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notapradagurl7 · 38 minutes ago

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Dadmonger Series: Not my Sons

.warnings.: racism, foul language, childhood bullying.

.pairing.: Erik and Eve Stevens. .summary.: N'jobu and N'joku get into an altercation in school that leaves Eve and Erik to make a quick decision before things escalate. .word count.: 2.9k .language spoken.: Xhosa

A/N: This is a continuous mini-series, so the timeline is not really set. These are just random moments of their lives. But this is set after the events of the first black panther, a what if!au where Erik was saved and rehabilitated. Also a cute side note: dadmonger is Erik's nickname when he's on dad duty.

Oakland, California 1:45 p.m.

Erik never understood why his cousin T’challa opened Wakanda's borders to the world. If it had been him still on the throne, he would have kept them closed, only welcoming those of African descent–keeping their resources and power in the hands of their own people. The rest of the world, in his eyes, could only exploit Wakanda’s riches and knowledge for their own gain.

But if T’challa hadn’t made that choice, Erik would never have met the love of his life and now, years later, he found himself constantly traveling between Wakanda and the U.S. with his wife and their sons. Erik desperately wanted his boys to grow up in Wakanda, wanting them to be fully immersed in their culture and heritage–something he never had the privilege of experiencing with his own father.

Eve, however, had her own vision for their children. She had grown up in the states and though she was deeply connected to her roots, she felt it was important for their boys to experience the world outside of Wakanda. Though the relationship was strained–her family was here. She wasn’t ready to part with the life she built here. Their calm discussions had become heated arguments, leaving them both frustrated. Neither of them spoke to each other for days, finding themselves sleeping in separate rooms and only speaking to the kids. Their stubborn silence soon affected their sons' daily lives.

Erik hated having Eve mad at him, and was first to apologize. After much needed apologies and makeup kisses they settled on a compromise–sending their children to Sierra Canyon, the best private school in California and spending holidays in Wakanda, so they could have access to both worlds.

When the boys started school they went by Americanized names: Delan and Dion. They were far ahead academically, smarter than most of the kids at their school., but Eve had insisted on keeping them at a level socially appropriate for their age. She didn’t want them rushing through childhood, associating with kids who were much older and might pull them into a world of adult concerns too soon. Their intelligence and maturity set them apart, and their family’s secrecy about their true heritage only added to the pressure. In trying to blend them into a diverse environment, Eve unintentionally made their lives more complicated.

The twins were eleven years old and in the fifth grade. Eve never thought they’d have to deal with the same kind of childish bullying that many black children face. She thought that with their intelligence, confidence and strong upbringing, they’d be immune to it. But she was wrong. The message she received from the boy’s school had been a wake-up call. Her heart sank when she received the news that her boys had been in an altercation with another group of students in their class.

She walked into Erik’s office, where he sat behind a large custom vibranium steel desk—a house warming gift from his cousin Shuri–with papers scattered around him. His large frame sat hunched over the desk. He wore his gold rimmed glasses that Shuri also rigged for him–He wouldn’t tell Eve that they also activated his Golden Jaguar suit. His attention was focused solely on work, but due to the lingering effects of the heart-shaped herb, he sensed her light footsteps stopping at the door.

“N’jadaka.” She said softly. Erik didn’t look up right away, but his focus shifted the moment he heard his name.

“Wassup?

“The boy’s school called,” Eve replied, trying to keep her voice calm. “They want us to come in. The boys got into a fight.”

He didn’t respond at first, just paused and processed what she told him. Eve could tell from the way he didn’t immediately react that he’d already been expecting for something like this to happen. If anything he probably knew his sons were provoked and probably won that fight. He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening just enough for her to notice. She knew him well enough to understand his next move.

“Let’s go.”

The school the boys went to wasn’t predominantly white, but the administrative staff was and that was something Erik resented deeply. He knew they were about to walk into another of those meetings that would be more about placating the administrators image than understanding his son’s needs. He was tired of it.As they made their way to the school, Erik felt the tension in the air. He wasn’t one to let these things slide, and Eve knew it.

“N’jadaka.” She starts, reaching a hand over the console to rest on his thigh.

“No.” He shakes his head, keeping his focus on the road. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, afraid an ‘i told you so’ would slip from his lips. He had spent most of his life battling to be seen, to be understood, and now, he saw his sons fighting for that same reason. “We’re pulling them.”

Eve left it at that not wanting to start another argument she knew she was going to lose. If anything, she was going to agree with any decision he makes about their complicated lives. When they arrived at the school, the mood was tense. The Dean, Mrs. Carrington, a middle-aged woman with an air of forced professionalism, greeted them in the lobby. She had a practiced smile, one that tried to mask the discomfort of a conversation that was about to happen.

“Dean Carrington.” Eve shook her hand, offering a polite smile. Erik barely acknowledged her as he walked past her, heading straight to the office. Eve sighs through the smile. “Forgive his manners, we were working when you called.

The dean offers an empathetic smile. “I understand, this was just a serious matter and required both parents. As Eve and Erik entered the main office, their eyes immediately fell on their twins, Delan and Dion, sitting off to the side. Their faces were bruised, arms scratched, and blood streaked across their clothes. The boys' eyes were downcast, avoiding their parents' gaze, as if trying to hide the pain. Eve’s heart sank. Her gaze shifted to the group of boys standing nearby, not a single mark on their faces, no sign of injury.

Erik’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of his sons. He lifted their heads gently, grunting as he inspected the damage. It didn’t take rocket science to know they got jumped. Eve could feel the heat rising in him. She knew her husband well enough to recognize that the calm, controlled man who had entered the room was now rapidly losing his patience. “obethe kuqala” He mutters under his breath.

“mattt rife ufuna ukuba phakathi” Dion subtly nodes to the brown-haired boy sitting in the chair across from him. Delan winces through the silent laughter. Erik shook his head, turning his attention away from them and to the group of parents that stood behind them with smug expressions on their faces, their eyes barely flickering to the boys in front of them, as though they were all too accustomed to this type of situation. Eve’s stomach churned at the sight of their indifference.

“kwala makhwenkwe akucholayo kulo nyaka uphelileyo?” He asks.

“Ewe Mnumzana”

Erik nods as Eve moves to stand by his side, between him and the boys. Her own arms resting in front of her while constantly checking in on her sons. Their injuries weren’t bad, but it was only what they could see.

“So, we’ve called you here because there was an altercation during p.e.,” Dean Carrington said, her voice sharp. She leant against the wooden desk, with arms crossed. Never in her years had she had an issue with students of their kind and she wasn’t going to start now.

“I’m sure whatever happened was their fault,” one of the mothers spoke up, her voice tinged with entitlement. She was the type who likely thought her sons could do no wrong, the type who saw them as innocent even when they weren’t.

Erik scoffed, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Oh, I’m sure you think that, too,” he muttered sarcastically. He glances at his son's shifting uncomfortably. They knew how to fight but for the sake of their mother’s sanity they chose not too, usually able to deescalate confrontations quickly. However getting jumped by four older kids is a lot on them. “We all know my sons got jumped, but I'mma let y'all say that bullshit ass excuse.”

“Language Mr. Stevens, this is still a school setting.” Dean Carrington warns him before she gestures to one of the boys standing nearby. “Go ahead, Mark,” she said, trying to keep the situation under control.

Mark shrugged nonchalantly, “We were just joking around with them; they took it way too seriously,” he said, his voice laced with an condescending arrogance that made Erik's blood boil.

“Ukuqhula iimpundu zam! UBawo basibiza ngokuba ziinkawu-esile niggas” Dion interrupts, repeating the exact racial slurs Mark said to him and his twin. Eve didn’t know what was said, but she could tell by the way Erik’s eye’s darkened, and brows furrowed together that it was nothing good.

“Yehlisa umoya.” He tells them. The other parties were confused at a language they couldn’t understand being spoken.

“I’m not sure what was said, but my son’s are innocent.” Erik had learned from a quick once over–taking note of the nurses scrubs, and the badge clip attached to her top that her name was Brenda. Brenda kept a firm grip on Mark's shoulder, which made Eve’s eyes narrow as she noticed something glinting around his neck. Another boy wore the same glint around his own neck. The pieces clicked into place in Eve’s mind, and her concerned masked into anger,

“Why do you have my sons’ rings around your neck?”

“They were a gift,” She said quickly, her voice too eager. “I bought those rings for my son. They’re not stolen.” Eve’s gaze shifted to Brenda who immediately jumped in to defend them.

Eve’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You bought them? You’re telling me you bought those?” she scoffs. “The ones engraved with their names? I highly doubt that.”

“Not like your kids can afford it.” Anna, another mom, speaks up. “I mean, look at how they dress.” She pointed to the plain true religion pants, and black zip-up jackets the twins had on. “

Erik’s jaw ticks and eyes narrow while reaching into his shirt, pulling the same ring from the chain around his neck. The design was unmistakable—a rich, detailed black and silver band that had engraved vibranium glowing around the outer band. Inside the ring are his sons' names in Wakandan script. He held it up, letting it glint in the light the same way the other rings did. The vibranium glow synced with each other whenever they were near each other.

“Our rings are a set, and come from a family lineage.” Erik spoke, his voice a scary calm, but there was a deep threat hidden in it.

Mark froze, his face going pale as the realization dawned on him that his lie was about to unravel. He looks behind him at his mom who only doubles down on their lie.

“They must have lost them, because here, my husband and I got from a cruise we took to Jamaica.” Anna was confident in her lie. His gaze turned from Mark to the mother, watching her with a cold, unwavering stare.

“Funny, you people have a way of taking what doesn’t belong to you.” He takes a few steps forward, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with the back and forth. He claps together to get their attention. “You get two options.” He raises two fingers like they were dumb. “ You give them back willingly or…” He glances back at Delan and Dion–both of them bouncing their knees in anticipation. “I let my sons here take it back by any means necessary.”

The mothers face flushed, her eyes darting nervously to the Dean. She quickly stood between both parties. “Violence of any sort will not be tolerated.”

“A little late for that don’t you think?”

“Man, we asked to see them.” Carlos, they had learned, was Mark’s best friend. He shrugged his shoulders. “Said no, and called us some colonizers.”

Mark shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t try to lie and say it didn’t happen. The others shrank back under Erik’s intense gaze. Finally, Mark's voice trembled as he broke. “Carlos and his friends jumped up. It was his idea to mess with them!”

The confession echoed in the room, and Eve’s chest tightened with a mix of fury and disbelief. She shot a glance at Erik, the weight of his presence still hanging over the room like a storm cloud. Erik let out a low chuckle, he held out his hand. "Hand them over," he said.

The boys hesitated, but with the weight of Erik’s stare upon them, they slowly reached up and removed the rings from around their necks. One by one, they placed them in his hand and Erik pocketed them without a second glance, knowing full well they’d be cleaned later. Eve’s jaw tightened as she exchanged a glance with him—this was the final straw. She was definitely agreeing with him about his decision to pull them from this school.

The Dean cleared her throat, trying to regain control of the situation. "So, it has come to the conclusion that the twins didn’t share and provoked the boy—"

"Bullshit," Erik interrupted, his voice cold and unwavering. "My sons aren’t required to share their personal belongings.”

Dean Carrington shifted uncomfortably, but tried to justify the situation. "I get that, but their belongings cause an altercation and name calling is not tolerated.”

Erik’s eyes darkened as he turned to face her fully, his posture straightening with barely contained fury. "Fuck that, where was this energy when they got picked on last year?” Eve frowned at the new admission of her son’s getting picked on the year before, but that was a conversation for another day.

The principal faltered under their glare, unsure how to proceed. Anna and Brenda shifted uncomfortably, her earlier smugness wiped away by the truth of the situation.

"I think it’s clear that we have a lot more to discuss," Eve said, her voice firm, unwavering. "And my sons won’t be back here after this. I’ll be pulling them from this school immediately."

“Perfect, I mean look at your sons.” Diana—a mom who had been quiet the entire meeting—sneered, a cruel smirk on her face as she crossed her arms. Eve’s blood ran cold, but she kept her composure. She turned to face the woman, but before she could say anything- she continued with a smug expression, "I mean, are you sure they even belong in a school like this?"

Eve’s eyes narrowed. "I’m going to let what you said about my boys slide for now, since we’re in a school, and I’m trying to keep it respectful.”

Erik’s hand instinctively moved to her waist. "Nah, don’t even worry about it, babe." he said. Erik had been itching for a reason to pull the boys out, he just hated that it was at the expense of their health.

"That’s nice and all, but how does that affect us?" The Dean asked. “A fight was still going on and your sons were the source of it.” Carringotn believed if they were pulling them from the school then there was no reason to try and save face. Her true intentions were beginning to show and neither Erik or Eve cared to keep their composure.

They exchanged a knowing glance before chuckling softly, the sound more menacing than it seemed. They both knew exactly how it would affect the school should their child and their family’s influence leave. Erik’s connections and wealth in the states contributed to the twins' educational growth.

Erik pulled out his phone and dialed a number without hesitation. The phone perched on the dean’s desk phone rang moments later, cutting through the tension in the room. The dean answered, her face shifting from a tight smile to one of apprehension as she looked down at the caller ID, “Excuse me, this is one of the school’s sponsors.

She places the phone to her ear, a nervous tone in her voice as she answers. “Mr. Udaku. I wasn’t expecting your call.”

“This is just a brief call to let you know I will be pulling my funding from this school and reporting you to the board of education.”

The collective looks of shock and disbelief painted their faces. As Erik gestured for his boys to grab their things and get up, The dean could be heard shuffling things around, and rushing to their side.

“Y…you’re–”

“N’jadaka Udaku, crowned prince of Wakanda. Took y’all dumbasses long enough to figure it out.” He never said their identity was hidden, just that they didn’t flaunt it. They chose not to believe them.

“I’m sure there is something we can do to solve the situation.” She pleads. “The rings were given back. Let’s just all brush this under the rug.” The consequences of their treatment towards his son finally caught up to her and now here she was trying to save face.

“Nah.” He directs them out. “Don’t try to fix shit now, I should’ve deaded this shit a long time ago.” Erik shakes his head, He had given them the benefit of the doubt, but people never change.

“Fuck y’all and fuck this damn school.”

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notapradagurl7 · 38 minutes ago

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𝐌𝐫.𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Franklin Saint x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - A simple afternoon turns into something a little more than planned for the both of them. Some conversations say more than they should—and others, not nearly enough.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Slow burn tension, age gap (legal), suggestive dialogue, light possessiveness, minor jealousy, subtle manipulation, brief physical contact, vague allusions to taboo topics

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I have so many other things to update but I’m just in a Damson mood and morning being on here for him isn’t helping a sista at all….sorry honey.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 10, 288

The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting a golden hue over the neighborhood as Kimora pulled Lexie’s 1993 Cadillac Allante into her driveway. She barely had time to shift into park before the passenger door swung open, and Lexie, ever impatient, hopped out onto the pavement.

“Damn, girl, you drive like somebody’s grandma,” Lexie teased, smoothing down the hem of her crop top before tossing her braids over her shoulder as she looked down at her friend in her convertible.

Kimora rolled her eyes, cutting the engine. “You’re lucky I even let you convince me to drive. You know how much I hate driving.” She scoffed.

Lexie only grinned, unbothered, as she stretched her arms over her head. “And you’re lucky I make your life more interesting.” She quipped before her eyes flickered to a figure over the girl's fence near the street.

Franklin was standing at his mailbox, flipping through a few envelopes. He was dressed casually, a crisp white t-shirt tucked into dark jeans with white adidas, but the way he carried himself made even the most basic outfit look intentional.

Kimora hadn’t noticed him at first, but as she stepped out of the car, their eyes met briefly. He gave her a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Afternoon.” He said.

Kimora nodded back. “Afternoon.” She said with a polite smile.

Lexie had already started walking toward the house, but as soon as Franklin turned away and Kimora was a little closer, she leaned in close, lowering her voice only slightly.

“Damn, girl, he is fine.”

Kimora’s head snapped toward her friend, eyes wide with warning. “Lexie.” She hissed, glancing quickly over her shoulder to make sure Franklin hadn’t heard. He didn’t seem to react, still focused on his mail.

Lexie smirked, unfazed. “What? I’m just sayin’—”

“Can you hush?” Kimora shot her a sharp look, shaking her head as they climbed the steps to the porch. “He’s married.”

Lexie made a face. “And?”

Kimora shot her another glare before unlocking the door, pushing it open without another word.

Lexie laughed under her breath, following her inside. “Married men are sexier anyways. They obviously know how to treat a woman.” She continued with a snicker. Kimora ignored her, but as she shut the door behind them, she let out a slow breath.

But as Franklin flipped through his mail, his ears caught the words clear as day.

“Damn, girl, he is fine.”

He didn’t react. Didn’t turn his head. Didn’t let a single muscle in his face twitch. Years in the game had taught him control—how to hear everything without looking like he heard anything.

“Lexie.” Kimora’s voice was sharp and hushed. He could hear the embarrassment in it, the urgency. “Can you hush? He’s married.”

Married.

Franklin’s grip tightened slightly around the envelopes in his hand, but again, he kept his movements measured. He wasn’t sure why the word hit him the way it did. Maybe because it wasn’t a lie. Not technically. The ring on his finger was real, and so was the woman he shared a house with. A business with. A life with.

But the way Kimora had said it—like it was a line in the sand, a hard boundary—stuck with him.

He turned another envelope over in his hands, pretending to be focused on it. He wasn’t. His thoughts trailed back to the girl next door, to the way she’d carried herself yesterday, all polite but a little guarded. She had that same guardedness now, even in how she shut down her friend’s comment.

“Married men are sexier anyways. They obviously know how to treat a woman.”

Franklin could almost picture the look Kimora was probably giving Lexie right now. That little huff of irritation, the roll of her eyes. He didn’t need to see it to know it was there.

He finally glanced up as they disappeared inside, then exhaled through his nose, tucking the mail under his arm.

Franklin Saint had been in the game long enough to know when something—or someone—had the potential to shift things. And whether it was in a big way or a small one, Kimora had shifted something the money e met her.

