” he scoffs. “I’m Uncle Stack. My baby knows she’s in good hands like Allstate.” Smoke rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest further.

Annie smiles as Stack disappears upstairs with Autumn resting against his shoulder, one massive hand spread protectively across her tiny back while he hums softly under his breath. A minute later, the house falls quiet again.

Sensing a chance to seize the opportunity, Smoke stalks quietly behind Annie before snatching her up, expertly pinning her back to the counter. He’d been eyeing the growing damp spot beneath the thin fabric of her night gown for the last ten minutes, and his patience had finally run dry.

“E-Elijah,” Annie breathes, though there’s no real threat behind it. “What are you doing?”

He answers by sliding the strap of her gown from her shoulder slowly, exposing warm brown skin and the fullness of her breast beneath the kitchen light. A fresh bead of milk gathers there, and the sight alone nearly drives him insane.

“Lord have mercy,” he mutters softly, more to himself than her.

Smoke leans down without another word, mouth closing around her with a quiet groan that sends electricity through Annie’s body. Her fingers tighten against the cool marble instantly while his tongue soothes and teases in slow, deliberate strokes, savoring her like something sweet he’d been craving all morning.

“Eliijahhh,” she whimpers as she squirms, attempting to free herself from his grasp.

“Be still, woman,” he fusses. “I’m tryna take care of you.” His free hand carefully glides up her thigh and finds solace in the slick between her legs. Annie’s knees buckle as his fingers expertly work that sensitive bundle of nerves while he indulges in his daughter’s life force, desperate to increase his calcium intake for the day.

“Aye, family! Baby Autumn is down for the coun—” Stack stops short in the kitchen doorway, one brow lifting slowly. “Now what the fuck y’all got going on in here?” 

Annie’s knuckles whiten from how tightly she grips the counter while Smoke nurses from her with a low hum of approval, his fingers working quickly under the hem of her dress.

“Well,” Stack drawls, dragging his gaze over the scene in front of him, “I see Autumn ain’t the only one that likes her milk from the tap.”

“Mind ya business,” Smoke mutters against Annie’s skin, though the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth ruins the threat completely. Stack only laughs, stepping farther into the kitchen. 

“Hard to mind my business when my brother got his wife soundin’ like a damn late-night R&B playlist at breakfast. And in front of my shrimp and grits, no less.”

Annie lifts her head just enough to glance at him over Smoke’s shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded and amused. 

“Then stop staring.”

“Nah,” Stack says easily, leaning against the island. “I’m entertained now.”

Smoke sucks his teeth while Annie fights a smile. The twins had always been dangerous together. Same crooked grin. Same wolfish confidence. But where Smoke burned low and steady, Stack carried chaos in his pockets like loose change.

“Careful, Stack,” Annie murmurs sweetly. “You keep looking at me like that, and your brother gon’ start growling.”

“He is already growling,” Stack shoots back instantly. “I heard him from the hallway.”

Smoke lifts his head just long enough to glare at him. “Get out my kitchen.”

“Make me.”

Stack watches from his spot against the island, arms folded tightly across his chest as he tries to ignore the growing tension low in his stomach every time Annie lets out another soft sound. He’d always thought she was the finest woman he’d ever seen, but watching her melt beneath Smoke’s touch nearly unraveled what little self-control he had left. The sight of her flushed and breathless had temptation crawling straight up his spine.

“Y’all nasty as hell,” he says after a beat, watching the way Annie’s eyes rolled back in her head as slick warmth slowly trails down her thigh.

“And yet you’re still watching instead of coming to do something about it,” Annie challenges.

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew, Antoinette,” Stack warns, stalking closer to her. “I’ll have you in a puddle of ya own nut before you can blink.”

“All bark and no bite,” Annie teases, caressing the back of Smoke’s head as he strokes himself through his pajama pants. And in that moment, something in Stack snapped. One of his biggest pet peeves, and secret turn-ons, was a woman who challenged his manhood. He quickly closes the short distance between the island and Annie, attaching himself to her left breast in one fluid motion. Annie almost screamed at the sensation of having both twins on her at once while Smoke’s fingers still danced in her slick. 

“Oooh shiiiit,” she purrs, rolling her hips against Smoke’s rough fingers. 

Though she knew it was wrong, she’d often fantasize about how it would feel to have both twins worshipping her body, and now, here she was experiencing it in 8K. Though they were identical, each brother had his own way of pleasuring her that made her feel like a goddess being worshipped. Smoke took his time, slow and steady, like he enjoyed drawing every reaction out of her piece by piece. Everything he did felt deliberate. Controlled. The gentle pull of his mouth, the lazy flick of his tongue, the slow drag of his fingers between her thighs.

Stack was the complete opposite. He kissed her like he was starving and touched her like restraint had never once crossed his mind. Every impatient movement, every rough little sound he made against her skin sent another rush of heat straight through Annie’s body until she could barely think past the sensation of both brothers surrounding her at once.

