chromehoney

[chromehoney]

i knowww i amm

i hope y’all ready for some submissive!smoke x domme!annie

[chromehoney]

[chromehoney]

The Hoodoo Apprentice

Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.

Warnings: Warnings: SMUT

Part six: this one had to be broken down as well! It was getting long! This chapter will be the start of the turning point within the series. Enjoy!

The sun was beginning to sink, bleeding amber light across the cracked glass of Club Juke. Shadows stretched long across the sawdust-slick floors, and the smell of varnish and heat curled in the air like smoke that wouldn’t lift. The place was humming—not with music yet, but with nails, footsteps, murmured cussing, and the steady scrape of hard work.

The bar was nearly finished, the stage raised, the lights half-wired. Still rough, still raw. But it was taking shape. The dream was becoming something real.

And in the center of it all—untouched by the dust, the hammering, or the sweat—sat Amelia Broussard.

She was perched on a freshly wiped barstool like she owned the damn room, one leg crossed high over the other, a soft-skinned calf rocking slowly with rhythm only she heard. Her skirt fluttered slightly with each motion, teasing her thigh just enough to catch attention. In her lap was a slim, worn book of fairytales. The kind children outgrow. But Amelia hadn’t.

She flipped the page slowly, lazily, like she had all the time in the world. But her eyes weren’t on the story.

They were on them.

Smoke stood with his back half-turned, cigarette tucked in his mouth, arms folded as he watched a man mount stage lights near the ceiling. His shirt was clinging to his back, darkened with sweat, sleeves rolled to the elbows to show those thick, weather-cut forearms.

Stack leaned against the bar just ten feet from her, drumming a pencil against a pad, tapping with a rhythm that didn’t match any music. His shirt hung open at the throat, suspenders slack, chest rising and falling with something heavier than breath.

Amelia glanced between them—once, then twice. And then she smiled.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was flirty, low-lidded, and steeped in knowledge. She knew what they were thinking. Knew what they weren’t saying.

She was lighting the fuse.

Her shine—her fae—rippled through the room in slow waves. Subtle but certain. A pull. Not a charm, not a working, just the natural heat of her presence. Like honey slicking the walls, slow-dripping into their heads. Smoke felt it in the back of his throat—thick, warm, confusing. Stack felt it in the pit of his stomach, where jealousy was starting to coil.

They moved around her like two beasts circling the same flame.

Amelia didn’t speak. She turned another page, slowly licking her finger first.

One of the men helping out stepped across the floor toward her—a childhood friend of Stack and Smoke’s. Dark-skinned, with strong arms and sweat beading along his brow. His name was Lemont, and he was still wearing the same charm bracelet Annie had fixed for his mother years ago.

He gave Amelia a crooked grin as he passed.

“Evenin’, Miss Amelia.”

Amelia looked up, lashes brushing her cheek, and smiled soft.

“Evenin’, yourself.”

Lemont’s step faltered just slightly as he walked past—his grin slipping into something quieter. He didn’t blush, but there was something else in his face. That dazed, reverent look a man wears when he sees the moon hanging low and full over water.

Stack watched the whole thing.

His jaw ticked.

“Damn shame,” he muttered, loud enough for Smoke to hear, “Man comes in here to hang lights and walks out prayin’ over a woman that don’t even want him.”

Smoke’s voice came back low and even, “Sound like you talkin’ about yourself, brother.”

Stack shot him a look. Smoke didn’t flinch. He was leaned against the far wall now, lighting another cigarette, eyes half-lidded behind the smoke.

Amelia heard all of it. She smiled behind the page.

Then she said, without looking up, “Funny how two men can tear up a whole room without ever raising their voices.”

That made Stack shift. He looked over at her, but her gaze was still on the book—like she was reading something meant for him. Something written between the lines.

“You playin’ a game, girl?” Stack asked, his voice tight.

She turned the page.

“Me?” Her voice was like heat rising off sugar, “I’m just readin’ stories. Y’all the ones gettin’ lost in ‘em.”

Smoke chuckled once, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Stack said nothing. He just pushed off the bar and stalked toward the back hallway—toward the office they shared.

And Amelia watched him go, her smile fading just slightly at the edges. Something shimmered in her expression—a flicker of guilt, or maybe warning.

She could feel it: the balance was starting to tip.

The door to the office slammed with more force than Stack meant to use. The narrow room didn’t echo, exactly—it swallowed sound. Dust hovered in the sunlight slanting through the blinds. The room was too small, too warm. Or maybe it was just him.

He paced once, twice, then leaned on the edge of the desk, breathing slow through his nose.

What the fuck is wrong with me? He thought.

It was just pussy. That’s what he told himself. Just one more sweet, wet, wanting thing in a long line of women who begged to be bent.

But that wasn’t the truth. Not this time.

He closed his eyes—and there she was.

The night before.

He’d come to her tipsy, shirt open, the air still clinging to his skin like a second layer. The moon was swollen and low, casting a soft silver wash over the garden behind Annie’s shack. Down by the pond, where the land dipped and softened, where the moss grew thicker and the frogs quieted when someone got too close—she was there.

Amelia.

Sitting on the edge of the old pond, humming some tune he didn’t recognize. Not English. Not quite song. Her voice was soft, fluid, carried by the breeze like smoke curling from a burning leaf. Fireflies hovered above her head, blinking slow like they were caught in a trance. So was he.

Her dress clung to her thighs, her calves bare, her curls wild and loose. She didn’t look surprised to see him.

She looked like she’d called him there.

He didn’t ask why she was out there. He didn’t speak at all at first. Just stood behind her, watching. Breath heavy. She looked up, her lips parting slightly, and that was all it took.

She straddled him on a tree stump with no hesitation, grinding down slow until his head tipped back. The rough bark bit into his thighs, but he didn’t care—not with the way her hands slid over his chest, nails grazing just enough to make him hiss. She rode him slow at first, her moans like velvet—low, rich, drawn out as she tightened around him.

Then she said his name.

“Stack…”

That one word broke something open in him. Not just lust. Not just need.

Something deeper. Territorial. Fragile. Real.

He flipped her onto her back on the stump and buried himself in her again, fucking her hard, pulling sounds from her throat that didn’t sound human. Her legs wrapped around his hips. Her hands clawed at his shoulders. She whispered things between moans—his name, yes, but also things he didn’t understand. Like spells. Like promises.

The fireflies hovered closer. The wind stilled. For a moment, it felt like the world watched them.

And when she came—eyes wide, chest arching into his mouth—she glowed.

Not metaphorically. Not with sweat.

She glowed.

Only for a second. Just enough for him to blink and question it. But he knew what he saw.

Now, in the tight stillness of the office, Stack pressed a fist to his thigh, trying to shake the memory loose.

“Fuck.”

But he couldn’t. Not with the scent of her still clinging to his fingers. Not with the echo of his name falling from her lips like prayer.

He didn’t want her giving that to anyone else.

Especially not his brother.

His twin had always been the quiet one. The still one. The one who burned slow until something exploded. And Stack could feel it now—Smoke wanted her. Maybe already had her. Maybe still had her.

That thought made Stack’s stomach turn.

It wasn’t just about the sex anymore. It wasn’t even about the competition. It was something deeper. He didn’t want to admit it—not even to himself—but it was there now, rooted in the meat of his chest like a thorn:

I want her to look at me like I’m the only one she need.

He stood suddenly, jaw tight, blood hot. He needed answers.

He needed truth.

And there was only one man who could give it.

Stack stormed to the door, yanked it open, and looked out.

Smoke was still near the stage, talking low to Lemont about some crates that needed moving. His eyes flicked over to the office like he’d been expecting this moment.

Like he knew.

Stack stepped back into the office and left the door open.

“Aye,” he called, voice low but sharp, “Come in here.”

Smoke didn’t answer, but he was already moving.

The door creaked open, slow and steady.

Smoke stepped in, cigarette already lit, his movements loose but deliberate. He didn’t look surprised to be summoned. If anything, he looked like he’d been waiting on it. Expecting it.

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

Stack stood by the desk, arms crossed tight over his chest, eyes sharp and unreadable.

Smoke said nothing at first. Just leaned back against the closed door and took a slow drag, eyes tracing the room like he was looking for exits—or weak spots.

“What you want, Eli?”

Stack didn’t answer immediately. He let the silence build.

Smoke let out a long exhale, smoke curling up toward the low ceiling fan that barely moved.

“You gon’ say somethin’ or stare a hole through me?”

“You fuckin’ her?” Stack asked flatly.

No hesitation.

Smoke’s brow barely ticked, but his expression didn’t shift. He walked to the chair beside the desk, sat down slow like the air didn’t just change. Laid the cigarette across the edge of the ashtray and dragged his palm across his jaw.

“That what this is about?”

“I asked a question.”

“You already know the answer.”

Stack’s jaw flexed.

Smoke leaned back, legs spread, voice calm like molasses poured over a blade.

“She fuckin’ Annie. She fuckin’ me. She fuckin’ you. Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on you don’t already know about.”

The words sliced the space between them.

Stack shifted his weight. His fist curled slightly at his side.

“You catchin’ feelings for her?” Smoke asked, tilting his head, “That what’s crawlin’ under your skin?”

Stack’s nostrils flared. He didn’t answer.

“You think she yours?” Smoke added, voice soft but cutting, “That why you lookin’ like somebody stole your damn coat?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you talkin’ about,” Stack growled, stepping forward.

Smoke didn’t flinch.

“I see the way you been lookin’ at her. Like you think she gon’ start sayin’ your name and forget the rest of us.”

“Maybe I want her to,” Stack snapped, voice rising for the first time.

There it was. The confession.

Smoke sat up, the weight of it settling over him like dust.

He stubbed the cigarette out. Real slow.

“You ain’t never cared who put their hands on who. Not til now.”

“She ain’t like the others.”

“You right about that,” Smoke said darkly, “She ain’t.”

That silenced the room. Both men stared at each other, the distance between them suddenly vast despite the small space.

“You feel it too?” Stack asked, quieter now, “That thing…inside her. The way she look at you, like she see right through your bones?”

Smoke didn’t nod. Didn’t deny it.

“She shines,” he said instead, “And shine like that? It burns. And it don’t belong to nobody.”

Stack took a breath like he was going to say something more—but then he froze.

From just outside the door, there was a faint creak.

A soft shadow.

The sound of light footsteps.

They both turned at the same time.

The door handle moved.

Amelia was on the other side.

The door creaked open like it didn’t want to.

And there she was.

Amelia slipped into the office like candlelight—quiet, warm, and dangerous if you got too close. She didn’t rush. Didn’t speak right away. Just eased the door shut behind her with a soft click, the sound unnervingly loud in the stillness.

Her back pressed against the wood, her palms flat to it, and she looked between them with a calm so steady it felt unnatural.

Her gaze moved from Stack—tense, breathing heavy—to Smoke, seated, fingers curled near the edge of the desk.

“I could hear y’all from the bar,” she said gently, “Even over Lemont hammerin’.”

Her voice was sweet, but her tone wasn’t innocent. It carried something more—like silk pulled tight. There was an edge beneath it. A knowing.

“What’s the matter?”

She tilted her head slightly, curls spilling over one shoulder. The light from the window hit her cheekbones just enough to cast faint shadows under her eyes. Her mouth was soft, but her eyes…her eyes were lit from within.

Not glowing. Not quite.

But seeing.

She knew.

Her fae didn’t need to hear words. She felt it—the heat that crackled between the twins, the possessiveness, the jealousy rising like steam off the floorboards. Their tension was a language, and she’d been born fluent.

“Y’all fightin’ over me?” she asked softly, though her voice dipped like a challenge, like she was pulling a thread just to watch it unravel.

Neither man answered.

Stack swallowed hard, throat tight. His hands fisted at his sides again.

Smoke looked up at her, slow and measured, jaw ticking beneath his calm.

Amelia pushed off the door and walked forward—three steps, slow, heels echoing soft. She didn’t touch either of them. Just stood in the space between, close enough to feel their breath.

Her hands smoothed her dress down at her sides.

“I ain’t tryin’ to come between brothers,” she said, gaze flicking from one to the other, “But I can’t help how y’all look at me. Can’t help how I feel when you do.”

She let that hang. Heavy. Hot.

“If this too much…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Then maybe you should both stop touchin’ me.”

The challenge was laid bare.

But her fae already knew:

Neither of them would.

No one moved.

Not at first.

The air inside the office had changed. Thicker. Warmer. Like something unseen had stepped through the door with her. Smoke’s cigarette burned down to the filter and he didn’t even notice. Stack’s pulse was visible in his throat.

Amelia stood between them, smiling faintly—but it wasn’t sweet. It was slow, sharp, and dripping in seduction.

And something inside her had shifted.

The fae in her had tasted the tension. It liked it.

And now, it wanted to play.

She turned to Stack first. Walked toward him like she wasn’t walking at all—like she was gliding, hips rocking in smooth rhythm. Her eyes never left his. He stood frozen, breath shallow.

When she reached him, she brushed her fingers up his chest—light at first, then pressing down just enough to feel the heat of his skin through his shirt.

“You know what I love about you, Elias?”

Her voice was soft. But sultry. Wicked.

Stack didn’t answer.

She leaned in close, lips near his ear, breath warm against his jaw.

“I love how you make me laugh. How you grab me like you already know how I wanna be touched.”

Her nails trailed down the center of his shirt.

“I love the way you fuck me—like it’s a game you know you always gon’ win. The way you eat me like you ain’t tasted nothin’ sweeter since you been born.”

Stack’s jaw clenched.

His fists curled tight.

Amelia smiled against his cheek.

“It’s amazing,” she whispered. “You’re amazing.”

She stepped back, slow and deliberate, watching his throat work around a swallow. His eyes were dark now. Almost black. His control was slipping—and she could feel it.

The fae in her purred.

Then she circled him. Walked around him like a predator stalking familiar ground. Her fingers traced lightly along his shoulder, his back, then slid away as she came to stand in front of Smoke.

Smoke hadn’t moved.

He sat still in the chair, watching her like a fuse burning down toward dynamite. His breathing was shallow but steady. His eyes never left hers.

Amelia looked down at him—her expression shifting. Her smile curved differently now.

More intimate. More dangerous.

She reached forward and slipped her fingers beneath the knot of his tie and tugged it gently, just enough to pull his face up to hers.

“And you…” she said, voice like silk soaked in heat, “I know you fightin’ it. That thing you feel for me. You tryin’ to bite it down, like it’s shame in your mouth. But it ain’t.”

She leaned closer, lips just a breath from his.

“You think I don’t know about the bloomers?”

Smoke’s face didn’t move—but his hands curled slowly on the arms of the chair.

Amelia’s eyes sparkled.

“You smell ‘em when I’m sleepin’. You think about how I taste. How I’d sound if you bent me over this desk and fucked me hard enough to make the windows rattle.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, so soft only Smoke could hear it.

“You want to ruin me, don’t you?”

Smoke’s nostrils flared.

“You want to fuck me ‘til I cry. ‘Til I beg. ‘Til Annie don’t even recognize what’s left of me.”

Amelia’s smile widened—soft, sensual, teasing.

“And you know what, Elijah?”

A pause. Her voice was like velvet now.

“I like it.”

She let go of his tie and stood tall again, looking between them—one twin burning with fury, the other with restraint ready to snap.

Her fae danced behind her eyes.

She didn’t have to say it, but the message was clear:

Which one of you’s gonna break first?

Amelia stepped back.

Her fingers went to the first button of her blouse.

She didn’t rush.

Didn’t look away.

Her gaze flicked between them—between Elias, who looked ready to burst at the seams, and Elijah, who still hadn’t moved, but whose stare had grown impossibly dark.

“Y’all done arguin’?” she asked, voice soft, teasing, that ever-present sultry lilt curling around every syllable, “Or y’all just gonna stand there and let this go to waste?”

Her second button slipped free.

Then a third.

The blouse opened just enough to show the soft curve between her breasts. Her skin shimmered faintly in the low light, kissed by heat, touched by something older than want.

“Been sittin’ at that bar all day wonderin’ which one of you was gon’ crack first.”

She let the blouse fall off one shoulder, then the other. It drifted to the floor like silk, pooling beside her bare feet.

“But now I’m tired of waitin’.”

She reached for the zipper of her skirt, watching them both the way fire watches wood.

“So tell me…”

The skirt slipped down her hips, revealing honey-toned skin and sheer bloomers beneath. She stepped out of it with grace that didn’t belong in a room built by men like them.

She stood half-naked, chest rising and falling with slow, wicked calm.

“Who’s gonna come get it first?”

Stack moved first.

Fast.

He crossed the room in three steps, gripped her by the waist, and pressed her against the desk so hard it shook. His mouth crushed into hers—angry, hungry, his. She gasped into it, arms wrapping around his neck, hips arching against his.

But then—

Smoke was behind her.

Silent as breath.

He grabbed her wrists from behind, pulling them gently behind her back as Stack kissed her harder. She moaned into it—head tipping back, lips parted—and Smoke leaned forward, his mouth brushing her ear.

“You asked,” His voice was low, almost tender, “Don’t forget that.”

Amelia’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath catching between them.

“I won’t,” she whispered.

“Good,” Smoke growled.

And then they took her.

Together.

No mercy. No order. Just heat, hunger, and war.

The office door slammed shut behind them.

And just like that, the world narrowed to the sound of breath, skin, and the low throb of tension finally set loose. Amelia was pressed chest-first against the desk, her bare thighs brushing the cool wood, bloomers still clinging to her hips like the last secret she hadn’t given away yet.

Smoke stood behind her, grip still firm on her wrists, jaw clenched like he was holding back something dangerous. Stack was in front, his mouth at her neck, his hands everywhere—palming her breasts, sliding down her sides like he needed to map every inch.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Stack muttered against her skin, biting at the spot just beneath her ear, “You feel what you do to us, girl? You feel how fuckin’ crazy you make us?”

Amelia moaned, arching her back between them, head tipped to the side to bare her throat. Her legs trembled slightly when Smoke let go of her wrists and used both hands to yank down the last bit of cotton covering her heat.

Fffshh— the fabric tore clean in half. Cold air kissed soaked skin.

“Mmph—!” she whimpered, thighs twitching as she was exposed.

“You want nasty?” Smoke growled behind her, “You got it.”

He dropped to his knees.

“Fuck—!” she gasped.

His mouth was on her—tongue buried deep, lips wet and open as he devoured her from behind like a man gone mad. No buildup, no mercy. Just obscene sucking sounds and the flat pressure of his tongue dragging across her folds.

“O-ohh—!” Amelia cried out, pressing both palms flat to the desk. Her hips bucked involuntarily.

“Shit,” Stack hissed, watching her face contort, her mouth hang open, “You lettin’ my brother eat you while you moan like that?”

He grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard—wet, deep, claiming—before pulling back just enough to whisper:

“You ours tonight. You hear me?”

Smoke growled against her, fingers digging into her ass as he licked and sucked like her taste might save him. The wet sounds filled the small room—sloppy, hungry, loud.

“Mmmn—Elijah—!” she whimpered, legs starting to give.

“That’s right,” Smoke muttered into her, “Say it while you drip for me.”

She was shaking, thighs trembling violently when Stack pulled her up, dragging her back off Smoke’s mouth with a low curse.

“Get on the couch.”

She stumbled backward, lips kiss-swollen, chest heaving. The couch was narrow, but she obeyed—dropping onto her knees, then rolling onto her back, hair fanned over the armrest.

Amelia lay back on the couch—nude, glowing, and dripping like a honeyed peach sliced too deep. Her thighs were spread wide, trembling slightly as she held them open for the Moore twins. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, nipples hard and glistening from her own touch, her fingers still toying with the peaked buds as they knelt before her like twin devils ready to feast.

Stack was the first to lean in. His grin was wicked, hungry.

“Mm…look at this messy lil’ cunt,” he murmured, breath ghosting over her wetness, “Already leakin’ like you knew we’d be down here.”

Stack got down on his knees and with no hesitation, he kissed her pussy like he meant to claim it—deep and nasty, tongue flat and dragging slow through her folds before curling inside her with a low moan. His spit mixed with her slick as he sucked hard on her clit, then pulled back just to spit again, strings of it glistening down her slit. Amelia bucked, her legs shaking as her fingers twisted her nipples tighter.

“Fuck, Elias—”

“That’s Stack, baby,” he growled against her pussy, “And this mouth don’t play fair.”

He sucked her clit again with filthy intent, lips wrapped tight and tongue flicking mercilessly. Then he backed off suddenly, face wet, licking his lips like she was dessert.

“Your turn, Smoke.”

Smoke didn’t say a word. His eyes were already dark with hunger as he moved in—his approach slower, more calculating. He ran his calloused palm up her thigh, then hooked his fingers into the softness just beneath her cunt, spreading her wide so he could look.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered.

Then he dove in—slower than Stack, but deeper. He used the flat of his tongue to press into her, collecting every bit of her mess. His nose brushed her clit as he licked low and slow, tasting every inch. When she whimpered and tried to grind up into him, he just gripped her thighs harder, holding her down.

“You gon’ take it like a good girl,” he rasped against her slit. “Let me taste you proper.”

He fucked her with his tongue, slow strokes pushing deep, then moved to lap up the slick now coating her ass too—licking lower until she gasped, her head tipping back as her mouth fell open.

“Elijah,” she moaned, shocked at the way his tongue teased her backside, just the rim. He didn’t push in—just kissed it. Claimed it. Possessive even there.

Stack chuckled low.

“You gone eat her ass now too, Smoke?”

Smoke licked her slow again. “I’ma eat all of her.”

Then he passed her back to Stack like they were sharing a meal.

Stack went rougher this time. He sucked her clit again and slapped the inside of her thigh, loud and sudden, making her jolt. His fingers slipped inside her while he mouthed her like he meant to leave bruises. Amelia was trembling now, hips stuttering, eyes rolling as she mewled through another moan.

“She so fuckin’ wet for us,” Stack grunted, eyes meeting Smoke’s. “Wants both our tongues. Greedy lil’ fairy thing.”

Amelia was beyond words now—hands in her hair, thighs shaking, sweat beading at her temples. They’d made a mess of her—spit, slick, and all.

And she loved it.

Her legs had gone numb from holding them open so long, but Amelia didn’t dare close them. Not with the way Smoke and Stack were switching off between her thighs like wolves gnashing over fresh kill. Her body was soaked—slick between her legs, spit down her thighs, sweat dotting her chest. Every nerve felt flayed raw, lips parted as she tried to breathe through the teasing. Stack was back between her thighs, fingers pumping up into her slow and deliberate, curling just right.

“Bet he don’t touch that spot like this,” he said, eyes locked on hers as he slid in deeper and rubbed, just right. Amelia cried out, her back arching hard off the couch.

“Ohh—Stack, please—please—”

“Uh uh, not yet.” He leaned down, spit on her clit again, then sucked it into his mouth with a wet pop, “Gotta hold that nut ‘til you earn it.”

Smoke sat back on his heels, watching. His lips were wet from the last round, and his hand was palming himself through his trousers.

“Look at her. She don’t even know which one of us makin’ her shake like that.”