The girls stepped into Kimora’s house, the familiar scent of vanilla and fresh linen greeting them as they kicked off their shoes by the door. It was a habit ingrained in both of them since childhood—no outside shoes past the entryway. Lexie let out a small sigh of relief, stretching her arms above her head.

“I swear, it is hot as hell today.” She groaned.

Kimora chuckled, shaking her head as she led the way to the kitchen. “Girl, you say that like it’s not hot every day.”

Lexie followed, trailing behind as Kimora pulled open the pantry. “Still.”‘she muttered, leaning against the counter. “The walk from the car to the door felt like a damn trek through the Sahara.”

Kimora shot her a look over her shoulder. “Dramatic.” She deadpanned.

“You love me.” Lexie grinned.

“Not as much as you think,” Kimora mumbled. Lexie gasped in mock offense as Kimora grabbed a bag of chips and two bottles of water from the fridge. With their snacks in hand, the two made their way to the back patio, settling into the cushioned chairs beneath the shade of the overhead awning.

As soon as they sat down, Lexie wasted no time getting to the topic that had clearly been eating at her since they’d pulled up.

“So, tell me about your neighbor.” She said, wiggling her brows.

Kimora popped open her bag of chips, giving Lexie a bored look. “What about him?” She asked.

Lexie rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m asking. I mean, damn, Kim, he is fine.”

Kimora exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “I don’t know much. He just moved in yesterday.”

Lexie pouted. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s disappointing.”

Kimora shrugged. “Yeah, there’s not much for me to tell you, girl. He seems quiet, doesn’t talk much. Met him yesterday when I came by to bring over some lemon pound cake”

Lexie perked up. “You baked for him?” She asked. “Your favorite at that? Girl, are you trying to seduce that man?” She playfully suggested.

Kimora shot her a look. “Girl, no! My mom made it. You know she’s big on hospitality and whatever.” She shrugged.

Lexie hummed in understanding, nodding. “Did he say anything about himself?”

Kimora took a sip of her water before answering. “Just that he’s married and new to the area.”

Lexie’s face twisted in disbelief. “Right, Married… Damn. That’s a shame.”

Kimora just shook her head, chuckling. “Come on, girl, let’s get to work.”

With that, they shifted the conversation toward school. Kimora had an upcoming creative writing essay she needed to finish, while Lexie had a math exam looming over her head. They spent the next hour flipping through their notes, pausing occasionally to vent about professors and assignments. Right now they were speaking about how Keith, their mutual friend, was still very much in love with Kimora—or so Lexie claimed.

“He’s just a friend,” Kimora insisted, not even looking up at her as she flipped through the pages of her notebook.

Lexie raised a brow. “Just a friend? Girl, please. His fine ass has been on you since freshman year.”

Kimora scoffed, looking over at the girl who bit at the end of her pen. “We were just close ‘cause I was his frat sweetheart. That’s it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious, Lex. We were cool, but it wasn’t like that.”

Lexie shrugged. “He’s still fine though.”

Kimora rolled her eyes, laughing. “You think everybody’s fine.”

“Because they are. So you better get on that man before do. You know I love me an ape.” She smirked before she snickered, causing Kimora to laugh out loud.

Their laughter was cut short by the sudden sound of banging from next door. Both women paused, turning their heads toward the Saint residence. Kimora furrowed her brows but went back to her notes. Lexie, however, was curious.

Too curious.

Kimora barely had time to react before Lexie was already getting up, creeping toward the white picket fence.

“Lex?” Kimora called, her voice laced with warning.

Lexie ignored her, tiptoeing closer.

“Lexie!” Kimora hissed, setting her notebook down as she stood. She quickly followed, grabbing the girl’s wrist. “What the hell are you doing?” She whispered harshly.

“Watching.” Lexie didn’t even look at her, eyes glued to the scene before her.

Kimora sighed but found herself peeking over the fence as well.

Her breath hitched slightly.

Franklin was in his backyard, wearing nothing but a white tank and some jeans. The midday sun cast a golden glow over him, illuminating the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. His simple gold chain rested against his collarbone, catching the light as he moved. His back muscles flexed with every motion, a sharp contrast to the way he carefully mapped out something in the yard. He wasn’t digging a hole, but rather planning where something would go.

He looked… out of his element, almost. But focused.

Kimora swallowed, blinking a few times to clear her thoughts.

Beside her, Lexie let out a low whistle. “Lawd. If that ain’t a man, I don’t know what is.”

Kimora nudged her sharply. “Hush.”

But her eyes lingered.

Just for a second.

Kimora was the first to tear her gaze away, but Lexie lingered, tilting her head as she watched Franklin work.

“You think he’s building something?” She whispered.

Kimora sighed, reaching for Lexie’s wrist again. “I think you’re being nosy. Now, come on.” She said, trying to pry her away from the fence but Lexie swatted her away. “Girl, if I was being nosy, I’d go over and ask him myself.”

Kimora shot her a sharp look. “You better not.”

Lexie smirked but finally backed away from the fence, stretching her arms overhead. “Fine, fine,” She relented, holding g her hands up in surrender and walking back toward their study area. “But you gotta admit, Kim—” she flashed a knowing grin—“you were lookin’ a little too hard.”

Kimora scoffed, feigning indifference. “I was just making sure you weren’t acting a fool.”

Lexie plopped back into her chair. “Mhm. Sure.”

Kimora rolled her eyes but sat down, flipping open her notebook again. “Can we get back to work, please?”

Lexie snickered, biting into a chip as she grabbed her own notes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Mrs. Saint.”

Kimora shot her a hard glare. “Don’t start.”

Lexie just winked.

Despite herself, Kimora found her thoughts drifting back to the man next door. She had no business thinking about him. She knew that. But for some reason, she couldn’t shake the image of him from her mind. The least she could do was admit that the man was fine, though she couldn’t bring herself to do it out loud. So she just settled for her thoughts and hoped they didn’t stir afar.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The sun was merciless, beating down on Franklin’s back like it had a personal vendetta. Sweat gathered at his brow and clung to the curve of his neck, soaking into the collar of his white tank. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, exhaling sharply as he crouched down to mark the ground with his shovel. The sun was ruthless, bearing down on him as he mapped out the area where the shed would stand. His hands were starting to cramp from gripping the shovel too long, but he wasn’t done—not yet. The outline of the shed was starting to form in the dirt, jagged and uneven in some places, but he could see it clearly in his mind: four walls, a roof, and floorboards thick enough to hide what needed hiding.

To anyone looking, he was just a man getting his backyard together—making his new house feel like home.

But in reality, he needed this shed up fast.

It had to be finished before next week.

It wasn’t just about storage. It was about security. The floorboards would be reinforced, a perfect place to stash some extra cash without having to dig into the walls or risk Lucia’s paranoia. He was even considering cement—make sure nobody gets any ideas.

No one would question a shed. Every Southern house had one—tools, lawn chairs, maybe an old bike or two. But Franklin needed it for something else. Something quiet. Something invisible. Out of sight, out of reach.

The heat was getting to him, and the longer he worked, the more he felt the fatigue creeping in.

Lucia was gone, out grabbing groceries since the fridge was empty. He could’ve gone with her, but he wasn’t in the mood for small talk or making nice with the locals at the market. Instead, he stayed behind to work. He dug his shovel into the dirt, letting out another tired sigh

He huffed and leaned on the shovel for a moment, squinting against the glare of the afternoon light.

He adjusted his stance to drive the shovel into the earth again, but it slipped from his hands, clattering to the ground with a dull thud. He cursed under his breath, bending down to retrieve it—then paused.

There it was again. Laughter. Light, melodic, and close.

His head turned, and he took a few slow steps toward the picket fence separating his yard from the Cunninghams’. His curiosity got the best of him. He moved over, resting a forearm against the top of the wood, eyes shifting just enough to peek through a gap in the slats.

There they were.

The girls from earlier.

Kimora sat cross-legged under the patio roof, her knees tucked to her chest, arms loosely wrapped around them as she stared down at her toes, absently wiggling them like she was deep in thought. Lexie sprawled out on her stomach on a lounge chair and had a notebook open in front of her, though it didn’t look like she was actually studying. Books were scattered across the table and floor like they’d started working and gotten lost in gossip somewhere along the way.

He couldn’t hear them this time, but he didn’t need to. Their expressions said enough—relaxed, familiar, young.

He didn’t want to look like a creep peeking through the fence, so Franklin cleared his throat.

The reaction was instant.

Two heads snapped his way, laughter cutting off so abruptly that it almost made him grin.

“Do you happen to have any bottled water?” He asked, directing the question toward Kimora, his voice smooth but scratchy from the heat.

She blinked, surprised to see him that close. “Uh, yeah. Let me go—”

“I’ll get it,” Lexie cut in quickly, already bouncing up from her seat like she’d been waiting for the opportunity. She darted back inside, the screen door slapping shut behind her.

Franklin and Kimora were left alone in the heat and silence, facing one another across the fence. Her eyes—still curious, still guarded—met his.

“So,” She said, shifting in her seat and crossing her arms as she looked at him. “Whatcha doin’, Mr. Saint?”

He gave a dry chuckle, wiping sweat from his temple.“Trying not to pass out.” Franklin let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned more comfortably on the fence. “And please, don’t call me that. I’m not that much older than you.”

Kimora tilted her head, arching a brow as she folded her arms across her chest. “How old are you?”

He squinted slightly in the sunlight, trying to catch a clearer view of her expression. “I’m twenty-nine.”

Her eyes widened, brows jumping with surprise. “Twenty-nine?”

“Yeah.” He gave her a pointed look, half-amused, half-offended. “Do I look older?”

“A little,” Kimora replied casually with a shrug and a small, polite smile curling at her lips.

Franklin squinted at her again, skeptical. “It’s the way you dress.” She added, trying to soften the blow.

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?” He asked, and while the words held genuine curiosity, the slight grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t taking offense. Not totally.

“Absolutely nothing, Mr. Saint,” Kimora teased, putting a bit of playful weight on the title. “But you do dress like someone who’s supposed to be called Mister.”

At that, Franklin broke into a laugh—low and smooth and a little surprised at how easily it came. Kimora smiled at the sound, watching him with slightly narrowed eyes like she was cataloging a new side of him. When his chuckles died down, he nodded once and said, “Yeah… I get that a lot.”

She hummed in response, a soft noise of agreement, her gaze lingering on him as he still leaned against the shared fence. For a brief moment, the afternoon went quiet again—just the distant hum of a lawnmower a few streets over, the sound of a car door slamming shut down the block, and the two of them, sharing that space in silence.

Then the patio door creaked open, the screen clattering as Lexie stepped back outside.

“Here’s your water.” She said, approaching the fence with a little too much bounce in her step. She handed Franklin two chilled bottles, condensation already forming on the plastic.

“Thank you.” He said, his voice smooth as he accepted both, easily holding them in one large hand. He twisted the cap off one and brought it to his lips, tilting his head back as he drank deeply.

The girls stood still, both watching in unspoken unison. His throat bobbed with every gulp, Adam’s apple catching the light as the sun painted a golden sheen across his skin. The muscles in his forearm flexed subtly with each movement, veins raised beneath warm, brown skin. He didn’t seem aware of the attention, too focused on the relief of cold water against the heat that clung to him.

Lexie blinked. Kimora folded her arms tighter. Neither said a word.

Franklin finally pulled the bottle from his mouth with a satisfied sigh, lips glistening slightly, and looked back toward Kimora.

“Appreciate it,” He said.

Kimora nodded, her tone cool but her eyes still a little wide. “Of course… Franklin.” She said softly, trying to think of anything else besides his glistening figure.

Kimora had expected things to settle back into something normal. Maybe she and Lexie would return to pretending to study, or at the very least enjoy the outdoors while avoiding the glaring sun. But instead of heading back to her seat, Lexie moved to the small stool near the fence, climbed on top of it, and leaned forward, peering into the neighbor’s yard like she was about to interview someone for a job.

“So, what are you building?” She asked, her voice chipper and curious.

Kimora’s eyes widened in horror, her stomach turning as she scrambled up from her chair. “Lexie.” She hissed under her breath, practically jogging the short distance before throwing a quick arm around the girl’s shoulders in an attempt to pry her back from the fence.

Franklin looked up at the question, one brow raised, and let out a short, breathy laugh. “Uh—”

“Sorry about her,” Kimora cut in quickly, squeezing Lexie’s shoulder a little tighter. “She’s nosy and hard-headed.” She added, flashing Franklin a polite smile that was clearly trying to mask her embarrassment. Lexie, meanwhile, stood planted in place, still smiling like she had no intention of backing down.

Franklin chuckled again, his shoulders rising in a casual shrug. “It’s fine. I’m used to the interrogation.” He said, making sure to give his neighbor a look.

Kimora narrowed her eyes slightly at the word. “Excuse me? Is that what you call it? An interrogation?” She asked, forgetting all about dragging Lexie back as she stepped closer to the fence. “I was just trying to get to know more about my new neighbor.”

He grinned, teeth flashing under the sun as he replied smoothly, “I mean, you did sort of have me cornered in my own home.”

That made both girls react at once—Lexie gasping dramatically and Kimora staring at him with wide eyes, mouth falling open.

“You were in his house?” Lexie asked, voice not as subtle as she thought it was despite her attempt to lower it.

Kimora lightly elbowed her. “I did not have you cornered. You invited me in, remember? After leaving me standing on your porch with that heavy basket. You could barely make it to the table with that thing, Mr. Saint.”

Franklin gave a knowing look. “Yeah, did you not see me carrying boxes all afternoon by myself?”

Before either of them could say more, he added, “But if you ladies must know, I’m mapping out where I want my shed to go.”

Lexie cocked her head, squinting in the sun. “Why are you digging?”

“Because the bottom of the shed has to go in the ground.” Both Franklin and Kimora answered in unison.

They looked at each other for a beat, both surprised and then Kimora slowly turned her attention to Lexie with a pointed stare.

“For stability, storms, and whatnot.” She added. “Now, are you done?”

Lexie sighed, clearly disappointed the little interrogation was coming to a close. She gave Franklin one last lingering glance before stepping down from the stool and heading back toward the patio. “Okay.” She said, drawing the word out.

Kimora’s gaze shifted back to Franklin, who still stood with a faint smirk, clearly entertained.

“Again, sorry for her.” She said, but this time there was less embarrassment and more resignation in her voice.

Franklin shook his head. “It’s no problem.”

Kimora nodded and offered him a small smile. “Have a nice day… Franklin.” Her lips twitched with mischief. “Nah, I was taught to respect my elders—have a good day, Mr. Saint.”

Franklin let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he leaned down to pick up his shovel again. “Have a nice day, Kimora Cunningham.” He said, watching as she stepped away from the fence, her figure disappearing from view as she made her way back to the patio.

He could still hear them, though, voices floating just enough on the breeze to reach him.

“He is so fine,” Lexie said, clearly impressed. “I’m actually a little glad he’s married or else I’d have to give up Keith as my number one.”

“Shut up, Lexie,” Kimora muttered back, but even from where he stood, Franklin could hear the reluctant amusement in her tone.

He smirked, shook his head, and went back to digging.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The next morning, the sun filtered through her sheer purple curtains, casting a warm, lazy glow across Kimora’s bedroom. Her alarm had already gone off twice, but it wasn’t until the third grating buzz and the red LED digits flashing 6:45 AM that she groaned and began rolling over in her bed and slapping the snooze button like it owed her money. The late-night reruns of Family Matters and reading her Toni Morrison assignment had kept her up longer than planned. She finally pushed the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. A groggy groan escaped her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, but eventually, she got moving.

She reached for her bonnet, slipping it off to shake out the curls she’d wrapped up the night before.

After a few sluggish seconds, she shuffled to the bathroom in her slippers, the hem of her oversized T-shirt brushing her knees. Her morning routine was clockwork by now: Inside, she turned on the faucet and washed her face with Noxzema, the tingle waking her right up before she brushed her teeth. Then a hot shower with her favorite vanilla oat scrub, a soft beat with just enough concealer and gloss to keep her looking fresh—soft brown lip liner, a touch of clear gloss, and just a pinch of blush.

And then, an outfit that balanced campus cute and classroom comfy. Today, she wore a blue floral patterned button-up that she tied in the front, cute denim shorts, and navy blue converse. She then topped it off with her favorite oversized denim jacket—the one she’d embroidered with little stars on the sleeve. After one last spritz of her signature lemony perfume, she grabbed her tote and made her way downstairs.

The smell of turkey bacon and cinnamon toast hit her before she even reached the kitchen. Her mother, Simone Cunningham, was already at the bay window table in the kitchen, legs crossed beneath a floral robe and rollers still snug in her hair. Luther Vandross played low from the radio on the counter, the dial set to V-103.

“Morning, baby,” Simone said without looking up from the Ebony magazine in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. Her reading glasses perched low on her nose, and her gold bangles clinked softly every time she reached for a bite.

“Morning, Mama,” Kimora replied, leaning down to kiss her cheek before settling in across from her. She poured herself some orange juice and popped a slice of toast from the toaster.

Simone eyed her daughter with a smirk. “You look cute. Gonna see that boy again? The one who was hangin’ off your every word at church?”

Kimora rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “No, ma’am. Just goin’ to class.”

“Mmhmm,” Simone hummed, clearly unconvinced. She flipped a page of the magazine, then lowered it just enough for her eyes to peek over the top. “Wanna hear the latest?”

Kimora’s ears perked up like clockwork. She tried to act cool, stirring her grits. “I guess.”

“Oh, you guess? Please. Don’t start lying this early in the morning.”

Kimora grinned and leaned forward. “Okay, what?”

Simone lowered the magazine with all the drama of a soap opera scene and leaned in. “Lauren McAllister is cheating on David.”

Kimora froze mid-bite. “What?” She gasped. “Lauren? Pilates Lauren?”

Simone nodded slowly, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Yes, Pilates Lauren. The same one who wears full makeup to the park and acts like she invented clean eating. And not just with anybody.”

“Who?”