“W-Wait,” she says as she feels that familiar bloom in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t want to cum yet, I want to play a game.”

Smoke ignores her initially, glaring daggers at Stack when he notices Annie’s moans growing louder because of him. The two carry on their silent bickering until Annie grips them both by their curls, lifting their heads to meet her gaze. The pair groan in frustration at the loss of contact. 

“I said I want to play a game,” Annie repeats, watching them both with lidded eyes. 

“A game?” Smoke echoes.

“What kind of game?” Stack presses.

“A game of willpower, between the two of you,” she coos, wrapping a hand around each of their third legs. Their dicks felt heavy in her hands as she mentally noted the similarities between them. They were both 9 ½ inches, with Smoke curving to the right and Stack curving to the left. Her pussy throbs as she imagines how it would feel to have one twin fucking her throat while the other fucks her into oblivion. 

“I’m going to stroke you both. Whoever cums first has to watch the other one fuck me.” They both stare at her blankly, blinded by the way her soft hands work them both with steady precision. Smoke weakens almost instantly, and it takes a moment for him to register the proposition.

“You must be out yo mind,” he growls through clenched teeth, eyes darting between his wife and his twin. But Annie ignores him and keeps stroking, her mouth secretly watering as both of their tips begin leaking precum. Stack remains quiet, except for the few small moans that escape his lips as Annie’s thumb swipes over the sensitive head of his dick. When he finally regains his voice, it’s to taunt his grumpy dopplegänger.

“What’s the matter, ‘Lijah? Scared you gone have to watch me bend your wife over?” he teases.

“It’ll be a cold day in hell,” Smoke barks back, already positioning himself back at Annie’s dripping right nipple. Her right hand strokes him with calculated motions, drawing curses from his lips like prayers.

“Gahdamn woman,” he moans, thrusting into her palm like he would her pussy.

“It’s just a friendly competition, ‘Lijah,” she mewls. “You can share me this one time.”

Smoke ignores his wife’s statement, opting to continue pumping his fingers in her slopping wet hole. He wasn’t in the mood to share his lover with his menace of a brother. All he wanted was to indulge in a little breastmilk and enjoy an early morning fuck. Part of him wanted to appease Annie and see where this little competition would lead, but the other side of him, the possessive, unstable side, wasn’t fully convinced. 

One second, his fingers were deep in her core, thrusting in and out. The next, he was curling them to hit that sweet spot that made her toes curl.

“I don’t like sharin’,” he grumbles.

“L-Lijah…”

He uses her moans as fuel to continue working his tongue and fingers until her orgasm rips through her before she has time to process it.

“Fuuuuuck!” she screams, before reeling her voice back in, afraid of waking Autumn.

Stack doesn’t falter. He uses his tongue to guide Annie through her orgasm and work her up for another one. Annie rewards him with a firm squeeze of his shaft.

“Damn Elias,” she purrs softly. “You might be the little brother, but that dick is full-grown.” Stack groans deeply against her chest as she uses his precum to stroke him faster. As much as he loves bringing a woman to her knees and turning her into his personal free-use doll, Stack’s ultimate kink is praise. He loves being told how good a job he’s doing or how well he’s pleasing his woman. 

Annie’s praises, coupled with the way her soft hands alternated between slow, deliberate strokes of his dick to fast, precise ones, had turned Stack into a leaking, moaning mess around her nipple. Shivers shoot down his spine as he tries his best to match the rhythm of her strokes with the flicks of his tongue. His orgasm was building fast.

“You’re being such a good boy for me, Elias,” Annie purrs. “I might let you fuck me just for that.”

Stack shoots Smoke a devilish grin as he suckles a mouthful of breastmilk. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back for Smoke. In one swift motion, he lifts Annie onto the island, spreading her legs as wide as they can go. 

“Say that shit again and I’ll edge you every night for the next week,” Smoke warns, positioning his face right in front of her dripping center. Annie bites her lip as she looks down to meet her husband’s gaze, shivering slightly at the menacing look in his eyes.

“You still wanna try that Eiffel Tower shit you showed me the other night?” he asks, lazily licking up her thigh before placing a gentle kiss on her pussy. The sensation pulls a desperate whimper from Annie’s lips.

“Eiffel Tower? Oh you nasty nasty, Mrs. Moore,” Stack smirks, pressing a trail of kisses from her nipple, down her stomach, and right on top of her mound. “I like it.”

Annie squirms in anticipation as the twins take their places, Stack at her head and Smoke between her legs. Her mouth waters as she comes face to shaft with Stack’s dick, the weight of him resting warm against her lips while that cocky grin slowly spreads across his face.

“Say ahh, pretty girl,” he purrs, amused at how quickly she complies. 

He carefully eases himself into her awaiting mouth, knees buckling as she expertly wraps her tongue around his thick tip. A soft curse slips from his throat almost instantly, one hand bracing against the counter while the other disappears into her curls.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head tipping back for a second before his eyes lock onto her again. “There she go.”