Stack chuckled and pulled his fingers out slow, coated to the knuckle. He wiped them across her inner thigh like paint.

“She know. She just scared to say it.”

Smoke leaned in, nudged Stack’s shoulder, and took his place between her legs.

“Watch this.”

He ran his tongue flat up her cunt, all the way to her belly button, then back down again like he was memorizing her taste. Amelia sobbed.

“Fuck—Elijah—” she whimpered, trying to close her thighs.

He growled, “Keep ‘em open. I ain’t done.”

Then he slipped two fingers in and stroked—slow, steady, fingers curved like he was trying to pull her soul through her pussy.

“You feel that? Huh?” he rasped against her clit, “Feel how deep I’m in you? Your lil’ walls clutchin’ up already.”

His mouth closed around her again, tongue circling her clit in tight, firm spirals. Her hips jumped, thighs trembling.

“God—I’m gonna—”

He stopped instantly. Pulled back. Blew cool air across her swollen clit.

“No you not.”

She sobbed, shaking her head, tears springing to her eyes, “Please—”

Stack leaned close to her ear, “Aww, poor baby can’t cum yet? Not ‘til you tell us—who eat it better?”

Smoke smirked and stood, unbuckling his belt slow, letting the sound snap through the air like a threat.

“She ain’t gotta say it. Her pussy already told me. She gushed all over my mouth.”

“She gushed on me first,” Stack countered, finger dragging up the mess between her thighs, “Had my whole face shiny.”

They circled her now—one on each side. Amelia couldn’t stop crying out, couldn’t stop writhing. Her thighs trembled, glistening with spit and her own slick. Her nipples were raw from being played with too long. She was dizzy from being denied.

And still—still they were teasing her.

Stack knelt again, slapped her pussy once—just enough to make her cry out.

“Tell us, sugar. Whose tongue you dream about?”

Smoke bent down and kissed her ribs, slow, before biting the soft flesh just beneath her breast.

“Who makes you feel like you ain’t even real anymore?”

Amelia’s voice broke, “I—both of you, I swear—I can’t—please let me cum, I can’t take it—”

Smoke smirked, “Mm. You beg real sweet, but you gon’ give us a name.”

Stack was grinning, already pushing her thighs open again, face hovering right above her soaked, twitching slit.

“Maybe we both gotta eat it again,” he spoke, “until you know.”

And with that—they both moved in.

Stack on her clit, mouth messy and greedy. Smoke below, licking lower again, tongue dragging along the seam of her other hole, teasing her ruthlessly. Amelia screamed—head thrown back, hips jerking, body convulsing.

“Oh—oh my GOD—”

They didn’t let up.

And they still didn’t let her cum.

When Smoke finally drew back, Stack was already leaning in, crowding the space, his voice hot against her ear.

“He gets his fill, then I take mine…that’s how it goes.” His fingers brushed over her hip, possessive, testing the way her body reacted to his nearness.

Amelia whimpered—half need, half surrender—and let her legs fall even wider. She twirled her fingertips lazily over her nipple, eyes lidded, mouth trembling between smiles and soft gasps.

They traded space without words—Smoke’s shadow passing over her again, Stack’s low laugh rumbling in her ear—like two wolves circling the same kill, patient only because they enjoyed watching her break apart under the weight of their attention.

They had her right at the edge—again.

Stack was sucking her clit so hard her thighs twitched, one foot kicking out like her body couldn’t take it. Smoke’s tongue was working between the cheeks of her ass, slow but firm, licking the spot no one had ever touched before him. Their moans were layered with hers—obscene, greedy, loud.

Amelia was gone. Her hands gripped the couch cushions, knuckles flexing, head flung back as a scream built in her throat.

“I—I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

Smoke grunted against her skin. Stack looked up, eyes dark.

“Let go, baby.”

That was all it took.

Amelia shattered.

Her whole body locked up, a cry torn from her chest as her orgasm ripped through her—sharp, rolling, deep. Her thighs clamped around Stack’s head, her hips lifted clean off the couch. She sobbed through it, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes, mouth open but silent as her pussy spasmed hard around nothing.

Stack moaned like he was drinking her down, “Fuck, she squirtin’ on my face—look at this shit.”

Smoke sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing heavy. His trousers were tented so high the fabric looked painful. He slowly unbuckled his belt, unzipped, and pulled his dick out—thick, dark, veined, the kind of size that made a girl rethink her life. It slapped up against his abdomen, heavy.

Stack followed suit, standing as well. His dick was just as thick, maybe a shade longer, already leaking at the tip. He grinned, wiping his face where her release still clung to his lips.

“Come here, sugar.”

Amelia’s lashes fluttered as she tried to sit up, but her arms were jelly. They helped her—hands under her arms, guiding her down to her knees like she was being offered up.

Stack stood in front of her, hand around the base of his big wood.

“Look at what you done,” he said, voice smug, bouncing his stick in her face with a firm hand. “Now clean it up.”

She opened her mouth without hesitation, tongue out, eyes still wet. Stack fed her the tip slow, letting her feel every inch as it slid across her tongue.

“There you go,” he muttered, holding her face still, “Pretty mouth know just what to do.”

Smoke stepped behind her, stroking himself—twist of the wrist from base to tip—as he watched her lips stretch around his twin’s pecker.

“Mmm…mouth so fuckin’ warm,” Stack grunted, “She moanin’ while suckin’ it too—greedy lil’ glowin’ thing.”

Ameila tried to use hands but Stack smacked them away. He took his time feeding her thick inches, locking eyes with her and licking his lips. She had him glossed up good with her drool. Smoke grunted, anxious and impatient. Stack chuckled, hips bucking and nuts slapping her chin.

“Stay on that dick, Melia, any other time you suck all of me up. Don’t act shy ‘cause Smoke here. Be that nasty lil’ girl. Take this big fuckin’ wood down your throat—”

“She better get used to it and stop playin’ getting my turn next. And I ain’t stopping no way,” Smoke barked out.

“Hear that?” Stack tangled his fingers around Amelia’s thick curls, pulling her lips off his dick with a pop, “You came all this way from Louisiana to get tossed, right? Can’t help it? Love it when that pussy and this mouth get fed, huh?”

“Y–yes!” Amelia spoke, voice trembling.

“Mhm,” Stack slowly pulled out of her mouth with a pop and nodded at Smoke.

“Your turn.”

Smoke moved in, hand cupping the back of her head. His tip pressed to her lips—slick and heavy—and he pushed in without mercy, the stretch making her moan again as drool slipped from the corners of her mouth.

“That’s it,” he growled, fucking her face slow, “Take it deep. Don’t run from it.”

Amelia choked a little, tears spilling freely now, but she didn’t stop. Her hands reached to stroke Stack while Smoke used her throat like it belonged to him. Her moans were broken, messy, pure filth.

“Look at you,” Stack whispered, brushing the hair from her face, “Down on your knees, full of nut and tears, and smilin’ for more.”

Smoke pulled out, letting her breathe—just a second—before guiding her back to Stack.

“Go ‘head,” he said low, “Tell us. Who tastes better?”

Amelia looked up between them—eyes glassy, face slick, lips swollen.

“Both of you,” she whispered, licking her lips. “I want both.”

Stack chuckled darkly.

“Good girl.”

Stack followed fast, dragging his pants low enough to free himself. He stroked himself once—hard, thick, glistening at the tip, spit covered.

“You wanna see who make you scream louder?” he asked low, eyes flickering over her face, “Me or him?”

“Both,” she whispered, lips curling, “Make me scream for both of you.”

“You nasty little—fuck,” Stack groaned.

Stack picked her up and placed her on her back. He climbed over her, opened her legs wide, and slammed in hard.

“AH—!” Amelia cried, nails clawing at his back.

The couch thudded into the wall.

Smoke stood nearby, shirt unbuttoned, chest rising slow and hard. He watched, stroking himself with slow, brutal precision.

“Tight, ain’t she?” he muttered.

“She pulsin’,” Stack growled, fucking into her like he meant to bruise, “Little glow whore likes it rough.”

“You like gettin’ stuffed in front of both of us?” Smoke asked, stepping closer.

Amelia nodded, moaning, writhing, whimpering under Stack’s punishing rhythm.

“Yes—yes—!”

Stack pulled out with a slick pop and flipped her fast.

“On your knees, mouth open.”

She obeyed.

Amelia was on all fours now, her mouth stretched wide around Stack’s thick dick, throat working as he slowly fucked her face. Her hands gripped his thighs, nails digging in, drool hanging in long strands down her chin and onto her breasts. Behind her, Smoke lined himself up, dragging the head of his dick through the slick mess between her thighs.

“Look at this pussy,” he muttered, “Still flutterin’ from that nut we pulled outta her.”

Smoke arched Amelia’s back further, bringing her ass higher. She wrapped a hand around the girthy base of Stack’s dick while rolling her tongue around his weeping tip.

“Look how she arch up…pussy cat wetta than a ma’fucka…this the pussy my wife was suckin’ on while I was away, huh?”

Ameila moaned with a mouth full of dick.

Smoke opened her up some more while Stack tapped his tip on her tongue.

“Shiiit, had Annie eatin that puss off the bone, huh? Huh, you glowy lil’ thing?” Stack taunted with a slick grin.

“Just a fuckin’ whore.” Smoke barked out, “Time to take this dick…”

Smoke lined himself up and pushed in slow. Amelia moaned around Stack’s length, her throat vibrating. Smoke filled her in one long, punishing stroke, so deep she jerked forward, nose pressed to Stack’s pelvis.

“God…damn,” Stack grunted, watching her gag a little, “She tight and throat-deep. Can’t even run.”

They moved together—twin rhythm, bodies syncing like they were made to fuck her just like this. Smoke’s hips snapped into her from behind, hard and deep, while Stack rolled his own forward, slower but steady. Amelia couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think—just drool and moan and take it.

“Who you fuckin’, baby?” Stack taunted, brushing her hair back so he could see her eyes, “Me or him?”

She gagged softly around his dick. He smirked.

“That’s what I thought.”

Smoke had one firm grip on her shoulder while he used the power of his hips to drive that dick in Amelia. She left a creamy ring at the base, causing Smoke to chuckle low and wicked. Her back dimples glistened with sweat and that sweet pussy smelled like ripe peaches left out in the sun. Smoke caught his bottom lip between his teeth to stop himself from drooling.

They swapped.

Smoke eased out from behind her, hands gripping her hips as he guided her up. Stack pulled from her mouth with a thick pop, letting her gasp for breath. He moved behind her next, slapping her ass once before driving into her pussy in one brutal thrust.

Amelia screamed.

“Fuck!—Elias—”

“That’s it,” he grunted, “Scream for me. Let Smoke hear how I make it clap.”

Smoke’s dick slapped her cheek, slick and heavy. She opened her mouth and took him again, her lips trembling from the force of Stack’s thrusts behind her. Her whole body rocked forward with every stroke.

Amelia opened her mouth wide, tongue stretched flat, lips parted just enough to taunt. Her eyes didn’t leave Smoke’s. Her gaze was soaked in hunger, gleaming with defiance and surrender all tangled together.

“Gon’ make you lose your voice tonight,” Stack grunted, fucking her deep and rough, “ain’t gon be none of that singing by the pond.”

Stack wrapped a hand around her long hair and held her steady while Smoke used her throat to his liking.

Gawk–gawk–plap–plap

Amelia gagged softly around Smoke as he pressed deeper, inch by inch, until her throat fluttered. Her moans vibrated around him.

“Filthy little thing,” he muttered, “Slobberin’ all over it like you was made for this.” Smoke said.

“This my fuckin’ pussy,” Stack growled. He felt her walls flutter and it caused him to plant his feet firm.

“Stop tryna make me cum quick, girl,” Stack whacked her on her ass, “keep that pussy open.”

Smoke felt his balls damn near retract. He pulled out with a slick glide and locked eyes with Stack.

They moved her again.

She was straddling Smoke now, her back arched as she slid down on him, thighs shaking as he filled her deep. His hands gripped her waist, guiding her hips in tight circles. She bounced slow at first—then faster, wilder. He widened his thighs and bounced her while thrusting upward. At this point, the entire Juke could hear them bumping skins.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low, “Ridin’ Big Smoke like your life depend on it.”

Behind her, Stack stroked himself, watching her ass jiggle every time she dropped down.

“You know I’m gettin’ back in that pussy next, right?”

She nodded, eyes hazy. “Please…”

“You hear that, Smoke?” Stack grinned, “She beggin’ for it now. You know who you belong to?”

She looked up through her lashes, eyes wet with tears.

“Both of you.”

Smoke grunted low in his throat—like he’d been holding back for weeks, and her mouth was the only place left to fall.

“You takin’ my brother’s dick like that, huh?” he muttered, voice hoarse, “Fuckin’ hell—look at you.”

Gglmmff…Mmmnhh—

Smoke let out a shaky breath, sweat beading along his brow, both hands steadying her while she bounced up and down, deep and punishing.

He didn’t wait.

“Fffuck—!”

Her body jolted forward, throat stuffed, cunt clenching around Stack so tight he cursed.

“Shit—she’s still so wet—”

The pace turned brutal. The room was filled with the obscene sounds of flesh slapping, wetness squelching, and muffled gags paired with high-pitched whimpers that turned into desperate, aching moans. Stack grabbed Amelia by her hair and eased her lips down and around him.

Plap—plap—plap—slrk—plap—

They laid her back. Missionary.

Her legs were thrown over Stack’s shoulders, his dick driving into her from above, slow and mean. Every thrust made her tits bounce, her body jerk, her mouth fall open in a moan so sweet it sounded like song.

Smoke hovered by her head, feeding her his dick again, slower this time. She sucked greedily, messily, one hand moving to stroke his base.

Between her legs, Stack leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You feel full, baby?”

She nodded fast, moaning around Smoke’s dick

“Good. You gon’ take all this nut when I give it to you. Both ends.”

Smoke grunted, “Let’s fill her up, twin.”

“She fuckin’ loves it,” Stack grunted, slamming into her, “Listen to her—moanin’ while she chokes.”

“Gllrmmnn—guh—Mmhhnn!”

Smoke pulled back for a moment—just enough for her to gasp. Amelia let out a deep, broken sob of pleasure, eyes glassy, tears clinging to her lashes, spit coating her chin.

“Y’all gonna ruin me,” she panted, voice ragged,“I want it—I want it.”

Smoke growled low and slapped the head of his dick against her lips.

“Then beg for it.”

“Fuck me harder,” she whined, eyes flicking back to Stack. “Fill me up. You hear me? I want both of you to put it in me, leave me leakin’, messy—yours.”

That broke whatever thread was holding them back.

“You beggin’ now, girl? Thought you liked to play.”

“I do—I do—don’t stop—!”

Smoke bent down in front of her, dragging her onto his lap, mouth crashing into hers, swallowing every filthy word as Stack fucked her like he was trying to etch his name inside her.

“God—y’all feel so good—!”

“This what you wanted?” Smoke growled against her lips. “Both of us? In you, on you—claimin’ you?”

“Yes! Yes! Please—don’t stop—don’t you dare stop!”

They took her again and again—hands grabbing, mouths biting, hips colliding in a rhythm that had nothing holy in it. Just need. Just sweat. Just raw, ugly possession dressed up in pleasure.

By the end of it, she was trembling between them—used, soaked, lips swollen and red, thighs slick and shaking.

And she was smiling.

But this—this—was different.

Smoke didn’t ask. He didn’t grin. He didn’t even blink.

She nodded, breath trembling.

He slid into her in one smooth, unforgiving thrust.

“—AAHH—!” she cried out, body arching hard as her cunt stretched to take him, deeper than Stack, heavier, slower—meaner.

Smoke didn’t move fast. He moved deep. Grinding. Shoving. His jaw clenched as her walls gripped him, soaked and hot and pulsing.

“You fuckin’ wet,” he hissed through his teeth, watching her eyes roll back, “Knew you would be. Knew this pussy was waitin’.”

*“Mmmfuck—Smoke—oh my god—”

“Say my fuckin’ name.”

He slammed in harder.

“ELIJAH—!”

Her scream was half-pleasure, half surrender.

He growled deep in his chest, hand around her throat now—not choking, but holding. Grounding. Dominating.

“This mine now. You understand me?”

“Yes—yes—it’s yours—it’s all yours—”

“Stack got his turn. Now I’m gon’ ruin you.”

He fucked her like it was a sentence. A punishment. A long, slow fall into obsession he could no longer resist. Every thrust dragged a cry from her lips—moans that went high and cracked, gasps that turned to sobs. She wasn’t faking. She couldn’t.

Plap—plap—plap—plap—

“So fuckin’ good—so fuckin’ tight,” he snarled, sweat dripping onto her chest, “You feel that? That stretch? That ache? That’s me.”

She nodded, her head thrashing as he pounded into her harder.

“Take it,” he growled, “take every fuckin’ inch, baby. I ain’t pullin’ out.”

“Please—don’t—don’t you dare—”

“Say it again.”

“Yours—Elijah—your pussy—you—your mess—!”

He bent low, teeth scraping her jaw, his hips slamming harder now—relentless, brutal, raw.

“You taste like sin,” he whispered into her mouth, “And you love it.”

“I do—I fuckin’ do—”

Her thighs locked around him just as her climax crashed over her again—loud, soaked, uncontainable.

They switched again.

Stack was buried deep, grinding his hips into her with heavy, deliberate thrusts. Her legs were wide, high on his shoulders, toes curling with every stroke. Her pussy squelched with every drag of his dick—slick, raw, and overstretched from taking both of them. Her cunt was puffy, clenching, already sore from being used.

Above her, Smoke’s dick was in her mouth again—her lips stretched around the girth, cheeks hollowing as she sucked like she was starving.

The room was hot. Sweat clung to their skin. The air thick with sex.

“Keep suckin’,” Smoke growled, hand tightening in her hair, “Don’t slow down ‘til I nut down that throat.”

Stack leaned in close, his voice a slow rumble near her ear, “You feel that? Pussy tryin’ to milk me already…”

Amelia’s moans were muffled, helpless, her body twitching between them. She was drenched, her thighs shaking, her eyes glassy from too much pleasure.

“She gon’ cum again,” Smoke said, amused, “Feel her shakin’.”

“She greedy,” Stack muttered, gripping her thighs tighter, “She want us to break her.”

Then he snapped his hips forward—hard.

“FUCK—!”

Smoke thrust forward with quick succession before the sensation to release overpowered him. He sank deeper, dick twitching and then he filled Amelia’s throat. Stack groaned deep, burying himself one last time, body tensing as he emptied inside of her, his hand gripping her neck like he could brand her from the inside out.

When it was over, they stayed like that—tangled, soaked, trembling.

Amelia’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and wet.

Smoke looked down at her like he didn’t know whether to kiss her or leave the room.

No one spoke.

But everything had changed.

Stack’s breath fell in slow, shallow waves against her neck, his body heavy, hips twitching every so often from the aftershocks. Amelia lay beneath him, legs parted, pussy dripping full and wrecked, her chest rising beneath his.

Smoke hadn’t moved in minutes. He stood against the wall, shirt open, chest gleaming with sweat. Watching. Breathing like he was still mid-act.

None of them spoke.

The room was thick with the scent of sex, of skin, of spit and heat and breathless filth. The air didn’t move. Even the light seemed to hold its breath—dim, golden, suspended.

She blinked up at the ceiling fan, unmoving.

The blur of the brothers pressed against her skin like heat that wouldn’t leave.

Their hands had touched everything—her throat, her hips, her soul.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

She turned her head slowly, watching Smoke’s face above her—jaw slack, mouth open, his dark eyes staring down like he didn’t trust what he just did.

And Stack…he was still looking at her like he’d lost something.

Something he hadn’t realized he’d given her.

Somewhere outside, a train moaned in the distance. The walls creaked. Time stretched.

Amelia closed her eyes again.

Her thighs ached. Her voice was gone. Her fae pulsed low under her skin, curling into her bones like smoke returning to ash.

Was this a dream?

It felt like one.

A filthy, raw, beautiful dream where nothing made sense but the way they needed her.

Where she belonged to them—for a moment, for a night, for whatever spell had made this real.

And then the room grew soft.

Dim.

Unmoving.

The edges blurred.

And the world dissolved into quiet.

Smoke jolted awake like a man being yanked out of water.

His breath caught sharp in his throat, chest heaving as his eyes snapped open. The room around him was still dark at the edges, but pale gold light was already bleeding through the curtains—just enough to paint thin lines across the hardwood floor.

His hand flew instinctively to the side of the bed.

Gripped the handle of his pistol.

Still there.

Loaded.

Real.

Everything else?

He didn’t know anymore.

His white tank was soaked through, clinging to his chest. His skin was slick with sweat, muscles coiled like he’d fought someone in his sleep. His boxer briefs were damp, stretched tight, his dick still hard—angry, pulsing, aching like it believed what his mind had dreamed.

“Fuck.”

The word came out as a whisper, half breath, half disbelief.

He sat up slowly, dragging a hand down his face. His sheets were twisted at his waist, sticking to his skin. His mouth was dry. His shoulders tight. His thighs sore, even though he hadn’t moved all night.

And he could still smell her.

Sweet. Earthy. Tangled up in something soft and wild—like the inside of her thighs after she’d been sweating. Like her.

No, he thought. She ain’t even here.

But the scent lingered—on his skin, in the air, maybe even in the pillow behind him. Like she’d laid beside him hours ago. Like she’d been in him, around him, under him.

He ran a hand down his face again, then over his hair, trying to shake the sensation.

But it wouldn’t go.

It hadn’t been real. He knew that now.

The office. The desk. Her bare thighs. Stack’s voice. Her mouth full. Her back arching for him.

It had all been a dream.

But the weight of it stayed.

His hands ached. His jaw hurt from clenching. His thighs were tight with memory. He could still feel the way she looked at him. The way she smiled.

Like she knew.

Smoke stood slowly, rolling his shoulders, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. The floor was cold under his feet, grounding him. He walked to the window, pulling the curtain back just slightly. The sun was just beginning to rise over the trees, casting soft light across Annie’s garden, dewy and still.

It was too quiet.

Too calm for the storm roiling inside him.

He rubbed his chest—right over his heart—then stared down at his hand like it had betrayed him.

You touched her yesterday. For real.

He remembered.

How he’d slipped into her room while Annie was away.

How she’d looked at him. How she didn’t stop him.

How her bloomers hit the floor, and how his name left her mouth in a sound more dangerous than prayer.

And how you left her there, he thought.

Still dripping.

Still open.

Still glowing.

But now? After the dream?

He couldn’t shake the feeling.

Not of guilt. Not of lust.

Of truth.

She ain’t just a girl.

She’s something else.

He remembered the first time he saw her.

Not in a dream. Not mid-fuck. Not in some fever haze.

In real life.

It was the day he came back to Clarksdale after seven years gone. Dirt still on his boots from places he didn’t talk about. Death still clinging to his knuckles like dried blood under his nails. He wasn’t even sure what he expected when he came back—just knew Annie was still breathing and that was enough reason to return.

He stepped through the creaking front door of her hoodoo shack—still smelled like cedar smoke, salt, and iron. Still had dried herbs hanging from the rafters like ghosts with work to do.