Simone leaned forward like she was about to spill state secrets. “Ishaan. The yoga instructor.”

Kimora let out a loud “What?” nearly knocking her juice over. “The one all the white women drool over at the rec center?”

Simone’s brows lifted. “The very one.” She nodded with a small smirk.

“Didn’t he model for that Herbal Essence ad? The billboard off North Avenue?”

“Yes! With the tank top and the tight pants?” Simone fanned herself. “Got all them lil soccer moms thinking they spiritual or something now.” She scoffed.

Kimora was wide-eyed. “How did you find this out?”

Simone gave her a knowing look. “Cathleen told me.”

“Cathleen?” Kimora repeated. “Jewish Cathleen? Curly bob? Megan’s mama?”

“Mmhmm. You know, she’s the only white woman in our little Pilates circle, so she be tryin’ hard to stay ten toes down with the colored folk.” She snickered.

Kimora giggled. “I like Cathleen.”

“Me too. Anyway, she said Megan and her little friends skipped class—.”

Kimora winced. “Of course they were.”

“—and ended up over by that frozen yogurt shop on Cascade.”

Kimora hummed. “The one with the little rainbow benches?”

“Yes, that one. So Megan sees Lauren and Ishaan get into the same car—and not just get in. They kissed. Right there in the front seat. Tongue and all.”

Kimora’s mouth dropped open. “Nooo.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Oh yes,” Simone said, dragging out the syllables. “And Cathleen tried to act like she was shocked, but you could tell she was tickled. Said she told Darnell and they didn’t believe it.” She explained. “Until they went out for their anniversary last weekend. And they saw the two of them together—at The Monument.”

Kimora slammed her palm on the table. “Not The Monument!”

Simone nodded with mock severity.

“Yes, The Monument,” Simone said, savoring every word. “You know that’s where folk go when they wanna be seen. That ain’t no low-down, hush-hush spot. That’s fine dining, white tablecloths, $40 steak with no sides.”

Kimora slapped her hand over her mouth, trying not to choke on her toast. “Mama, stop!”

“I mean it,” Simone said, half laughing, half serious. “They were sitting at the bar trying to act like they weren’t some cheating ass duo. And then moved to a corner booth—lookin’ real cozy. Didn’t even flinch when folks walked by. Ishaan had his hand on the small of her back when they left.”

Kimora threw her fork down dramatically. “That’s intimacy!”

“That’s intimacy,” Simone repeated, nodding sagely.

Kimora shook her head, her eyes glinting with excitement. “David doesn’t even know what’s goin’ on in his own house.”

“Chile, David probably too busy messin’ with that grill out back to notice his wife out here doin’ downward dog for somebody else,” Simone said, sipping her coffee with flair. They both burst into laughter, the clinking of their silverware the only thing louder than their voices.

Kimora covered her mouth with both hands. “Lauren and Ishaan.”

Simone nodded, smug. “Lauren and Ishaan.”

“Oh my God.”

“I told you. And you know Cathleen wouldn’t lie. She felt so bad telling it, too, but you could tell she was glad to finally be on the inside of some mess for once.”

Kimora burst out laughing. “She’s been waiting months to earn her stripes.”

“Girl, hasn’t she?”

The two women dissolved into giggles over their plates, the warm kitchen buzzing with the sound of gossip, cinnamon, and love. It was their ritual—one that felt stitched into the fabric of their mornings. This was their thing—just the two of them in the morning, while the rest of the house was quiet and the air still smelled like something fried and hair grease. With Kimora’s brothers and father long gone for the day, out doing their blue-collar work in the Atlanta heat, this kitchen was theirs. Kimora and Simone had carved out this sacred space—part breakfast, part bond, part gossip, part Black Southern womanhood passed down like heirlooms.

They didn’t have the traditional relationship most girls had with their mothers, especially in the 90’s. Simone was a very progressive woman with all types of different eras and beliefs, that expanded over into her marriage and motherhood. Her exact opposite behavior was enduring and what caught the attention of her, now husband, Walter Cunningham. Walter was the very opposite of Simone. He was the son of a blue-collar man who had nothing but daughters, and he was the youngest. He has a lot of preside placed upon him growing up, but it seemed that even the smallest bit of time with Simone waned all those worries away.

As Kimora got up to rinse her plate, she shook her head in disbelief. “I’m tellin’ you,” Simone said, pointing her butter knife like a mic. “That yoga class ain’t never been about flexibility. That class is a trap with mats for the horny.”

Kimora wiped her eyes, her stomach hurting from laughing. “I swear, you and your little Pilates crew are the real FBI.”

“We are. And don’t let us start stretching with our eyes open, ‘cause we’ll see everything.”

They both snickered again and then Kimora looked at the time on the old stove clock. “Uh!—it’s already past seven-thirty. Lexie will be pulling up any second.”

“You want me to pack you a little something?”

Kimora stood, sliding her plate into the sink. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll grab something at the student center.”

Simone came over and adjusted the collar on her denim jacket like she’d done since Kimora was in elementary school. “You be careful, hear? Don’t go gettin’ caught up in none of them boys with the gold fronts and the Honda Civics.”

Kimora smirked. “What about the ones with the fades and the poetry books?”

Simone smiled slyly. “Them the ones you really gotta watch.”

Kimora grabbed her bag, kissed her mother’s cheek, and made her way toward the front door. Just as she opened it, Simone called out, “Hey! Don’t forget to bring me back that psychology article you posted in the school paper last week. The one about love languages! I’m tryna figure out if your daddy’s is just acts of service or if he just don’t like to talk.”

Kimora laughed down the front steps, the morning sun rising over their modest Atlanta neighborhood. She looked down at her watch, and just at 7:52 a.m., the familiar rumble of Lexie’s white Cadillac pulled up in front of the house, right on cue. The drop-top was a smooth upgrade from her old car, an ‘89 Honda Civic. The car had a dent in the passenger side door from when her little cousin rode a bike straight into it, and the driver-side mirror was held together with clear tape and prayer. But much like her new one, Lexie kept it spotless on the inside, and the speakers were always bumping SWV or TLC like they were brand new.

Kimora slung her tote bag over her shoulder and waved to her mama, who was standing at the screen door. “You got your lunch money?” Simone asked, squinting through the morning sun.

“Yes, Mama,” Kimora called back, yanking open the passenger door. “Love you!”

“Love you more. Tell Lexie she better stop by and eat one day this week!”

Lexie leaned over the console, grinning. “Tell Mama Simone I want her cornbread and yams next time!”

Kimora slid into the seat, shutting the door with a soft thud. “Girl, you say that every time and never come!”

“That’s ‘cause if I come over there, I’m not leavin’. Y’all be in there eatin’ like it’s Thanksgiving on a Tuesday.”

The girls laughed as Lexie pulled away from the curb, the car tires crunching softly against the gravel.

It was a short ride to Spelman, maybe fifteen minutes depending on traffic and if the lights were feelin’ generous. They never really minded, though. These little rides were their mini-therapy sessions before facing the real world of syllabi, midterms, and professors who refused to believe in due date extensions.

“I got that history assignment due Thursday,” Kimora sighed, flipping open her planner. “Professor Jordan talkin’ about he want a four-page analysis of Frederick Douglass’ autobiography and how it relates to modern Black masculinity.”

“Ugh, he swears he’s so deep,” Lexie said, rolling her eyes. “Like, yes, we know, we get it—he marched with Dr. King. He says it every class.”

“I mean… that’s really impressive though,” Kimora added with a small nod.

“Sure, but how will that help me pass sociology?”

Kimora laughed, nodding. “True. What do you got goin’ on today?”

Lexie blew a bubble with her gum and popped it before answering. “Art history quiz, and I’m not gonna lie, I ain’t read anything. Just gonna go in and pray for multiple choice.”

Kimora gave her a side-eye. “You better hope God or then ancestors show up.”

“Girl, they already tired of me,” Lexie grinned. “But after that, I’m free till one, then I got that African American Lit seminar with Professor Brown—you know, the one with the locs and the tight pants?”

“Ooooh,” Kimora teased, smirking. “That man stay wearin’ them corduroys like it’s snowin’ in Atlanta. I know he hot”

They cracked up as they turned onto campus, the familiar wrought-iron Spelman sign welcoming them like it always did. The sidewalks were already alive—students in headwraps and sweats, or fully dressed like they were headed to a conference, all of them beautiful, sharp, and about their business.

Lexie pulled up near the side lot, parking in her usual semi-illegal spot by the faculty building.

“Alright, I’ll see you after class?” Kimora asked, grabbing her bag.

“Yep. If you finish early, meet me at the student center—we can go over that Douglass paper.”

Kimora groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

They shared a quick look and a laugh before Kimora stepped out into the rising Atlanta heat. As she shut the door behind her, Lexie called out, “Tell Professor Tight Pants I said hey!”

Kimora didn’t even look back—just threw up a peace sign and kept walking.

Kimora walked across campus, her shoes tapping against the pavement in time with the beat of the music in her headphones. The sun was high, the warmth of spring on its way, but the crispness of the early morning still lingered in the air. She pulled her jacket tighter around her as she made her way to her Creative Writing class. It was a class that made her feel alive—words had always been her escape, her way of understanding the world. The stories she told were her own way of making sense of everything, and there was always something exhilarating about pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable in her work.

She entered the classroom and found her seat near the front. The lecture hall was filled with the usual mix of students, all seated in their comfortable spots, some yawning, some already writing, and others talking to one another. Her professor, Mr. Edwards, a man who wore oversized glasses and had a habit of pacing around the room like he was rehearsing for a play, began the lecture as usual.

“Today, we’re going to talk about pushing boundaries,” Mr. Edwards said, pausing to give everyone a moment to settle. “The art of writing is not just about telling a story—it’s about taking your readers somewhere they don’t expect to go, challenging their preconceived notions, and forcing them to confront the uncomfortable. You’ll need to reach into the darkest parts of your mind, your memories, your experiences, and create something so raw that even the most hardened critic will have to sit back and think, ‘Damn, I didn’t see that coming.’”

Kimora leaned forward, her pen hovering over her notebook. This was what she loved about Creative Writing—her professor didn’t just teach her to write stories, but to provoke thought, to make people feel something. He was encouraging them to explore taboo topics, to challenge societal norms, and most importantly, to make the readers question their beliefs, while the writers questioned their own. She could feel the tension building in her chest, the idea of writing something that could make people uncomfortable suddenly feeling less like a challenge and more like an irresistible draw. It reminded her of the gossip her mother shared earlier—the affair, the secrets that people kept hidden, the things no one dared to say aloud.

“The beauty of taboo subjects,” Mr. Edwards continued, “is that they make us confront our own biases, our own judgments. The most uncomfortable truths can often be the most revealing. You can write about love, but it’s the forbidden kinds of love that tend to get the most attention. It’s the stories that make us squirm that have the most staying power.”

Kimora’s mind wandered, the words sinking deep into her thoughts. She imagined what it would be like to write about something like the affair her mother had mentioned earlier.

Or, maybe even the strange and complicated feelings she had been developing toward…Franklin.

No, I can’t do that! She thought.

It was uncomfortable to even think about, but wasn’t that the point? She couldn’t help but feel drawn to the idea of pushing those boundaries, just like her professor had encouraged. What was the point of writing if you weren’t willing to explore the darkest corners of your mind?

The lecture carried on, but Kimora was lost in her thoughts. As much as she loved being here, learning, writing, she couldn’t help but feel like something was waiting just outside her grasp. Something more dangerous. Something kind of like the slight attraction she held for her new neighbor. It felt wrong, it went against everything she knew. It was a story waiting to be told, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face it yet.

Mr.Edwards clapped, signaling the end of class he he dismissed them, snapping her out of her thoughts. She packed up her books, feeling a buzz of energy from the class that she hadn’t expected. There was something about the challenge of taboo subjects that had sparked something inside her, and she was eager to dive into it. But for now, she needed food—and a break.

Kimora made her way to the student union, where she sat down at the same table she always did, her lunch tray in hand and books piled beside her. The hustle and bustle of the union surrounded her, but it was comfortable—familiar. She pulled out her notebook and started making some notes, catching up on the assignment her professor had given them before her friends arrived.

It wasn’t long before Keith and Lexie showed up, followed by the rest of the newspaper crew: Kylie, the photographer, with her camera slung across her shoulder; Maxwell, the journalist with a notebook full of interviews; and Paolo, the design genius who could make any story look like it belonged in the New York Times.

“Hey, Kimora,” Keith said, sliding into the seat next to her. “Did you hear about the latest drama with the soccer team?”

“Of course I did.” She replied, not even looking at him as she flipped through her notebook. “But I’m more interested in what’s going on with you guys for the next issue. Anything I should know?” She was always on top of the news, ready to edit the paper with her eye for detail. She thrived on the fast-paced nature of the job, always in the loop and ready to shape the narrative.

Lexie, sitting across from Kimora, immediately chimed in. “Did you hear about Lauren from Pilates?” she asked, her voice lowering with that familiar tone of someone about to share gossip. Kimora nodded. “Yup.”

“What about her?” Paolo asked, already knowing this was going to be good. Lexie leaned in with a grin. “Lauren’s this woman who lives in Kimora’s neighborhood. I heard she’s been sneaking around with this guy named Ishaan, he’s the yoga instructor that visits the rec center.” She explained to her friends, the majority of them from out of state. Keith, Max, and Paolo didn’t even go to the school. “Apparently, it’s been going on for months, and the moms at the park Pilates group have been gossiping about it nonstop.”

Maxwell snickered. “Typical. The yoga instructor’s got it going on, but it’s the scandal of it all that makes it juicy. The dude was on a build board. Doesn’t it just scream ‘bad decision’?”

Kimora smiled, shaking her head. “I swear, this campus is full of drama. And the teachers aren’t any better.”

Paolo laughed. “Yeah, but none of that compares to the story Kimora’s going to get from the administration this week, right?” The Hispanic man teased.

Kimora smiled, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, 100%. Spelman has this upcoming seminar where we highlight entrepreneurs from the city. It’s the biggest event of the month.” She replied, her mind already racing with ideas. But the thought of writing about forbidden love, about things people weren’t supposed to talk about—that was her main territory. She could feel the words coming, waiting to burst forth.

Got it. Here’s a continuation of the scene, seamlessly weaving in Lexie’s spicy gossip about the professors and keeping that playful but intriguing tone:

As the group dug into their lunches and settled into their usual rhythm of banter and brainstorming, Lexie leaned forward with a look that made every one pause. Her eyes gleamed, and her voice dipped into that conspiratorial tone that always meant something juicy was coming.

“Okay, y’all,” She said, twirling her fork and glancing around the table. “So I wasn’t gonna say anything… but I just heard something crazy from Tiara, who works in the English department office.”

“Oh Lord,” Keith muttered, already bracing himself. “Here we go.”

“No, for real!” Lexie grinned. “Apparently, Professor Halberd—you know, the old, crusty dude who teaches all the British Lit classes and looks like he’s allergic to joy?”

“The one with the elbow patches and the yellow teeth?” Maxwell asked.

“Yes, him,” Lexie confirmed with a nod. “Well, apparently he’s been messing around with Professor DeLane.”

Kimora blinked. “Professor DeLane? The new gorgeous lady from the Women’s Studies department talks about feminist theory like it’s gospel?”

“That’s the one!” Lexie said, casing a few from as to go around the table.

“She’s too beautiful for that old man.” Kylie scoffed.

“And get this—they’ve been seen together, like, multiple times.”Lexie continued. “But not just like, walking out of faculty meetings or having coffee. I’m talking about sneaking out of the same office at odd hours and driving off in his busted-up Volvo.”

Paolo whistled low. “Not the Volvo of shame.” He said, causing the boys to snicker.

“I’m telling you,” Lexie continued, dropping her voice even lower. “Tiara said she caught them once at night, coming out of the back faculty entrance like teenagers sneaking out of detention. And she was only doing that because she was sneaking back over here from Morehouse after messing with Wayne. But anyways, rumor is, someone in admin tried to confront them about it—but Halberd threatened to go to the dean with emails.”

“Scandalous and petty,” Kylie laughed, messing with her camera. “I live.”

“But here’s the kicker,” Lexie said, glancing at Kimora now. “They both wrote articles last year on morality in campus dynamics.” He stated, and Kimora hummed at that, nodding.

“Yeah, I volunteered for that.” She said.

“Right. But, like, they were part of some ethical policy revision committee or whatever. Real preachy stuff. And now they’re up here breaking all the rules.”Kimora raised a brow, lips twitching in amusement. “It’s kind of poetic. Hypocrisy always makes for the best drama.”

“Exactly,” Lexie said. “It’s got all the elements—secret affair, power dynamics, a little academia spice.”

Keith grinned and nudged Kimora’s shoulder. “Sounds like something our fearless editor might need to… fictionalize for her next piece. Maybe for the gossip section of the campus paper or..that ‘taboo assignment’ you were talking about earlier?” He said, smiling down at her.

Kimora tilted her head thoughtfully, a slow smile forming. “You know… it might just inspire something.”

“Name the characters ‘Professor Houndstooth’ and ‘Miss Blowout,’” Maxwell joked, and the table burst into laughter.

But Kimora stayed quiet, filing it all away in the back of her mind. Taboo was starting to follow her everywhere—in-class lectures, over lunch, and especially at home. Maybe it wasn’t just a theme anymore. Maybe it was the universe giving her material. And as the editor-in-chief, a creative writing major, and a girl with a growing curiosity she wasn’t quite ready to name… she couldn’t help but feel like the story was just getting started.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The air inside the community center buzzed with youthful energy—kids from all corners of the neighborhood gathered in small clusters, their mouths full of greasy pizza and their laughter bouncing off the painted cinderblock walls. Folding chairs scraped against the floor as someone ran to the back for more napkins, and a makeshift stereo played a bouncy R&B track low enough not to bother the adults.

Kimora stepped inside with Lexie at her side, each girl balancing two boxes of pizza stacked high and a heavy grocery bag full of two-liter sodas. The scent of melted mozzarella and pepperoni hung thick in the air, mixing with the faint tang of sweat and sugar. It was warm inside, but not unpleasant. It smelled like summer freedom.