Annie looks up at him through heavy lashes, taking her time like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him. Every slow movement of her mouth pulls another strained sound from deep in his chest, his confidence cracking little by little beneath the heat of her attention.

“Shiiiit woman,” he growls through clenched teeth as he watches his dick disappear down Annie’s throat before reappearing again, completely covered in thick ropes of saliva. He rolls her nipples between his fingers, as she sucks him like her favorite popsicle on a warm, summer day. 

Smoke watches the exchange from his place between her legs with dark, possessive eyes, his hand sliding along her waist while Stack struggles to keep himself together above her. Without warning, he plunges deep into her sex, pulling a strangled moan from her throat. Annie squirts unintentionally on impact, but Smoke keeps on fucking. Annie gasps softly as Smoke buries himself against her neck with a low sound that barely sounds human anymore. The friendly competition between brothers had become possessive.

Smoke had always worshipped Annie openly. Anybody with eyes could see that. The soft kisses against her forehead when she was tired. The way he fixed her coffee exactly how she liked it every morning without asking. The way his hand automatically found the small of her back whenever they walked through a crowded room.

But moments like this pulled something rougher out of him. Something territorial. He was more than willing to give Annie anything under the sun. Jewelry, time, devotion. Hell, blood if she wanted it.

But her pussy? That was his and his alone. And judging by the dark look in his eyes, Smoke intended to remind everybody in the room of that fact.

“Now what was all that shit you was talking about Elias fucking my pussy?” he mutters against her skin, voice rough enough to send heat rushing through her chest. Annie could barely form words, let alone answer him. Her thoughts had melted into scattered fragments somewhere between Stack teasing her nipples and the overwhelming sensation of Smoke filling her to the hilt.

Stack fists her curls, driving himself deeper down her throat as the coils in the pit of his stomach began to unravel.

“Anniiiieeeeee,” he moans as she wraps her hand around the base of his dick, using both her mouth and hand simultaneously to encourage his release. She pulls him out of her mouth just as cum flies out in thick ropes, covering her supple breasts in his unborns.

“Shiit!” he rasps, planting both hands beside her head as he struggles to catch his breath. Annie takes in the sight with pride before shifting her attention to her husband. She readjusts, locking her thick thighs around Smoke’s waist, winding her hips to match his thrusts.

“Cum in your pussy, Papa,” she purrs, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. “It’s yours. Claim it.”

And with that, the little resolve Smoke had left diminished. The feeling hit him hard and sudden, ripping through his body with enough force to leave his knees weak beneath him. A broken sound tore from his chest as he buried his face against Annie’s neck, teeth sinking lightly into her skin while he tried to ride out the overwhelming rush of it. She shivers at the feeling of his mouth against her neck, immediately threading her fingers into his curls while trying to steady her own breathing. Smoke was gone now. This was Elijah again.

“Damn,” Stack laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head while Smoke stays buried against Annie’s throat. “Boy sound like he just saw God.”

Smoke blindly flips him off, keeping his position on Annie’s chest. She laughs, breathless and warm despite the exhaustion settling into her limbs.

“Y’all are ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love us,” Stack retorts, tugging his sweats back on. He pulls his shirt over his head just as a sharp cry crackles through the baby monitor sitting forgotten near the fruit bowl.

All three of them freeze before another cry follows, loud and offended.

“Oh, she up,” Annie sighs instantly, already trying to sit up, despite Smoke’s large body still pinning her to the island. He groans dramatically.

“Swear that child got the worst timing I ever seen,” he fusses as he reluctantly sits up.

“She your child,” Stack reminds him, making his way towards the stairs as Autumn’s angry little cries echo through the speaker. “Y’all stay cuddled up. Uncle Stack can take it from here.”

“Still tryna solidify your spot as her favorite twin,” Annie accuses.

“Because I am her favorite,” he yells back confidently before disappearing up the stairs. A few seconds later, the crying softens upstairs, replaced by the faint sound of Stack’s voice talking nonsense to calm her down. Smoke watches Annie with tired eyes and a crooked smile.

“The way he acts, you’d think she was his child.”

“In his mind, she is.”

•

•

•

•

•

Annie when Stack stood over her:

you never really cared when sibella and her man got loud.

they could be in the next room, door cracked open, her voice moaning high-pitched and desperate while his sounded like it came from his chest—gritty and mean like he enjoyed knowing she couldn’t keep quiet. it happened too often for it to phase you. maybe the first time you’d been embarrassed. maybe you’d rolled your eyes, stuffed a pillow over your head, huffed loud enough for them to hear. but now? you were used to it. background noise. like the heater kicking on or a pot boiling over.

sibella had always been the wild one. you were soft. quiet. watched and listened more than you spoke. you liked your room, your books, your own air. sibella, on the other hand, liked attention, chaos, dick. she’d tell you things you never asked to hear—how good it felt when he held her neck, how she liked it rough, how you were too uptight for your own good.