And there she was.

Not Annie.

Her.

Amelia.

She was crouched near the front table, head tilted just so, curls falling around her cheeks. There was a faint hum in the air—not from her mouth exactly, but around her. Like the air was singing back to her.

She didn’t look up when he entered. But she knew he was there.

He watched her from the doorway, quiet, still. Something about her struck him the wrong way—but not in a bad way. Just…off.

Like a light turned too high in a dim room.

Like sugar gone sour if you let it sit too long in a jar.

He didn’t say a word.

But he watched.

She ain’t right, he’d thought. Too soft. Too still. Too… something.

But damn if he wasn’t already curious.

Drawn to her the way a snake might watch fire.

And then Annie left.

Gone off to do work in another town, tending to a woman sick in her bones.

And now?

Now Smoke was alone in that house with her.

And he could feel it—Amelia’s claws sinking deeper.

Not real claws, no. Not even touch. Just…presence.

He couldn’t stop smelling her. Couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her scent clung to every room like perfume soaked into woodgrain. It lived in his throat. Lingered in the bend of his elbow when he laid down to rest.

And now, after that dream—the kind that made his dick ache and his chest burn—it wasn’t just desire crawling under his skin.

It was suspicion.

Something’s off. It’s been off since day one. But now it’s lookin’ me in the face.

He stared at the light bleeding through the curtain. Heart still pounding. Dick still hard.

And underneath it all…

He was afraid.

Not of her.

Of how bad he wanted her.

He’d known it when he kissed her. Known it when he fucked her. Known it when she smiled at him afterward like she could see right through him.

And now?

Now he was sure.

“You ain’t right,” he muttered to the empty room, “You ain’t right, girl.”

But his body still ached for her.

He got up slowly, feet hitting the floor, and crossed the room to the basin. Splashing water over his face didn’t help.

The mirror hung crooked on the wall.

As he looked up into it, the breath froze in his lungs.

Behind him—in the reflection—stood Amelia.

Or…something wearing her shape.

Her skin glowed faintly, as if lit from within. Her eyes were molten gold, pupils like slits. Her lips curved in that same sly, knowing smile she wore whenever she wanted to fuck with him.

“Elijah…” she whispered, but not aloud.

It slid through his mind like honey over a blade.

His hand moved before he could think.

BOOM.

The mirror shattered.

Smoke stood still, pistol raised, smoke curling from the barrel. Shards of glass rained onto the floor like falling teeth.

There was no one there.

No footsteps. No body. Just the throb of his heart and the bitter stench of gunpowder.

His jaw clenched hard.

“Nah. Nah, somethin’ ain’t right,” he muttered, chest heaving.

He slid the pistol back onto the dresser and sat down hard on the edge of the bed, dragging both hands down his face.

He may not know the rites, may not claim to believe in hoodoo…

But he’d been married to Annie long enough to know when something ain’t natural.

And Amelia?

She wasn’t just sweet.

She was dangerous.

And now…now she was in his head.

And Smoke had seen it.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that settled over a man like a warning. Like the hush before a storm breaks. Smoke moved through it slow, bare feet brushing over wood worn smooth from years of steps. The air inside was warm and thick, the morning sun slanting through the windows just enough to catch the dust dancing in the light.

Annie wasn’t home yet.

She’d sent a telegram yesterday. Said she’d be coming in on the 11:45 am from Shelby. Said she missed him, said she’d be glad to see him at the station.

But right now, all Smoke could think about was her.

Amelia.

That damn dream still clung to his skin like sweat. He could smell her on him—honeysuckle, moss, and heat. The memory of her thighs, her mouth, the way she tasted. It hadn’t been real, but his body didn’t know that. His cock still ached from it. His jaw was tight. His gut turned like something inside him was getting twisted slow.

He lit a cigarette with trembling hands. Exhaled.

And then…the pull started again.

Not from between his legs this time.

But from somewhere deeper. Somewhere behind his ribs. Something called to him. Told him to go.

He didn’t say her name. Didn’t even fully admit to himself what he was doing.

But he found his feet taking him to her room.

Amelia’s door creaked open with a soft groan, and the moment he stepped inside, it hit him again—that scent. Like something wild blooming too fast. It clung to her sheets, her hair comb, her discarded bloomers folded atop the laundry. His eyes swept across the space. It looked the same as before. Neat. Soft. Pretty in that old-world kind of way. But wrong too. Like the corners held shadows that shouldn’t be there.

His gaze drifted to the pile of books in the corner.

To the journal.

He’d opened it once before—days ago. Back when he was just curious. Back when he told himself he was looking out for Annie, making sure this strange girl she took in wasn’t some troublemaker. But he remembered what he read. The way Amelia described him like a beast. Like she saw too deep.

“He walks like the air bends for him…”

He pulled the journal out again, thumbing through pages that smelled faintly of herbs and ink. His calloused fingers landed further in this time. Something tugged at his hand. Like the damn book wanted to be read.

And then he found it.

A page that pulsed on the edge of the uncanny. The handwriting was hers, but different—slanted, like she was writing in a trance. Words flowed like verse, and some of them shimmered faintly, catching the light like the surface of water.

The fire watches me like prey. I feel his hunger before he speaks. I taste his thoughts when he dreams. He smells of iron and smoke and something broken.

But I did not come to seduce the fire. I came to sweeten my survival.

I never meant for her to drink the tea. Or for the fire to take me to his mouth. Or for the flood to come to me wet and wanting. I meant only to stay safe.

But now they taste me.

And they don’t want to let go.

Smoke blinked.

A chill worked its way down his spine.

He backed away like the book had struck him, jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. The cigarette between his lips burned down to the filter, forgotten.

Something was wrong.

Something had always been wrong.

He thought about how Amelia would look at him when Annie wasn’t watching. How her eyes flashed like struck gold. How she glowed when he was buried inside her. And now…this. This page that read like prophecy. Like confession. Like a spell.

He snapped the journal shut. Heart thudding like thunder.

Then—

Creeaak.

The floorboards to his left groaned. Not loud. Just enough to raise every hair on his arms. His breath hitched. He turned sharply—

And froze.

The mirror on Amelia’s vanity caught his eye. But the reflection staring back wasn’t his alone.

It was hers.

Amelia.

Not the soft-eyed girl in cotton dresses.

No. This version had eyes like hot coals and a smile too wide, too knowing. Her hair shimmered with something unnatural, and when she moved her mouth—

“Elijah…”

The sound wasn’t out loud. It slithered into his mind, sweet and wicked.

Smoke roared.

He drew his pistol and fired.

BOOM!

Glass shattered across the room like breaking rain. His pulse pounded as he stood there, chest rising and falling, gun still aimed at nothing.

The mirror was ruined.

And the reflection…gone.

Just his face now. Just the wreckage.

His hands were shaking.

He sat down hard on the edge of her bed, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his tank. He felt dizzy. Unmoored. He didn’t know what the hell she was. But he knew she wasn’t just some girl Annie took in off the road.

He stared down at the journal still clutched in his hand.

Annie would be back in a few hours.

And something told him this was just the beginning.

Smoke’s jaw ticked.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

He just knew something was off.

Standing again, Smoke crouched by the dresser first, hands skimming beneath, checking again. Nothing. His gaze swept to the corner. The floorboard near the wall looked warped, like it had been pried up before. Not cracked—but gently lifted. Used.

He moved toward it, knelt down, and dug his fingers into the seam.

The plank groaned. Smoke paused—then peeled it back.

What he saw made his chest tighten.

Two jars.

One still shimmered faintly—a sweetening jar, sealed with wax and twine, packed with syrupy herbs and tiny flower buds. The other—older, darker—reeked of something sick and gone. Its glass was fogged, the inside blackening at the bottom like a wound.

He reached for the older one first. His nose wrinkled. The moment he picked it up, his fingers tingled, and a sharp chill licked up his spine.

It smelled like death.

Like mold and heartbreak and blood that had long dried.

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t know the name Nathaniel, but his bones knew a grave jar when they felt one. It held grief. Rot. A love turned poison.

Then the other.

The newer jar was beautiful, almost—coated with a soft, golden hue. A sliver of blue ribbon curled beneath the wax. It pulsed warmth. Power. It didn’t name names, but it had an energy. Not for one person—no petition. No photo. Just…hope.

He could feel Annie in it.

Maybe even himself.

His lips parted, eyes still locked on the jar, “Goddamn.”

Smoke stood slowly, both jars now heavy in his hands. He wasn’t a rootworker. But he’d lived long enough with one to know what not to ignore.

The Delta morning rose thick with gold heat, the sun barely cutting through the haze of a restless night. Stack hadn’t slept much—not really. The dream had woken him slick with sweat, breath short like he’d just finished fucking. Only he hadn’t. At least not in this world.

Amelia.

Her name hadn’t even crossed his lips when he woke. Just sat on the edge of the bed, dick still hard, heart pounding. Her voice still echoing in his skull.

Who’s gonna come get it first?

He’d never had a dream feel so real. Never had a woman crawl under his skin like that. Not even the ones who’d whispered his name with tears in their eyes or scratched his back ‘til they drew blood.

She was in him.

And it scared the shit out of him.

Stack turned the wheel of the old coupe with one hand, the other hanging lazy out the window as he headed into town. Heat rolled through the cracked windows, but he didn’t mind. He needed to sweat some of her out. His little cousin Sammie was waiting out front of the boarding house, shirt half-buttoned, suspenders loose.

“Aye, Stack!” he called, jogging up with that bright grin he always had, “Appreciate the ride.”

“Mmhm,” Stack muttered, lighting a cigarette, “You said Pearline’s?”

Sammie nodded and hopped in, settling into the passenger seat with a soft thud and a smirk, “Her man outta town. Couple days, she said.”

Stack gave him a sidelong glance as they pulled off.

“So you still tappin’ that married woman?”

Sammie didn’t even flinch. Just grinned wider, “You askin’ outta concern…or curiosity?”

Stack chuckled, “Both, probably.”

They hit the gravel stretch outside of town, wheels crunching over loose stone.

“You find that button yet?” Stack asked, smirking. “Know how to use it?”

Sammie grinned like a man with secrets, “Found it first night. She damn near cried.”

Stack let out a deep laugh, low and dirty, “Boy, you gone get shot. Husband come home early, you gone be a damn story folk whisper about.”

“Ain’t scared of that old man,” Sammie shrugged, “Ain’t got what she need anyway. She say I pray better between her legs than he ever did in church.”

Stack nearly choked on his smoke, laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes, “Preacher Boy, huh? You preachin’ wit’ ya tongue now?”

“All kinds of sermons.”

The car went quiet for a minute, laughter fading as the road stretched ahead of them. Pearline’s little shotgun house came into view, shaded under a crooked pecan tree.

Before they pulled up, Sammie glanced sideways.

“Aight, your turn. What’s goin’ on with you and Amelia?”

Stack’s jaw twitched.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared out at the road, cigarette burning low.

“She got you lookin’ real tight lately,” Sammie added, “Like you got some shit on your chest you ain’t ready to say.”

Stack pulled the car over slowly in front of Pearline’s gate and threw it into park. He rested his arms over the wheel for a second, thumb tapping it.

“I’m feelin’ her,” he said finally, voice low, “More than I ever felt for any woman.”

Sammie blinked, “What?”

“I know,” Stack muttered, “Shit don’t make sense.”

“But… that ain’t like you,” Sammie said slowly, “You the one always sayin’ pussy come and go, heart don’t get involved.”

Stack looked straight ahead, “Yeah, well. That was before her.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was just full. Like the air couldn’t hold the weight of what had just been admitted.

“Damn,” Sammie said, finally, “You in trouble.”

“I know,” Stack said, “Thing is…I don’t even care.”

He reached into his pocket and handed Sammie a folded bill, “Go on. Don’t do nothin’ stupid.”

Sammie smirked, taking the money, “Too late.”

Stack watched him disappear up the walkway. Pearline cracked the door just long enough for Sammie to slip in before closing it behind him.

Stack exhaled slow.

Then turned the coupe around and headed toward Smoke and Annie’s house.

Amelia would be there.

And whether he was ready or not, he needed to see her again. Needed to see if that dream meant something more than sweat and sin. Needed to know if what he felt was real.

Because if it was…

He was already too far gone.

Stack turned off the main road, tires crunching slow over the red-dust path that led to Annie and Smoke’s. The trees hung low and heavy on either side, casting shadows over the hood of his coupe. He could see the house in the distance now—small, worn, full of spirit and secrets. The closer he got, the tighter his grip got on the steering wheel.

He wasn’t sure what he was walking into.

And that pissed him off.

He eased his foot off the gas, letting the car crawl as his mind roamed.

Smoke had fucked her.

Of course he had.

That dream they’d both shared—it wasn’t just dream-stuff. Not just desire. It was truth wrapped in magic. A whisper from something old and twisted, dragging them all together like magnets under skin.

Amelia.

She had burrowed deep in him, deeper than he’d ever let any woman get. And it happened fast. Too fast. Like she’d been waiting on him. Like her body already knew his name before he even spoke.

And now?

Now she was fucking his twin.

His twin.

Stack ran his tongue along his teeth, jaw clenching. It wasn’t the sex that got to him. Hell, he’d shared women with Smoke before—casually, wordlessly, the way some men share a bottle or a smoke.

But this? This felt different.

He thought he wouldn’t care.

Thought he could be cool about it, maybe even make a joke or two.

But the moment he’d realized Amelia meant something to him, it shifted the ground under his feet.

He should’ve been the one to find her first. The one to see her with Annie on the back porch, mouths sweet and slow in the moonlight. The one to stumble on their laughter, the curve of Amelia’s spine arched into Annie’s palms.

He’d take that jealousy to his grave.

And still, what gnawed at him now wasn’t what they’d done—it was what it meant. What did it mean for Amelia’s feelings?

Did she love his brother?

Was she falling for him the way Stack was falling for her?

Fuck.

He rolled his shoulders, as if the ache lived in his muscles and not in his chest.

Smoke wouldn’t admit shit. Wouldn’t let on if he felt something real. But Stack knew him. Knew the way he moved when something got under his skin. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way his eyes lingered when he thought nobody was lookin’.

Smoke was built for love.

Had it, too—with Annie.

Real love. The kind that rooted itself deep. The kind that held you steady when the world went crooked. Stack had seen it with his own eyes—how Smoke looked at Annie like she was his compass, his home, his whole damn redemption.

And yet…

Something about Amelia still had him pulled tight.

Stack didn’t understand it. Didn’t like it.

Maybe it wasn’t love for Smoke. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was need. Maybe that shine of Amelia’s—whatever it was—crawled into places even Annie couldn’t reach. Not because Annie wasn’t enough, but because Amelia was other. Because Amelia could tap into something Smoke didn’t understand.

But he understood.

Stack didn’t have what Annie and Smoke had.

But he wanted something like it. Maybe with Amelia.

And maybe that’s what scared him most.

Stack leaned back, eyes narrowing as he slowed before the front gate.

Is she just a fire they both drawn to? Or is she mine, and I just got here too late?

He parked, engine ticking quiet as it cooled.

There was the shack. There was the house. There was his brother, probably inside.

And there was Amelia.

She was somewhere close. He could feel her like a pulse in his throat.

Stack killed the ignition and stepped out.

His boots hit the dirt soft, but the weight in his chest made the whole world feel heavier.

Time to face it.

Time to face him.

Time to face her.

The crunch of gravel outside.

Smoke stood still in the hallway, bare feet planted on the old pine floorboards as he heard the engine cut off. Low and familiar.

Stack’s car.

The creak of a door opening, then shutting with a firm clap. Slow footsteps on the porch. Smoke didn’t move. He waited.

And sure enough, the door pushed open and Stack stepped in, the morning light cutting across his face in soft gold slants.

He looked…off.

Not disheveled, not shaken exactly. Just different. His clothes were neat—slacks, collared shirt open at the chest—but his shoulders were tight. His mouth set. His eyes a little too wide, like he’d seen something behind them that wouldn’t let go.

He had the same damn dream.

Smoke didn’t say it. Didn’t need to.

Because when their eyes met across the dim room, the silence said enough.

Stack stood there a moment, glancing down the hall toward Annie’s empty room like he needed to remind himself where he was. Then he gave a short nod, tried to smirk, but it landed crooked.

“Morning,” he muttered, stepping further inside.

“Mmhm.”

They didn’t hug. Didn’t shake hands. Just looked.

The kitchen held a low heat from the sun rising at their backs. The old wood table between them bore scratches from years of knives and jars, of heavy elbows and long silences.

Smoke lit his pipe. Sat down slow. Stack followed, flipping open a switchblade and running the flat of it along the grain of the wood, not cutting—just feeling.

They sat in that thick stillness for minutes. The air filled with tobacco and something else: unspoken knowing.

Finally, Smoke exhaled a long plume and said flat:

“You dream somethin’ last night?”

Stack glanced up, quick. Too quick.

“What?” he chuckled, playing dumb.

Smoke didn’t even blink, “You heard me.”

Stack ran a thumb along the spine of the blade. Shrugged.

“Maybe.”

Smoke leaned forward, pipe perched between his fingers.

“She was there, wasn’t she?”

Stack’s smirk dropped.

His eyes flicked up, dark and hesitant.

And that’s when Smoke saw it—the pull. The thing clawing at his brother’s chest like it lived there now.

“You feel it too,” Smoke said low, “Ain’t just me.”

Stack was quiet.

Then he shut the blade, slow, and set it down on the table.

He exhaled like something heavy had been pressing into his lungs.

“I ain’t scared of her,” he said, “But somethin’ ‘bout her got me feelin’…wrong. Or right. Hell, I don’t know.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. Looked away.

“I swear, Eli…I looked at her the other night and it was like—like she was shinin’. Not just sweat. She glowed. Her eyes…looked like gold coins in moonlight.”

Smoke’s jaw tensed.

Stack wasn’t lying. He wasn’t playing it cool anymore.

He was in it.

And deep.

“It felt real. Not like no spell. Like I’d been waitin’ my whole life just to hear her say my name.”

Smoke stood slowly, pipe clenched between his teeth, arms crossed now as he stared down at the table.

“You think that’s normal?”

Stack lifted his head, brows drawn, “What the hell is normal ‘round here?”

“She ain’t what she say she is,” Smoke growled, “Ain’t nobody shine like that without a price attached.”

“So what, you think she castin’ spells?” Stack snapped, “On you? On me? On Annie?”

“I think she’s doin’ somethin’, even if she don’t mean to.”

Stack stood now too, voice lowering with heat.

“Or maybe you just mad I got feelings for her and she feel somethin’ back.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed.

“I ain’t mad.”

“You ain’t actin’ like a man who don’t want her.”

Smoke’s silence said more than words could.

Stack’s mouth curled bitter.

“You got Annie,” he hissed, “You got your wife. You need to be focused on that and leave Amelia be. She don’t belong to you.”

That did it.

“Oh, so now you care? Nigga, I’m tryna look out for you—”

“I don’t need no savin’. Ain’t no trouble. Just a woman I want. You got yours. Work on that.”

Smoke’s jaw flexed hard.

He stepped back from the table, pipe clenched tight in his fist. He didn’t say another word.

He turned and walked out. Left Stack alone in the kitchen, standing in that rising morning light, the sound of the door creaking open and shutting like punctuation on something heavy.

Something broken.

The screen door creaked as Stack eased it open, a ghost of tobacco still clinging to his shirt and the sweat of Mississippi heat pressing into his spine. He stepped lightly onto the porch, then down toward Annie’s shack, the familiar crunch of gravel and dry grass beneath his boots.

He wasn’t sure what brought him here—not exactly.

He told himself he was just checking in.

But the truth sat low in his chest, thick as syrup. He wanted to see her. Needed to.

Amelia.

The woman who’d crawled into his dreams and refused to leave.

He spotted the door slightly ajar. Sunlight filtered in through the wood slats, painting the inside golden. There was no music playing, but a voice—her voice—was humming something sweet and southern. Old and otherworldly. The kind of tune that felt like it remembered you, not the other way around.

He stepped closer. Stopped.

Through the door, he saw her.

Back turned. Barefoot. Sweeping the floor with slow, lazy strokes. Her long, dark hair spilled down in a tangle of waves that nearly kissed her lower back. She wore a simple, soft green dress cinched at the waist, the kind of fabric that fluttered when she moved, clinging to her curves like it had been made just for her.

The light hit her just so—haloing her like a fever dream come to life.

Stack’s hand braced the edge of the doorframe. Something inside him tightened.

He wasn’t used to this feeling. The nerves. The hesitation.

Hell, he’d bedded women in fine hotels and the back seats of Fords without flinching. But this… this was different.

And he hated that he liked it.

Amelia turned slightly, sensing him before she saw him.

Then she looked up.

Their eyes locked.

And it was like time folded in on itself.

Something bloomed between them—magnetic, thick, and unseen. He could feel it hum beneath his skin, the same way he’d felt her in that dream, riding him under the moonlight, calling his name like it was sacred.

But this wasn’t a dream. She was here. Real. Sweeping and smiling, like she didn’t already own every inch of him.

“Well, good morning,” she said, voice like warm honey, her mouth already curling into a grin.

Stack didn’t speak.

Didn’t think.

He stepped in.

Amelia blinked, her smile widening in surprise, her hands still on the broom as he closed the distance between them.

Then—he kissed her.

Hard. Maddening. Like he was chasing something he’d already lost.

Her breath hitched.

Then she giggled against his lips, soft and bright, and tried to push him back.

“Stack—stop,” she whispered, laughing as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, down to the side of her neck.

“You hummin’ like that, lookin’ like this, and expectin’ me to act right?” he muttered into her skin.

Amelia laughed again but there was a breathlessness behind it, “I was just sweeping…”

He pulled back, just enough to look at her.

“I know what you were doin’. And I ain’t never wanted to be a broom more in my whole damn life.”

She slapped his chest playfully, “You so damn foolish.”

But Stack didn’t laugh. He stared.

Long and deep.

His thumb brushed the side of her jaw, and his voice dropped low.

“You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

Amelia’s lips parted—but she didn’t answer.

Because she did know.

She felt it too.

And in the stillness between them, the only sound was the creak of the shack settling and their shallow breaths. Outside, the wind rustled the tall grass.

Inside, the air was charged. Like something was about to break open again.

But Stack didn’t take it further. Not yet.

Instead, he reached behind her and slowly took the broom from her hands, setting it aside with care.

Then he whispered, “Come sit with me a minute.”

And she did.

Not because he told her to.

But because the pull between them was no longer something either of them could pretend away.

The air in the hoodoo shack hung heavy with stillness, thick with conjure smoke, secrets, and something sweeter—something almost like peace. Amelia sat on the edge of the cushioned bench, the hem of her soft cotton dress brushing her ankles. Her long hair, wild and dark, falling in velvet waves along her back. Across from her, Stack leaned forward in the worn wooden chair, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers loosely steepled. He was watching her with that quiet intensity of his, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her mouth, the slope of her cheekbone, the sound of her breathing. Neither of them spoke yet. The silence between them pulsed—soft and heavy—like a held breath waiting to break.