“Table by the window’s looking empty,” Lexie noted, tipping her chin in that direction as they weaved through the chaos.

Kimora nodded, setting her boxes down carefully before smoothing her hair back with the same practiced grace she used to handle just about everything. Her shoes clacked softly against the tiled floor as she moved toward the long table set up for drinks, unpacking red Solo cups and setting out bottles of pink lemonade, Sprite, and cola.

“Hey, Kimora—can you grab another bag of ice?” someone called from across the room.

“Got it!” She called back, but just as she turned, she walked through the doors that led to a hall that held vending machines and a single ice machine. She was on her way down, about to pass the industrial kitchen when a hand—warm and deliberate—rested gently on the small of her back.

“Kimora?”

She would’ve jumped more violently if not for the voice. Calm, familiar, low. There was something earthy on his skin, a quiet cologne of spice and something more natural—like he’d been outside, like pine or warm cedar. Her head whipped around before she could catch herself, and then her gaze locked into his.

“Franklin.” She breathed, lips parting into a surprised smile.

He stood close. Too close, maybe, if it had been anyone else. But with Franklin Saint, it felt more like gravity. She had to tip her chin up a bit to meet his eyes, deep and brown and somehow quieter than the room they were in.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, blinking, eyes darting to the window they stood next to, looking at the room full of kids before trailing back up to him. He’d taken a slight step back now, enough for her to take him in fully.

He was dressed in a cream suit. Crisp blazer. Patterned tie tucked neatly beneath the lapels, a small flower poking from his breast pocket as if he’d just left a wedding or a political rally. He was a striking contrast to the room full of t-shirts, jeans, and neon sneakers.

“And dressed like that?” Kimora asked, her voice amused now. “You’re at the wrong event, Mr. Saint.”

Franklin chortled, low and rough in his chest. “I, uh—I’m just checking the place out. Business.”

“Business.”She echoed with a teasing nod, deciding not to press him on it—not yet.

She turned back to the ice machine, scooping the cubes into the decently sized ice bucket to bring back to the drink table. The silence lingered for a moment, familiar but new like they hadn’t figured out what kind of quiet this was yet. Once she was done, she flashed him a smile before beginning to walk back into the center. Franklin’s eyes trailed after her and before we could think, he was following her into the room full of kids.

Kimora made her way back toward the table with the bag of ice tucked under one arm, her steps light but focused. Franklin walked beside her now, a half-step behind but still close, like he wasn’t ready to let the moment fade.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, voice a little softer now as she stood near her at the drink table. She turned her back as she faced the drink table, pouring herself a small cup of pink lemonade. She then turned her head to him as she held the small bucket. “I volunteer here all the time.” She said easily. “This center does a lot for the youth in the community. I used to spend time with my friends where when I was younger. We hold fundraising events, tutoring sessions, sometimes even college prep or open mics, if the kids are into that sort of thing.”

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping with mock seriousness. “We also use this spot for fun stuff since the rec center’s been taken over by old white people.”

Franklin laughed—a real one this time, teeth and all—and Kimora smiled into her drink, pleased with herself.

“Sounds like you run the place.” He said after a moment, still looking at her.

She shrugged, playing it cool. “I just help out where I can.”

But even as she said it, she could feel the weight of his gaze linger. There was something new about the way he looked at her now—like he was seeing her differently. Or maybe, finally seeing her entirely.

Around them, kids shouted over another round of pizza being opened, someone hit play on a cassette with a new song, and life continued to move like it always did. But in the quiet pocket of space between Franklin and Kimora, something had shifted.

And neither of them said a word about it.

“So.” He said, casually slipping his hands into his pockets as he glanced down at her, “You’re not gonna ask what kind of business I’m here for?”

Kimora paused, looking up at him with a brow raised. He stood at least five inches taller, casting a long shadow across her shoulder as the afternoon sun filtered through the center’s high windows.

“Do you want me to ask?” She replied smoothly. “Because I will. I was actually curious, but I didn’t want you to feel interrogated again.” Her lips curled into a small, teasing smile as she finished the sentence, and sure enough, it drew one from him too.

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Franklin asked with a soft chuckle.

“First impressions mean everything, Mr. Saint. You should know that.” She smirked, her voice warm with the memory of their slightly tense first encounter.

“I do.” He nodded. “Which is why I’m thinking of investing in this place.”

That stopped Kimora in her tracks to fix her another cup. She blinked at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” She asked, turning to fully face him.

“Yeah,” Franklin said, scanning the room. “I see a few things that could use upgrades—some better tech, renovations. And honestly, I think this place could use a pool.” That was all she needed to hear. Before she could think twice, Kimora squealed softly and reached forward, placing her hands on either side of his arms in an excited little squeeze.

“Oh my goodness, that’s amazing!” She gushed. The hug wasn’t full-bodied, but it was close enough for Franklin to feel the rush of her warmth, her energy pressing into him. He blinked at the contact, a little surprised by her touch—but he didn’t pull away.

“You don’t even know how much this means.” She continued, hands still resting against his arms. “I’ve been trying to get close with each of my neighbors just so I could use their pool. I was devastated when the Nantucket's moved—they used to throw these massive pool parties all the time. And in the winter, they let us use their hot tub.”

She laughed lightly at the memory, her eyes sparkling. “I thought I’d never feel pool water again unless I booked a hotel. And I’m sorry, but that’s just gross.”

And then—just like that—she realized she was still touching him. Her eyes dropped to where her hands rested against the sleeves of his cream suit. “Oh.” She blinked, slowly drawing her hands away and looking up at him with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I… got a little excited.”

“It’s fine,” Franklin said easily, though his eyes gave her a slow once-over before he licked his lips. “And if all goes well, the pool’ll be grand and at your disposal.”

Kimora grinned, her dimples deepening. But then Franklin added, “And just so you know, you could’ve just asked to use my pool.”

Kimora tilted her head slightly, brows lifting. “Huh?”

Franklin cooed at the little expression she gave him, chuckling. She was quick, though—her eyes widened just a bit as it registered.

“Oh, that sounded bad!” she said with a breathy laugh. “I wasn’t trying to get close just so I could use you for your pool, Franklin.”

He smirked, watching her talk.

“It’s just—every neighbor has let me use their pool at some point. And if you didn’t offer soon… well, I don’t know how well this conversation would be going right now.” They both laughed at that, the air between them loosening into something easy and playful.

“So is that what all the questioning was for, huh?” Franklin teased. “You buttering me up to use the pool?”

“No, no,” Kimora said quickly, shaking her head. “In all honesty, I was just trying to be friendly. Get to know you more.”

There was a softness in her voice then, a sincerity that hit Franklin square in the chest. He hummed, letting his gaze linger on her a little longer, feeling something flicker inside him.

Before the silence stretched too long, he cleared his throat. “Well, now I offer my pool to you anytime, Kimora.”

She cheesed, her grin full of joy and something just a little mischievous. “You don’t know what you just got yourself into, Mr. Franklin Saint. But I thank you.”

He looked at her then, with something warm and unreadable in his eyes. And for a moment, it felt like maybe she did.

Just as Kimora and Franklin’s laughter settled into something softer, the sound of heels clicking against the tile echoed from the hallway. Lucia emerged like she was walking a red carpet, with a measured sway in her hips and the air of someone who didn’t know—or care—that she was overdressed for a room full of finger paint and snack crumbs. Her outfit a matching one to Franklin’s cream ensemble.

She hadn’t caught the details of the conversation, but she didn’t need to. The sight of Franklin talking—smiling—with another woman was enough to catch her interest. She approached with a practiced ease, looping her arm around his as she slid in beside him.

“Baby. She said, her voice silky and sweet, her white nails grazing the fabric of his jacket.

Franklin shifted slightly, giving her a sidelong glance but not pulling away. “Lucia.”

Kimora’s smile faltered for only a second before she forced it back into place. “Hey.” She greeted politely, still holding her empty cup in her hand. He didn’t hate Lucia, even as she slowly came to terms with her subtle thoughts of the man in front of her. She just didn’t think Lucia liked her very much and didn’t know how to act according to that.

Lucia looked Kimora over and returned a smile that was all lips, no warmth. “Hi…” She trailed off, waiting for a name.

“Oh. It’s Kimora. The younger woman replied, offering her hand. Lucia shook it quickly, her grip surprisingly firm.

There was a beat of silence before Lucia asked, “What were you two talking about?”

“Just the community center,” Kimora answered before Franklin could, her tone smooth. “He was telling me about some possible renovations.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucia cut in easily, grinning up at Franklin like she had just been waiting to show off. “It is quite the investment. Must be something here worth upgrading.” Her gaze swept across the room with a touch of disdain, nose wrinkling slightly at a kid nearby who spilled juice on the floor.

Franklin’s eyes lingered on Kimora, sensing the subtle shift in her posture—like she’d folded a part of herself back in. “There’s definitely something worth investing in,” He said, more to Kimora than anyone else. “Good people. Strong foundation. Just needs someone to believe in it.”

Kimora smiled at that—small, grateful, and just the slightest bit smug. “Exactly.”

Lucia narrowed her eyes a fraction, then looked back at Franklin. “Well, it’s nothing one of the best contractors I know can’t handle.” She gushed with a grin, adjusting the lapels on his suit.

Kimora raised a brow, glancing at Franklin with interest. “Oh, you’re a contractor?”

Before Franklin could even open his mouth, Lucia jumped in. “Oh, no. But he does own a contracting business. One of the best in the nation. He just inherited it—that’s why we moved down here.”

Kimora nodded slowly at that, absorbing the information. “Wow. That’s impressive.” She smiled at him. And Lucia smiled like she already knew. “It is.” He stated.

Franklin glanced at Kimora, watching the subtle shift in her posture—how she folded her hands in front of her now, how her expression had cooled just slightly. He didn’t like it. Not when they’d just been laughing.

“I was saying.” He added, “That this place has real potential. Some upgrades in tech, maybe some fresh paint. And I feel like a pool would really bring it to life.”

Kimora smiled at that, remembering their conversation. “I told him if he builds that pool, he won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Lucia laughed lightly, almost condescending. “Well, with how much we’re putting into the place, you’ll definitely see some big changes soon.”

Franklin glanced sideways at her, just for a second.

Lucia’s arm was still wrapped around him like an unspoken claim, but Kimora held her ground. “That’s good to hear.” She said with a polite nod. “Everyone here deserves the best.”

Lucia glanced at the juice-stained floor, then back at Kimora. “Mm-hmm.”

Franklin cleared his throat. “We should get going.”

Lucia gave his chest a light pat, finally letting her hand fall away. “Nice meeting you, Kimora.”

“You too.” She replied smoothly.

As they walked off together, Franklin couldn’t help but glance back—just once.

And Kimora caught his gaze only briefly before she looked away. She didn’t know the full story behind Lucia and Franklin. But something about that woman didn’t sit right with her. Maybe it was the way she answered for him. Or the way she clung like she had something to prove. Either way, Kimora filed it away in the back of her mind.

And Kimora never forgot.

@onlyrealjoy @frank1nsaint @kindofaintrovert @notapradagurl7 @glassmermaids @ohshesamonet @stevelacyballs @sweaterblog @orchidwonder @b-m-scott @imsohappyilovekbop @thisaintnai @theghostbusterbitch @capricornrizingheaux @wonderlustwrites @jazziejax @blkandchic @jazzieinthefuture @lotuswritesworld @daelynnnn @kinkymami @shes4real @miabratt @vile-harlot @honeipot @niahxo @vampwns @hxneyclouds @borednblk @angel-bx @milk-marie777 @aldallure @susanhill @dariequeen @333symone @aphroditesdaughter222 @dolldial @earth2niyah @fairy-cores-world

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notapradagurl7 · 41 minutes ago

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Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut (f*ngering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, mentions of BDSM, mentions of org*es), dark romance, angst, manipulation, possessiveness/obsessiveness, mentions of Arson, mentions of violence, mentions of blood

word count: 12,535

a/n: y'all...Y'ALL!! I'm so so sorry for missing these last two weeks 😭😭 life been a lil overwhelming recently ngl, so I've been real distracted lately. But, I should be good going forward! Hope y'all like this chapter :) Also, also, thank you to all the kind people who reached out 🥹 thanks for checking in and leaving words of encouragement. And I'm editing this with like four days of sleep deprivation, so sorry for any mistakes!

Terry's song: All I Want is You-Miguel, J. Cole | Camille's song: Honesty-Pink Sweat$

Pt. Eight

Terry

Terry watched as Aston thrashed around as the security guards dragged him away, a man he assumed to be his father and Mr. DeWaterson following close behind. Onlookers watched in horror as they tried to make sense of what happened. The most senior partners of the firm began to pace around the venue frantically, trying to console potential donors and industry friends. But as everyone tried to return to normal, Aston’s screams reverberated off the walls, raw and frantic. As entertaining as his meltdown was, Terry couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. Aston’s thrashing, manic behavior was enough to make anyone uncomfortable, but what struck Terry most was the complete absence of control in Aston’s eyes—a wild, feral desperation that seemed beyond anything natural. It was so odd, Terry couldn’t even focus on the fact that he outed his true nature. Granted, it didn’t matter that he just told everyone in shouting distance that he was a vampire. His ramblings were so incoherent and all over the place, no one would assume that they were more than the delirious outbursts of someone unhinged. Aston sounded too deranged, too far gone for anyone to take him seriously. But as Terry watched him disappear down a hall, he knew, deep down, that the truth was far more complicated than simple drunkenness or madness.

Aston’s erratic behavior was much more than a random drunken episode. Sure, the sulfur he had ingested might have played a part in his frenzied state, but there was something more sinister at play. No, this was something deeper, something far more potent. This incident mirrored other times in Terry’s life where supernatural workings went wrong. Aston wasn’t merely intoxicated or out of control. He was under the intense, suffocating grip of a love spell. And not just any love spell. A spell powerful enough to bring even a supernatural creature to its knees. The thought made Terry’s stomach tighten, and a sharp exhale escaped his lips as his mind raced, locking onto the only person who could be arrogant and reckless enough to cast such a dangerous charm.

Stephanie. Of course, it had to be her. A thorn in his side since he stepped into Watkins & Grant. She was supposed to be a pawn, a temporary diversion, someone to give him easy access to Camille. In return, Terry would give her the attention she desperately craved, keep her entertained and satisfied—enough to keep her useful, but never to get too attached. That was the plan. But Stephanie, like plenty of other women in his past, had become consumed by him. She had become obsessed, her infatuation growing to an unhealthy intensity that was difficult for Terry to control. That obsession was more of a headache than it was worth, so Terry had created a plan that would get her out of his life once and for all. His generosity that week, his outward kindness towards her, had only been a means to an end, a carefully calculated move to draw her into a situation where she would be fired.

But Stephanie had used this night as an opportunity too. A spell, one potent enough for a vampire. And now, the aftermath was unfolding in front of him. Terry never imagined he would find himself thinking something like this, but in that moment, Terry was strangely grateful for Aston. Aston’s foolish attempt to poison him, as reckless and poorly executed as it was, had saved him from falling under Stephanie’s influence. Terry wouldn’t be making an ass of himself like Aston was since he was the intended target of the spell, but he would’ve lost control of himself and Stephanie would’ve been his sun, moon, and stars.

The idea of submitting to her demands, becoming obsessed with her like some lovesick puppy, made Terry’s jaw clench. But how did she get her hands on something like that? How did she know she would need something that powerful? Terry knew she was no witch, so she couldn’t have made it herself. So whoever did her work, did they know about him? Or did Stephanie know too? He needed to find out fast. And he needed to deal with her for even trying some shit like that on him. But, as always, there was someone far more important he needed to focus on.

His eyes drifted to Camille, who looked to be in a state of horrified dissociation as she leaned against her mother’s shoulder. He licked his lips in a desperate attempt to taste any residual of her lips, of her mouth. His whole body seemed to buzz from their exchange on the patio. He had to force himself to concentrate to keep his mind from dwelling on how she so easily melted into him. How sweet she sounded moaning into his mouth. She had kissed him… she had actually kissed him. He wanted to feel triumphant. At least, more than he did. But he could tell that the night for her was overshadowed by the psychotic episode they just witnessed. But episode be damned. Terry wasn’t going to let this night slip away like it was nothing. After the breakthrough they had experienced tonight, there was no way he was going to let her out of his sight, not without some sort of resolution. He couldn’t bear the idea of letting her leave without a conversation, without clearing the air. Slowly, he pushed himself away from the balcony and crossed the short distance to where Camille stood.

Her mother, ever watchful, stiffened slightly at his approach, her eyes narrowing with wariness. But Terry wasn’t going to be deterred. Not tonight. Not after everything.

He gently grasped Camille’s elbow, the contact light but firm enough to draw her attention away from the place where Aston was just standing. “Camille,” he called out. She startled, a tiny gasp escaping her lips, as if she’d been lost in thought, unaware of the world around her. Her eyes blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over.

“Oh, Terry,” she murmured, her voice quivering as she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his torso in a sudden, almost desperate gesture. The action was unexpected, but Terry didn’t hesitate. He welcomed her, pulling her close, instinctively guiding her to rest her head against his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, her breath hitching as she pulled away just slightly, looking up at him through watery eyes. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. All of those strange things he said about you. I just don’t know. I think he’s just a little…sick,” she hiccupped, her form trembling as she pressed herself tighter into him, seeking comfort.

He shushed her softly, a comforting hand stroking the back of her head, his thumb brushing against her hair in gently. “Camille, there’s no need to apologize. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your burden to carry.”

As she pulled back slightly, their eyes locked for a moment, the raw emotion in her gaze leaving him momentarily breathless. He fought the urge to lean in and kiss her again. He knew there would be plenty of time for that later. Instead, he forced himself to continue, his voice low and steady, “Do you want me to take you home?”

He heard a sharp intake of breath from behind them. Camille’s mother closed the distance between them and latched onto Camille’s arms, beginning to pull her away. Camille just wrapped herself tighter around him and Terry held onto her tighter. Camille’s mother glared up at him.