“you gon’ die with that pussy untouched,” she said one night, fresh out the shower in a towel, her eyes still lined in smudged makeup.

you just looked at her from your bed, a little amused. “and?”

“girl,” she laughed, climbing up beside you, “you act like keeping it makes you better. ain’t nobody judging you, but you really ain’t even curious?”

you shrugged. it wasn’t that you thought you were better. you just didn’t want to fake wantin’ something you didn’t feel yet. and maybe it wasn’t even about sex, just the idea of someone close—really close. breath on your skin, hands down your thighs, someone else seeing all of you. you didn’t know what that would feel like, and you didn’t think it was something you wanted to rush. sibella had called you “old-fashioned.” her boyfriend, troy, had called you “uptight” once, but you didn’t care. it was your body. and they could live how they wanted, but so could you.

until he started coming around.

stack.

the first time he showed up at your apartment, you ignored him like you always did with troy’s friends. they’d come in loud, laughing, all of them trying too hard to impress each other. chain-smoking, playing music, shouting about basketball or some shit you didn’t care about. you usually stayed in your room. maybe came out to grab something to drink or use the bathroom. most of the time they barely noticed you. but not stack.

from the second he laid eyes on you, it was like he already knew you were gonna be a problem for him. and he decided to be one right back.

“damn,” he’d said loud, grinning, watching you walk to the fridge in your house shorts. “she don’t say hi? too good to speak?”

you didn’t answer. not even a glance. pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and walked back to your room. door closed behind you.

that was the beginning.

he started showing up more after that. it didn’t matter if troy was around or not. sometimes he’d knock on your front door with food for sibella, claiming she asked him to drop it off. sometimes he’d come by just to talk to troy, linger around the living room even when the conversation dried up. you caught him staring. a lot. and he didn’t try to hide it either.

“yo,” he said one night from the couch while you passed through in leggings and a hoodie, “you ever wear anything that don’t hug that ass?”

you gave him a flat look. “do you ever shut the fuck up?”

he grinned like he liked that answer. like you fed him instead of shut him down. “mmm. lil attitude. i like that. you actin’ mean, but i know that’s just ‘cause you shy.”

you rolled your eyes. sibella laughed from the kitchen.

“you might as well get to know him,” she said later, when y’all were alone. “he not that bad. cocky, yeah. but that’s just how he is. underneath all that extra shit, he cool.”

you weren’t convinced. but three months of him showing up, finding you in whatever room you tried to hide in, cracking jokes, complimenting your skin, your mouth, your shape—he wore you down. maybe it was the way he’d make you laugh without meaning to. or the fact that when you actually sat down and talked to him, he had more to him than you thought. he was smart. surprisingly observant. he’d tell you about his childhood, his mom, his twin brother. and when you spoke, he listened. remembered little things you said in passing and brought them up days later.

“you like strawberry cream in your coffee, right?”

“you said you like sade—put this on.”

“you was talkin’ ‘bout them earrings you saw at the mall. i got you a pair.”

and it started getting harder to treat him like the rest.

you didn’t mean to let your guard down. but it was hard not to with him. stack had a charm about him that crept up slow. he was always touching you. not in ways that crossed lines at first—just light brushes against your waist when he passed behind you in the kitchen, knuckles on your thigh when he leaned too close, fingers tucking a curl behind your ear. at first, you shut it down. pushed his hand off your leg. shifted away from his body. made sure he knew you weren’t that type of girl. but he never got mad. never pushed. he just gave you that same cocky-ass smile like he knew you’d give in eventually.

“you playin’ hard to get,” he said once, his thumb dragging lazy circles across your bare knee. “but you like that i’m on you. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

you didn’t even respond. but your breath had caught in your throat when he said it. and he noticed.

he always noticed.

still, you never told him you were a virgin. it wasn’t something you wanted to throw out casually. you figured he probably assumed you were just picky. maybe waiting for the right one. sibella never told him, and you doubted troy knew either. and honestly, you liked keeping that part of you tucked away.

then came that one night.

it was a friday. sibella and troy had gone out, probably wouldn’t be back ‘til the next morning. you were stretched out on the couch in your usual—short shorts, tank top, no bra, nipples pressing faintly through the fabric. you weren’t trying to be sexy, but you weren’t hiding either. you texted elias just outta boredom.

you busy?

he texted back quick.

for you? nah. slide thru? or you want me over there?

come here.

ten minutes later, he was knocking.

he smelled like his cologne, the one you were starting to recognize. brought a little weed with him, a smirk that made your stomach flutter even though you pretended it didn’t. y’all rolled up on the floor first, sitting cross-legged across from each other, talking shit. smoke drifted lazy through the room. the air got thick, quiet between laughs and teasing.

you felt good. loose. warm behind the eyes.