Stack sat beside her, boots dusty from the walk over. His hat rested on a nearby shelf. His voice, when it finally came, was rough with something weightier than lust.

“I gotta tell you somethin’.”

Amelia’s eyes lifted to his—soft, full of curiosity, and something else too. The way she looked at him made his chest tighten, like she saw the version of him no one else bothered to remember. The boy before the blood. Before the war. Before all the sin.

His lips parted to speak. But—

Gravel crunched outside.

Both of them froze.

The sound rolled low, slow…the purr of tires over dry dirt.

Stack straightened instantly, his jaw tightening. He moved to the front window, parting the sheer curtain with two fingers, eyes narrowing. Amelia rose too, her breath catching, posture gone rigid as if her bones suddenly remembered something awful.

A sleek black motorcar had pulled up just beyond the fence line. The kind that didn’t belong to Clarksdale locals. Polished. Quiet. Intentional.

A woman stepped out.

She moved like a ghost wrapped in money—tall, commanding, gloved in navy with a matching wide-brimmed hat that shadowed her face. Her heels clicked across the gravel like a ticking clock.

Stack’s brow furrowed, “Who the hell is that?”

Amelia edged beside him to look.

The color drained from her face.

“No,” she whispered, backing away from the window as if she’d been struck.

Stack turned sharply, “You know her?”

Amelia nodded, voice breaking as she clutched her middle, “It’s my aunt. Celine.”

Stack blinked, “The one you told me about?”

“Yes. But she—she can’t see me. Not here. Not like this.”

“What’s she even doin’ here?”

“I don’t know,” Amelia said, grabbing the basket she’d been sorting earlier, hands trembling now, “But if she’s here, it’s not just to visit. Please, Stack…I can’t let her see me.”

“You wanna hide?” His voice dropped low, incredulous. “You serious?”

Amelia didn’t answer. She was already moving to the closet in the back corner.

“Please,” she begged, her hand on the door, “Just this once.”

Knock. Knock.

Firm.

Unapologetic.

Stack looked from her to the front of the shack.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Without waiting for his reply, Amelia slipped inside the closet and pulled the door shut behind her with a soft click.

Stack was still processing when the front door opened without ceremony.

He hadn’t locked it.

The woman entered like she owned the space, perfume preceding her—jasmine and clove, powder and something colder underneath. Her face was beautiful in that sharp, untouchable way—high cheekbones, honey skin, a mouth that looked like it had cut hearts in half. Her veil cast a netted shadow across her features, but her gaze was as clear and assessing as a blade.

Stack straightened his shoulders, “Somethin’ I can help you with?”

The woman’s eyes swept the room—the altar, the lingering smell of oils, the two teacups still warm, the faintest trail of a second perfume that didn’t belong to her.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said smoothly.

Stack’s hand went to the back of his neck, feigning casual, “Yeah? Who?”

“My niece. Amelia Broussard.”

He didn’t flinch. Just blinked slow, “Ain’t no Amelia here.”

“You sure?” she asked, stepping further in. Her voice was polished, but there was warning threaded through the silk, “Pretty girl. Long hair. Likes to hum when she works. Draws attention she doesn’t mean to.”

“I run this place with my brother,” Stack said calmly, “Only woman been here’s his wife. Maybe you got the wrong spot.”

She tilted her head, looking at the altar, “This don’t strike me as the kind of place a man like you runs.”

He gave her a cool smile, “You’d be surprised what kind of man I am.”

She turned slowly, her fingers brushing over a jar of graveyard dirt, “If you see her…tell her Celine’s come calling.”

Her eyes met his. There was something ancient behind them. Something used to being obeyed.

Stack gave a single nod. “Sure thing, ma’am.”

She took her time walking out. The click of her heels echoed long after the door shut behind her.

Only when the car eased away and the rumble faded into silence did the closet door creak open.

Amelia stepped out, eyes wet, hands clasped.

“She found me,” she whispered.

Stack turned toward her, breath still shallow, that pulse in his neck still throbbing.

“Why’s she really here, baby?”

Amelia opened her mouth, but no sound came.

The shack was quiet again, the scent of burnt lavender still curling in the corners like ghost smoke.

Amelia sat back down on the bench, her dress falling softly around her thighs. Stack stood a few paces away, still watching the door as if it might swing open again. He hadn’t moved since Celine left—his jaw was tight, fists flexing and loosening at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Amelia was pale. Not afraid. But shaken. Her glow dimmed beneath the weight of whatever she wasn’t saying.

Stack finally turned to face her, stepping forward, slower now.

“You wanna tell me why the hell you just crawled into a closet like the boogeyman was comin’?” His voice wasn’t unkind. Just taut with confusion. With…something else.

She looked down at her hands, “I didn’t expect her. Not here. Not yet.”

“What does she want with you?”

Amelia hesitated. Her fingers played with the edge of her skirt, twisting the fabric. “She’s looking for something that don’t belong to her no more.”

Stack crouched down in front of her, “That mean you?”

Her breath caught. She nodded, slowly, “Yeah.”

He reached for her hands, rough fingers curling over hers.

“Tell me what happened, sugar. Tell me what she’s got on you.”

Amelia looked at him—and the way he looked back, with his whole damn heart in his eyes, made her want to shatter.

She opened her mouth.

“I need to tell you something,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, “About her. And about me. I should’ve told you before. I just didn’t know how—”

The back door creaked.

Both of them turned sharply.

Smoke stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the golden afternoon light. His shoulders looked broader somehow—tense, imposing. His eyes flicked from Amelia to Stack, then lingered on their hands. Still joined.

Amelia pulled back first. Stack stood, slow and steady, his jaw tightening.

Smoke didn’t speak at first.

“I came to let y’all know,” he said after a beat, voice low, “I’m headin’ to the station. Annie’s train due any minute.”

Neither Stack nor Amelia responded.

The air crackled with unspoken things—Stack’s shoulders rigid, Smoke’s eyes sharp. Amelia’s breath faltered in her throat.

“You alright?” Smoke asked, gaze shifting to her.

Amelia nodded, slow, “Yes.”

Smoke didn’t believe it. But he didn’t press.

He looked to Stack, “You good?”

Stack’s smile was tight, “Peachy.”

Smoke gave a single nod. Turned without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a heavy finality.

The moment he was gone, the silence was thick as sorghum.

Amelia swallowed hard, but the words had retreated again. Like birds startled off a wire.

Stack stared at the closed door for a long beat. Then he looked back at her.

“You still wanna tell me?”

She opened her mouth again—but this time, no sound came.

Not yet.

Stack’s eyes softened, “Alright, baby. When you’re ready.”

He kissed her forehead, lingering.

But even as his lips touched her skin, he could feel it.

The divide had deepened.

[chromehoney]

Chapter Thirteen: Train Training

Warnings: 18+ | Angst | Fluff (if you squint) | Smoke and Stack are terrible at apologizing | Possession | Jealousy | Everyone is horny again (surprise surprise) | Too lazy for all these warnings, just read the shit | Oh noo… there’s only one bed… what could go wrong… *cough* or right… 🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️

The train station buzzed with the low hum of movement, dust kicked up around the wheels of luggage carts and the rhythmic chuff of a steam engine settled on its tracks. The metallic scent of iron mingled with the warmth of tobacco smoke and the earthy weight of the summer heat. It wasn’t crowded, this part of Clarksdale rarely was, but there was still a charge in the air that made Sera’s toes curl inside her shoes. She tried to hide it. Tried to keep her face fixed in that practiced pout she wore all morning and afternoon.

But the moment she laid eyes on the train's long black exterior and the powerful steam rising from its iron throat like it was alive, her bottom lip twitched upward, and a quiet giggle escaped before she could swallow it. Smoke caught it. Stack did too. But they didn’t say a word.

Stack handed the tickets to the porter with a brief nod. The man tipped his hat respectfully, then motioned for them to follow. The group made their way down the narrow wooden platform, boots clapping, Sera’s satchel bouncing lightly against her hip. Her curls shifted with each step, loosened from the tension of the day but still knotted in the back with stubborn defiance.

At the far end of the train, a private car awaited the trio. It was modest but reserved, with dark green curtains, polished brass fixtures, and plush velvet seats. The kind of space built for important men… and their secrets.

The porter opened the door and stepped aside. “Y’all gon’ ride real smooth in this one,” he offered, tipping his cap again. “Safe travels, folks.”

Smoke gave him a nod and a $5 bill. “‘Preciate it.”

Inside, the train car carried a quiet sort of warmth, the kind that made the air feel close but not suffocating. Gold lamplight hummed in soft pools across the polished wood walls, their faint flicker catching on brass fixtures and the fine threads of the velvet curtains. The air was laced with a mellow haze of pipe smoke, its earthy curl tempered by the sharp tang of lemon oil that clung stubbornly to the grain of the paneling. Somewhere deeper in the carriage, the faint creak of the wheels and the muted rumble of the tracks bled into the stillness, a rhythm steady enough to sink into the bones.

A small square of glass to her left caught Sera’s attention and held it fast. She moved toward it with an unthinking pull, like her body had made the decision before her mind could question it. She didn’t barrel forward like a child or creep with hesitation, her steps carried a buoyant lift, almost musical, betraying the coil of excitement in her chest. Reaching the window, she pressed her palms against the cool sill, leaning forward just enough to drink in the sweep of fields and shadowed treelines as they slid past. Then, without looking back at the men, she perched herself on the narrow ledge, knees tucked in and eyes fixed on the blur of the world as if afraid she might miss something if she blinked.

Her voice stayed low, but her whole frame hummed with a giddy vibration that made her words almost glow. “This mine,” she breathed, the sound feathering into the glass as a warm puff that clouded her view for a heartbeat before fading again.

Smoke lingered in the doorway, his hands buried deep in his pockets, weight settled evenly as if he had no intention of moving until he was good and ready. The orange tinge of the setting sun slanted through the glass and poured over her back, gilding the curve of her spine and catching in the loosened strands of her hair. For a moment, she looked less like the stubborn little thing who spent the day vocally sparring with him and more like something pulled from a hazy recollection. Like she was a vision suspended between memory and dream.

Stack strolled past his brother with the unhurried ease of a man who hadnever been told “no” and had no plans of hearing it tonight. He let out a low whistle that hung in the air before dropping into one of the high-backed velvet chairs, the cushion sighing beneath his weight. Tugging his pistol from the shoulder holster, he set it on the table beside him like it was no more than a pocket watch. His hat followed, brim flattened against the polished surface. From his jacket pocket came a folded map and a worn little notebook, his long fingers flipping it open before dragging the tip of his pen across the page in neat, slanted strokes.

Smoke didn’t claim a seat or touch the bar just yet. He kept his eyes locked on Sera like she might disappear if he blinked. “You hungry, love?” he asked, voice quiet but solid, a sound that filled the small space without needing to rise.

Sera didn’t bother glancing at him. Her hands stayed pressed to the glass, her gaze tethered to the strip of landscape bleeding by. “I’m still mad at you,” she said, plain as a stone dropped in water.

Smoke’s gaze lowered once, then again, slower this time, as if weighing whether to push or let her words slide. “You hungry,” he said again, not as a question now, but as if the matter had already been settled.

This time she turned, her narrowed eyes catching the gold light, her mouth tipped into a pout that looked more like an invitation than any real threat. “I said, ‘I’m mad at you’, Elijah.”

A sigh eased from his chest, the kind that spoke more of calculation than surrender, the sound of a man recognizing that he might be losing the moment but not the war. “Real meal or somethin’ sweet?”

Sera crossed her arms over herself, shoulders tilting as Annie’s earlier words spun in her mind. She was the one in control. Not them. Not here. Not now. “You ain’t listenin’ to me. I’m mad at you.”

Smoke didn’t rise to the bait. He moved to the bar’s narrow cabinet, pulling the polished door open with a muted click. Inside, parcels wrapped in crisp paper sat neatly stacked, each one tied with twine. He began opening them with careful and practiced precision, revealing careful layers of food, his hands steady even as the muscle in his jaw ticked once, then again.

Stack’s pen stilled against the page, his eyes lifting. “What ‘bout me, sunshine? You hungry?”

Sera spun on him so quickly the hem of her skirt swayed against her knees. “I’m definitely still mad at you, too.”

Stack leaned back, hand flattening over his chest as though she had taken a shot at him. “What’d I do?”

“You took his side,” she said, tipping her head toward Smoke. “An you was mean to me earlier… you ain’t finish what you started...”

Stack’s grin curved, slow and sharp, his gold tooth catching the lamplight. He set his notebook and pen on the table as if whatever he was writing could wait until tomorrow. “Mean? Little dove, I ain’t even shown ya’ my mean side yet.”

The sound that left her was a strange little blend of a scoff and a whimper, caught halfway between protest and amusement. She turned back to the glass, but this time there was a ghost of a smile tucked in the corner of her mouth, one she didn’t bother trying to hide.

The rhythmic clatter of the train hummed beneath their feet, a steady, hypnotic cadence that bled into the hiss of steam and the occasional mournful groan of iron wheels carving their way through the countryside. The car rocked with a measured sway, enough to coax the body into relaxing but never letting the mind forget the movement. In the dim honeyed light, the tension between them didn’t vanish, it simply curled in tighter, stirred and dissolved like sugar sinking into warm tea.

Smoke set the final unwrapped parcel onto a linen-lined tray with the same precision he used when loading and unloading a pistol. The air carried the rich scent of roast chicken, its juices seeping into thick slices of meat; the buttery sweetness of cornbread bundled in waxed paper; the ripe tang of peach slices nestled in a tin; and the caramel pull of honey-glazed pecans shimmering in their glass jar.

He knew Sera’s temper hadn’t cooled. And he also knew her stomach was near to growling her into surrender.

Without a word, he walked to her side, and settled onto the bench beside her, his knee brushing hers, the tray balanced between them. With a calmness that felt deliberate, like a man who had done this enough times to know the outcome, he plucked a piece of chicken between his fingers and lifted it toward her mouth.

Sera’s arms stayed locked over her chest, nose wrinkling as she angled her chin away. “I told you, I’m mad—”

Smoke didn’t so much as blink. “Yeah, I know, my love. You mad at me.”

Her cheeks puffed with defiance, but her gaze slid toward the darkening glass of the window instead of his face. Outside, the streaks of shadowed farmland blurred past. Inside, the sound of her stomach’s protest was sharp enough to pull the faintest twitch from the corner of his mouth.

“You ain’t gotta talk,” he said, his voice low enough to press warm against her ear. “Just open that pretty mouth an let me take care of ya’ like I been doin’ this whole week.”

The glare she turned on him would have carried more bite if she hadn’t hesitated afterward. They held each other in that still moment, like a quiet standoff measured in the space between their knees, in the faint sway of the car and in the way his hand never wavered. Then, with a small exhale, she let her lips part just enough to accept the bite.

Smoke’s fingertips grazed the edge of her mouth as he withdrew. “Good girl,” he said under his breath, the words thick with lingering tension he knew better than to acknowledge right now.

Her eyes stayed narrowed while she chewed, but the sharpness in her posture had already begun to loosen, softened by the warmth in his tone and the quiet act of being fed. She swallowed, and before she could protest, he offered her a chunk of cornbread, then a thin wedge of peach that bursted with sweetness across her tongue as her closed for a moment at the taste.

Smoke leaned in a fraction closer, his voice charming rather than commanding. “See? All I’m tryin’ to do is protect you. Keep you full. Safe. Show you things you ain’t never seen.” He plucked a pecan from the jar, holding it lightly between his fingers. “Ain’t tryin’ to cage you, baby. We ain’t ya’ daddy.”

Sera’s teeth caught on her bottom lip before she spoke, her eyes narrowing but carrying a different kind of fire now. “What if I smile at another man?”

Smoke’s jaw flexed once.

“What if I like the way he look at me?” she pushed further, her voice softer but threaded with a challenge. “Will y’all still kill him? Will y’all still be mad at me?”

The air between them thinned. Across from them, Stack stopped marking his map and leaned back slightly, his gaze lifting with measured slowness. Neither man rushed to answer—not because they didn’t have one, but because the wrong one might shatter the fragile truce they were building back up after an explosion morning and afternoon. Smoke’s eyes stayed on hers, studying her the way a man sizes up a locked door he means to open. Then he reached up, catching a stray ginger curl at her temple and tucking it gently behind her ear.

“If it’s just a smile,” he said, his tone smooth as poured honey, “we’ll try to let it go.”

The corners of his mouth curved, but it didn’t touch the depth of his gaze. Stack chuckled low in his chest and shook his head once, sending his brother a look across the table. What passed between them was wordless but razor-sharp.

We’ll let her think that for now.

But if a nigga stare too hard we kill him an his entire bloodline.

Sera didn’t seem to notice the exchange, or maybe she did, and chose to ignore it for the sake of temporary peace. For now, she leaned closer into the narrow space between her and Smoke, her shoulder brushing the firmness of his chest. She reached for another piece of cornbread, but he caught her wrist with a light grip. Without breaking eye contact, he took the piece himself and then pulled her into his lap.

Her gasp was quiet but unhidden. The fabric of her dress pooled and folded as her thick thighs settled across him, the hem inching upward until it skimmed higher along her leg. His arm locked securely around her waist, the tray forgotten as the scent of warm food mingled with the scent of him.

“Comfortable, baby?” he asked, voice steady.

She gave a small nod. The sting of earlier arguments faded with each second she stayed there, replaced with the thrum of something else entirely. He held another slice of peach to her lips, and she accepted it, but this time she lingered, the tip of her tongue curling slow against his fingers before drawing them into her mouth.

Smoke’s breath came deeper, his grip firming on her hip. “Keep carryin’ on like that,” he warned, his voice weighted now, “an I’ll feed you somethin’ else… sum’ real thick...”

Her cheeks flushed, a smile tugging before she could stop it. “You said you wasn’t gonna do nothin’ till Chicago,” she said, her voice lilting and daring.

His mouth brushed her neck, leaving the faintest trail of kisses that made the air between them turn heavy. “Mm,” he said, unhurried, “I did… didn’t I...”

Smoke shifted her just enough that her back pressed more fully to his chest, his thigh angled so she rested on the exact place he wanted her. His hand moved with practiced ease, guiding her there with a steady pressure at her hip until a low sound pushed past him, quiet but unmistakable. “There,” he breathed against the curve of her neck, his lips brushing the same spot he knew unraveled her thoughts. The faint graze of his teeth followed and softened by a kiss that lingered in that place just long enough to make her chest rise in a sharp pull.

Another bite of cornbread passed from his fingers to her mouth, his knuckles grazing her cheek as if it were an accident. “What’d you an Annie talk ‘bout in that room, my love?” he asked, tone quiet enough to sound harmless, but sly enough to pull answers she didn’t intend to give. His mouth found that spot on her neck again, warmer this time, the tip of his tongue pressing faintly before retreating.

Sera hesitated, chewing slowly, her lashes dipping.

He didn’t wait for her to answer before adding, “I counted three bundles she put in ya’ hand when you came out.” His voice curled with feigned casualness, though his fingers splayed more firmly across her thigh. “Start takin’ whatever she gave you tonight, so you ready by the time we get to Chicago.”

Her breath caught in her chest when he rocked his leg beneath her, shifting her higher into the cradle of his lap. He made a sound deep in his throat, half-groan and half-approval as his palm pressed her tighter into place. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout earlier all damn day,” he admitted, his tone smoothing over the sharpness that had hung between them. “Even with all this back an forth, I still want you… Want you right now.”

Sera swallowed hard, the question forming before she could stop it. “What did you an Stack do to make Annie hate you?”

Smoke’s hand paused its absent tracing along her waist. He exhaled through his nose and cleared his throat. “Annie don’t hate us,” he said after a beat, his tone dipping softer, as though gentling the weight of the truth. “It’s… complicated.” His thumb made a slow arc over her hip. “I was a terrible husband… Stack was a terrible boyfriend… sharin’ ain’t always come easy to us an Annie deserved better.”

She let the words sink, turning them over in her mind before asking, quieter now, “How many other women have you an Stack given these… things to?”

Smoke’s head tilted, his breath brushing her ear. “Is that a question you really want answered, baby?” The hum of the train filled the pause between them. “What we have with you is deeper than… all that. Carnal pleasure ain’t the measure here.”

He fed her another slice of peach, watching the way her mouth closed around it before continuing. “Me an Stack got a colorful past with jade trainin’ women. Took a lotta trial an error to get it right.” His fingers slipped beneath the edge of her dress, barely grazing the skin of her thigh as his voice softened further. “You got the perfect version of us. The one we bled for. Fought for.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t look away.

“We care ‘bout you in a way we didn’t think we could,” he went on, his tone now the smooth blend of confession and lure. “Don’t want to mess this up. Just want to spoil you. Make you happy.” His mouth returned to that weak spot on her neck, kissing and breathing her in. “Want you to cum ‘til you can’t think straight ‘cause you ours. Our little wife.”

Sera’s cheeks warmed until the heat touched all the way down her neck, the flush blooming rich and visible against the depth of her brown skin. She kept chewing at each bite Smoke offered her, savoring the flavors more than she wanted to admit, her free hand wandered without thought to trace the sinews in his wrist. The same wrist that was holding her securely against him as his thumb idly grazed her ribs as if to remind her she wasn’t going anywhere.

Her voice was faint, like a secret meant only for him. “I’m sorry… for bein’ difficult earlier.”

Smoke’s fingers pressed lightly at her side in a quiet warning not to talk like that, his head lowering just enough for his words to touch the shell of her ear. “Shh. You got nothin’ to apologize for, baby. Me an Stack… we earned every bit of what you gave us earlier.” The faint curl at his mouth could be felt more than seen, and it was the kind that left no room to doubt he meant it.

When she could eat no more, she rested her gaze on him in a quiet, unguarded way studying his face as if trying to memorize it in this light. Then her eyes slid toward Stack across the small compartment, only for her expression to crease into a frown. Looking back at Smoke, she frowned again. “Y’all already spoiled me too much,” she said, her tone hovering somewhere between gratitude and guilt. “I’ve spent an entire week bein’ bathed an cared for like… like I can’t do nothin’ for myself.”

That drew matching looks from both men, amusement sitting easily in their eyes. Smoke leaned back just enough to watch her rise from his lap. Stack, legs sprawled in his chair and his eyes followed her with the kind of interest that had nothing to do with what she was saying and everything to do with the way she moved through the narrow space.

The train car was no place for elegance, yet she tried. She fumbled with her luggage, pausing only to reach up and free the coil of ginger hair that had been bound away all day. The strands tumbled in a cascade down her back, catching the low lamplight and showing every curl’s frizzy spring. She muttered something about being an adult, though it was aimed more at herself than anyone else, before sifting through folded garments until she found a thin nightgown. The fabric was pale and whisper-light, the sort of thing that concealed nothing once touched by lamplight.

Smoke rose without a word, disappearing only to return moments later with a steaming basin carried in both hands, an attendant retreating down the hall behind him. Stack lifted a brow at the sight, then glanced at his brother. No words passed, but their shared thought was clear enough when their gazes shifted in unison to Sera.

“You want to be independent tonight,” Smoke asked, voice smooth as poured molasses, “or you want us to wash you?”