“That’s very thoughtful, sir, but I think you two have had enough time alone,” Camille’s mother chimed in, her voice dripping with disapproval. She looked to Camille, who refused to meet her gaze. “Come on Camille… let’s check and see if Aston is alright,” she added, her tone much more gentle.

Terry’s grip tightened even more, his expression hardening with quiet resolve. His eyes narrowed at the gesture, the tension in the air thickening. With a calm yet undeniable force, he responded, “Mrs. DeWaterson, Camille’s comfort is my priority. Don’t you think seeing him right now would be too much for her?” His words were laced with power, the Veil weaving through his tone like an invisible thread, an undercurrent of power that would not be ignored. Terry knew that she wouldn’t be able to refuse his suggestion.

The woman blinked a few times, as if momentarily stunned by the lack of control over her mind as it scrambled to process his suggestion. The brief hesitation passed, and then, as if the words were her own natural response, she spoke. “You…you have a point.” She removed her hands from Camille and took a few steps back, still blinking with confusion. Terry felt a flicker of satisfaction, his body relaxing slightly. Good. Now, leave us be.

He watched as her eye twitched, fighting against his command. “Camille, please just remember everything at stake,” her voice quivered. Terry narrowed his eyes, doubling down on his influence over her. She stopped talking and turned sharply, her heels clicking against the floor with a speed and posture that seemed forced. Camille’s eyes tracked her slowly, her brow furrowing in confusion at her mother’s retreating form. But she didn’t voice any objection, didn’t make any move to stop her.

Terry gently cupped her chin in his hand, his touch tender but firm. He guided her face back to him, forcing her gaze to meet his again. Her eyes, still clouded with discomfort and exhaustion, softened as he spoke, his voice low and soothing. “You wanna go now? Get some rest?” His thumb brushed over her soft skin before he released his hold to let her move freely again.

She nodded as she unwound herself from his embrace. He noticed the way her shoulders drooped slightly, the weight of the night still pressing down on her, but there was a flicker of relief in her eyes.

Terry stepped forward, taking her arm gently but with purpose, guiding her away from the scene, towards a quieter, less crowded exit. Most people still lingered near where Aston had been, and the space ahead of them was mostly empty, allowing them some privacy.

He slipped a hand into his suit jacket pocket and retrieved his phone. His fingers danced over the screen as he typed a quick message to his driver:

Leaving now. Be ready for two stops.

Just as he hit send, a message from Jabari flickered across his screen:

It’s done.

His lips curled into a slight smirk as he tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket.

He glanced down at Camille, her fingers still lightly gripping his forearm, the warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the cold, calculated thoughts racing through his mind. That same far away, worried look she had before had returned to her face. He gently placed his hand over hers, a subtle but deliberate action to bring her mind out of her worries and back to reality. Back to him.

“You not shutting down on me, are you Camille?” He asked as he pushed the door that led them to the rounded driveway of the venue. She softly chuckled, shooting him a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “No Terry,” she said quietly. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

He sighed inwardly. He could feel the tension radiating from Camille, the way her mind was undoubtedly consumed with worry for Aston. She was probably replaying the scene in her head, trying to make sense of it all, wondering what could have pushed him to act the way he did. And then there was the question of Stephanie. Why he attacked her of all people. He could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes, the attempts to piece everything together, the deep concern, all wrapped in layers of confusion and helplessness.He shook his head lightly, trying to push his anger away. He could feel her thoughts swirling, even without her saying a word, and it made his stomach tighten. He placed his hand gently on the small of her back as they neared his private black car, his driver Lorenzo already propping the door open. The contact was meant to ground her, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside him.

His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face clenching momentarily as a surge of possessive jealousy rose in his chest. The thought of her mind occupied by Aston, of her attention lingering on someone else, ignited something dark and primal inside him. I should’ve fucking killed him. A long time ago. His thoughts twisted.

But he forced himself to breathe. This wasn’t about Aston. This was about Camille, this was just her normal reaction. She was compassionate, too deeply at times, and her concern for others was part of who she was. It didn’t mean anything beyond that. It didn’t change the undeniable truth of what they had shared, what was still between them. The kiss, the connection they had, it was real. The feelings she had for him hadn’t disappeared just because she was worried about someone else, even if it stung.

He gently assisted her as she stepped into the Suburban, making sure her flowing gown didn’t snag or catch on anything as she moved. Once she was settled, he slid into the seat beside her. The driver swiftly closed the door with a quiet click, then hurried back to his seat, the hum of the engine coming to life with a soft roar.

Terry leaned forward, his fingers lightly brushing the blacked-out divider that separated the front of the vehicle from the back. With a soft click, he raised it, the sound of the mechanism muffled in the otherwise quiet car. As soon as the barrier was in place, sealing them away from the rest of the world, the silence between them was broken by soft, shaky sniffles. Terry turned his gaze to Camille, watching her struggle to hold back the tears that had already started to spill over. Her face was a mask of effort, but it was clear the floodgates were ready to burst.

Without saying a word, he reached out and gently pulled her into him, settling her into his lap. She stiffened for the briefest moment, caught off guard by his sudden movement, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her body sagged into his, and she let go. Her sobs hit him like a wave, deep and wracking, her shoulders trembling with the force of each breath she gasped for. Terry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer, trying to offer her whatever comfort he could. He pressed soft kisses to the top of her head, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on her back, willing her to feel safe in his arms. Her cries soaked into his chest, her tears staining the fabric of his shirt, but he didn’t mind.

His eyes closed, and he let out a deep sigh, pushing down the ache that rose in his own chest. It was unbearable to see her like this, so broken and upset. But at the same time, something inside him swelled with gratitude, because in this raw moment, she was trusting him enough to fall apart. She had found a space with him where she didn’t have to hold back.

As the sobs began to subside, Camille wiped her face with trembling hands, her movements hurried and self-conscious, as if she was trying to hide the emotions she couldn’t control. Her voice came out thick with emotion, a broken whisper. “I’m… I-I’m so sorry, Terry,” she choked out, the words trembling as she forced herself to calm down. “This is so inappropriate of me–”

Before she could continue, Terry gently cupped her face, his fingers brushing away the last of her tears. “Camille, baby,” he murmured softly, cutting her off, “please don’t apologize. Just let it all out. I don’t mind at all.” His voice was firm but tender, his eyes locking onto hers to add to his sincerity.

Camille

She wanted to feel embarrassed. She wanted to feel ashamed, to shrink into herself. But when she gazed up at Terry, his expression soft and free of judgment, only filled with genuine concern, she couldn’t shake the sense that there was nowhere else in the world she’d feel safer. His gaze felt like a quiet promise, one that made her feel sheltered, protected, even in her most vulnerable state. His words, gentle and soothing, wrapped around her like the warmest, most comforting blanket, filling the aching spaces within her.

But as much as she wanted to let herself be comforted by him, her mind couldn’t hold onto that peace for long. The tears kept coming, falling faster now, a steady stream that she couldn’t stop. She dropped her head, unable to look at him anymore, as though the simple act of hiding her face could somehow make her disappear. She just wanted to be invisible. She couldn’t bear the idea of him seeing her like this. Not her boss. Not the man she loved.

I can’t believe I’m crying like this in front of him, she thought, her heart aching at the vulnerability she was forced to reveal. He probably thinks I’m so dramatic...

The shame swelled as she imagined how Terry might be viewing her now. He already had to witness her fiancé’s ridiculous outbursts about him, absurd accusations thrown in front of his colleagues. He had seen her mother treat her like a stubborn child, dragging her and bossing her around like she owned her. He must think I’m just as dysfunctional as everything around me, she mused bitterly. A mess, just like everything else in my life.

Her humiliation grew. Camille tried to push herself off his lap, to get away from the intense vulnerability she was drowning in. But Terry’s grip didn’t falter. His hold on her was firm, steady, unyielding. Even as she tried to pull away, pulled her chin to face him. The movement was soft but insistent, coaxing her to meet his eyes despite her desperate urge to look away.

She shut her eyes tightly, fighting the pull of his gaze, afraid of what she might see reflected in them. His eyes felt like they could strip her bare, unravel her even more. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t bear to be seen. But still, she could feel him, his presence, drawing her in, not letting her hide from him.

“I’m sorr–” Camille started to speak, but her words were cut off by a kiss. Deep, tender, and so unexpected that her eyes flew open in surprise. But as Terry’s lips pressed against hers with gentle insistence, her eyelids fluttered, and the kiss deepened. A wave of heat pooled in the pit of her stomach, radiating outward to every part of her body. Her intimate areas throbbed with a sudden, overwhelming need, a sharp pang of anticipation that made it hard to think. Every nerve seemed to hum with the connection, her pulse quickening as his kiss lingered, soft but searing with unspoken desire.

After what felt like an eternity, Terry slowly pulled back, his lips leaving hers with a quiet reluctance. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing softly, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. It was as if time had momentarily stopped, and they were the only two people in the world.

“Camille, please don’t apologize,” Terry murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hand reached up to caress her cheek, the warmth of his touch sending a tremor through her body. “I deeply care about you. I’m drawn to you in ways I can’t fully explain.” His words were sincere.

His thumb stroked the delicate skin of her jaw, and she felt a shiver of warmth spread through her. “I know tonight’s been heavy for you, and I don’t want to brush past that, but…” He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing hers. “Nothing that happened tonight was your fault.”

Everything fell away and they simply looked into each other’s eyes, as if speaking without words. But Camille couldn’t hold his gaze for long. Her eyes flickered away, finding the window, her thoughts spiraling.

“Still…” she began, her voice shaking with self-doubt. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was unaccepta–”

But Terry’s deep chuckle interrupted her, full of warmth and amusement. Her eyes returned to his. “I kissed you back, didn’t I?” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you how I really feel about you, right?”

Camille opened her mouth to rebuttal but the words never came. And they didn’t need to because Terry continued.

“Like I said, I know tonight’s been a lot for you. But don’t beat yourself up about anything that happened. Especially not kissing me. I’m grateful that you did,” he said. He gave her a sheepish smile, his eyes soft but filled with something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name. She just stared back at him, her expression a mix of surprise and confusion, her mind struggling to process everything.

“But… what about Stephanie?” Camille asked, her voice soft but laced with disbelief. She felt him tense beneath her. His eyes narrowed, and she could feel the shift in the energy around them as his expression turned more serious.

“Why would she tell me she’s your girlfriend if that’s not true?” she pressed, her gaze searching his, trying to find something—anything.

Terry’s face hardened, and he dropped his hand from her face, the softness of his earlier touch vanishing. He turned her to face him, as much as the confines of her dress allowed, her body shifting in his lap.

“Stephanie is not, and never was, my girlfriend,” he said, each word deliberate, his tone unwavering. “She misunderstood our previous arrangement. It’s been over for months. She probably told you that out of jealousy.”

His words were firm, leaving no room for ambiguity, but still, Camille’s mind couldn't help but race. She nodded, as if to convince herself, knowing he had no reason to lie. Yet, a faint stir of doubt lingered in the back of her mind, a feeling that there was more to the story than he was revealing. But how could she blame him for that? He was a single man, and she… well, she wasn’t single herself.

Her thoughts immediately turned to Aston. The guilt crept in like a shadow, darkening her heart. I’m cheating on him, she thought, her stomach twisting. Yes, he deserves it, but… it still feels wrong.

The sharp edge of her guilt faded as she felt Terry’s soft lips brush against her forehead sweetly. “Come on,” he whispered, his voice soothing, “let’s not let you worry about anything else tonight.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it out to her, the screen lit up with Apple Maps. “Let’s get you home.”

Camille bit her lip, taking the phone from him, and typed in Kali’s address, her fingers trembling slightly. She pressed ‘Go,’ and the directions began to echo through the car’s speakers, the driver easing the vehicle into motion.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the low hum of the engine and the soothing rhythm of Terry’s hand rubbing gentle circles into her thighs. Camille tried to let herself relax, but her mind wouldn’t stop churning. Am I being stupid? she wondered, her thoughts tumbling over one another. Is Terry lying about Stephanie? Is Aston going to be okay? The questions gnawed at her, biting into the fragile peace she’d momentarily found. Is this wrong? Her heart felt like it was being pulled in two directions.

“Camille.”

The sound of Terry’s voice sliced through her racing thoughts, his words grounding her once again. She looked back at him and what she saw made her heart skip. His eyes were serious, intense, but there was something soft in them too, something that made her breath catch.

“I’m serious about you,” he said sincerely. “I want you to be mine. And I want to be yours.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, her mind momentarily frozen by the intensity of his confession. His gaze never wavered.

“Now, you don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he continued, his voice calm yet filled with purpose. “But we will be having a conversation about this. Sooner than later. Okay?”

Camille felt a flutter in her chest. She took a moment, letting the words sink in, before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Okay–” As soon as the words left her mouth, his lips were on hers. She moaned as she lost herself in him. He kissed her with so much passion, so much fervor. And she returned his eagerness. He pulled away from her lips, moving down to her jaw and her neck.

“Terry,” she moaned, her eyes fluttering as his lips touched the most sensitive parts of her skin. He hummed softly in response, placing another kiss on her collarbone. He shifted her in his lap, his growing bulge pushing against her ass. She gasped as his tongue ran up the side of her neck. Her head fell back, giving him better access to her and making him smile against her skin.

His kisses on her neck and shoulders turned into slurps and bites. Camille had no doubt that his actions would leave behind hickies in some areas. But she couldn’t care less. She felt like she was in heaven.

She moaned a mixture of curses and his name as he moved lower down, going towards her cleavage. Terry let out a deep growl as he tugged down the top of her dress, exposing her full chest. In one swift motion, he pulled her off his lap and laid her back down against the cool leather seats. He hovered over her as he tugged the rest of the heavy gown down her body, casting it somewhere behind them as soon as it was past her heels.

He pulled back slightly, kneeling over her to take her in fully. She was almost completely naked, wearing nothing but black lace bikini-style underwear. He stared down at her, his eyes looking her up and down as they swirled with intensity. And it made her self-conscious. She moved to cover herself with her arms, but Terry grabbed them before she could.

“Don’t hide yourself from me. You’re too fucking beautiful for that,” he muttered, pulling her wrists together and pinning them above her. He kept them gripped in his left hand while his right hand traced her body lightly, making her breath hitch. He chuckled, leaning down to plant another deep kiss on her lips. But then he trailed light pecks down her chest, gripping her breast in his large hand, guiding her nipple into his mouth.

“Ooooh, fuck,” Camille cried out, arching into him. He chuckled, the sensation sending vibrations through her. His tongue dragged against the sensitive puff, his hand releasing her heavy tit. It slid down to her panties, tugging the material to the side. His fingers played with her slick folds as he leaned back to look down at her again.

“Damn,” he breathed, his thumb circling her clit in slow, teasing circles. “I got you this wet already, baby?” She just whined in response, her eyes rolling back as he slowly slipped a digit into her weeping hole. Once he was knuckle deep, he pulled back slightly before plunging back deeper into her depths, adding another finger to stretch her out.

“So fucking tight,” he muttered. “Can’t wait to feel this pretty ass pussy around me.” Moans tumbled past her lips as he continued to fuck her with his fingers as his thumb circled her clit. After a few moments, stars began to form behind Camille’s vision. “T-Terry,” she stuttered, feeling herself clenching around him.

“Just let go baby,” he purred. “Cum for me.” His fingers curled in a come hither motion, hitting a spot she didn’t even know she had. “Terry!” she shouted as her orgasm rippled through her. She writhed and twisted as her high stole her breath.

But Terry’s fingers continued to pump in and out of her at the same pace, making a squelching sound fill the air. She squirmed at the overstimulation, looking up at him with a pleading look. He gave her a smirk, slowly pulling the two thick fingers from her sex, bringing them to his mouth. She watched as he erotically licked his fingers clean, never breaking eye contact with her.

“Fucking delicious,” he growled, pulling at her panties lightly before snatching them off completely and tossing the fabric next to them. “Too sexy for your own good…” he trailed off as he released his grip on her wrists. But before Camille could reorient herself, he pulled her thighs farther apart, giving him easy access to her pussy. He licked his lips as he stared at her soaked folds, gently pushing her to the farthest end of the seat, lining her pussy up with his face. She closed her eyes in anticipation as she felt his breath hover above her quivering heat.

“Look at me,” he demanded, forcing her to meet his gaze again. She propped herself up slightly, watching as the ocean colored orbs stared back at her. Without another word, his tongue took a long drag across her pussy, making her shout as her toes curled. He groaned, the sensation making her legs shake and setting every nerve in her body on fire. His tongue flicked rapidly, his lips sucked furiously, and his mouth slurped expertly. She attempted to run from him, but his strong hands held her on place, forcing her to succumb to sweet torture. He would alternate between slow, deliberate licks that pulled low moans from her to quick slurps that made her mind buzz. And in between, his tongue would plunge into her hole, making her feel stuffed. It didn’t take long for her to come all over his tongue, making him grip her even harder.

But he didn’t stop. He pushed her past overstimulation, her cries becoming gasps as her third orgasm crashed over her. Only then did he finally show her some mercy. “That’s it princess,” he chuckled, placing sloppy kisses on her inner thighs. “Wet these seats up.”

She attempted to catch her breath, her mind too jumbled to do anything but let him do whatever he wanted to her.

But, something shifted.

He pulled back suddenly, as though jolted from a trance, his body flinching as he recoiled from her touch. It was as if an invisible force had snapped him out of a deep, intense daze. His movements were jerky as he quickly scooted back, distancing himself further, avoiding any form of eye contact. Camille sat up on her elbows, her brow furrowed in confusion. A cold knot of unease formed in her stomach as she looked at him. “Is everything alright?” she asked softly, her voice betraying a hint of concern as he shifted even further away.

He gave a quick nod, but his gaze never met hers. For a split second, Camille could have sworn his eyes flickered a different color. Was it red? But when she blinked, they were back to that familiar blue shade. She shook the thought away, convinced that she had imagined it.