“i don’t get you,” he said low, leaning back on his elbows, watching you from the couch now. “you sexy as hell, smart, got that attitude on you… but you act like you scared of me.”

“i ain’t scared,” you said, biting your lip slightly.

“nah. you are. or maybe you scared of you. ‘cause if i touch you again, you gon’ fold. i see it all on your face.”

you didn’t answer. you were already crawling into his lap, slow and deliberate like your body moved before your brain. the weed had you floatin’. his eyes locked on yours, waiting.

“yeah?” he said, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, fingertips just under the edge of your shorts. “you sure you want me touchin’ you?”

you nodded, heart racing.

you kissed him. for real this time. not like the other stolen little moments when he’d pressed his mouth to yours and you turned your head too quick. this was deep. hot. full of tongue. he gripped your hips tighter, groaning into your mouth like he’d been holding back too long.

his hands moved. over your ass, up your back, fingers gripping the sides of your tank. he kissed your neck, sucked at the curve of your collarbone. heat spilled down your belly. your legs were straddling him now, his dick hard under you through his sweats, pressing up against your core.

he flipped you under him, moving slow like he was waiting for you to say no. one hand slipped down your stomach, toward the waistband of your shorts, and just when he hooked his fingers in—

“wait,” you whispered.

his eyes flicked up.

“what’s up?”

“i’m a virgin.”

his face went blank. still. he blinked, mouth parted just slightly like he didn’t hear you right.

“what?”

you looked away. “i ain’t never… like, at all.”

he sat back on his heels, staring at you for a long second.

“you serious?”

you nodded.

he exhaled slow, ran a hand down his face.

“…fuck.”

his “fuck” lingered in the air like heat.

for a second, you thought he might leave. thought maybe you read it wrong—maybe the way he’d chased you down for months didn’t mean he actually wanted you like that. maybe it was just for show, a game to get you to break. but he didn’t move. didn’t get up. didn’t pull away either.

he just looked at you different now. softer, but still sharp. eyes a little darker. mouth twitching like he had a hundred thoughts moving at once.

“…you shoulda told me that shit,” he muttered, finally. “damn.”

you swallowed, feeling small under him, but not in a bad way. just new. raw. like being seen too clearly.

“you mad?”

he shook his head slowly. “nah. i ain’t mad. just… surprised. you ain’t act like no virgin.”

“how they act?”

he leaned forward again, lips brushing your neck now, voice dropping lower. “not like this. not sittin’ in my lap wit’ no bra on. not kissin’ me like that. shit, i thought you was just takin’ your time. had no idea i was gon’ be the first.”

you shivered under his mouth.

“you want me to stop?”

you shook your head.

“aight then,” he breathed, hands sliding back down your thighs. “you sure, you let me handle it.”

he kissed you again. deeper this time. slower. like he was tasting you different now. his hands didn’t rush, but they didn’t hesitate either. he dragged your shorts down your legs, steady like he was unwrapping something delicate. your tank top went next, peeled off and tossed aside. your whole body burned. you covered your chest at first, instincts kicking in, but he gently pulled your hands down.

“nah. don’t hide all this. lemme see it.”

you looked away, but he tilted your chin back to face him. he stared for a long second, eyes trailing down your curves like he was trying to memorize every line.

“god damn, girl,” he whispered, low and reverent. “you really built like this under all them hoodies?”

you blushed, biting back a laugh.

he moved down your body slow, mouth brushing your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. then he was kneeling between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder, spreading you open like he had all the time in the world.

“shit,” he murmured, thumb dragging over your folds. “so fuckin’ pretty. pussy fat as hell.”

you squirmed under his grip, toes curling.

“you ever play wit’ it before?” he asked.

you nodded. “sometimes.”

“show me.”

you hesitated, but he gave you a look that melted any doubt in your chest. you brought your fingers to your slit, shy at first, dragging them up the center like you were doing it in secret. he watched you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. eyes locked. jaw tight.

“mmm. there you go. you wet already?”

he ran his fingers over yours, dipped one between your lips and brought it up to your mouth.

“taste that shit.”

you sucked his finger slow, your own breath catching as you did.

he groaned. “fuck, you nasty already. i like that.”

then he lowered his head.

his tongue was slow at first. wide, wet licks that made your whole body tremble. he took his time, holding your thighs open, lips sealed around your clit, tongue dragging figure eights against it ‘til you moaned out loud without meaning to.

“don’t hold it in,” he said against you. “i wanna hear that shit.”

he sucked harder. circled your clit faster. then slid a single finger inside you and your hips jerked up from the bed.

“tight,” he growled. “fuckin’ gripping me.”

you grabbed at his hair, breathing fast now, your whole body winding tighter and tighter until everything snapped. your legs shook around his head, mouth open but nothing coming out except a breathy sob as you came for the first time with somebody else’s mouth on you.

he pulled away slow, lips shiny, licking his bottom one like he’d just finished dessert.