Her teeth caught her bottom lip, the barest pause before she tipped her chin in a small nod. “Wash me.”

That was all the invitation they needed.

Smoke stepped in first, taking the nightgown from her hand before she could protest, folding it neatly and setting it aside. Stack followed suit, easing the straps of her dress over her shoulders with unhurried care, his fingers brushing her skin just enough to raise a ripple along her arms. Piece by piece, they stripped her down until bare warmth touched the cooler air of the compartment.

The water steamed when Smoke dipped a cloth into it, wringing it with a slow twist before guiding it over her skin. The scent of the soap was familiar now, the same one that had coated her all week, and her body seemed to lean into it without thinking. “When we get to Chicago,” he said, tone almost conversational, “we’ll have a tub big enough for the three of us. Deep enough to sink into without touchin’ the sides.”

Sera gave him a disbelieving glance, certain he was exaggerating, but Stack’s voice came from behind her in a drawl edged with humor. “He tellin’ the truth, sunshine.”

From there the twins traded images back and forth. Private rooms with thick carpets, glass decanters lined on polished shelves, meals that would never leave her hungry, and baths so lavish she would forget what it felt like to be cold. As they spoke, their hands worked with quiet purpose, the washcloth gliding over her shoulders and down her spine, across her arms, along the dip of her waist. The space between their touches shortened, the strokes lingering a fraction longer, until the air carried a weight she could feel in her stomach.

Smoke’s mouth returned to that spot on her neck, the one he had claimed earlier, pressing kisses there that made her knees soften. Stack, kneeled slightly to rinse the cloth again and let his fingers drift in a path across her hip, the touch neither rushed nor entirely innocent. His hand grazed higher before dipping lower, just enough to make her thighs draw together on reflex.

She let out a faint sound, but when Stack caught her eye, she broke into a giggle, shaking her head. “You ticklin’ me.”

“Mm,” Stack replied, the sound rolling off his tongue as his mouth edged into a sly curve. “If that’s what you wanna call it.” His eyes skimmed over her bare form with the slow certainty of a man who already decided the answer before he asked, “You want us dressin’ you in that nightgown… or you want us keepin’ you just like this?”

Her teeth caught her bottom lip again, the faintest tremor of hesitation before she gave a single nod, the sort that wasn’t exactly timid but wasn’t defiant either. She let them steer her with unrushed hands toward the narrow bed tucked at the far end of the compartment.

The bed looked like it had been built for function and nothing else, barely wider than a coffin, the mattress was drawn tight beneath a thin spread, and the pillows were stiff as though they had been plucked from a church pew. But to the three of them, it wasn’t an obstacle. The past week had taught them how to share a space too small, how to breathe the same air without crowding each other’s lungs, how to braid their silences and their sounds until it felt like a rhythm that belonged to them alone.

Sera lingered near the edge of it now, her arms drawn across her bare chest in a loose fold, curls spilling over her shoulders and catching in the muted lamplight. Shadows gathered beneath her lashes as she shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other, the sway subtle but telling.

Stack slipped out into the narrow corridor to fetch fresh water, returning with the basin balanced in his hands. He set it down, then, without a second thought, tugged free of his shirt and trousers until he stood in his underthings. His skin glistened as he washed at the basin, every stroke deliberate, his gaze flicking to her with a brow lifted and his lips threatening a grin. “Well?” he drawled, the word stretching between them. “You lookin’ a little lost, dove. You clean now. Go ‘head an lay down.”

Smoke followed soon after, setting his own clothes aside until he was stripped to his boxer shorts as well. The planes of his chest caught the lamplight, his movements steady as he dipped a cloth into the basin and ran it over his arms and torso. He paused only to peel away the bloody bandage at his neck, replacing it with a fresh strip of linen. The faint sting of Annie’s blade lingered somewhere behind his eyes, but it didn’t dim the calculation in his stare when it drifted to Sera.

“I ain’t lost,” she huffed, lifting her chin like the words could shield her from how their eyes were on her.

Stack’s grin deepened, the kind that wasn’t born from mockery but from a private kind of satisfaction. He could get used to that stubborn tilt in her voice, to seeing her flustered without hiding behind the mask of blind obedience. “Then what you standin’ there all twitchy for? Bed’s right there.”

Smoke’s voice came lower, almost teasing. “You waitin’ for the rest of ya’ nighttime routine, baby?”

The heat climbed into her cheeks before she could stop it, and she turned her back on them, looking to the window as though the scattered stars might answer for her. “I’m… used to fallin’ asleep a certain way, that’s all...”

Stack tilted his head, his gaze moving over her frame with a slow trace, his teeth dragging briefly along his bottom lip. “Yeah? What way’s that?”

Her head angled just enough for them to catch the faint, shy pull of her mouth, the pout tucked there like it had been waiting for the right moment. “I usually get… more goodnight kisses.”

Smoke’s hand stilled on the cloth, then he let it drop into the basin with a quiet splash. “Kisses,” he repeated, the single word thick with something unreadable as he crossed the space toward her, his steps even and sure. “That all?”

She blinked, and kept her gaze on him, her voice small but clear. “Mhm.”

Stack rolled his neck, his shoulders loosening as he took a step in as well, the air between them tightening with his nearness. “Didn’t Smoke give you a ton of neck kisses? You need more, sunshine? You bein’ greedy?”

Sera didn’t shift her stance. She only looked at them from under those long lashes, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “Y’all have to give me kisses while you hold me…”

They didn’t hesitate and within minutes, the twins moved through the small compartment as though they had been solving the same puzzle their entire lives. The tray vanished from the table. The chairs were nudged aside until they pressed into the far wall. The lamplight dimmed to a muted glow, soft enough to blur the edges of the room. And the bed that was narrow, rigid, more suited to a prison cell than comfort, was transformed into a space meant for three bodies tangled together.

Stack climbed in first, the springs giving a low groan beneath his weight as he wedged himself against the wall. His arm extended, palm open, beckoning her forward with a faint curl of his fingers. Sera crawled in next, slipping under the thin blanket with a whisper of fabric, her skin catching the heat still clinging to the sheets. Smoke followed last, the shift of the mattress dipping her toward him. His chest molded against her front, one arm sliding beneath her neck, the other draping across her waist until his fingers met Stack’s resting just beneath her navel.

“Comfy?” Stack asked, his voice warm with quiet amusement.

Sera gave a sound somewhere between a hum and a sigh, her body softening into their hold. Heat pressed into her from both sides as she laid between two walls of solid muscle whose breath rose and fell in a rhythm that matched the gentle sway of the train. Their hands moved with a casual kind of possession, tracing aimless lines over her curves as though neither of them could keep still when near her.

The kisses began without warning. Stack’s mouth brushed the nape of her neck where Smoke already left hickies, then ghosted over her shoulder, tracing down the curve of her spine in slow, claiming passes. Smoke’s lips found her temple, then her cheekbone, then the delicate line of her collar. Neither spoke. Neither hurried. The air thickened with each press of their mouths against her skin.

Sera let out a small giggle that quickly turned into a faint gasp when she wiggled against them, the motion earning her not retreat but more—more kisses, more pressure, more hands moving lower than before. Smoke’s arm pulled her tighter into his chest. Stack’s grip around her hip firmed as if to hold her in place. Her breathing deepened and the rest of the world ceased to exist.

That ache she had been ignoring since leaving the north field started to bloom, subtle at first, then stronger, until it pulsed through every movement. She didn’t voice it and she didn’t have to. They felt it in the way her body arched into their touch, in the way her fingers hooked lightly into the edge of the blanket, and in the restless shift of her thighs between theirs. A soft whimper slipped from her, muffled against Smoke’s chest. She moved again with an almost imperceptible roll of her hips that had nothing to do with finding comfort. Smoke’s breath left him in a low sound, his arm locking more firmly at her waist. Behind her, Stack’s chuckle rumbled through his chest into her spine.

“You still restless, dove?” Stack’s tone carried a rasp of amusement and a hint of sleep.

She didn’t bother answering out loud. Her eyes opened, their edges hazy with heat, and her fingers began a quiet exploration from beneath the blanket testing and teasing. She brushed light patterns over Smoke’s wrist, her fingertips grazing the faint rise of veins beneath his skin. Her other hand reached back until it met Stack’s forearm slung across her hip, tracing each defined line of muscle there as though committing it to memory.

Smoke caught her chin with two fingers, tilting her face until her eyes met his. His mouth touched along her jaw, then her cheek, then into the hollow just beneath her ear. “This all you wantin’, doll?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest curve of a smirk. “Just a few more kisses goodnight?”

Her thighs pressed together beneath the blanket, her voice nowhere to be found. She simply blinked at him, gaze wide and pleading without saying a word.

Stack’s fingertips drifted along the outside of her thigh, the contact barely there yet leaving heat in its wake. “Hmm,” he breathed against her neck, “she squirmin’ again, Smoke. Might still have too much sugar in her blood.”

“She ain’t askin’ for nothin’,” Smoke said, brushing one last kiss against her temple. But the weight in his tone made it sound less like certainty and more like a dare.

Their touches grew more daring, no longer content to skim the safer edges. And Sera didn’t move to stop them. She never did. The air grew heavier around them, pressing in close, thick with something that made her stomach coil and her chest feel tight. Her fingers stilled on their arms, not out of resistance, but from the pulse of anticipation like her body knew something was coming and wanted to meet it head-on. The signals were all there. The small tilt of her hips toward Stack’s touch. The rub of her thighs under the blanket. The way her eyes flicked to Smoke’s mouth, lingering as though she wanted to steal something from it.

Smoke’s gaze dragged over her features like a shadow sweeping across the room. His thumb traced over her lower lip, feeling the faint tremor there. “That look in ya’ eyes,” he said, his tone smooth and heavy. “You gon’ keep pretendin’ you don’t want more? Or you finally gon’ learn how to ask for it?”

Her breath released in a thin, uneven thread. Her lips parted just slightly, as if she might shape the words, but nothing came. Instead, her fingers tightened over his wrist as she gave a silent answer… a plea without sound.

Behind her, Stack let out a low sound, deep in his throat, a mix between a chuckle and something rougher, the kind of noise that vibrated through his chest and into her spine. “She too shy to say it out loud,” he said, his mouth grazing the rim of her ear so his words seemed to sink straight through her skin, “but her body’s already tellin’ every secret she got. Can feel her pressin’ them legs together like we wouldn’t notice.”

His palm slid higher along her thigh, the heat of his skin a creeping tide that made every nerve stand on edge. Sera shifted again, the movement instinctive now, not from unease but from the spark of sensation rolling through her. Her breathing grew uneven, caught for a moment when his fingertips brushed along the crease where her thigh met the tender heat between her legs and hovered there while circling close but never quite closing the distance.

“Mmm…” Stack’s tone dripped like warm honey over a roaring fire. “Still the same sweet little thing you was this mornin’… ain’t nothin’ changed.”

In front of her, Smoke’s hand slid up, fingers curling beneath her jaw again with an easy firmness that left no room for question. He turned her face toward him, holding her there, his thumb resting just under the curve of her mouth. “Look at me,” he said, his voice deep and steady.

Her eyes met his, and in that moment, the tight little train compartment felt vast and empty except for the space between their gazes. The sound of the rails was gone. The sway of the car was gone. There was only the reality that she was bracketed between two men who handled her like she was both the altar and the sin offered upon it. Her pulse thudded so loud she could almost taste it in her throat.

“Tell me what you want,” Smoke said again, the words softer now but weighted with command.

She blinked once. Then again. “I… I just want—”

The rest didn’t make it past her lips because Smoke caught it in a kiss, his mouth claiming hers with a depth that pulled the breath from her lungs. It was a kiss that consumed, one that tasted like every unspoken plea she hadn’t found the courage to say. Her toes curled in the sheets, her fingers locking around the hard line of his forearm as the world fell away.

Behind her, Stack lowered his head, speaking against the base of her neck. “That didn’t sound like just a kiss to me.” His hand finally shifted, fingers dipping between her thighs.

Sera’s gasp was quick, sharp, and caught somewhere between a cry and a sigh, but Smoke swallowed the sound, keeping his mouth against hers. His hold on her jaw firmed while his tongue slid deeper, staking claim with each press. He kissed her like he was branding her and reminding her exactly where she belonged.

Stack’s fingers moved with a patience that felt almost cruel, exploring the edges of her heat without diving in, circling close enough to make her hips twitch. His voice was a soft scrape against her skin. “What you shiverin’ for, doll? You tryin’ so hard to hold it in, but this pretty little cooze got its own mind.”

Her head tipped back against his shoulder, her thighs parting just a fraction, the movement an unspoken invitation. Another shiver rippled through her when his knuckles brushed over the slick warmth waiting there. Words failed her entirely.

“Sensitive little thing,” Stack said, his grin pressing into her neck. “An all this from a wash an’ a few goodnight kisses?”

Smoke drew back just enough to look down at her, his dark brown eyes gone almost black as heat coiled deep in them. One of his hands slipped under the blanket, settling across her lower belly, the spread of his fingers like a promise. His thumb traced slow circles, keeping her anchored between them. “Open ya’ mouth,” he said, voice even but heavy. “Tell us if you want us to stop.”

Sera swallowed hard. Her lips tingled from the kiss, her chest rising in uneven waves as the tension tightened inside her. “I don’t…” Her voice was barely there. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all it took.

Stack groaned low in his chest, his fingers sliding through the slick heat at her center with a care that made her hips jolt. “Damn, doll… you tryin’ to soak the whole train?”

Her breath came in small, shaky pulls now, and she pressed herself into Smoke, her nails tracing light marks over his forearm as he tilted her chin up for another kiss. This one was hungrier and deeper, tasting of possession and intent.

“Don’t you worry,” Smoke said against her mouth, the words curling like smoke over fire, “we gonna take real good care of you.”

Their hands worked together, one teasing at the edges while the other explored higher. Smoke’s fingers found the curve of her breast, his thumb circling until another sound slipped from her throat. Stack’s hand dipped lower, two fingers easing inside with a precision that made her knees press into the mattress. She tightened around him, her hips tilting backward as if pulled by instinct.

“That’s it,” Stack growled against her skin, teeth grazing her shoulder. “Let us in, sweet girl.”

And still, they hadn’t even scratched the surface of pleasure they could give her. Yet already she felt herself drifting somewhere beyond the rattle of the wheels, beyond the narrow bed, her entire awareness wrapped around their heat, their voices, and the way they knew every part of her that could be undone.

Her mouth eased open again and her body no longer moved of its own will; it answered to the cadence of their hands, the heat of their mouths, and the molten draw of their voices curling through her ears. The train swayed beneath them in a steady, predictable rhythm, but nothing outside could match the fever building inside her, the pounding in the cage of her ribs, or the pooling restlessness between her thighs.

Stack’s fingers sank deeper with each movement, the glide of his knuckles pushing her open in a rhythm that made her toes curl into the blanket. Every inward curl of his hand sent a trembling sigh spilling from her, her hips jerking in tiny bursts, chasing him without thought. She already felt filled to the brim, yet some secret part of her craved more. His free arm hooked around her waist, cinching her back against him as his mouth brushed her ear. “Look at her,” he drawled, the grit in his tone wrapping around the filth of his words, “pressin’ back into my hand like her sweet pussy knows better than her mouth what she needs.”

Smoke’s chest rose and fell against her, his stare fixed on the faint shake of her bottom lip. His palm held her jaw steady, guiding her chin just so, and then his mouth began its descent, skimming along the curve of her cheek, trailing down the warm slope of her throat, and dipping over the ridge of her collar until his other hand closed firmly over one breast. His thumb and forefinger caught her nipple and rolled it until the bud stood tight beneath his touch. “She lookin’ like she’s beggin’,” he muttered, voice roughened with heat, “but still too stubborn to put it in words.”

Her back arched, pressing into Stack’s bare chest, her front surging toward Smoke’s mouth as if drawn by some magnetic pull. He didn’t pause. His lips closed around the other hardened peak, sucking with a force that sent a sharp, startled sound tumbling from her throat. Her hand tangled into his thick hair, clutching hard, holding him there.

“S-Sir,” she gasped, her voice breaking at the edges, breathy and thin. “Please…”

Smoke’s gaze cut upward to her face, his mouth still wrapped around her, his eyes as black as the soul of a sinner that never repented. He let go with a wet pull, lips slick from her skin, his tone dropping to a dangerous rumble. “Now you beggin’.”

Stack’s low laugh rolled against her back, his fingers moving with more force now, the wet rhythm of him between her legs echoing in the confined air. “She finally lettin’ herself get desperate.”

“I c-can’t,” Sera stammered, thighs twitching around his wrist.

“Yes, you can,” Stack countered, his nose brushing the tender skin behind her ear. “You gonna cum right here, baby… stuffed on my fingers, drownin’ in kisses. You been through enough today. You deserve to let it go.”

Smoke’s hips pressed forward, his thigh wedged between hers, his voice rich with intent. “You deserve to feel good, my love. You always do.”

She tried to still herself, to fight the way her body rolled instinctively toward the pressure, but the fight was useless. Her hips began to move, finding the grind of Stack’s hand, finding the heat she couldn’t outrun. The sound of her moans blurred with broken little sobs, and she trembled hard enough for them both to feel it.

Stack’s tone dropped into a command masked as a whisper. “Let go, doll. Give it to us.”

Smoke’s mouth returned to hers as he bit down in her bottom lip. “Come on, doll. Give it.”

And she did. The sound that tore from her was half-cry, half-moan, her whole body jerking between them as pleasure ripped through her in waves. Her nails dug into Smoke’s arm, her legs squeezing hard around Stack’s wrist like her body couldn’t bear to let him go. The contractions came sharp and fast, leaving her wet, shaking, and utterly undone. The tremors refused to fade quickly, each one stealing another gasp from her.

Smoke’s hand swept over her cheek, his lips pressing soft, almost reverent kisses against her face. “That’s it… that’s it… good girl… such a good fuckin’ girl for us...”

Stack stayed molded to her back, his lips grazing the crown of her head, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You always make us so proud, sunshine.”

For a while they held her in silence and her cheek pressed to Smoke’s shoulder while Stack’s arm was a band of heat around her middle. Their warmth wrapped her like something unshakable. When her breathing steadied, she dared to open her eyes, finding them both watching her in the low light. There was hunger in their stares still, the kind that didn’t burn out just because she came. The heat between them hadn’t lifted; it hung heavy in the air, drawing each inhale deep into her lungs.

Stack stayed behind her like a brand against her spine, his hold still snug. But slowly, with a patience that felt dangerous, he began to shift… just a subtle roll of his hips at first, then again, firmer, the movement measured and unrelenting. Sera’s eyes widened before they fluttered shut again, the breath catching in her throat. She could feel every inch of him pressed firm and restrained, the weight and length of him dragging with each roll.

“You so soft, doll.” His voice dipped lower, his Southern drawl molten and heavy. “This what you do to me, baby. You lay here all warm an sweet, squeezin’ on my fingers like you was made for it… an I’m losin’ my damn mind.”

His mouth traced her neck, his tongue leaving a wet line before he kissed her shoulder. “When we get to Chicago,” he said, the promise dark and rich, “I’m layin’ you out in that big bed we got waitin’ for us. Gonna see how many times I can make you say my name.”

She whimpered, her thighs trying to press together on instinct, but Smoke’s leg was still there, keeping her open.

Stack’s laughter was deep and amused. “What’s the matter? You still punishin’ us? Still holdin’ onto that stubborn streak?” Her lashes lifted, her gaze finding the shifting glow of lamplight on their faces. Stack’s lips brushed her ear, his words dropping into something sinful. “You ready to forgive us enough to take the jade again, little dove?”

The question didn’t just hang in the air, it settled between them like a drawn blade, gleaming and fragile, sharp enough that one wrong word might cut too deep. Sera’s breath thinned in her chest and her gaze turned distant, as though she needed to put space between herself and what Stack had just asked. The jade. That small, glinting piece of polished green, harmless-looking in the palm yet weighted with every hidden meaning they had laced into it.

It wasn’t just an object. It was the same ‘trinket’ Smoke had slid into her with slick fingers and a voice spun from honeyed lies telling her it was only there to ease her ache, to make her feel full, to take the edge off. But now she knew it was more than that. It was a marker. A claim. Something that said, without the need for ceremony, you belong to us inside and out.

Her voice came so faint it barely lifted into the air. “I’ll take it again…” She let her fingers drift over the hard planes of Smoke’s bare chest, her touch smoothing over the heat there like a balm for both of them. “…but only if y’all promise not to treat me like I’m just here to be handled. Not like earlier.” Her words didn’t bite, but there was a quiver to them she couldn’t disguise. Smoke’s palm halted on her hip. She turned her head enough to catch his eyes, searching for something she couldn’t name. “You make choices without includin’ me. Tell me what I can an can’t do. Shut me down ‘fore I can say my piece. I’m not askin’ to be the one runnin’ things… I just want to know I matter in this.”

Smoke’s stare stayed fixed, dark and weighty, scanning over every inch of her face as if committing each expression to memory. His gaze lingered on the curve of her mouth, the faint dampness still clinging to her forehead, the bare rise and fall of her chest brushing against his own. For a long while, the train’s low rumble was the only sound. When he finally spoke, his voice was level, measured, a thread pulled taut. “We’ll try.”

Her brow furrowed, her lips parting to push for more, but his finger pressed to them before a word could escape.

“I ain’t givin’ you a promise me an Stack can’t hold onto,” he went on, his thumb tracing down the slope of her jaw, over the soft skin beneath her chin. “You already know what we are. We not good men, Sera. Never were. We’ve shot men for less than a harsh word, taken money that wasn’t ours, lied so clean it felt like the truth. That kind of thing don’t change overnight.”

His hand shifted, flattening over her chest until his palm rested above her heart. “But we see you. An we’ll work even harder to remember what we got our hands on. You softer than what we used to. More fragile than we know how to be with. You the only thing we’ve touched in years we didn’t want to completely break apart just to see what you were made of.”

Behind her, Stack’s grip at her belly drew tighter, his hips pressing more deliberately into her, the hard line of him caught against the swell of her backside. “We mean it, baby,” he said, his voice quieter than his usual teasing tone. “Ain’t another woman alive who’s gotten what you gotten from us. None who’s earned it, either.”

Sera swallowed, her throat working as her hand slid down from Smoke’s chest toward her backside, fingers curling over the waistband of Stack’s boxers. His breath thickened behind her, hips twitching once in reflex before he held himself still.

“I want it then,” she whispered.

Smoke’s brow lifted a fraction. “Want what?”

Color rose in her cheeks, but this time she didn’t flinch from his gaze. “The jade.”

That slow, knowing curl touched the corner of his mouth, dangerous in its satisfaction. “Attagirl.”

Stack nipped gently at the curve of her shoulder, his teeth just grazing her skin. “You sure? Don’t want you sayin’ yes just ‘cause I made you melt in my hands a minute ago.”

“I’m sure.” Her voice steadied, even as her chest rose quicker. “Just… be gentle with me.”

Both men stilled, though their eyes sharpened. Smoke leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead with a tenderness that stood out against the weight of everything else in the room. “Sweet girl,” he said, each word low and deliberate, “gentle with us don’t ever mean soft. But I’ll promise you we’ll take our time.”