“D-Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her voice catching in her throat, anxiety tightening around her chest like a vice. His eyes finally met hers again.

“No, baby, not at all,” he replied, his voice quiet but heavy with something she couldn’t place. “I just need to get you home,” he breathed, his words barely more than a whisper. Camille's mind raced, her instincts telling her that something was off, but she didn’t want to press him too hard. She decided, instead, to push forward, to be bold in the face of his retreat.

“I don’t have to go home…” she said, her voice trailing off into a teasing suggestion, a playful offer hanging in the air.

His eyes flickered over her body in a way that sent a chill down her spine, lust and hunger obvious in his expression. His chest rose and fell with deep, shaky breaths.

“We’re almost at your place,” he murmured, his voice tight, strained. “Come here.”

Camille, disappointed, slid towards him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of what was really going on. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and guided her naked body into it, pulling it around her shoulders with a gentleness that didn’t quite match the turmoil she felt radiating off of him.

“Terry,” she pleaded, her voice laced with worry and longing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Camille. I promise,” he said, the words smooth but hollow. There was an unmistakable strain in his voice and it made her heart drop into her stomach. Something was terribly wrong. She could feel it, even as he tried to convince her otherwise.

He bent down to help her slip into her shoes, which must’ve fallen off as he had her legs spread wide, just as the car rolled to a stop. Camille’s gaze drifted toward the window, her eyes momentarily resting on the familiar shops lining the street outside of Kali’s apartment building. As the car door opened with a soft click, the driver stepped aside, allowing Terry to guide her out, his hand gently brushing against hers as they both stepped onto the curb.

“Can I walk you up?” he asked, his voice warm yet tight. He placed his hand on the small of her back, a touch meant to comfort, but Camille couldn’t ignore the tension in the air. She gave him a shy smile, trying to mask her disappointment.

“Sure, if you want,” she answered, her voice light but hesitant. She didn’t want to appear too eager, didn’t want to seem desperate. But the truth was, she didn’t want to leave his side, not just yet.

He flashed her a slight, reassuring smile, the kind that almost made her forget her unease. “Yes, ma’am. Lead the way.”

As they walked together through the lobby, Camille couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Terry wanted to spend more time with her at her place. The thought flickered through her mind, only to be dashed by the reality of the situation. Too bad this isn’t my place, she thought as they stepped into the elevator.

Her finger pressed the button to Kali’s floor as she sighed softly. What went wrong? They were enjoying themselves, weren’t they? At least, she thought they were. Her heart felt heavy, her mind racing to see if she had missed something. Missed a cue. But she couldn’t think of anything. She slumped a little as the elevator doors slid shut.

As they ascended, Camille couldn’t help but notice Terry’s foot tapping impatiently against the elevator floor, the sound almost too loud in the otherwise quiet space. He must be eager to get away from me, she thought, a pang of insecurity hitting her like a cold wave. She wrapped her fingers tighter around the fabric of his suit jacket, trying to steady herself.

The elevator’s chime rang out, breaking the silence. She quickly guided them out, her steps hurried as she led him toward Kali’s door, her pulse quickening with every step. Her embarrassment was crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. Getting inside was the only thing that she felt could make her feelings go away. She knocked a few times and prayed that Kali wasn’t wearing her headphones and drowning in her music.

Just as Camille’s heart began to sink with the fear of an unanswered door, it swung open with a swift motion.

“Cammieeee!” Kali’s voice rang out, bright and full of her signature infectious energy. “Oh, hi Terry…?” Her voice trailed off as if she asked a question.

“Hey, Kali,” Terry responded, his voice even more strained than before. Camille barely registered Kali’s excited chatter as she tried to slip past them, eager to retreat from the overwhelming moment. But before she could get any farther, Terry’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising force.

He pulled her back toward him, making her pulse race. He gripped the back of her neck and shamelessly plunged his tongue into her mouth. Her gasp was muffled by his tongue twisting against hers. She clenched her thighs together as she tasted herself on him, her mind drifting to what they had shared in the car. But the moment wasn’t long. He pulled away quickly, leaving her dazed.

“Goodnight, baby. We’ll talk later,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of sweetness and finality, before he turned abruptly, making his way back toward the elevators. His steps were longer, quicker than usual, as though something was pressing him to leave in a hurry. Camille watched him, her heart still thudding, until he disappeared around the corner.

A moment of silence lingered between Camille and Kali as they turned to face each other. Kali’s eyes were wide in surprise, her gaze flickering over Camille’s form as a soft pink hue spread across her caramel-toned cheeks. Kali’s eyes swept over Camille from head to toe, taking in her new attire. The elegant blue gown Camille had worn earlier was now nowhere to be found. Instead, she was swaddled in a men’s suit jacket, the fabric oversized and hanging off her shoulder.

Camille gave Kali an embarrassed smile. She’s going to want to hear everything, Camille thought. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck. “After you,” Kali said softly.

Camille stepped inside, the sound of the door clicking shut behind her feeling louder than it should have. She could feel Kali's gaze on her. Sharp, observant, like a hawk. But Camille pretended not to notice her best friend’s scrutiny. Instead, she caught her own reflection in the mirror near the entrance, and the sight made her freeze.

Her hairstyle was a chaotic mess, strands of hair falling loose and wild from where they had once been perfectly styled. Her lips were swollen and red, and most of her makeup had been smeared, leaving dark smudges under her eyes and across her cheeks. Her neck and collarbone were dotted with hickies, dark purple and unmistakable. The sight of them made her throat tighten and she quickly turned away, the image of herself only deepening her self-consciousness.

“Bitch,” Kali started, her voice intense but laced with amusement. “Are you really about to walk in here and not tell me what the hell happened tonight?”

Camille barely registered Kali’s words as they passed through one ear and out the other. Her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t help herself, her feet carrying her over to the window that faced the street. The timing was almost cruelly perfect. She saw Terry’s silhouette just as he hopped back into the car, his movements hurried as the driver closed the door behind him. Her chest tightened as she watched the car pull away.

A deep, heavy sigh escaped her lips as she stared out the window. Was I too forward? The question gnawed at her. Did I say the wrong thing? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to silence the doubts that swirled inside her. Did I do something that made him change his mind?

With a resigned breath, she stepped away from the window, her feet dragging as she turned back to face the living room. Kali stood there, her arms crossed. The silence between them was suffocating as she gave Camille a look that seemed to say, I know something happened. Now, spill. But Camille hesitated momentarily.

“Girl, did you hear me? What the hell happened?” Kali asked, settling into a plush chair. “You look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked. You got this whole walk of shame look going on.”

Camille let out a soft chuckle at her friend’s bluntness but it quickly faded as she thought about how heavy tonight was. She sank into the seat across from Kali. For a moment, she stared at the floor, then sighed, looking up to meet Kali’s eager eyes.

“Tonight was… crazy,” Camille said, the words escaping her lips like a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She felt like she was still processing it all, the events spinning in her mind, impossible to organize.

Kali, never one to hold back, let out a giggle. “Obviously, babe!” Her voice was filled with mock surprise, but the sparkle in her eyes showed she was genuinely intrigued. “That man tonguing you down in front of me? And called you baby? I have to know how we got to this point.”

With a deep sigh, Camille began, recounting every detail of the chaotic night. She told Kali how she and Terry had shared that intense kiss on the balcony. She explained how Aston had exploded and lost control in front of everyone, his fury turning the night upside down. Camille’s words slowed as she described the moments with Terry in the car, how their conversation grew increasingly intimate, how vulnerable he seemed, how vulnerable she had felt, allowing him into spaces she hadn’t planned on sharing.

As she spoke, Kali was hanging onto every word, her gaze never wavering. She leaned forward, eyebrows raised, eyes wide with a mix of awe and curiosity. It was clear from her body language that Kali was fully invested in the story, living each moment with Camille.

“I mean, like I said, tonight was crazy,” Camille said, her voice trailing off at the end, the words almost lost in the haze of her thoughts. Her mind briefly wandered back to the car ride with Terry and how he practically devoured her. How his eyes watched her as she came on his tongue. Her pussy throbbed at the thought. The intensity of it left her breathless, her heart still thumping a little faster at the memory.

“But…” Camille faltered, her voice dropping to a quieter, almost hesitant tone. She wrung her hands nervously in her lap as the embarrassment crept up her neck. “I think I might have been too eager,” she murmured, her face flushing as the memory of her boldness with Terry hit her again. The way she had practically invited herself to his place, desperately trying to cling to the moment they were sharing. Her chest tightened at the thought, a knot of shame curling inside her.

Kali tilted her head to the side in confusion, a flicker of amusement passing through her expression before it shifted into genuine curiosity. “Huhh?” she asked, her voice soft, almost incredulous.

Camille sighed, sinking deeper into the chair’s cushion. “He probably thinks I’m a slut,” she muttered. She dropped her head into her hands. “I ruined what we had before it even got anywhere.”

Kali’s eyes widened in dramatic disbelief as she gasped. “Okay, wait. I love you, Cam, but you sound ridiculous right now,” she said, the words tumbling out with a mix of affection and exasperation. She threw her hands up, letting out an exaggerated sigh before rising from her seat in one fluid motion, her body language speaking volumes of her frustration.

With a confident stride, Kali made her way to the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps echoing lightly on the floor as she moved with purpose. She reached for a bottle of wine, her fingers curling around the neck of the dark glass like it was an extension of her own energy. With a sharp twist of her wrist, she popped the cork with a satisfying thwip before pouring the wine into two glasses, the deep red liquid swirling in the light. Her movements were quick, almost theatrical, as she spoke.

“That man,” Kali continued, her voice rising slightly, the words rolling off her tongue like a lecture she couldn’t wait to deliver, “not only got you back here, but he walked you all the way up and french kissed you to hell and back right in front of me! That’s not casual, Camille. That seems like he’s pretty damn interested to me.”

Camille’s eyes followed Kali as she carried the glasses back into the living room, her heart still fluttering. “You think so?” Camille asked, her voice soft, the words feeling like a tentative offering. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Kali, watching as her friend set the glasses down, the dark wine shimmering in the low light.

Kali raised an eyebrow. She slid one of the glasses toward Camille, the stem of the glass cool and delicate between her fingers. “Cam, if that doesn’t scream interested, then I don’t know what does,” she said, her voice laced with a teasing certainty.

“And even if you came across too eager, tonight was a rough night, right? Terry likes you, he would give you some grace. And maybe you should be a little slutty. You deserve some dick, and you need to make that clear to him.”

Camille blinked, her mind slowly processing Kali’s words. Maybe I am being too hard on myself, she thought. Maybe I need to be clearer about what I want. She frowned as she absently reached for her clutch. But as her hand swept across the space beside her, her fingers met nothing but air.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and for a moment, she simply stared at the space where her clutch should have been. The feeling of something missing gnawed at her, unsettling in its suddenness. She sat up straighter, her mind flicking back through the events of the evening.

Wait a minute. Her heart skipped as the realization slowly crept in. She never placed her clutch next to her. In fact, she hadn’t brought it inside at all.

Camille’s mind raced, her thoughts spinning faster as she tried to piece together the fragments of the night. She could clearly picture the last time she saw it, lying innocently on the backseat floor of the black Suburban as her thighs sat on Terry’s shoulders. Its contents neatly arranged inside: her phone, her ID, her credit cards. Everything she needed to keep in sight.She leaned her head back as she realized her mistake. Fuck.

Terry

Terry’s voice cut through the silence of the car like a blade, low and menacing. “Lorenzo, if you don’t speed up this car, I will fucking eat you. No hesitation,” The growl in his words sent a shiver down the young supernatural’s spine, his fingers instinctively tightening around the steering wheel as he stole a quick, fearful glance at Terry through the rearview mirror. With trembling hands, he pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, sending the car surging forward toward the destination Terry demanded as soon as he returned to the car.

The road and passing buildings blurred, but it wasn’t the journey that consumed Terry’s focus. It was the gnawing, insatiable hunger that clawed at him, burning like a fire that threatened to swallow him whole. His stomach churned painfully as the dark, overwhelming need for human blood swirled in his veins, a primal hunger writhing beneath his skin. Every second was a battle. Terry’s vision flickered as his eye color shifted back and forth. He could feel madness tugging at the edges of his consciousness, the urge to sink his fangs, and his cock, into the woman he had just dropped off pulling at his sanity. But he couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t go back.

His grip on his seat tightened, his claws ripping away the leather as he fought to keep himself in check, but his resolve was starting to fray at the edges. He had been fighting for what felt like eternity, but he couldn’t risk losing his composure. I’ve held on for this long, he thought, his breath coming out in shallow gasps. The thought of Camille flashed in his mind, a vivid image of her warmth, her scent, her pulse beneath his fingertips. Her naked body that she so willingly offered to him. The hunger intensified, his mouth pooling with saliva.

He shook his head, trying to reason with himself. I can’t feed from Camille again. Not now, he thought. There won’t be an excuse that I could use.

He continued to soothe himself as he thought back to the moment where everything had shifted. He was eating her pussy like it was his last fucking meal. She smelled divine and tasted even sweeter. And her moans? It was the most satisfying thing he ever heard in his life. And the way she came on his tongue… it nearly made him feral. He was tempted to take her straight to his penthouse and claim every inch of her until the sun rose. But he contained himself, pulling away to kiss the inside of her thighs to calm himself before he lost all control. But then, it happened. His canine nicked her flesh ever so slightly, and a drop of blood landed on his tongue. It didn’t take more than a second for him to realize he got a taste of her nectar. Smooth as the finest wine and sweet and rich like molasses. He knew he had to get her away from him. And fast.

He hated how confused and dejected she had looked. He knew she felt like he was casting her aside. And he despised how he had to turn her down when she suggestively asked to stay the night at his place.

Just as Terry was about to snap at Lorenzo, the car finally pulled in front of the destination. Red Rum. An exclusive BDSM playground in the heart of Houston that doubled as a space to supply vampires with Indulgences. The human members were aware of the existence of his kind and got off on being available for their consumption. The space was perfect for lust and bloodlust to intermingle. Although less popular than Crimson, and Terry didn’t have any ownership in it, Red Rum was useful to Terry during rare occasions like this.

Terry didn’t wait for Lorenzo to come to a complete stop. With a growl of impatience, he threw open the door, and stepped out of the vehicle, his dress shoes hitting the pavement with a solid thud as he strode toward the entrance with a predatory grace.

The bouncers at the door shifted, their eyes narrowing as they assessed him. But the moment recognition flickered across their faces, their expressions turned fearful. They stepped aside, clearing the path for him with the ease of men who knew better than to challenge someone like Terry.

He barely acknowledged them as he moved past, his gaze fixed on the door ahead. The hallway stretched out in front of him, long and brightly lit, the deep red of the lights casting an almost sinister glow.

His footsteps echoed off the polished floors, reverberating down the corridor.

At the end of the hall, a set of imposing double doors loomed. With a swift, violent motion, Terry pushed through them, the sound of the heavy wood slamming against the frame loud enough to be heard over the low hum from within.

The air was thick with the smell of sex and alcohol, moans of pleasure and screams of delight mingling with the sound of flogging and other types of play. But Terry didn’t even blink as his eyes swooped over the orgy unfolding before him. Instead, his eyes scanned for any stray wanderers. He felt a small hand grasp his bicep and he glanced down, his eyes meeting a short, fairly attractive woman wearing nothing but a collar with a leash who stared up at him with a warm, eager smile.

She will do, he thought to himself.

Lorenzo

Lorenzo paced outside of the car as he waited patiently for his terrifying but well paying client. Although he didn’t drive him often, Lorenzo knew the ins and outs of Terry Richmond’s reputation. And from that reputation, he learned three things. One, don’t waste his time. Two, don’t try to fuck him over. And three, keep your eyes off his women. Up until tonight, Lorenzo followed those three principles to the tee.

But when he saw the Indulgence that he brought back with him when he left his event… he couldn’t help but stare. She was gorgeous, and just his type. Dark skin, big titties, little waist. He would do anything to have someone like her to come home to every night. But he made sure Terry never caught his wandering eye. It’s not like he got to look at her long anyway. He kept the privacy barrier in the car closed. But he still got to enjoy her in his own way.

From the way she was moaning, Terry was tearing that ass up in the backseat. Lorenzo’s imagination ran wild as he beat himself off with one hand and drove with the other. He couldn’t help but think about how her face looked when she came. How she looked right before she hit her peak.

And when Terry dropped her off at her place, she looked like an angel who the devil fucked just right. Skin flushed, hair messy, wearing nothing but Terry’s suit jacket and some heels that perfectly complimented her long, shapely legs. He had fallen in love. Lorenzo’s heart raced as his thoughts circled back to her, the image of her lingering in his mind like a haunting melody he couldn’t shake. He paced in front of the luxury car, the cool night air nipping at his skin, but it did nothing to distract him. He knew it was wrong to keep thinking about her, especially after such a brief encounter. But it didn’t matter. His mind kept returning to her.

Suddenly, a soft trill cut through the silence. Lorenzo froze mid-step, his body tensing, and cocked his head to the side, trying to make sense of the sound. It came again, more insistent this time, drawing his attention to the backseat of the car. His eyes narrowed as he peered into the dimly lit interior, scanning the floor. There, partially obscured by the plush seats, was a small blue purse, its clasp slightly undone, and the corner of a cell phone peeking through. It had to be hers, he thought. She must’ve left it behind.

Lorenzo couldn’t resist. He opened the car door with a quiet click, sliding inside just enough to retrieve the bag. The phone had stopped ringing by the time he pulled it out, but the screen was still lit, showing several missed calls. His brows furrowed as he noticed the repeated name flashing on the screen: Houston Fire Department. A strange knot twisted in his gut, a flicker of concern mixed with confusion, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he placed the phone back in the bag, his curiosity now burning hotter.

As his fingers brushed over the contents of the purse, they landed on something hard and plastic. His eyes flickered down to see a driver’s license. Glancing around quickly to make sure Terry hadn’t yet returned, Lorenzo pulled it out, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he read the name that appeared in bold, printed letters: Camille DeWaterson.