“damn. you taste like peaches or some shit,” he said, laughing low. “sweet ass pussy.”

you were still trembling when he moved back up your body, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

then he pulled his sweats off.

your eyes widened.

“…elias.”

he smirked. “yeah?”

you didn’t even know what to say. he was thick. long. heavy. it curved up slightly, veins bulging down the shaft, head dark and already leaking. he stroked it slow, watching your face like he wanted to see your brain short-circuit.

“this too much for you?”

you nodded, honestly. “i dunno if it’ll fit.”

“it will,” he said, voice low and certain. “i’m gon’ go slow, baby. i got you.”

he kissed you again, then guided the head to your entrance, rubbing it through your folds.

“just breathe. let me in a lil at a time.”

he pushed slow. real slow. and it still burned. you winced, grabbing onto his arm, and he stilled right away.

“you good?”

“keep goin’,” you whispered, nails digging into his skin.

he went deeper. inch by inch, until your eyes rolled back and your breath caught. he filled you completely, bottomed out with a groan in your ear.

“fuck,” he muttered. “you tight as a fuckin’ vice. shit.”

he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust. kissed the side of your neck, your shoulder, your cheek.

“you takin’ it so good, baby. ain’t even cryin’. first dick and you already built for it.”

he moved his hips slow, dragging out, then back in, just enough for you to feel the stretch again. it was painful, but the pain faded quick. pleasure started creeping in, humming low in your belly.

“see that? told you i’d make it fit.”

you whined beneath him, eyes fluttering.

“that’s it,” he said, fucking you a little deeper now. “let me ruin you.”

your fingers gripped the sheets. he held your throat lightly—not tight yet, just enough to feel the pressure. his other hand cupped your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple.

“feel good?” he asked. “you like this dick, don’t you?”

you nodded, breathless.

he tightened his grip on your neck just enough to make your head float.

“say it.”

“i—i like it,” you stammered, brain going fuzzy from the pressure, the stretch, the sound of his voice in your ear.

“yeah you do. got that virgin pussy dumb already.”

you moaned louder.

“you ain’t never gon’ forget this dick,” he said, cock driving deeper now, hips smacking yours. “first one in it, first one to stretch it, first one to own it.”

you couldn’t even speak.

he flipped you over, pulled your hips up and fucked you from behind now, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hair.

“this the angle that’ll fuck the innocence out you,” he muttered, dragging his dick slow then slamming back in, making you scream into the mattress. “you feel that in your gut?”

your whole body shook. you were drooling on the sheets, eyes wet, legs trembling.

“lemme see that face,” he said, pulling you back by your hair. “look at me while i break you in.”

you glanced over your shoulder, mouth parted, and he almost came right then.

“beautiful ass girl. i swear to god, i’m gon’ fuck you stupid.”

and he did.

he didn’t stop. kept going, made you cum again—twice, maybe three times. you couldn’t keep track. everything was wet. the sheets. his chest. your face. your thighs. he lifted your leg, drilled into you from the side, choked you through another orgasm. your moans turned into sobs. pleasure ate your brain alive.

“stack—fuck—i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he growled, pounding into you. “you takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ.”

your nails raked his back. his hand squeezed your throat again, hard enough to make the edges of your vision blur.

you came one more time, back arched, toes curling, legs locked around his waist.

he groaned deep, spilling inside you with a twitch.

everything went still.

all you heard was your heartbeat. your breath. his deep, ragged one against your skin.

you were ruined. for real.

he kissed your forehead after, gently. ran his hand up and down your back.

“you good?”

you nodded, tears drying on your cheeks.

“…i ain’t never lettin’ nobody else touch you,” he said, voice low, possessive. “you mine now. you know that, right?”

you just nodded again.

because deep down, you already knew.

you woke up before him.

barely. the sun hadn’t even fully crept through the curtains yet. just a strip of light cut across your comforter, hitting the edge of the bed where elias was sprawled out, ass-naked, sleeping like he’d just come home from war. one arm slung over his eyes, the other draped where your body had been. the sheets were a mess. the air still smelled like sex, weed, and sweat.

your thighs ached.

you groaned softly when you moved, careful not to wake him. every inch of you felt sore—inside, outside, places you didn’t even know could hurt. your hips were tender. your legs had that heavy, overworked kind of weight to them. and your pussy? bruised. not in a bad way. but like it remembered every single stroke.

you held onto the edge of the dresser for balance while you stood up, wobbling a little. took a second to catch your breath. your legs did not feel normal.

“damn…” you muttered, barely able to walk straight as you grabbed a towel and slipped out the room.

the water in the shower hit different. you stood there for a minute, letting it run over your body, steam curling around your face while you leaned a hand against the tile. your whole body was humming—raw, open, still floating a little from the night before. flashes kept replaying in your head. his hands on your throat. the way he moaned your name against your ear. how many times you came. how he kept going even after you said you couldn’t take it.

you touched between your legs under the water and winced.

he really meant that shit when he said he was gon’ ruin you.

by the time you dried off and wrapped up in a big t-shirt, your legs were moving better. you still had a little limp, but nothing dramatic. the hallway felt quieter than usual. you figured sibella and troy hadn’t come back yet. probably stayed at his place.

you walked out into the kitchen, yawning, about to fix some eggs or something light, when you saw her.

bella.

sitting on the couch in her work clothes, sipping a mug of coffee and staring right at you.

your stomach dropped.