Stack’s grin returned, heat curling in his words. His fingers dipped lower along her stomach, tracing a path that made her knees draw slightly inward. “You ready to be plugged up tight for Daddy again?”

Her voice left her in a soft sound that wasn’t quite a word, her hips tilting into the hands that were already guiding her toward it. She was past ready and this time, she had asked for it herself.

The train rocked them in its steady sway, the steel beneath carrying its own deep, measured hum, while the night outside lay heavy and black against the windows. In the cramped cabin, the air had thickened until it felt warm enough to cling to skin.

Sera lay stretched across Smoke’s chest, her thighs sprawled over his lap, her spine curved into him like she was molded by God to fit there. Her curls spilled in loose, damp spirals over one shoulder, the scent of her skin mixing with the faint tang of sweat and the ghost of soap. Smoke’s arms bracketed her completely, one wrapping tight across her waist, the other settled low between her thighs, keeping them spread with an ease that left no doubt he would hold them there until he was done. His palm cupped her mound, his fingers parting her just enough to show the soft, wet gleam at her center.

At the foot of the narrow cot, Stack crouched low, his jaw set and his eyes fixed like a marksman’s on the place Smoke held open for him. Sera shifted without meaning to, every brush of air over her bare skin sparking against nerves that were already raw from earlier. The remnants of her last release clung slick to her thighs, and the heat in their stares made her body light up all over again.

“Be still, my love,” Smoke’s voice slid warm against her ear, his mouth trailing down the line of her jaw as he adjusted her hips in his lap. “Let me hold you open for him…”

A soft, helpless sound left her as his fingers dug deeper into the crease of her thighs, anchoring her there.

Stack’s eyes flicked from her glistening folds to her flushed face and back again. “You still this wet,” he said as he untied a small velvet pouch, “an we ain’t even begun.”

Her thighs tightened on instinct. Smoke let out a deep grunt beneath her, his hips shifting upward until she felt the press of him, thick and heated, sliding against the swell of her backside. The slow drag over her skin made her toes curl against the sheets.

“God…” he breathed into her tender neck. “Chicago can’t come fast enough for me to finish what I started this mornin’.”

Stack’s head lifted at that, his gaze narrowing. “Earlier?”

Sera’s body went still for a beat, and then she gave a sheepish little laugh, her hands coming up to cover her face. “It wasn’t—n-not like that.”

Stack arched a brow, suspicion in his voice. “Oh? Then what was it exactly?”

Smoke didn’t give her the chance to fumble through. He pushed his hips again, dragging himself along her with a sound that rumbled from deep in his chest.

Peeking out from behind her fingers, Sera’s cheeks burned. “He… um…” she faltered, biting down lightly on her lip, “he rubbed his… his thingy on me this mornin’.”

Stack stared at her slightly unamused. “His what?”

She hesitated, then pointed towards the hard shape straining under Stack’s boxers. “You know… his thingy… down there.”

The sharp click of Stack’s tongue cut the air. “Nah. Uh-uh. That ain’t gonna work, sugar.”

Her brows drew in, unsure.

“You grown Seraphim,” he said, his voice dipping low. “You gettin’ licked by grown men, lettin’ grown men make you CUM, an when we get to Chicago you gettin’ fucked with grown men DICKS, not thingys. You better learn to say it, ‘cause I ain’t takin’ no orders from a woman soundin’ like she still keepin’ company with dolls.”

Smoke’s chest vibrated with a short laugh. “Well… she is a doll. Our doll.”

“Mhm,” Stack muttered, glancing at him. “A doll you been playin’ with behind my back.”

Sera shifted, thighs twitching in the hold of Smoke’s hands.

Stack caught it and his attention sharpened. “So you started the jade trainin’ an you rubbin’ raw on flesh?”

Smoke gave a small shrug against her back. “Wasn’t the plan. She was whinin’ real sweet, figured I’d help her.”

“Bullshit,” Stack’s tone cut through. “You knew exactly what you was doin’… hypocritical bastard…”

Smoke only dipped his head to Sera’s ear again. “Lean back for me, pretty girl… open wider. Let his jealous ass see what he’s been missin’.”

Her breath trembled as she let herself fold into his chest, his arms lifting and arranging her like her cornbread fed frame weighed nothing. Her legs parted, baring her entirely under the lamplight, the wet sheen of her arousal impossible to miss.

“You gonna keep draggin’ up old talk,” Smoke said softly against her temple, “or you gonna give her that gem back?”

Sera let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a plea, the muscles around her rear fluttering with the memory of fullness.

Stack saw it. His jaw tightened before he shifted his gaze to her face. “Tell me what happened earlier. All of it.”

Her voice wavered. “He… he rubbed… his… um… d-dick… against me while we was layin’ on the bathroom floor… it slipped a little, kept catchin’ on the edge… almost went in… an then we went to the bedroom an he did it some more...”

Stack’s breath thickened, nostrils flaring. The cool press of oil-slick jade brushed against her back entrance and her body jolted. His hand gripped her hip, the other guiding the green stone with steady precision, his eyes never leaving hers. “Keep talkin’.”

“He told me he couldn’t give me more ‘til we got to Chicago…” she managed before the first inch slid in. Her fingers dug into Smoke’s forearm, her head tilting back against him with a shiver as the plug sank deeper.

Smoke’s lips grazed her neck. “That’s it. Take every bit. You doin’ so good, baby.”

Stack pushed it all the way in until the polished base rested against her, watching the way she twitched around it, the way more wetness spilled between her thighs. “She’s squeezin’ like she’s tryin’ to keep it.”

“She is,” Smoke’s voice brushed her ear. “She like stayin’ filled. Don’t you, doll?”

Her only answer was a needy sound, her body tightening as heat radiated through every inch of her.

Stack’s eyes stayed on her face, his mouth curving faintly. “Then you’ll keep it there for us, won’t you?”

And Sera, too far gone to argue, could only nod. Nothing mattered anymore because her body was already theirs again.

Stack didn’t waste a heartbeat. The second the jade sat snug inside Sera, gleaming faint in the lamplight like some illicit jewel buried between her cheeks, he shifted up onto his knees. His fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down over his hips until the thick, flushed length of him sprang free. The head was already wet, a clear bead rolling slow down the veined shaft, heavy and urgent with the kind of need that carried hours of restraint behind it.

Sera’s eyes widened at the sight, her breath cutting short as her hands flew to grasp Smoke’s forearms where they still anchored her thighs open. But Stack was already leaning in, his body caging hers without touching more than he intended. One palm pressed into the cot just above her shoulder, his other hand curled around himself at the base. He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes dark, intent, locked on her like he meant to burn the truth into her skin.

“I need to know what he felt,” he said, his voice not raised but soaked through with hunger and jealousy. “Need to understand what made him so damn weak he let his ex put a blade to him… an started lettin’ you run that mouth without fear of gettin’ checked.”

Smoke let out a short huff against the crown of her head but didn’t argue. His arms stayed exactly where they were, holding her open in his lap, keeping her exactly where Stack wanted her.

Stack’s gaze never wavered. “You gonna fight me, sweetheart?” His length dragged through the slickness already pooling between her folds, the broad head gliding over every tender ridge. “Or you gonna be the good little thing I’ve been touchin’ all week an let me play with what’s already mine?”

Her answer didn’t come in words, not right away. Her mind fizzed under the weight of sensation… his heat, the grain of his skin, the maddening slide that caught the jade and nudged her opening without ever pushing through. Her thighs gave a sudden twitch she couldn’t control.

She let out a soft sound and looped her arms around the back of Stack’s neck, pulling herself closer without thinking. “Please… please don’t tease,” she breathed, voice thinned to something almost breaking.

“Oh, we gonna tease,” Stack replied, the corner of his mouth curling as he let his tongue press into the corner of hers before pulling back just enough to look down at where they met. “You earned that much.”

Smoke’s hands adjusted their grip, fingers biting a little harder into her thighs as Stack’s dick slid again through the mess they both worked out of her earlier. He pressed against the jade just firmly enough that her whole body jolted. A cry left her throat, her walls squeezing at emptiness, and Smoke pressed his lips to her jaw.

“Breathe, doll,” he said against her skin. “You takin’ in too much at once. Settle yaself’.”

Her fingers dug into the muscles of Stack’s neck as she writhed faintly, the jade pushing deeper from his grind. “It’s—too much—”

“I know… such a sensitive doll…” Stack’s voice brushed against her cheek, warm and unrelenting. “But you takin’ it. Look at you, holdin’ still for me like a good girl… You gon’ be ready for more in Chicago...”

Smoke hummed behind her, his hips rolling up just enough to drag himself along the plush curve of her ass. His gaze cut to Stack over her shoulder. “Don’t bury yaself’, Elias. Not now.”

“I ain’t stupid,” Stack muttered, his eyes flicking to meet Smoke’s. “I’m not gonna steal it ‘fore Chicago. I’ve got patience. Which is more than I can say for you, humpin’ her at dawn like you forgot yaself’.”

“She was askin’ for it,” Smoke answered flatly, not looking away from Sera’s fluttering lashes. “I gave her mercy.”

Stack’s grin sharpened, and he rolled his hips forward again, letting the thick crown catch on her opening before pulling back. “Then I guess I’ll give her some too…”

He still didn’t push inside. He traced her slit with the firmness of a man who wanted the entry but valued the wait more, letting her feel every inch without granting the satisfaction. The blunt head stretched her just enough to remind her of the difference, then retreated again.

Her head tipped back into Smoke’s shoulder, her voice trembling. “It’s—too much—”

“Shhh, doll,” Stack whispered against the underside of her jaw. “This exactly what you been cravin’.”

Smoke’s hand slid from her thigh to her belly, pressing her hips still against him. “Chicago’s different,” he said, his tone low and heavy. “No interruptions. No holding back. Every room to ourselves.”

“You hear him?” Stack kept his pace steady, grinding slick between her folds until the jade shifted inside her again. “We’ll stretch you out slow in the mornings. Keep you full all day. Put you to sleep the same way.”

Her legs shuddered, another whimper leaving her.

“I’ll keep my dick inside you while you standin’ at the stove,” Stack said, his voice all heat now. “While you wash the dishes. While you fold my shirts.”

“While you breathe,” Smoke added darkly against her temple. “So stuffed you won’t remember what empty feels like.”

That made her cry out softly, her hips twitching toward Stack’s. The jade moved, pressing against her most sensitive spot from inside her anal cavity, and the sound it pulled from her made Stack’s eyes narrow.

“This little pussy’s tryna drag me in,” he said, teeth grazing her cheek.

“You push too far,” Smoke warned, “an I’m pullin’ you off her.”

“I told you I’ve got control,” Stack shot back, grinding once more. “She the one squeezin’ ‘round nothin’ like she wanna be split open.”

“She still new to this.”

“We gon’ train her right.”

The exchange barely reached her; all she could feel was the press of Stack’s manhood, the anchored weight of Smoke’s arms, the heat of their bodies closing her in. The air was thick with the scent of them, the faint tang of sweat, the warm breath at her neck. Her body trembled with every pass, the jade pressing deeper with each grind, the tight ache blooming into something sharper.

Her voice caught in a high, needy sound.

Stack pulled back just far enough to watch his glistening rod, slick with her wetness, as it slid away from her folds. “Not yet,” he told her, his tone both promise and order.

Smoke kissed her temple, his grip unrelenting. “You wait ‘til we tell you.”

Sera’s chest moved in shallow, uneven waves, each inhale catching before it reached the bottom, each exhale breaking over her tongue. Her curls formed a ginger storm of soft coils fanning across her flushed face and sticking in damp strands to her neck and temples. Her mouth was kiss-swollen, tender from the way they had pulled sound after sound from her, and her thighs trembled as though her muscles were on the verge of giving out entirely from holding still when every nerve in her body screamed to twist, to grind, to chase the friction her mind could barely keep up with.

She was drenched. Utterly drenched. The scent of it clung thick in the cramped air, mixing with the faint smoke that seemed to follow them everywhere, mingling with the humid salt of sweat and the heavy, unspoken want hanging between all three of them.

“E-Eliassssss…” Her voice cracked under the strain of need, her hips tilting toward him of their own accord, trying to follow the retreat of his length as he drew back again. The broad head dragged through the slippery heat between her folds, the contact striking like a lit match along the edge of something combustible inside her.

“Didn’t I tell you to hold on?” Stack’s voice wrapped around her, syrupy yet edged, the kind of tone that made her feel scolded and coaxed in the same breath. “Usin’ my government ain’t gon’ help you right now, doll.”

Beneath her, Smoke’s arms cinched tighter, his forearms braced solid across her waist, keeping her exactly where they wanted her. “Always so eager,” he said low near her ear, the sound curling over her skin. “Didn’t even let the last wave finish rollin’ off you ‘fore ya’ body started beggin’ again.”

“She such a greedy little thing,” Stack drawled, leaning in close enough that his breath swept over her mouth. The faint brush of his lips wasn’t a kiss, but it was enough to make her chest seize. “But we knew that, didn’t we?”

She tried to form something like an answer, but what left her throat was a sound high and breathless, broken by the feeling pooling low in her belly. Her fingers flexed hard against Stack’s shoulders, nails catching on his skin, her legs twitching against the iron weight of Smoke’s grip.

Stack shifted his hold, one hand sliding between them until his thumb found the swollen bud of her clit. He moved in patient, measured circles, just enough to make her arch, never enough to let her fall.

Her cry spilled out raw, her back bowing into the press of his hand while Smoke’s hold kept her anchored in place.

“You feelin’ it again, ain’t you?” Stack’s gaze was locked to her face, watching every twitch. “That next one’s climbin’ fast.”

She nodded frantically, her mouth moving but words stuttering into nothing. “I-I can’t—I-I-I really can’t!” she managed, voice trembling like her limbs, hands pressing weakly against his chest as her hips searched for more pressure, more of him.

Smoke’s mouth stilled against her shoulder. “You can,” he said, each syllable carrying the weight of a command. “You just ain’t used to lettin’ us else decide when.”

A wounded sound left her, her spine curving, her thighs quivering defiantly around his lap. She shifted her hands again, one pressing faintly at Stack’s chest, the other brushing over Smoke’s arm.

The change was instant.

Stack’s hand left her clit and caught her wrist mid-motion, his grip firm as he pressed it above her head against the thin wall. It wasn’t rough enough to hurt, but there was no mistaking the finality of it. Smoke’s hands spread thighs wider, pressing them apart until the stretch in her hips stole a sharp inhale from her. His palms flattened, holding her open with the kind of quiet authority that told her she wasn’t going anywhere.

For a single beat, the air felt sharper, heavier. And she saw it—just for that beat. The truth under all the smirks and play. That their patience was never endless. That they weren’t boys testing boundaries but men who had taken what they wanted from the world and left the rest burning. Men who didn’t bargain. Men who didn’t wait for permission… only for the moment they chose.

Her breath hitched in a thin whine and her body froze beneath them. Smoke caught it first. His thumb shifted over the muscle of her thigh, easing the tension there with a gentler stroke. “Stack.” His voice had lost none of its depth, but the edge in it was dulled.

Stack’s eyes flickered. He released her wrist gradually, replacing the restraint with his palm cupping her cheek instead. His thumb swept over her flushed skin, the sharpness in his stare smoothing to something closer to what she knew.

“Breathe,” Stack said, the sound pulling her gaze back to him. “We ain’t mean to do all that. You just… movin’ too much.”

Smoke’s lips found the curve beneath her ear, pressing a kiss there, low and unhurried. “Didn’t set out to scare you, love.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered, though her voice was so faint it almost folded under itself.

Stack tilted her chin, forcing her eyes to his again. “Then why you shakin’?”

She swallowed hard. “‘Cause it’s… intense.”

“Yeah,” he said, a corner of his mouth twitching, “we get carried away sometimes.”

Smoke’s breath brushed her temple. “We not used to holdin’ back this much.”

Stack’s mouth came close enough that she could feel his warmth when he spoke. “An we still learnin’ how to keep from pushin’ you further than what you can take right now.”

Her fingers twitched against Smike’s hold on her body. “You almost did.”

“I know,” Stack answered, softer. “Didn’t mean to, sunshine.”

Smoke pressed another kiss into her hairline, longer this time. “We stopped ‘cause you matter.”

Her head dipped in a small nod, her chest still unsteady. “So… what happens now?”

Stack’s smirk returned, faint but real, his voice curling around her like warm silk. “Now we bring it back to a pace you like. Your rhythm. You lead us into it this time.”

Smoke’s grip softened fully, his arms wrapping her in a hold meant to keep her close, not restrained. “You cum when you ready. We won’t take that from you.”

Stack’s lips brushed hers, the kiss tender but still rich with promise. “You still want more, little dove?”

Her gaze flicked between them, her hips shifting faintly in silent confession. “I want… I want you to teach me.”

Stack’s mouth curved in a way that was both slow and sinful, the kind of smile that promised ruin without ever needing to speak it aloud, while Smoke stayed utterly still beneath her, every muscle set, his gaze fixed on her like a predator measuring distance before the pounce. He didn’t blink. He didn’t waver. He watched every flicker of uncertainty, every twitch of want, every tiny surrender that crossed her features as if he could read her pulse in the lines of her expression.

“You want us to teach you?” Smoke’s tone spilled out thick, deep, and edged, like molasses poured over a blade. “Ight, baby. We’ll start with somethin’ simple.”

“Keep still,” Stack cut in before the thought could settle, his voice lower, firmer, laced with that quiet authority that never asked… it ordered. He eased back into position between her thighs, the heat of him crowding in close, the broad weight of his dick gliding across her core until the blunt tip bumped the jade seated deep inside her. The jolt made her gasp. “Don’t move ‘less we tell you.”

Sera’s lashes fluttered as the air caught in her throat. Her cheek found Smoke’s shoulder like she needed something solid to hide in. Her arms looped faintly around Stack’s neck again, the contact more instinct than intention, but she obeyed. She forced herself to still her hips even though her muscles quivered from the strain of keeping them in place.

“That’s my girl,” Smoke said, low but warm, one hand cupping the curve of her thigh, his fingers spreading over her skin to keep her open. His lips brushed the side of her temple, his breath hot against damp skin.

Stack started moving again. Not retreating, not thrusting, just grinding with a heavy, dragging pressure that coated him in her wetness. Every stroke caught the jade inside her forbidden hole, sending small, traitorous flutters through her core. His eyes met Smoke’s over her shoulder. The silence between them was loaded, the kind that didn’t need a single word because they’d been speaking that way since birth. A language made of glances and tension, honed sharper than steel. She didn’t notice. She was too focused on her own stillness. Too focused on proving she could obey.

“Don’t squirm,” Stack reminded, voice pitched low but tighter now, his breath hitching without him meaning it to. “You move we start the lesson over.”

Her thighs shook hard enough that the blanket beneath them shifted. “Please…” she let out, so soft it was almost a confession.

Smoke’s mouth curved like sin dressed in silk. “Already wantin’ to break the rules, doll? Or maybe you just need more… direction.”

Her head tilted back in a sound that was half-sob, half-moan. The sensation in her belly was unbearable now, each nerve along her clit screaming for mercy while her body burned with the need to let go. Annie’s words echoed dimly in the back of her mind—her pleasure belonged to her—but those words were faint here, almost drowned out by the weight of their presence. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted them to see she could listen, she could control it. But the truth was breaking her in half.

Smoke saw it the moment the shift happened. The heat in Stack’s eyes changed, not the loss of control they teetered across earlier, but something more precise, more cutting. Stack’s hands grew firmer where they gripped her, his fingers pressing into her skin just shy of bruising. His rhythm stayed steady, but his focus sharpened to a point and his breathing grew heavier. Smoke knew that look. He had seen it reflected in his own eyes in darker years… the look of a man who found peace in the sight of someone breaking.

“Stack.” The warning rolled out of Smoke low enough to be felt more than heard.

No answer.

Sera whimpered, and Stack groaned in reply, his hips pushing harder now, his length sliding through her slick with the head catching her clit again and again without pause.

“Fuck… she cryin’,” Stack said, almost in a trance, his voice deeper, grittier, as though something inside him had cracked open. “You see that? She really cryin’… she right there, Smoke. Right fuckin’ there…”

“Elias.” Sharper now.

Still nothing.

His stare was locked to her face, drinking in every tear that cut a path down her cheeks, every unfocused flutter of her lashes, the way her head tipped back like she couldn’t even hold it up anymore. She was seconds away from tipping over that edge where thought died and only sensation lived.

“You feel good, don’t you, doll?” Stack’s voice was a rasp now, his hips pressing faster, chasing her reactions. “Look at her… she so damn pretty like this… she can take it… she gonna break… she gonna break just for us…”

And she did. Her whole body went taut like a rope drawn too tight before it snapped and the climax that ripped through her hit in violent, uncontrollable waves. Her mouth opened around a soundless scream, nails digging into Stack’s shoulders drawing blood as her legs jerked against Smoke’s grip. Stack didn’t stop, he kept working her through it, eyes fixed on her like a man watching fire eat through a room.

He didn’t know why, but there was something in him that always lit up when he could make a woman cry from pleasure. Pain was different, it still stirred something primal in him… but this… this was something he craved in his bones. He pressed the head of his dick to her twitching entrance, his teeth catching his lower lip as the thought of finally sinking in gnawed at his control.

“ELIAS,” Smoke barked, all patience gone. “Enough.”

No reaction.

Smoke’s jaw set. He shifted under her, one arm bracing, one foot planting against Stack’s chest, and with a hard shove he sent his brother back onto the edge of the cot. “Nigga, I said that’s enough.”

Stack blinked like he had just come up for air, his chest heaving, sweat darkening his hairline. His dick stood hard and wet against his thigh.

“She came twice,” Smoke said, pulling Sera’s trembling legs closed and tucking the blanket around her. “Back to back. She ain’t built for that kind of push… not yet. You know better. We just talked about this.”

Stack dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, his stare still locked on her limp, shivering frame. “She got a mouth, she ain’t tell me to stop.”

“She doesn’t know how to yet,” Smoke’s tone cut like a blade. “That’s the whole damn problem.”

Sera whimpered against him, her body sagging, her skin hot and damp. Smoke’s hand softened instantly, stroking her back. “You did good, baby,” he said, his lips touching the top of her head. “Lesson’s over. You ain’t in trouble.”

Another faint whimper, her fingers curling weakly against his forearm.

“I got you.”

He lowered her to his chest, cocooning her in the blanket, blocking out the cool air and the weight of Stack’s stare. Stack sat on the edge of the cot, his chest rising heavy, his manhood still thick and flushed.

“Go take care of yourself,” Smoke said without looking up.

“You serious?”

“You think I’m lettin’ you keep goin’ when she’s barely able to hold her eyes open? You looked two breaths from forgettin’ yaself’.”

Stack’s jaw worked. “I was fine! You actin’ like you ain’t feel the same. You saw it too. You seen her right there, an you expect me to just—”

“Lower ya’ damn voice.” Smoke’s hand never stopped stroking Sera’s back. “She ain’t like the others. You damn well know it. We both came too close today. This was ‘posed to be a taste, not the whole damn thing.”