The name rolled off his tongue as he stared at the photo on the ID, tracing its edges with a light touch. Her face stared back at him, soft, serene, and strikingly beautiful, captured in the flat simplicity of a driver’s license photo. For a moment, it felt as though she was there with him, her presence tangible in his hands as he caressed the thin plastic like it was the real thing. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself lost in the simplicity of her face.

But before he could linger any longer, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. His heart skipped, and panic surged through him. In a rush, he shoved the ID back into the purse, his hands shaking as he closed the bag with a quiet snap.

“What are you doing?” Terry’s voice cut through the air, sharp and accusing, making Lorenzo’s heart leap in his chest. He whipped around quickly, the adrenaline surging in his veins, his eyes wide with surprise and guilt.

Terry stood there, towering over him, his expression one of thinly veiled suspicion.

“Oh, sorry about that, sir,” Lorenzo stammered, his voice polite, the words tumbling out in a rush to cover his flustered state. He gestured toward the blue purse, which he still held in his hands, not having had time to set it down. “I... I heard something in the backseat and found this.”

Terry’s eyes dropped to the purse, and Lorenzo saw the brief flicker of recognition flash across Terry’s face. His posture stiffened. “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing it from him. He pulled out the phone and checked the notifications before his eyes met Lorenzo’s again. “Thanks for finding this. Let’s go, I got another stop to make.”

Lorenzo nodded, hurrying out of his way so Terry could slide into the car. But as he jogged back to the driver’s seat, Lorenzo wondered if Terry would really mind if his eyes lingered just a bit more on Ms. Camille.

Terry

Terry leaned his head against the headrest as his body hummed with satisfaction. His thirst was quenched and his balls were empty. Sure, it wasn’t under the most ideal circumstances, but it kept him from doing something he would regret. And maybe that slip up was for the best.

Although he didn’t want anything more than Camille in his bed tonight, Terry knew that his apartment wasn’t exactly “human-proof” at the moment. His love-drawing altar sat prominently in front of his bed, adorned with pictures of Camille. Pictures he had no business having.

And then there was his fridge, stocked full of blood bags courtesy of Elijah. He couldn’t risk Camille stumbling upon any of that. Sure, he could keep the bedroom activities in his living room. But there was no way he was going to make her leave right after. And her sharp eyes, too observant for her own good, might’ve caught a glimpse of something that would send her spiraling into confusion or fear. So dropping her at Kali’s place was for the best. Especially since it was the only place he could drop her too.

Terry’s mind lingered on the message from Jabari, the one he had received over an hour ago. The simple confirmation that Camille’s old apartment was gone, consumed by flames.

Since he had her phone, he hoped she wouldn’t find out about the fire right away. The thought of her being burdened with the knowledge of her past being lost was something he wanted to delay, at least for a little while. She deserved the peace of knowing nothing was wrong, even if it was a fragile illusion. She deserved to sleep through the night without the weight of a seemingly tragic fire pressing down on her. He would make sure of that, even if it meant shielding her from the truth for a few more days.

When the news finally broke, he would be ready. He would be there to hold her, to offer comfort, to tell her everything would be okay. He would be the rock she could lean on, her knight in shining armor, sweeping in with solutions for every problem she had. Problems that he had carefully orchestrated.

But right now, his thoughts shifted. He had something far more immediate to think about. The events of the gala replayed in his mind, twisting and turning, and he knew he had to get to the bottom of it. As Lorenzo drove him back toward the venue, Terry’s mind worked over the best way to approach it. Aston was irrelevant to him, justice for that nigga wasn’t worth his time. But Stephania’s actions? Now that was something Terry couldn’t overlook. How had she managed to slip that love potion into his drink without anyone noticing?

The venue had to be crawling with cameras, but the problem was that no one had likely paid attention to the footage yet. To them, it was just another night, another drunk man making a fool of himself. But Terry knew better. He knew there was something deeper at play here, and he was determined to find it.

Stephanie

Stephanie stood before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, scrutinizing every inch of her reflection. Her fingers traced the grooves of her lingerie, the red of the set complimenting her tan skin. She could still feel the lingering tremor of fear from the night before. Aston’s attack had been a brutal, terrifying experience that rattled her to the core. She just had never seen a man act like such a crazed animal before. But now, in the soft light of the morning, she allowed herself to focus on something else. There was a silver lining to the chaos.

Terry had reached out to her earlier, his message simple yet filled with a quiet urgency. He wanted to make sure she was okay. And he asked if he could come over. That simple question ignited something deep inside her, an unexpected spark of hope. He cares, she thought, buzzing with happiness. Maybe she didn’t need a love spell after all.

Of course, she had eagerly said yes. She’s been living for moments like this. Just times where she could be with him without her having to share his attention. She couldn’t afford to let any trace of yesterday’s pain show. Not when he was coming to see her.

For the past two hours, she’d been meticulously preparing herself, her hands working with practiced precision as she applied layer after layer of makeup, ensuring every stroke of mascara and brush of powder was flawless. She adjusted the tie on her robe, making sure enough of her was peaking through to remain tasteful but still inviting. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, and she ran her fingers through it one last time, adding volume, making sure it looked effortlessly perfect.

As she took one last glance in the mirror, her breath caught in her throat as she studied her reflection. The woman staring back at her looked absolutely stunning. But of course she did. This was herself she was talking about. Terry wouldn’t be able to resist her. She would make sure that the memory of yesterday’s horrors was overshadowed by the undeniable pull between them.

She poured two glasses of wine, the rich, deep red liquid spilling smoothly. She lightly chastised herself, wishing she had some of the potion left. Just enough to add to his glass. But she quickly brushed off the thought. Tonight, if everything went according to plan, she’d have more than enough time to try again. The taste of success was already on the tip of her tongue.

Setting the wine glasses down on her kitchen table with careful precision, she looked around her living room. The atmosphere had to be just right. With a determined exhale, she moved to grab a lighter from the counter, her fingers steady as she flicked it and the flame burst to life. She moved from candle to candle, igniting them one by one. Soon, the room was bathed in soft, sultry light.

She shuddered as her mind conjured up all kinds of ways he might have his way with her. On her floor like last time? Or would it be her couch? What about the coffee table? She swooned as her mind went even further. Would he finally cum in her? Would he sink his fangs into her neck? Her panties grew damp with each passing thought.

Stephanie was jolted back to reality by a heavy knock on the door. A wave of excitement washed over her as she smiled to herself, the anticipation making her pulse quicken. She glanced at the mirror nearby, her reflection staring back at her as she subtly adjusted her hair, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She gave herself one last look, and then hurried to the door to swing it open.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked with Terry’s. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but exuding an effortless confidence. He was dressed simply. A white pullover that clung just enough to reveal the outline of his toned arms, gray sweatpants that hung loosely around his hips, and a subtle gold chain that caught the light with every small movement he made.

The combination of his casual attire and undeniable charisma left her momentarily speechless. But she quickly composed herself.

“Come on in,” she giggled, tracing his form with her eyes. He smirked, pushing himself off the doorframe to walk into her space. His cologne trailed behind him, making her eyes flutter as she breathed him in. She quickly followed after him and guided him to her kitchen table. “Wine already?” he asked as he sat down. “On a Sunday?” Stephanie just playfully rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Terry. As if you’re some saint,” she said, her mind thinking about he had Camille in that parking lot. God, that was so fucking hot.

Terry just smirked, watching her intensely as she sat across from him. Stephanie felt confidence surge through her as she watched his reaction to her. She would be getting her way in no time.

“So,” he began, pushing his wine glass to the side. Her eyebrows furrowed at the action, but she listened as he continued. “How are you feeling? Were you able to sleep off what happened yesterday?” he asked, his voice soft.

Stephanie fake sniffled, hoping it would get some sympathy from him. She took a long dramatic sip of her wine before she responded. “Oh, Terry… I-I’m trying my best to stay grounded and not let Aston consume me. But it’s so hard, baby. I just wish you were here to help me through everything.” Instead of a sympathetic look, Terry just tilted his head, his smirk growing wider. Almost to the point that it looked sinister. Stephanie’s confidence faltered as she watched him lean forward slightly, propping his chin up with his hand.

“You’re so fucking funny, Stephanie. Do you know that?” Stephanie’s stomach dropped, blinking rapidly as she tried to understand what he just said. “E-Excuse me?”

Terry let out a low chuckle, the sound rich and amused, vibrating through the air. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something far darker as he leaned back with a casual ease, the lines of his body stretching in a way that seemed both effortless and intimidating. He raised his hands, slow and deliberate, and clapped them together three times, each clap sharp and resounding in the now-quiet room.

On the third clap, something almost otherworldly happened. The flames of every candle she had lit flickered violently, as if caught by an invisible gust of wind. And then, with a sudden, eerie finality, they were extinguished, leaving the room much darker. The once intimate space now felt suffocating.

Stephanie’s heart leapt into her throat, a wave of panic gripping her chest. She shot to her feet, her breath coming faster, her body instinctively tense as her eyes darted around the room.

Terry’s smirk only deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her flustered reaction. His voice was cool, almost mocking, as he repeated himself with slow, deliberate precision, “I said, you’re so fucking funny.” His gaze never left her, and there was something unsettling in the way his eyes seemed to pierce through the dimness. “You’re really sitting there, trying to make yourself seem like a victim,” he added, his words laced with a bite that sent a chill crawling down her spine.

It was as if Terry knew exactly how to dismantle her, piece by piece, with nothing more than a glance and a subtle shift in his tone. She could almost feel the coldness of his words wrapping around her, tightening with each breath she took.

Her eyes widened, nearly bulging from their sockets as she stared at him, her mind struggling to catch up with what he was saying. Was he mad at her? Was he somehow blaming her for everything that had happened?

Her voice trembled as she finally found the strength to speak, the words coming out in a shaky, breathless whisper. “Are you saying that what happened was my fault?” The question felt foreign on her tongue, an accusation she couldn’t quite comprehend. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to hold herself together. What was going on with him?

“Oh cut the bullshit, Stephanie. Whatever you tried to give me was passed on to Aston. Everything that happened was your fault,” Terry seethed, his expression darkening. Stephanie’s eye twitched. How the fuck did he figure that out?

She giggled lightly. It was an attempt to defuse the thick tension in the room. “Okay, Terry,” she breathed out, her voice lighter than it should’ve been. She raised her hands innocently, the gesture as much an offering of peace as it was a shield. “Let’s just calm down, alright?”

Terry’s smile returned, though this time it didn’t reach his eyes. Without breaking his gaze, he slowly rose from his seat. Each step he took towards her was measured, predatory. “Oh, I’m very calm,” he replied, his voice smooth with a hint of something dark. “But let’s get some things straight.”

Stephanie instinctively took a step back, putting distance between them, but Terry matched her movements, his long stride closing the gap with unnerving precision.

“After today,” Terry continued, his voice low and dangerous, “I don’t ever want to see you again.” The words hit her like a slap to the face, cold and final. “So I suggest you leave the firm. Use whatever money Grant has given you over the years and disappear.”

Stephanie’s jaw went slack. He couldn’t be serious. She could feel the heat of anger rising in her chest. How dare he, how dare he, think he could control her, order her around? The nerve of him testing her in such a way. No matter how powerful he was, she wouldn’t stand for it.

Her body tensed, filling with fury. She lifted her chin, her voice steady. “Watch the way you talk to me, Terry,” she retorted. “I know more about you than you know.”

The words hung in the air, loaded with a threat that she hoped landed with the force she intended. She saw the flicker of something in Terry’s eyes, but whatever it was, he didn’t flinch. He just scoffed like he didn’t take her seriously at all.

“I don’t give a fuck that you know what I am,” he growled. Stephanie's confidence wavered. That was the only leverage she had left over him, and she could feel it slipping away. Her mind raced, scrambling to regain control of the situation before he saw the vulnerability in her eyes. She couldn’t afford to lose her footing now.

Terry leaned in slightly, his voice low and taunting. “Who are you gonna tell, huh? Who would believe you?” He chuckled darkly.

But Stephanie wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across her face as she met his gaze, her eyes glinting with the sharpness of someone who wasn’t willing to back down. She leaned forward slightly, her voice oozing with sweetness, but the threat behind it was unmistakable. “I don’t know,” she purred. “Maybe Camille.” Her smirk deepened, her eyes narrowing. “I’m sure she would love to know how she really fainted in that parking lot.”

Terry’s hand shot out and wrapped around Stephanie’s neck in a merciless grip. She gasped and sputtered as she attempted to pry his hands off of her. But nothing worked. Instead, he raised her slightly off her feet, dangling her in the air with one hand. She cried as she watched his appearance change. Eyes flickering to a deep red. Canines lengthening. Pupils narrowing. It frightened to the point that she closed her eyes tightly, wishing she could take back what she said. He pulled her dangling body closer to him, his lips nearly pressing against her ear.

“Don’t be fucking stupid Stephanie,” he whispered calmly. But the cadence of his voice wasn’t natural anymore. It sounded demonic. “I’m not particularly interested in killing women. But it’s not above me,” he growled, making her whimper.

“Take this as your one and only warning. Leave town and never look back. Or else.” With that, he dropped her, causing her to crumple to the ground. She clutched her neck as she gasped for breath. A few tears spilled from her eyes before she looked up at his towering form. He stared back down at her nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets. Slowly, his appearance became human again. “And don’t you ever fucking speak of Camille again.” Terry turned on his heel and walked toward the door. With a final glance over his shoulder, he opened it and stepped out, leaving her alone in the dimly lit space. The door clicked slammed behind him, sealing off any hope of reconciliation.

Stephanie sat there for a moment, her breath still shallow from the intensity of what had just transpired. The sharp sting in her neck still pulsed with a dull ache. But as her fingers gently traced the soreness at her throat, it was not fear that consumed her, nor panic or regret. It was something far more dangerous.

Lust.

It crept through her veins, slow and insidious, taking root deep inside her. It was as though the intensity of the moment, the raw power he had wielded, had lit a fire inside her she couldn't extinguish. She had always been attracted to Terry—his strength, his confidence, his unyielding control. But now, after everything that had happened, it was no longer just attraction. It was an obsession, a fierce craving that clawed at her insides.

Her body hummed with the aftershocks of his presence, the memory of his touch still lingering on her skin, and her mind raced with images of what could come next. He was perfect. He was everything she had ever desired—the right mix of danger, power, and passion. He was toxic in the most intoxicating way. She had spent her whole life chasing something like him, and now that she had found it, there was no way in hell she was letting him slip through her fingers.

A sly grin tugged at her lips as she straightened, a new sense of purpose settling over her. She would lie low for now, give him space. But that didn’t mean she was done. Far from it. She would wait, she would plan, and when the time was right, she would make her move.

Stephanie had no intention of giving up on Terry Richmond. Not now. Not ever.

-------

@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @loveschrisbrown20 @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @hello-therree @solunaseira @hotebonynearby @key05marie @moebuttta @winorlosetogether @nohatingpplbczhtingpplr @alexinmotion @queencb2462 @kismet83 @bruleecream @playingaymes

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notapradagurl7 · 1 day ago

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I know that's right Peter!😩🤭❤️

Not Too Much -Peter Parker x Black Reader

Summary: Peter’s first time with you.

He almost couldn’t take it. The way you squirmed and whimpered. The little sounds you made, growing louder until he had no choice but to cover your mouth with a hand, softly groaning into your skin.

“Shhh princess…gotta be-quiet…” he breathes, softly groaning once more. You were so wet, those thick thighs trembling around his waist. It’s been a while for him, he couldn’t lie.

He’s groaning into your skin as he rocks his hips, your muffled whine making him shudder. You were going to wake his roommates….he just knew it.

“I know…I know….” He coos, his dark eyes meeting your now tearing gaze. “Fuck…” Despite him trying to control your vocal cords, he couldn’t muffle the sound of his skin pounding against yours under the sheets. Soft and muffled, but a sound nonetheless. Your muffled cry matched each tap of his hips, your nails digging into his abdomen. “Almost there…” He whispers, his lips finding your neck and then your ear. “Cum on my cock princess…all over it…you look so pretty…you feel so good…” Your eyes are rolling at his words, toes curling behind his ears.

His teeth press into the side of your neck as you completely drench him on command, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs.

He’s groaning into your neck, his pace becoming sloppy as he gets in a few more strokes, his sweaty skin molding against yours. He’s grunting then, thick splotches of cum landing on your lower abdomen and upper thighs. “Fuck,” He gasps, the tip of his still hard cock lightly tapping against your stomach.

You’re flinching away from his nimble fingers as he passes them along your clit. He’s humming to himself, still breathing heavily. Your breath comes out it slight pants, your shaking fingers gripping his forearm. “P-Peter…” You moan softly, your gaze clearing just slightly to see his face. The pale light that filtered through the blinds shined on his face. His sweaty forehead, damp hair, the rise and fall of his shoulders. His eyes. His dark eyes staring into you. Waiting. Wanting, but waiting.

As if subconsciously telling yourself what you wanted, your legs are spreading once more, your eyes rolling back as the tip slowly drifts downward. A whimper escapes you and then a whine as you slowly glides himself inside of you, cock pulsating with just the idea of it.

You’re suddenly locking eyes with him as the soft rumbling noise occurs. A moment and action that puts you back to where it started. Where the teasing started. Your face twists as you try to stifle your moan, your hand wildly reaching for a barrier, a pillow. You wouldn’t be able to contain yourself.

He’s kind enough to hand you one, his free hand softly squeezing your hip. The moment the suction settles over your clit, he starts to move, his strokes slow and deliberate. Your cries were already starting. Your body was twisting, despite his grip tightening on you.

You had no idea the monster you created. He watches your hands, brown skin stark against the white pillow, pressing to conceal the noises coming from your mouth. Your breasts bounced with every push. Your legs quivered underneath his touch.

He was going to ruin you.

#halfofmysoul #x black!reader #romance #fanfiction #halfofmysoulsblog #smut #peter parker x black!reader #teasing #tasm peter parker #spiderman x black!reader

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notapradagurl7 · 1 day ago

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Not Too Much -Peter Parker x Black Reader

Summary: Peter’s first time with you.