“…you back already?”

she didn’t even blink. didn’t even answer.

just smirked.

“…you got your lil virgin ass fucked, huh?”

you blinked, froze by the fridge.

“what—?”

“don’t even try it,” she said, standing up slow, walking over to lean against the counter across from you. “we came back early. me and troy. around two. figured we’d crash here instead. we wasn’t even gon’ bother you—until we heard you screamin’.”

your face heated instantly.

“bella—”

“nah,” she cut you off, wide-eyed and laughing, “nah, girl. you was in there hollerin’ like somebody took the damn soul out your body. like—goddamn. i was impressed! my lil sis got some lungs on her!”

you groaned, turning around to hide your face behind the fridge door. “please shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up,” she cackled, sipping her coffee louder. “you had my man like, ‘ayo, is that stack in there?’ i said, ‘who else would it be?’ you know he ain’t never quiet. i shoulda known from the second he started comin’ over too often. he was locked in on you. and you was playin’ all innocent.”

you mumbled under your breath, grabbing eggs from the fridge.

“girl, spill the damn tea,” she leaned closer. “was it good? how big was it? that man fine as hell. look like he dickin’ every bitch down, and now he got you stuck.”

you refused to give her full details. your body still felt too open, too exposed from what happened just hours ago. like your skin still remembered his hands. like it wasn’t meant to be talked about yet.

so you gave her one thing.

you looked up at her, dead in the face.

then held your hands apart, slow.

a little bigger.

then a little bigger.

then wider.

her mouth dropped.

“…bitch.”

you smirked. “exactly.”

bella screamed into the kitchen towel, spinning in a circle like she just heard the juiciest gossip in her life.

“i knew it! oh my god. no wonder you limp-walkin’. ohhhh, he really broke you in!”

“bella, please go to work.”

“no, bitch, you need to call out. i know you not sittin’ in no office chair today.”

you shook your head, laughing quietly, cheeks hot, chest fluttering at the memory. she eventually left, still shaking her head and giggling like she’d just found out her favorite show got renewed. and as soon as the door clicked behind her, you walked back to your room.

he was awake.

half-sitting up on your bed now, chest bare, sheets low on his waist. eyes still a little heavy but locked on you the second you walked in.

“where you go?” he mumbled, voice thick and scratchy.

“shower.”

he yawned, then grinned slowly as his eyes trailed down your body again.

“how you feel?”

you climbed back into the bed, under the covers. still warm from where he’d been laying.

“…sore.”

he smirked, proud. “good.”

you gave him a look, rolling your eyes.

“what?”

“you proud of yourself or something?”

he pulled you in, kissed your neck slow.

“yeah,” he muttered. “you still here, ain’t you?”

you didn’t say anything. just buried your face in his chest and let your limbs tangle into his. his fingers found your thigh again. light, lazy touches.

you already knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

not even close.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

you ain’t think it’d hit this hard.

sitting in the dark, AC vent blowing too cold on your collarbones, and that big-ass screen ain’t got nothing on how uncomfortable it feel to sit in the back row with your ex and your ex–best friend.

she two rows down, humming to herself while she looks over the snack menu like it’s a damn museum piece. talking about, “girl i just want us to hang again like old times.”

but it ain’t old times. it ain’t when you and Elias was up in your mama house watching Love & Basketball half-naked and arguing over who cooked the best food. this the version of reality where your best friend fumbled through your past, picked out the part that hurt you the most, and decided to hold it real close. like she ain’t know what she was doing.

you never pressed her about it. never brought it up, even when your chest got tight every time you saw her repost him. even when your homegirls asked, “ain’t that yo old dude?” and you had to lie like it don’t matter. it do. and it’s fucking you up sitting right here next to him like you ain’t still bitter. like you don’t still feel him in your hips sometimes when you close your eyes too long.

he ain’t said nothing since y’all sat down. legs spread wide, hoodie half-on, phone glowing low in his palm like he too busy to speak. he never was good at making things easy. always liked to keep you guessing—what he thinking, what he want, what page he on while you still tryna read the cover.

you glance at the screen just to distract yourself. it ain’t even started yet. just previews and background music that don’t match the vibe in your chest.

“yo,” he mutters low, breaking the silence. his voice got that same heavy-lidded smoothness like it always did. the one that used to whisper mess in your ear till your knees gave out.

you look at him sideways. “what?”

he don’t answer. don’t look at you either. just hooks an arm behind your seat like he own it, like he used to when y’all were still together. and then, as natural as breathing, he reaches over and pulls you onto his lap.

you freeze. lips parting, breath catching sharp in your throat. it don’t even make no sense. no warning, no permission, no nothing—just warm hands and heavy thighs under yours now, like you belonged there the whole time.