Stack’s gaze flicked to her again, some shadow of guilt passing behind his eyes before his expression hardened. “Chicago,” he muttered, snatching up his trousers. “It’ll be different in Chicago.”

Smoke nodded once, his focus still on the girl sleeping against him. “It will,” he said. “But tonight… we rest.”

The train rattled on, the night outside stretching endless. The air between them thickened, the hunger pressed down but never gone. They would wait.

But not for long.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Author’s Note: Old habits are hard to break 😔 Stack’s dacryphilia kink is whooping his ASS (Smoke has one too, its just not as intense). The twins are going to get better… I pinky promise… well… like 70% better… they can’t help that their weewees get harder than a calculus test whenever Sera breathes.

Smoke and Stack:

Sera being horny and completely unaware to the internal turmoil these men have been going through:

Tag list:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theethighpriestess @imagining-greatness @hearteyes-for-killmonger @blackpantherismyish @theogbadbitch @queenofklonnie22 @underated345-blog @bxrbie1 @harleycativy @hermyowney @kcundercover0 @cleo92bitch-i-am-old @gtf-o-m-d @merranerra @afroslacks @wingedpeachjudgegiant @smutattack @solarssins @xoxodaedreams @rolemodelshit @chrisevansmentee @honggihwa @softy212 @michifilmz @hon3yjaxx @ladymac82 @fruitypatooties-blog @whysoceerious @deexoxomuah @nanamiismine @monstaxmomma0 @a4g3lstarfire @blk-afrodite @melodyofmbaku @championshipshade @aretasreads @nubiagurllll @wabi-sabi1090 @swiftscepterdragon @midnightmemoirsofher @plan3tch1ld @dutifullythoughtfulenthusiast @iceyyycapsicle @honeytoffee @joonseuph0ria @desire4ella @li-da-savage @lostluverz @zunibugsiren

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my babyy

Young Wunmi💜

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😭😭i’ll tag you boo!!!

“HANGMAN!” chap one.

2025. Clarksdale, Mississippi.

warnings: suggestive language, cursing, alcohol, masturbation, and sex work!

Synopsis: Fresh off a bitter divorce, Smoke Moore—co-owner of a mississippi nightclub—hasn’t touched a woman in almost a year. No dates, no hookups, no feelings. Just whiskey, silence, and memories of a love that soured. But when a night of frustration and loneliness pushes him to dial a number he swore he never would, he finds himself on the line with Hangman—the infamous call girl known for making men forget everything they thought they needed.

SMOKE MOORE HADN’T been touched in nine, slow, dragged, painful months. Not properly. Not by hands that didn’t tremble from guilt or desperation. Not by someone who wanted him just because. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to be wanted anymore—not after what it cost him the first time.

But tonight, the weight of silence was different.

The club was loud. Sweaty. Drenched in lights that blurred everything together like an old VHS tape rewound too many times. The kind of heat that made your skin stick to your shirt, your patience slip into your liquor, your eyes look for trouble just to feel alive again. Smoke leaned against the back of the bar, a lowball of Crown in his hand, and stared through the mess of bodies like they were part of a movie he’d seen before—one that didn’t end well.

“Smoke,” a voice purred, long and liquid like syrup, “you ever get tired of being the finest man in the room and act on it?”He didn’t turn. He knew the voice. Dana. Stack’s bartender-turned-sometimes-fling. Pretty girl, big brown eyes that stayed starry even when her mouth was mean. But her touch didn’t do nothin’ for him. Neither did her voice. Neither did her perfume, which clung to him like regret.

“Go bother my brother,” he said flatly, tossing the last of his drink back. Dana pouted. “Your brother got a big mouth and a weak dick.” Smoke snorted but didn’t laugh. He needed another drink.

The club, MOORE, had become a hollow kind of empire since Annie left. She took the dogs, the piano, her pictures and her baby pictures, the smell of something sweet baking at night, and worst of all—his softness. He didn’t fight her on it. Didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Just let the door shut and stayed where she left him. Stack told him he needed to “get back on the horse.”

“Fuck a horse,” Smoke had grunted that night, slamming a crate of liquor into storage. “I ain’t tryna get kicked in the chest again.” Still, Stack tried. Blind dates. Bar girls. Even someone’s cousin from Atlanta with a waist like water and an ass that jiggled like the Gospel choir. Smoke couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t fake it. Couldn’t force the want.

But tonight…

Tonight, that changed.

After a few hours he found himself walking back into his lonely and hallow home. The house was dark. Dim gold from the entry lamp. His couch still had the same dent from the last time Annie had sat on it. There was a black-and-white photo of them near the door, cracked frame, untouched since she left.

He didn’t dare move it. Smoke peeled his shirt off and tossed it aside, then kicked off his boots. His jeans sagged on his hips, half-undone. The air was thick with sweat, cologne, and time. He poured himself another drink from the kitchen counter, chugged it, and then stood there for a moment.

Alone.

The kind of alone that curled around his ankles like smoke and pulled him under. He dragged his ass to the couch, flopped down, stared at the ceiling like it owed him answers. His palm ran down his stomach. Calloused fingers dipped lower, brushing against the line of hair that led to the ache that had been building for weeks. He was hard.

Achingly so. But when his hand wrapped around himself, it was just… sad. Clinical. Like fixing a leaky pipe or changing a tire. It didn’t mean nothing. Didn’t feel like nothing. He stroked, thumb swiping across the head, hips bucking slightly—then stopped.

“Nah,” he muttered. “Shit don’t work.” His hand felt like nothing now. Too practiced. Too cold. He let out a long breath and stared at the ceiling. That’s when he remembered Stack’s off-hand comment a couple nights ago.

“You ever heard about that girl they call Hangman?” Stack had chuckled. “Swear to God, this fool I knew left his wife and two kids after one night with her. Said she rode him like a lowrider in Watts—hydraulics and all. Told his pastor he met God between her thighs.” At the time, Smoke had rolled his eyes.

Brushed it off. Just another story from the streets, exaggerated and juiced up for barbershop laughs. But now? Now, in the quiet, in the heat, with his dick half-hard and a glass of melted ice at his feet…

Now it didn’t sound that crazy.

He went to the kitchen drawer, pulled out the old burner phone. The one he used for private business. Flipped it open. The screen glowed like a secret. He scrolled past numbers, past half-answered messages, until he saw a scrawled note from Stack’s scribbles:

“Hangman. 1-800-HNG-MAN4U.”

Smoke rubbed his jaw, stared at it for a beat. Then dialed. The phone rang once. Twice. Then: click. Soft static. A voice. Velvet and dark. “You’ve reached the line.”

He didn’t speak at first.

“I don’t do names,” the voice continued. “I don’t do love. I don’t do promises. If you’re looking for that, hang up. If you’re looking to forget someone, take off your belt and wait for me.”Smoke swallowed. “…You real?” His voice was rough. Thicker than it should’ve been. The line was quiet.

Then a slight laugh. “Depends. You real?”

Smoke’s jaw ticked.

“I been real long enough to know I need something that don’t talk back unless I want it to,” he said lowly, voice like gravel. “Good,” she replied. “Then you came to the right place.”

He could hear her smile through the phone. Across the city, somewhere behind red silk and cigarette smoke, she sat with her legs crossed, phone to her ear, a candle flickering on the dresser beside her. Her name wasn’t on the hotline. Just a moniker passed around like gospel.

Hangman.

They said her hips moved like prayer. They said she made grown men stutter and strong women weep. They said she was a curse and a blessing, a plague in heels, a salve for the unsalvageable.

And tonight? Tonight she was taking Smoke Moore’s call.

left it on a cliffhanger bc i wanted the next chapter to be PURE smut. i hope yk smoke is ‘bout to be infatuated with her. and when i say INFATUATED. i mean infatuated, like obsessed. to the point it’s gone get a lil scary , this is actually my first ever OC series?? instead of like me putting in reader like i normally do. i’ll show you all the faceclaim for hangman next chapter!

dividers @httpssturns .

tag list! @thickianaaaa @vaultkween @cchampangemamii @thefutureemmywinner @heartgirllover @mrsudakuwilliams99 @rose-bliss @naughtynolly @theddofc

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Crying in the club (never been to a club) over their love

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Very Sammie coded 🤣🤣🤣

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save me michael b jordan covered in blood, save me

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halfway finished with chapter two of hangman, it might be out by saturday or sunday.

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"Y/n threw her long blonde hair into a messy bun"

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stack and bestfriend!reader are toxic. they’re always touching and hugging and kissing but act like their partners are crazy whenever they get upset about it. needless to say none of their relationships last and they might as well just fuck because their just traumatising everyone else they date.

you’re so smart anon 😛 i did both regular n modern stack bc i feel like it’d be different. also sorry no smut cause i’ve written a lot lately 😔 still sexual content tho

30’s Stack

Imagine going to Club Juke alongside your boyfriend, his arm wrapped around yours as your heels click and his shoes softly thud.

When you told him about the grand-opening, he was ecstatic, immediately stressing about the perfect outfit to wear. After all, when you told him that the SmokeStack Twins were the owners, he was more than ready for the opportunity to do business with them.

If only you also told him that one half of the owners was your ex-boyfriend.

Well, more like an ex-fling.

So when the two of you greeted Cornbread at the door and Stack immediately jumped to offer you a drink, your boyfriend paid little attention—more interested in Stack’s work in Chicago.

Stack pushed your boyfriend off to Smoke, despite both you and Smoke’s objections.

He dragged you off to the bar and got a beer for you, but not before kissing your hand.

“Missed ya, darlin’. Ya hadn’t written me in sum time—thought’cha forgot ‘bout me.” He grins, almost mocking you.

“Only time y’wrote me was when you had a pen in one hand ‘n your cock in the other, Stack.” You sigh, still accepting the beer he’d given you.

Stack makes a face at you, as if you’d just insulted him. “Now, that ain’t true—only did that a handful of times, baby.”

You hum, not looking at him, “‘N does Mary know that?”

Stack plucks the beer bottle from your fingertips, taking a swig of the near-liquid gold. “She knows you’re my number one lady.”

You wanted to believe him, truly, but one way or another, he always ends up leaving you to either go out of town or into Mary’s bed.

You can’t help but tilt your head, “So how come y’spoke to her before me, ‘n I had t’get an invite from Smoke?”

“Didn’t want hubby to find out y’dirty lil secret—” he joked, but it was more at your expense.

“Don’t get smart w’me, Stack.” You snarl. He smiles at you, grillz on display.

Through the corner of your eye, you see your tipsy boyfriend nearly dragged Smoke by his shirt’s sleeve.

“Baby! This is Smoke—y’know, one of the twins! He said he could maybe get me in on some of this joint money!” Your boyfriend cheers rather loudly, somehow louder than the music and the bustling bar. One glance at Smoke’s face tells you that your boyfriend will be lucky to even see Smoke again after tonight.

“Hey, I see you’ve met Stack!” Your boyfriend giggles with a hiccup. All you can do is chuckle awkwardly and hope that he doesn’t notice it.

Of course when you look up from your bottle, you make direct eye contact with Mary, who looks rather pissed as of right now.

You hold it as Stack nods to Smoke, who reluctantly, but wordlessly brings your boyfriend elsewhere.

“Don’t worry ‘bout her, darlin’, she got nun on ya.” Stack murmurs hotly against your ear.

Your resolve only lasts for so long as Stack gazes at you like the night you both met. It’s wrong, and you know this, but he always manages to charm his way into your life. into your pants too

And with the way Mary’s stomping over, he’s getting under her skin.

“Well I’ll be damned,” She grins at Stack tight-lipped. “Haven’t changed a bit, ain’t that right, Stack?”

Stack responds just as quickly, “Not sure what’chu talkin’ ‘bout—I’m just chattin’ with an old friend o’ mine.”

You scoff in disbelief, “You’re sum else, y’know that Elias?” You get up from your spot on the creaking wooden stool.

Stack’s heart skips a beat when you call him Elias, but it doesn’t give him a fuzzy feeling—it fills him with dread.

“C’mon, darlin’, party’s just started!” Stack almost coos at you; but behind his bravado, he’s nervous that he’s gone too far, and you’ll be gone for good.

No—you wouldn’t leave, Stack’s sure of it. No matter how many times you walk away, you always come back one way or another. So when Stack writes a letter to you as soon as he gets home and sends it off, he’s not surprised to find an envelope with your signature and a pair of panties inside a few days later.

Modern Stack

“Why are you making this such a big deal? I don’t get it!” You shout at your boyfriend. You tried not to honestly, but the steady softness you tried to use wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

Your boyfriend huffs and throws his arms up in the air, “Because him grabbing your waist and pouring liquor into your mouth at a fucking club isn’t just some small little thing!”

You sigh, fighting the urge to just walk away.

The man in question was none other than Elias Moore, also known as Stack. Unfortunately for you, he decided to get cute and post a picture his brother took of the two of you in some nightclub the other night. You truly don’t know how the fuck your boyfriend even found the picture, after all, he’s always hated Stack.

He’s never wanted him around you, never wants you talking to him—doesn’t even want you to look at him if you’re being honest.

“And that’s not all! You lied to me—you didn’t tell me that you’ve fucked him before!” Your boyfriend yells.

You really wish that your boyfriend didn’t decide to play detective, because of course he finds out about your situationship with Stack.

Also you didn’t just fuck him once, it was multiple times—several, even.

You inhale deeply, trying to regain your composure. “‘Cause who I fuck is none of your business!”

Your boyfriend stomps over to you angrily, “It is if I’m going to be your boyfriend!”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be my boyfriend if you’re going to pull shit like this!” You snap. Your faces are just inches apart and you can practically feel his chest heaving against you.

He shakes his head, “So that’s it? It’s all just my fault—and we’re done?” Your boyfriend hisses.

You clench your jaw so tightly it makes your teeth hurt. “Yeah, we are done, since you want to act fucking psychotic.” Your words have so much bite to them—you don’t even get like this.

Not unless Stack is involved.

He’s ruining your life by not letting you go.

So why are you charging to your car with Stack’s place fresh in your mind?

You knock on the door with a bit more force than necessary. You look around and acknowledge the fact Stack’s girlfriend’s car is missing from the concrete driveway.

You also see numerous articles of clothing scattered throughout the yard—seemingly men’s clothes.

“Don’t worry ‘bout all that, baby,” Stack hums in front of you, making your head snap to him.

You purse your lips, “Think I should worry ‘bout it, since I'm sure it’s ‘cause of me.”

“Well, is you being here ‘cause of me?” You nod ‘yes’ in return. “Seems like the world is always tryna get us together, sweetheart.” He grins cheekily.

“Then why are you always pushing us apart?” You sass, looking at him with furrowed brows. He takes his ring-adorned thumb and rubs the crease on your forehead, making you soften.

You speak before he can answer, before he can even come up with an answer “He saw your post—the one of me ‘n you,” you murmur.

Stack can't help but laugh, “Yeah, ain’t that a good thing?”

With a groan, you walk past him into the house and plop yourself rather aggressively onto the couch.

“Stack, him ‘n I were actually doing good, okay? He was planning this romantic trip to this beautiful resort—”

“I can take you to any motherfuckin’ resort you want. Hell—baby I could take you to a whole ‘nother country.” Stack interrupts you through gritted teeth.

You shake your head, “Not sure I wanna go somewhere far with someone who always leaves.”

You bite back the lump you feel in your throat, and you blink profusely. You hate how he has this effect on you; you both know that he always will, and that’s why he feels so comfortable with disrespecting you.

“What I gotta do to prove it to you?” He mutters as he steps closer to you, his upper calves touching your knees as he looks at your seated position.

You think before answering, and through the pause you swear you can hear Stack’s heartbeat racing alongside yours. “Just stay. I want you to stay—no more girlfriends, and no more boyfriends. Just us.” You whisper.

Stack doesn’t respond, instead lowering himself to his knees. He pushes you forward on the couch, parting your legs before putting one on his shoulder. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as he kisses up your calf, looking up at you as he nears your panties.

“Just us,” he hummed huskily.

And maybe this time, he’s telling the truth.

[chromehoney]

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the iconic herve leger bandage dress

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i know the twins smelt so bad when they got back bc in mississippi heat with those big ass suits😩😩 OUHHHH CHILE AND STACK SMELT BAD I KNOW IT BC I KNOW DAMN WELL HE DIDNT WASH UP BECAUSE HE WENT FROM THE TRAIN STATION TO GETTING CORNBREAD AND THEN THE FUCKING MILL WHEWW

just a sweaty ass mess🤣🤣🤣🤣

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Baby Doll’s Sin

A/N: Here I am again, writing stuff that I’m not supposed to be working on. But y’all love me, so y’all will let me make it, right? 🤭 This was inspired by this post from @nahimjustfeelingit-writes who also helped with this filth. Thank you again, my baby! 💛

Characters: Elias “Stack” Moore, Sammie “Preacherboy” Moore, Pearline Jones

Warning(s): 18+, MDNI, Dirty talk, Oral (female receiving), Voyeurism, Stack being nasty ass Stack. This is nasty y’all.. Like, filth. Porn with a smidge of plot if you squint.

Word Count: 5.9K

The juke joint hummed as folks from all over the Delta flocked to the opening night celebration. The infamous Smokestack Twins had returned home and opened their new joint, Club Juke, promising a night of freedom for their people after they’d worked tirelessly in the fields from sunup to sundown. Fresh catfish sizzled in hot oil while Irish beer, corn liquor, and Italian wine kept everyone loose and on the dance floor. Still, none of that mattered to Stack. His eyes were trained on one thing: Pearline Jones.

He’d been staring at the chocolate beauty since the moment Cornbread beckoned her in. He couldn’t get enough of how her dress hugged every inch of her body while her tight curls effortlessly framed her face. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he’d seen his fair share of women from the Delta, to Chicago, and even overseas. None of them compared to her.

She moved like honey on warm cornbread. Slow, sweet, and just a little sinful. When she laughed, it curved through the air and settled right in his chest like smoke. He was familiar with her type, quiet but not timid, sweet, but not soft. The kind of woman who ain’t never had nobody tell her she deserved to be worshipped. Not properly, anyway.

And Lord, how he wanted to be the one to do it.

He watched her like a predator stalking prey as she moved deeper into the room, even ignoring the pointed stare Smoke was giving from his spot at the top of the stairs. Stack was on a mission, and if he played his cards right, it would end with his name on Pearline’s tongue. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the only suitor hoping for a shot with the ebony goddess.

“You made it,” he heard Preacherboy call out as she stepped into his line of vision. She didn’t respond immediately; instead, she looked around the building, taking in the atmosphere of the former sawmill.

“When they turn this place into a juke?”

“Did it today. My cousins own it, you know the Twins.”

“Heard of ‘em, of course. They your cousins? Y’all must be play cousins,” she says jokingly.

“Their daddy was my daddy big brother.”

“So y’all cousins through blood? But you seem like such a nice young man.”

“I ain’t always nice. Ain’t that young, either,” Preacherboy replies matter-of-factly. Pearline sends him a sly smirk before sauntering ahead of him.

“You gone play?” she asks, standing with her back against one of the wooden poles in the center of the juke.

“You gone sing?” Preacherboy replies coolly, causing her to shrug.

“We’ll see where the night takes us,” she said, coy and knowing.

Sammie tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling.

“Your husband coming?”

Pearline shook her head no.

That was it.

That little gesture, that tiny nod, gave both men exactly what they needed. It cracked open the evening like a peach left out in the sun. Juicy, ripe, and ready for ruin.

Stack didn’t move. Not yet. He watched Sammie lick his lips, clearly ready to make his play when—

“Shit,” Sammie cursed low under his breath.

Stack followed his gaze to the front entrance, where a woman in a pink dress stood with her hands clutching her purse in front of her, scanning the crowd like a dog searching for its bone.

Mary.

Trouble.

Stack’s estranged lover with a memory like a ledger and a score to settle. She’d spotted him at the train station and must’ve come looking for blood.

“Hold on,” Sammie muttered, already half turned toward the door.

And just like that, Pearline was alone.

Stack rolled the toothpick in his mouth and slid out from behind the bar, smoothing a hand over the front of his vest. He moved slow, like a cat with a mouse already cornered. Pearline didn’t notice him at first. She was slowly winding her hips to the music, lips pursed in thought, eyes roaming the crowd without settling.

He stepped into her line of sight just as Delta Slim let out a moan that bent the whole room in half.

“You always leave men stammerin’ mid-sentence, or just the ones that think they special?” Stack asked, voice low and full of smoke.

Pearline looked up, surprise flickering across her features before her lips curled into something between amusement and intrigue.

“Depends who’s askin’,” she replied.

“I ain’t askin’ yet,” Stack said, pulling the empty chair beside her and settling into it without waiting for permission. “Just observin’.”

She arched one brow. “And what you observed so far?”

Stack smirked, leaning back. “That you too fine to be dancin’ alone.”

“Maybe I like it that way,” Pearline said, but her voice softened as her eyes dropped to his hands, his ring, the neat press of his collar. She wasn’t dismissing him. Not really.

“Nah,” he said. “You like to be chased.”

She laughed again, soft this time, almost to herself. “Then chase, Stack.”

There it was.

Invitation folded neatly inside a dare.

The tension pulled taut between them, thick as molasses. The crowd kept moving, oblivious to the game being played just off the dancefloor. Sweat rolled down Stack’s temple, but he didn’t wipe it. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes on Pearline, like if he looked away, she might vanish. Like some men had dreamt her into existence and woke up empty.

And with that, she was gone, sauntering deeper into the juke and disappearing in the sea of bodies. Stack smirked behind her, already plotting on how he’d have her wrecked by the end of the night. The crowd swayed as Delta Slim tickled the keys of the piano, pouring all of his heart, soul, and maybe some of the Irish beer he’d gotten from Stack earlier in the evening into the song. Once it was over, he took another swig, standing to the applause of the crowd.

“I been hearin’ about this one particular young man all day. He ‘posed to be a bad blues man. Preacherboy, where you at?”

The crowd cheered as Sammie made his way to the stage, his guitar in hand.

“That’s my lil cousin, y’all. Watch this,” Stack called, shooting a knowing glance at Pearline once their eyes locked. His gaze sent a chill down her spine. Sammie starts strumming the guitar before he’s interrupted by Slim.

“Hold up, hold up. Tell ‘em who you are, where you from.”

“I’m Sammie Moore,” he says between guitar riffs. “I’m a sharecropper from Sunflower Plantation. They call me Preacherboy on account of my daddy being a pastor. I wrote this song for him.”

The crowd whistled and cheered as Sammie began to sing.

Somethin' I been wanting to tell you for a long time

It might hurt you, hope you don't lose your mind

Well, I was just a boy, 'bout eight years old

You threw me a Bible on that Mississippi road

See, I love ya, papa, you did all you could do

They say the truth hurts, so I lie to you

Yes, I lied to you, I love the blues

What happened next could only be described as a spiritual experience. Not a performance, not a song, but a summoning. Sammie’s voice rolled out like thunder dipped in molasses, thick and slow, calling down something old and sacred from the rafters. It wasn’t just music, it was memory. His chords vibrated through the floorboards and shot straight up folks’ spines, rattling bone and blood like church on a stormy Sunday. The blues spilled from his throat like a prayer cracked open in a sinner’s mouth, and when he strummed his guitar, it sounded like a soul trying to claw its way outta the cotton fields.