“elias—”

“shut up.”

his voice cuts low in your ear, firm but calm. “you talk too damn much. always did.”

you tense up, glancing down toward the row where your ex–best friend still standing. she ain’t turned around yet. probably still deciding between sweet or salty like y’all not up here doing something way worse.

his hand slides up your bare thigh, fingers dragging lazy over the skin just under your dress. you wore it to feel good about yourself. didn’t expect to be in his lap while it bunched up around your waist.

“you think i ain’t notice the way you been lookin’ at me all night?”

he’s whispering now, lips ghosting over your cheek. “sittin’ over there tryna act cute, tryna act mad. but you pulled up, didn’t you?”

you swallow hard. you should move. should cuss him out, go off, text her and tell her what the hell he on. but you don’t. because the heat between your legs is worse than your pride, and deep down, you never stopped being his.

you grind slow at first. barely moving, just rocking enough for him to feel it.

his hands slide to your hips, gripping you tight like he already know what you need. the movie starts playing, loud enough to mask the little breathy noises falling out your mouth.

“fuck,” he groans low, pressing his head back against the seat. “you feel that? pussy still wet like she missed me.”

you turn your head into his neck, hiding your face. too much heat in your cheeks, too much wet between your thighs. your fingers curl around the back of the seat, trying to hold on to something steady while he drags your hips down slow onto his dick.

you ain’t got no panties on. you never do in dresses. and now you regretting every choice you made tonight.

his lips brush your ear again. “look at you. already shaking. already tryna hide.”

you moan into his neck, muffled and sweet, and he laughs. low and mean.

“nah, keep that shit tucked in my neck like a good girl,” he mutters, biting your shoulder through your dress. “don’t need nobody seein’ how dumb you get when i touch you.”

you bounce just a little, thighs burning from the way he’s holding you steady. your knees press tight on either side of his, and the seats creak softly with every slow grind.

his hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just enough pressure to make your eyes roll halfway back. the kind of hold that says you mine even if you act like you not.

“don’t make no noise. unless you tryna get caught.”

your hips stutter.

he chuckles again, other hand sliding under your dress to palm your ass. “see? i say the word ‘caught’ and this pussy damn near jump.”

you nod into his neck, mouth open, moaning softly against his hoodie. you feel his dick slide deeper, stretch you open in a way you ain’t felt since last winter when y’all swore it was the last time. back when you said you was done crying over him.

but it’s different now. nastier. dirtier. you not his no more, and he don’t even pretend to love you while he fuck you. he just fill you up like he got a point to prove.

“ride it,” he hisses. “c’mon. you know what to do.”

your thighs shake as you lift yourself up and drop again, muffling a moan into his collar. you hate how good it feel. hate how cocky he sounds when he grabs your ass tighter and mutters, “there she go.”

you can feel every inch of him, thick and warm, pressing too deep inside. your lashes flutter, mouth hanging open in his neck. you try not to make noise, but it’s too much—he’s too much.

“f-fuck, elias…”

his hand grabs your jaw, tilting your face up. you won’t open your eyes. not while he’s looking at you like that.

“nah, keep lookin’ down. keep hidin’. like a lil slut who know she wrong.”

his hips buck up suddenly, sharp and deep, and you gasp, biting down on his neck to keep from crying out. he hisses through his teeth and laughs again. it’s low and dangerous.

“mmhmm. you don’t like when i fuck you like that, huh? too deep?”

you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks from how good it feels.

“nah, you love that shit.”

your body shakes as he starts moving underneath you, fucking up into you slow and deep, deeper than he should in a place like this. every thrust got you seeing stars, grinding back down harder even though you told yourself you’d behave.

his hand slides to your stomach, pressing down right where he hitting.

“feel me here?”

you nod fast, whining.

you clench around him so hard he groans, pulling you down with both hands now, guiding your rhythm like he never let you leave.

“still mine,” he whispers. “don’t matter what you say. this pussy still mine.”

you cum with your teeth in his neck, body going limp in his lap while he fucks you through it. your thighs twitch, your voice barely above a whisper, and he holds you down tighter, chasing his own high.

his strokes turn rough, fast, deep enough to make you gasp. and when he cums inside, teeth clenched, you feel every pulse of it.

you stay like that after. still shaking, dress bunched up around your waist, your hands gripping his hoodie like a lifeline. his fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh, breath even, like this ain’t the nastiest shit y’all ever done.

and then you hear footsteps.

your ex-friend finally walking back up the steps with a popcorn bucket too damn big for her arms.

elias don’t move. don’t flinch. just leans forward and whispers against your jaw:

“fix your dress, ma. can’t let her see how deep i got in you.”

⪻────𖤓────⪼