And the people. Lord, the people answered.

Men stomped with their eyes closed, women lifted their arms like they were offering up their pain. It didn’t matter who you were or where you came from. Whether you were a field hand, bootlegger, or seamstress, you felt it. For a moment, Club Juke was holy ground.

And in the center of it all, Pearline danced.

Not like the others. Not with hurried hips or drunken sway. She moved like water pulled by the moon. Like spirit possessed her feet and told her to remember who she was before her name was Pearline. Before she was wife, woman, mortal. She danced like her bones still knew something ancient.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Didn’t break her gaze from Preacherboy, not even once. Her eyes stayed fixed on him, deep and dark and glittering like polished onyx under lamplight. Sammie saw it, too. The way her silhouette curved like a question mark God Himself didn’t have the answer to. The way she didn’t beg for attention but commanded it all the same. It was as if they were caught in their own time loop, something older than the juke, older than blues itself.

Pearline turned, arms out, and the hem of her dress caught the air like wings. When she lifted her arms to the ceiling and closed her eyes, Stack could’ve sworn the room dimmed everywhere but around her. Like the light had made a choice. She was beauty, but not the kind that belonged to man. She was the kind you worshipped. The kind you buried tokens for. The kind you wrote songs about and never survived loving.

The room was hers.

The juke was hers.

Even the music bent to her.

She was the holy spirit in a room full of sinners, and Stack was waiting for his moment to be baptized in her waters.

“Ohhhhh shiiiiiiit. Preacherboy,” Pearline moaned breathlessly as Sammie feasted from her center, licking her cooze like it was a scoop of ice cream from downtown. Just like Stack taught him. He rolled his tongue skillfully over her button, gently suckling it into his mouth like he was trying to savor her. Up and down slowly, followed by a few quick flicks against her pearl. It drove Pearline insane.

And just outside the door, Stack listened. Proud and unashamed.

“Boy found that button, didn’t he?” he muttered under his breath, voice low and begrudgingly impressed. Still, pride alone didn’t settle the ache building in him. His manhood strained against the fabric of his slacks, making every twitch of his pulse feel like a reminder of what he wasn’t getting.

It was supposed to be him in there, making her toes curl, her nails dig into the flesh of his back, her voice trembling when she said his name. But instead, it was Sammie. Sammie was the one getting her to gasp like the world might end if he stopped. Sammie was the one tasting the sweetness Stack wanted to claim as his own.

Stack’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides. He’d schooled Preacherboy, and now the boy was using that same knowledge on her.

Part of him wanted to kick that door open and remind them both who the real teacher was. The other part… the other part wanted to see if Sammie could keep her there. Wanted to know if Pearline’s cries for Preacherboy would match the ones she would give him once he got her alone.

The thought burned in his chest like liquor, half pride and half something darker.

“Hey, Smoke wants you.”

Grace.

The little Asian woman appeared just as Stack was about to force his way into the room, and if he were being honest, he thanked her for it. He knew all he needed was a little patience, and he’d have Pearline on her back before the sun came up.

“Check out my little cousin,” Stack called with a devilish grin before making his way to the upper deck. Grace pressed her ear against the closed door, moving it quickly once she realized what was taking place on the other side.

“Nasty ass,” she scolded silently, as she made her way back to the kitchen to help Annie with the next batch of catfish.

Pearline and Sammie adjusted their clothes before rejoining the crowd in Club Juke. They both silently prayed no one had noticed their absence, but fate wouldn’t be so kind.

“You know I taught him that, right?” Stack purred as his lips turned up into his signature smirk. Pearline hadn’t noticed him saunter next to her, skinning and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Taught who what?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, cocoa skin glistening from heat that wasn’t from the juke joint.

“Preacherboy. I taught him how to lick cooze and find the button. Happens to be my specialty. I could show ya if ya want?”

Pearline thought long and hard before answering again.

“Show me, then.”

That was all it took.

Stack stepped forward slowly, that crooked, sly grin with a single dimple spread across his full lips. The low-hanging light swung above their heads, catching the shine on his gold tooth jewelry. That red fedora was tilted just so, but then he lifted one hand and removed it, slow and deliberate, like he was about to say grace before devouring a meal.

He licked his lips before speaking low and sultry.

“Oh, I’ma show you, alright, baby. Gon’ make you forget that old ass man you married. Ain’t no way he touchin’ all that right. I know he ain’t got a mouth like mine…”

He placed the fedora on a nearby crate, followed by his tailored, burgundy suit jacket. Then, Stack hooked his arms around her brown thighs and lifted her clean off the floor. Pearline’s breath hitched as he laid her out on top of the old yet sturdy wooden table against the wall. His imposing body loomed between her legs, those whiskey colored eyes raking down her frame like she was something decadent. And he had been starving for her ever since the train station.

“You thought you could let my lil’ cousin have some fun, then walk away like I wasn’t gon’ have mine?”

His hands landed on her knees. Pearline locked eyes with him, bottom lip dragging slowly between her teeth.

“Spread ‘em open, baby.”

It came out as a request, but it was really a command laced in sugar-sweet venom.

Pearline took her time, knees pulling into her chest as she spread herself achingly slow, teasing him. Stack leaned back a little, letting his eyes drag down Pearline’s body. Wide and deliberately open. Pliant thighs eagerly stretched. There it was. Glistening and messy from being worked over by Preacherboy’s hungry mouth not even 20 minutes prior. Stack hissed.

“Mmm…so this the pussy Sammie had his face buried in, huh? This the one had my lil cousin moanin’ like he tasting sum sweet?” He chuckles darkly, licking slow up her slit. “Bet he ain’t eat it like I’m bout to.”

Without warning, Stack pushed her thighs open further, as if she could spread wider than she already was.

“Mm, look how fuckin’ pretty it is. Sammie had his face buried in this? Lucky lil’ nigga…”

Stack leaned forward, bringing his face closer. His lips began peppering softly along her legs, traveling up. He savored each kiss, soft suck, and added tongue with deep groans.

“Bet he ain’t even know what to do wit’ it…but I do.”

Pearline shivered, goosebumps rising on her chocolate skin as Stack’s calloused hands and filthy words worked their magic. She could feel the heat of his breath on her most intimate places, making her ache with need.

“You sure talk a big game,” she purred, voice dripping with challenge and desire. “But can you back it up? Ya cousin might be a hard act to follow.”

The corner of Stack’s mouth twitched up in a smirk.

“Oh, baby doll, I ain’t just gon’ back it up. I’m bout to wreck this pussy and have you beggin’ for more. When I’m done, you won’t even remember that husband of yours’ name.”

With that, he leaned in, dragging his tongue along her slick folds in one slow, sensuous lick. Pearline gasped, her back arching off the table at the electric sensation. Stack chuckled darkly against her thigh.

“Mmm, you taste even sweeter than I imagined. Sammie did a good job gettin’ you nice and ready for me.”

He wasted no time, diving in and devouring her like a man starved. His tongue swirled around her button, flicking and suckling the sensitive bundle of nerves until Pearline was writhing and moaning shamelessly.

“O-Oh, Stack!” she moaned, heels digging deep into the top of his back. And he kept on feasting. Slow and precise licks, followed by quick flicks against her button.

“Fuck! Yes, right there!”

One thick, calloused finger slid inside her tight heat, curling to hit that magical spot that made her vision blur and tears tease the corners of her eyes. He pumped it in and out, fucking her slowly as his mouth worked wonders on that sensitive spot her husband always seemed to ignore.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled into her center. “Lemme hear how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

Another finger joined the first, stretching her deliciously as he picked up the pace. The obscene sound of her arousal filled the air, mixing with Pearline’s cries of pleasure.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop! I’m… I’m gonna…!”

“Hold it,” he growled, suddenly pulling away, causing Pearline to whimper at the loss of the sensation of his mouth on her heat.

Stack stared down at her deviously, watching the way her chest rose and fell with breathless pants.

“Aww baby doll, you thought I was gon’ let you off easy? Nah, ya pretty ass gotta work for this pleasure.”

“Work for it?” she asked cockily. “You wanted me, now I gotta work for my release?”

“You don’t got to,” he challenged, grinning wider. “You’re more than welcome to return to the party with a wet ass and throbbin’ cooze.”

She growled low in her throat, staring up at him with narrow eyes.

“What you want me to do?”

His reply was soft, but pointed.

“Beg.”

She glared up at him defiantly, debating on whether to tell him to fuck off or give in to see exactly what was on the other side of his challenge.

“You think I’m gonna beg?” she scoffed, though there was no real bite to it.

Stack shrugged, already moving to put his jacket back on. He knew what she wanted, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before she saw things his way.

"Fine,” she said, tone clipped. “If that's what you want."

She sat up slowly, sliding off the table to stand in front of him. Up close, she could see the hunger in his eyes. The way they roamed over her body like he was imagining all the dirty things he wanted to do to her. It made her shiver with anticipation.

"Please, Stack," she cooed, letting her voice go soft and needy. "I need you. I need your mouth on me, you inside me. Make me melt on your face until I'm screaming. Please, I'll do anything..."

She trailed off, biting her lip as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. Her hands came to rest on his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

"Anything you want, baby. Just...don't stop. I'll beg all night if I have to, but please, don't make me wait no longer."

“Now was that so hard?” he purred, gently pushing her to lie back on the table. His fingers found her center again, carefully stroking inside her folds like he was exploring a map.

He hovered over her, dress bunched around her waist as his thick fingers worked deep and slow inside her, knuckles glistening every time he pulled out. Pearline’s breath was ragged, her hips twitching and thighs quivering against his sides. Stack leaned down until his full lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice dropping to that low, taunting drawl that always got under a woman’s skin.

“Mmm…you knew to beg for it, didn’t you? Knew to open them pretty thighs and ask real nice…like a good lil’ hussy.”

His fingers curled up into that spot that made her clench hard, his other hand gripping her jaw to keep her still.

“Yeah..that’s it. Take it. You like my fingers stuffin’ you like this, baby? Like I’m tunin’ you up for this thick, fucking pecker?”

Pearline whimpered. Pathetically. Her breath hitched. Stack smirked, his mouth brushing her cheek now.

“Tell me sum’…ever heard of the Smokestack Twins?”

His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. Pearline bucked her hips and nodded her head rapidly in response.

“Mmm…you know who you beggin’ for right now? You even know who name you ‘bout to scream?”

He pressed harder, whispering darker now. Pearline gasped.

“This ain’t Sammie, Pearlie. This here Stack. And when I’m done wit’ ya pretty tail…you gon’ remember exactly who had you beggin’ like this…”

Stack’s fingers slid out slowly, slick clinging to his knuckles as he caught her chin with his free hand and tilted her head to face him.

“Open ‘em wider for me, Pearline.”

She hesitated for half a heartbeat, long enough for his grin to sharpen. He slapped her inner thigh just hard enough to make her gasp.

“Wider. Don’t make me ask twice.”

Pearline’s breath hitched as she obeyed, spreading herself more until she could feel the air against her heat. Stack’s eyes dropped between her thighs, greedy and mean all at once.

“Yeah…that’s it. Let me see all that. Nasty lil’ thing…the more I talk to you, the wetter you get, huh?”

Stack dipped his fingers back inside in one glide, slow at first, then driving them faster. Her wetness made it easy. Too easy.

“Gahdamn…tight as hell. That lousy old nigga of yours ain’t fillin’ you up right. Prolly just pokin’ at it, leavin’ you half–starved, baby.”

His fingers curled as he locked his intense gaze on her. Pearline chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes failing her. Her eyelids fluttered while her thighs trembled.

“Preacherboy sure as hell ain’t gon’ give you that stuffin’. That stretch. He just a boy playin’ wit’ somethin’ that don’t belong to ‘em.”

Stack thrust his fingers deeper, spreading them slightly just to feel her tighten around him.

“Mmm…I’m the only one who’s gon’ pack you proper, Pearline. Fill you so deep you feel me for days. Now tell me you want it.”

Her lips trembled, eyes fluttering shut for a second as his fingers stroked deep, curling into that spot until her hips jerked without her permission. Pearline’s toes curled in her heels. Stack watched the way her eyes crossed and rolled back, like she was possessed by the sensation of being finger–fucked.

“Mm…fuck. Look at you. Tryin’ so hard not to give me what I’m askin’ for. But this pussy talkin’ louder than you, baby. She tellin’ me you need it.”

He spread his fingers inside her just enough to make her gasp sharp, then pulled almost all the way out before sinking them back in to the base. He did this over and over, eyes locked on Pearline, tongue licking his bottom lip slowly.

“Go on. Say it. Beg me like you was beggin’ Sammie… only this time you beg for a man who knows how to use it.”

She shook her head, biting her lip, but the slick squelch between them betrayed her.

Stack grinned, voice dropping to a growl.

“You want that stretch, Pearline? That stuffin’ I was talkin’ ‘bout? Then say it. Tell me you want me to fill this pretty cooze up.”

Her voice came out in a trembling whisper.

“I…I want it.”

He chuckled darkly, curling his fingers harder, “Nah. That ain’t good enough. Say it like a good lil’ hussy.”

Her breath hitched again, cheeks flushing hot, but she let go, voice coming out soft and ragged.

“I want you to fill me up, Stack…please. Please make me feel full. Stretch me good, daddy!”

That did it. Those 5 letters lit him up like fireworks on the 4th of July. He slammed his fingers deep, thumb working her clit in rough circles until her moan turned into a choked cry.

“That’s my girl. Now you speakin’ like a trained doll.”

Her breath was coming fast now, each curl of his fingers dragging her closer to something she couldn’t hold back. His calloused thumb rolled tight circles over her clit, rough but knowing, pressing down just enough to make her see stars.

Stack purred low and seductively in her ear.

“Mmh…that’s it, baby. Let it happen. Give it to me.”

His free hand slid up her thigh, gripping the supple flesh hard enough to leave bruises, keeping her spread wide as she squirmed.

“Feel how deep I’m hittin’ with just my fingers? Ain’t nobody else touchin’ you like this. Not your old man…not Sammie…nobody.”

She whimpered, hips twitching against his hand, the wet sounds between them getting louder in the cramped space.

Stack grinned, goading.

“You hear that? That’s the sound of this pretty lil’ pussy givin’ up. Drippin’ for me. Beggin’ to be wrecked.”

He hooked his fingers just right, grinding the heel of his hand into her clit until she gasped—loud, shaky, broken.

“Mm…there she go. Let it go, Pearline. Make a mess on my hand. I wanna feel you grip me.”

She cried out, her body locking up around his fingers, wet heat spilling over his knuckles. Stack didn’t slow, not until her thighs trembled so hard she tried to close them. He forced them back apart, riding her through every last spasm. When she finally slumped back against the table, chest heaving, he pulled his fingers free, glistening in the low light. He held them up between them, grinning wickedly.

“Mm…you messy…messy girl. And that’s just my fingers. Now…” he unbuckled his belt, voice dropping even lower, “…let me give you that stretch I promised.”

Pearline’s eyes widened as his manhood sprang free from his trousers.

“Don’t worry, baby doll. You can take it all, I promise,” he coaxed, stroking himself slowly. He lined himself up with her center and sank all the way in in one fluid motion.

“Shiiiiiiiiit,” they moaned in unison.

Stack didn’t move immediately. He stayed still, allowing Pearline to feel each agonizing inch of him. She gasped as he filled her, all 9 inches of his length stretching her in the most delicious way. It almost hurt; he was so big, but the pleasure quickly overrode any discomfort. She could feel every ridge and vein of him pressed against her sensitive walls, making her toes curl.

“You’re so fuckin’ big, daddy,” she whimpered as Stack started to grind at a slow, steady pace. He rolled his hips slowly, allowing them both to savor how slick and wet she was.

“You like that, Pearlie?” he growled with a smirk. “You like this fat dick stretchin’ you? Like feelin’ me deep inside this sweet little cooze?”

She could only nod, words failing her as he began to pick up speed. He pulled out slowly until just the tip remained inside her, then slammed back in, making her cry out. He set a hard, fast pace, pounding into her with relentless precision. The table creaked beneath them with each thrust, but Stack didn't seem to care. His focus was entirely on her, on making her feel good.

"Shit, baby doll," he grunted, picking up speed. "This pussy grippin’ me. So tight and wet, like you were made for my dick."

His hips snapped forward, driving into her again and again. Pearline could only hold on for dear life, her body rocking with the force of his thrusts. She'd never been fucked like this before, so hard and deep. It was overwhelming in the best way possible.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she chanted mindlessly, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Don't stop, Stack! Fuck me harder!"

He complied eagerly, one hand gripping her throat while the other slid between their sweat-slicked bodies. His fingers found her button, rubbing in tight circles that sent jolts of electricity through her.

"Come on this dick, Pearlie," he urged, voice strained with effort. "I wanna feel you come apart for me."

His fingers worked in tandem with his pecker, pushing him over the edge with a loud, ragged cry of his name. Pleasure consumed her entire body as her orgasm crashed violently over her. Stack didn’t let up. He kept fucking her through it as he chased his own release. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep and came with a groan of her name.

They collapsed together on the table, panting and shaking in the aftermath. Pearline could barely think straight, her body still twitching with the aftershocks of her climax. She'd never had sex like that before, so intense and all-consuming. She knew she'd be feeling it for days.

Stack didn’t let her come down from her climax. His hand was still between her thighs, lazily circling, drawing out every shiver until Pearline was whimpering—half pleading, half delirious.

“Messy lil’ thing,” Stack whispered against her ear, lips grazing the shell of it, “can feel you still gripping me.”

Pearline’s breath was shallow, her nails dragging down his back. The heat between them was unbearable, slick, and raw. Stack pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark and daring.

“I could keep you like this all night. Split you open ‘til you forget your name.”

Her pulse jumped.

“Suck,” he commanded, catching her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him while she sucked his hand clean. She complied, eying him innocently through her lashes.

“Don’t play shy now,” he spoke low and dangerously, eyes dropping to her swollen lips around him. “You spread those pretty legs and begged me for it like a good lil’ hussy—now you gon’ take every bit I give you.”

Pearline’s thighs twitched as he pressed his other hand between them again, thick pecker sliding back inside her with no warning. She gasped, half from the intrusion, half from the slick squelch that echoed off the walls.

“Listen to you,” he taunted, working her with deliberate, punishing strokes. “Drippin’ down to my balls, twitchin’ like you don’t know what to do with yourself. That little husband of yours can’t work you like this—Sammie sure as hell can’t. But me?” He drove in deep, his lower abs grinding her clit, “I’ll keep you open ‘til you forget they even exist.”

Her head tipped back, eyes squeezing tightly shut, but he slapped her thigh sharply.

“Eyes on me,” he growled.

Stack’s grip tightened on her hips, dragging her right to the edge of the table until her ass hung off, legs spread wide. His stiff pecker slammed into her in deep, driving strokes that made the wood creak under them and scuff the floorboards.

“You hear me, Pearlie?” His voice was low, rough, words punching into her with each thrust. “Ain’t no creepin’ wit’ my lil’ cousin. You gon’ be in my bed…on my dick…with this wet cooze sittin’ on my tongue whenever I want it.”

Pearline gasped, nails clawing at his biceps as the rhythm turned punishing.

“Mmmnnn,” Stack groaned, drilling into her so deep her breath caught. “You think they can hear us over the blues?” His lips curved into a wicked smile, “Hope they can, baby doll. Let ‘em know you got the prettiest, chocolate cooze in all the Delta…sweetest, wettest thing I ever had.”

Her moans tangled with the music bleeding through the walls, but he didn’t let up.

“Say it,” Stack ordered, dark eyes locked on hers. “Say you mine. Say this body’s mine. If you need some nookie, you’ll come to big daddy.”

Pearline could only whimper, her pout trembling as she tried to form words, the table jolting with every thrust.

“Say…it.” He growled again, leaning in until their foreheads touched.

“I—”

Her voice broke into a moan, and he caught it with his mouth, pulling her into a sloppy, deep tongue kiss that swallowed every breath she had left. His hips never stopped moving, grinding her open, claiming every inch like he meant to keep her there forever.

Stack’s thrusts got heavier, deeper, each one jarring the table across the floor. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest, their bodies slick, locked in a rhythm that made her toes curl.

“You hear me, baby doll?” His voice was ragged, but laced with that dangerous hungry smirk, “I’m cummin’ in this cooze again. Fillin’ you so good you gon’ be walkin’ home wit’ me swimmin’ inside you.”

Pearline gasped, eyes wide, a strangled moan slipping past her lips.

“Yeah,” he rasped, hips grinding deeper, dragging every inch along her walls. “You gon’ go home, spread those pretty brown thighs in your mirror, and see what Daddy left behind for his baby doll. Watch it drip down that sweet little slit while you think about how only I fuck you like this.”

Stack picked her up as he slung his pecker, her head tipped back, fingers clawing into his shoulders, but he caught her chin, forcing her eyes on him.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you mine. That body’s mine. That cooze is mine. And when you need it fucked, you’ll come to me.”

She whimpered, her pout trembling, the words caught in her throat.

He leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear, “Say it, Pearline. Or I’ll keep you here ‘til the sun comes up.”

Finally, she choked out, “I’m yours…all yours…Stack pleaseee I feel like I’m gon’ burst…”

His grin was slow and wicked. “That’s my girl.” Then he sealed her words with a deep, filthy tongue kiss, thrusting hard enough to push her another inch across the table, claiming her one last time before he spilled deep inside her, exactly like he promised.

Stack’s pace turned erratic, each thrust hitting deep, his breath breaking into sharp, guttural groans.

“Ahh—fuck—” he hissed through clenched teeth, hips snapping forward again and again. Pearline’s cries climbed with his, her voice catching on a needy.

“Mmm—ohhh—uhhh,” as her body fluttered tight around his thick length.

He shuddered, head dropping to her shoulder, moaning low and rough in her ear.

“Goddamn, baby doll—ahhh—mmm—fuck, you squeezin’ me so good—”

Her legs locked around his waist, heels pressing into his back, pulling him deeper until she was whimpering through her own release, clutching him as she pulsed around him.

“Yesss—” he groaned, his own climax hitting hard, his length throbbing deep inside her wetness, “Take it… take all that—ahhh—mmm—yeah…”

They stayed connected, breathing ragged, hips rocking slow as if neither wanted to let the other go. Pearline’s walls still quivered around him, milking every last drop, while his pulse thudded against her slick heat.

Their lips found each other again, a messy, panting kiss—tongues slow, mouths tasting of sweat and lust.

Then—three hard knocks on the door.

“Pearline?” Sammie’s voice came muffled from the other side, “You in there?”

Stack’s eyes opened, a slow grin tugging at his lips as he stayed buried inside her. Pearline���s breath hitched, panic flickering behind her eyes.

The blues hummed low from the other room, but all Stack could hear was the pounding of her heart against his chest…and Sammie’s voice calling for what was already his.

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