“Shhh princess…gotta be-quiet…” he breathes, softly groaning once more. You were so wet, those thick thighs trembling around his waist. It’s been a while for him, he couldn’t lie.

He’s groaning into your skin as he rocks his hips, your muffled whine making him shudder. You were going to wake his roommates….he just knew it.

His teeth press into the side of your neck as you completely drench him on command, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs.

He was going to ruin you.

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notapradagurl7 · 2 days ago

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HOUSEKEEPING 04.04.2025

⊹ 01. Richmond Inc. Updates

⊹ 02. Page Updates

⊹ 03. COUNTERFEIT ✧.* new update *.✧

⊹ 04. Requests

Details below ↓

⊹ 01. Richmond Inc. Updates

This week totally ran away from me, it's already Friday. There's no update for Richmond Inc. this weekend. That'll give you all a chance to catch up if you aren't already. Also, i've made a Richmond Inc. Archive where all the chapter links, mood boards and games will live from now on, you can access it ➺ HERE

Something should be up by next weekend 🤞🏾

⊹ 02. Page Updates

I totally forgot Tumblr maxed out links but I got the semi antagonistic reminder the other day when updating my taglist. So, if you see me posting new pages, now you know why. Also, I'll be rearranging my taglist, I queue a lot of my updates so I can only tag 50 people at a time in post, the rest will be tagged in comments. If you're not tagged immediately thats why - it's not me - its the site.

if you want you can join here ➺ ✮ join taglist ✮

⊹ 03. COUNTERFEIT

A short new chapter has been posted ➺ HERE Faith's uncle is in town to see about his nieces.

⊹ 04. Requests

Also, be on the 👀 for a request page. I plan to re-open my requests at the end of the month🤞🏾

⊹ What you may have missed?

Here are the last few Richmond Inc. Updates ➨ 010 - ❤️‍🩹 🌶️ 011 | Moodboard Preview ➨ 011 - 🌶️🌶️🌶️ 🧸 Story Extras: Terry's Home Moodboard Lorence's Home Moodboard

⊹ Want to read more of my work? 「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

tags:

@wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana

@theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal @fairytale07 @rampsen @rosey1981 @lauraaan182 @lynaye1993 @g1g1l @writingsbytee @different-fandomz @rose-bliss

@loveschrisbrown20 @cherrybeedotcom @ariiaellbtheedonn @motheroffae @prettylilteine @thabiddie23 @next-bex-bet @magik22 @slvt4her @blckblossom @gopaperless

@naughtynolly-blog @daddiespamm @blackmoonchilee @nikkireeds553 @lovedlover @akiwioflife @shurisleftearring @piscesdashcam @bettybelle @kaystacks17 @notapradagurl7

@hotebonynearby @armani9-9 @wildcardmelaninfreak @blackgurlkillinit @freshbonggwater @biafranbombshell @aunicornmademedoit @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

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notapradagurl7 · 2 days ago

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Care | David Cliff

Pairing: David Cliff (The High Note) x Black Fem OC (Sybelle Selene Jackson) Summary: David will always go the extra mile to ensure Sybelle is cared for. Warnings: Suggestive content. WC: 2529 Reference: Care by Sonder AN: Because @youreadthatright asked about David and Sybelle. I genuinely hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know your thoughts! Remember: likes are appreciated, but reblogs, asks, and comments are encouraged!

After the day she had, she fully understood why her mother befriended a bottle of wine and a cigarette now and then after a shift that turned tumultuous in minutes. Frustration greeted her with a kiss, while exhaustion welcomed her with a hug. All tell-tale signs to release the gas and pump the brake—a message that wouldn’t be visible even if it were tattooed on her eyelids.

Hyper independence and stubbornness worked together like a well-oiled machine. As long as the work got done, nothing else mattered. The music mattered; the music always mattered.

The house was quiet, but her head spun like an object on a swivel. Her phone rang nonstop, and her laptop cried from being poked and prodded with calls and emails. She tried her best to keep her head above the sea of calls that demanded her attention, but she couldn’t catch her breath. She was drowning, but that damned pride of her tugged her back, unsure of letting go.

She hardly registered her husband’s presence over the brain-rotting sound of a privileged artist ranting on the other side of the receiver. Sybelle dropped her head into her hands and sighed deeply, trying her best to regain control over the situation. Hours seemed to pass before the call ended, and Sybelle tossed her phone on the desk with a frustrated sigh. It wasn’t long before another name came on the screen, and her ear-blitzing ringtone ricocheted off the green accent wall in their shared office.

He saw the tension in her posture. How her shoulders rolled over and how her spine curled. Something weighed on her heavily to the point of physically distorting her comfort. He didn’t like it.

Sybelle’s phone was covered by a hand that wasn’t hers as she tried to reach for it, desperate to get the call out of the way. Her eyes cut toward him, filled with an emotion neither of them could name. Her hand darted to snatch the phone from him, but one stern look had her retreating to her seat with her hand at her side. “Redirect the calls. I’ll take care of it. Just…no calls for 48 hours, alright? I appreciate it.” Sybelle’s lips parted as she prepared to protest. “You’re done for the day, Sybelle.”

Her protests didn't fall on deaf ears; he chose not to engage verbally. When she attempted to pull her phone from his fingers, he slid it into the pocket of his sweatpants. This was not the most secure location, he realized, as she'd grown accustomed to exploring what was beneath the loose fabric and had no issue with doing so. However, her body stilled when he crouched down, fingers grazing her ankle.

One foot at a time, his hand cupped the bottom of her outrageously elevated stilettos. The softest sigh replaced all her fussing and fighting as she wiggled her pedicured toes. His eyes lifted to soak in her current state. Her eyelids were low, her shoulders had dropped just an inch, and she slumped back against the cushion of her favorite chair. "I don't want you touching that phone tonight, Belle." His firm statement pulled her out of her state of relaxation.

"D, I have to--ooh, that feels good," she moaned softly as his thumbs pressed against the tender part of her foot. She inhaled deeply and sighed. "I've got to work. The project..." The rest of her sentence blended with Leon Thomas's soft melodies.

“…isn’t going anywhere,” David finished. “You’ve been working too hard. Let me take care of you tonight. We can order your favorite takeout, eat, watch a movie, I’ll eat you during the movie, then we go to sleep and start all over in the morning.” He winked at her quickly, and Sybelle laughed out loud at his attempt to coerce her into relaxation.

His efforts were greatly appreciated. In a world where she never felt like she could slow down because breaks didn’t exist for Black women, her husband served as a steady reminder that she could slow down and let someone take care of her. And with him, she didn’t have to beg. It was something he wanted to do. Provide comfort.

As her laughter faded, she smiled softly. Her eyes caught his, wide and full of love for her. How could he not oblige his request? And better yet, for her well-being, why fight it? She sank further in the chair and relished in the reduction of sore feet as her husband catered to her intentionally. “Okay, baby,” she said after some time. Her eyes fluttered closed. “Whatever you say.”

Leon’s voice morphed into that of Brent Faiyaz before she realized. She found herself humming along to the lyrics under her breath. She was in a daze in Lalaland until David’s fingers of magic stopped working against her flesh. One eye popped open, and she saw him standing on his feet. A pout formed on her lips as she asked, “That felt good; why’d you stop?”

David laughed. “My thumbs hurt, girl. And that bath won’t stay hot forever. Get upstairs. I’m about to order this food.” He left no room for objection. Sybelle placed her hand in his awaiting palm, a little voice in the back of her mind nagging about the time she could be spending finishing a track, but she saw how much effort he put into creating a calm environment for her. She’d feel even worse than she did if she disrupted it.

Sybelle let him undress her when they reached their bathroom. One by one, he peeled each layer off her body, his lips brushing against every place they could touch. She shuddered as they found their way to her hip, nipping and sucking as his fingers hooked around her black underwear, tugging them down. She stepped out of them, her body on full display. David inhaled deeply—a goodness in human form.

“Will you join me?” Sybelle asked, twisting her rings around her finger. She saw the wheels turning in his head. It was her moment, he thought, to relax and unwind without distraction. However, if she wanted him, who was he to reject her wish? David agreed with a nod, peeling the long-sleeve shirt off his body.

They settled together in the tub, her back against his chest. Her hands waded in the water, and she played with the deflating bubbles. She brought some to her lips and blew them, smiling as they dispersed in the air. A comfortable silence surrounded them. David was usually an excellent conversationalist but refused to bring up work, so silence was the best option. The longer they sat in it, the more she relaxed; that was the goal.

His touch was gentle, soothing against her shoulders. Sybelle’s lips parted to welcome the prettiest sigh that quickened his heart. “Mm…” Instead of clamoring about work and busy schedules, they planned their next getaway.

“I would like to go to Athens. Sparta,” Sybelle started. “Maybe even trek up Mount Olympus to see the ruins, yeah?” If she had not followed her heart and chosen music, she would’ve stuck with the safe choice of becoming a history teacher. It was a love that never dwindled. David nodded twice, taking a mental inventory of her most recent desire.

His lips parted to respond, but his phone’s notification pulled his attention away from her. He leaned over the edge of the tub—driver will arrive soon. ETA: 25 minutes. David pecked her cheek and continued to caress her wet skin. “M’sure we can make that happen. Food is gonna be here soon—“ His intention to leave her to soak her tense body by herself while he prepared to greet the delivery driver was halted when she turned in his arms.

David’s jaw fell to make room for a shuddered sigh. Sybelle was beautiful, always had been, but here, now, with her rich skin covered in bubbles that slid off her shoulders and down the valley of her breasts while her eyelids sat low, was a sight to behold. She waded closer, settling in his lap. “We’ve got time…”

His eyebrow raised. “Oh?” At first, he had to pry work from her cold fingers. Now, she reveled in it like rose petals on a hotel bed. It offered a benefit for both of them—she got to unwind and he got to assist her—two birds with one stone.

Sybelle smiled small, wrapping her sudsy arms around his neck. Slowly, she brought her face closer to his. She could see every non-existent pore on his skin and count the hairs on his chin. Her lips brushed against his as her hips rocked back and forth. David’s resolve began to crumble. His mouth opened to release a low groan. “Yeah,” she breathed against his lips. “Ten minutes was never a challenge before, right?”

The phone was long forgotten, along with the delivery order just minutes away. It was rare for him to completely let go, not worrying about life's looming responsibilities and demands. It was uncommon for her to take off multiple hats to stay in the moment. It would not be very responsible of him to return to the world when he had the empress of his universe pressed against him in a sensual hug,

Therefore, there was minimal room for rebuttal, especially when silky walls entrapped him in a vice grip he never wanted to escape. Her soft whimpers were in harmony with the rhythm of the warm water sloshing against the tub walls. David’s head lulled backward against the porcelain tub, and his hands gripped her hips, thumbs pressing into her slick skin. “Yeah, yeah. Ten minutes…just like that, baby…mm.”

He clothed her, sliding her favorite nightgown over her body with ease, but not before ensuring his lips followed every place the fabric touched. He then rubbed her down in that vanilla and shea butter body whip she adored. This led to another rendezvous, which forced David to text the delivery driver to leave the package at the door, and a generous tip would be reflected in his time.

Sybelle, drunk off her husband's affection but still coherent enough to recognize the hunger that twisted in her stomach, fought hard to open her mouth and say: “Baby, I love you, but I’m hungry.” The eyebrow raise and a light smirk she received in response let her know she walked into his following statement: “I am, too.” What a double entendre. She giggled and pressed her hands against his chest, trying to flee from the war of kisses he launched against her face and neck. His tongue traced the spot behind her ear, and she shuddered, backing away.

With a pointed finger, she commanded, “Food now, playtime later.” Sybelle kissed his pouted lips twice and slid out of his reach. “Quicker you eat, the quicker you get to take this off, and we can go aga—“

David smacked his lips and moved past her with an urgency she hadn’t seen since she’d been home. With a playful tone, he said, “Move, girl. You takin’ too long, I’m hungry.” Sybelle gasped out a laugh and shoved his shoulder playfully, watching as he raced downstairs to scarf down his meal like a child eager to finish dinner so they’d get dessert. But she was his dessert.

The dessert he’d have to wait to savor because, in purse David fashion, he made a mess. It was intentional, she noted. The spoon was centimeters away from her lips and pecked her cheek, a long streak of pepper sauce dripping down her face. Her jaw fell agape, and David shrugged, “Sorry, B.” What started as an innocent night between lovers ended with a kitchen covered in food as they retreated to versions of their childhood selves.

“You are impossible,” Sybelle laughed as she brought a paper towel to her face to remove remnants of their shared meal. Her eyes danced around the kitchen. Microwave covered in sauce, counters littered with rice, and the floor wet with water. On any other day, she would have lost her mind. While she knew cleaning would be a two-man task that could’ve been avoided, she had to admit: “But, that’s the first time I’ve laughed like that in a while.”

David grinned like he’d beaten Joe Burrow and claimed the Heisman for himself. He took a damp paper towel over her forehead to remove dirt and debris. “That was the goal. I just wanted you to relax, baby. Though…it’s gon’ have to be after we get to this.” He waved his hand toward the mess they created in tandem.

Sybelle nodded with an amused expression on her face. She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Well, quicker you clean, quicker we can go ups—“

His eyes lit up like stars, and a playful smirk toyed on his lips. “You know,” David cut her off, moving to grab the paper towel off the holder and the bleach spray from under the kitchen sink. “I don’t know what’s up with you and this lack of urgency, but we got things to do, B. I’m tryna take you down, girl!”

His wife threw her hands up in mock offense and dropped the used paper towel into the trashcan. “Coming, coming!”

Another moment of intimacy between man and wife, an additional shower that almost turned into another love session until Sybelle begged him to give her body a break (though she wanted it just as much as he did), and new pajamas later, they lay in their king-sized bed. The second Black cinema movie of the night played on the television ahead. While she tried to keep her eyes focused on the screen ahead, her eyelids grew heavy, and sleep loomed over Sybelle like a cloud.

"Go to sleep," she heard David say gently, his hand caressing her hip. He was wide awake, his eyes trained on the television, yet by the sound of her breathing, he knew it wouldn't be long before her body shut down for the evening.

A series of sighs escaped her lips as her body melted into the sheets. The flickering light from the television cast dancing shadows across the room that would’ve distracted her any other day. Still, in the current moment, Sybelle’s focus was slipping, her mind floating toward the beauty and tranquility of a food and love-induced sleep.

David’s hand lingered on her, fingertips tracing slow patterns across her skin. His warmth remained, his presence constant like the sun's rising and setting. “You good?” he whispered, his voice low, though he knew the answer.

Sybelle smiled, the weight of the day and the tenderness of the night catching up to her. “Yeah,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. “I’m good.”

With that, she shut her eyes completely, the quiet pulse of their shared breath filling the space between them. The world outside faded completely—his primary goal was accomplished. As the movie played in the background, neither noticed when the credits rolled. They had long since turned in for the night, their souls entwined, finding peace in each other's presence.

Tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @youreadthatright

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notapradagurl7 · 3 days ago

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Gym Bae 2

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

terry takes you out on a date first before teaching you that lesson.

warnings: explicit light SMUT, unprotected rough sex, brat! reader, possessive, obsessive, foreplay, oral (f), pet names (baby) & more.

note: I hope y'all enjoy!

part one

The air was thick with the tension that made your skin prickle, the dim hum of the gym fading into the background as Terry’s eyes locked onto yours.

He stepped closer, his broad frame towering over you, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand lifted, his calloused fingers brushing against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah, a’ight, let’s get one thing straight,” Terry said, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping over ice.

“You think you can just be out here lookin’ all good, bendin’ over them weights, and then let another guy take my spot like I wasn't gonna notice? Nah, baby, I see you. I know how you move, how you breathe, how you.....” He leaned in closer, his breath grazing your ear.

“And I ain’t the only one, but I’m the only one who’s gon do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your pulse racing like a drumline in your ears. You could feel the moisture gathering between your legs, your body betraying just how much his words affected you.

“Terry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“You wet, ain’t ya? I can smell it, baby. You got that good pussy, and it’s callin’ my name. But I just gon’ take it. Nah, I’mma earn it. You're gonna make me work for it, and I’mma make you beg for it.”

His lips brushed against yours, a teasing kiss that left you wanting more.

“Listen,” he said, his voice dripping with promise. “Let me take you out on a date, show you a good time, and then… then I’mma give you that lesson. You'll need it after all that teasin’ you've been doing.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry despite the heat between you. “And what makes you think I’m gonna need it?” you shot back, your voice steady despite the tremble in your hands.

Terry smirked, his full lips curling up into a grin that weakened your knees.

“Oh, I know you're gonna need it, ‘cause you've been acting like you can handle what I’m bringing. But trust me, sweetheart, you ain’t ready. Not yet.” He stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

“So you gonna let me take you out, or what?”

The challenge in his voice was clear, and you could feel the weight of it pressing against your skin. You wanted to say no to be playful, but your body was screaming yes, begging you to give in.

“You better come correct,” you said finally, your voice firm but your heart racing.

Terry laughed again, the sound echoing through the small room. “Baby, I always come correct. You're gonna find out tonight.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, your legs trembling and your mind racing with the promise of what would come.

The anticipation was almost unbearable as you stood there, the echoes of his last words lingering in the air.

You could still feel his body's heat, his breath dancing against your skin, and his voice beating your heart.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your hands still trembled as you reached for your bag.

You made your way to the bathroom, locking the door behind you. The mirror reflected your face with desire, your dark-brown skin glowing under the harsh bathroom light.

You leaned in closer, running your fingers over your lips, still warm from the memory of his kiss. You couldn’t help but smile at yourself, the thought of what was to come sending a shiver down your spine.

Terry texted you to be ready by 7 p.m., and you were more than ready. Your hair was laid, your makeup was popping, and you wore a sexy black dress that hugged in all the right places.

A knock at the door came just as you stepped out of your bedroom. You took a breath and opened the door, Terry standing there with that same confident smirk.

He was dressed in a simple black short-sleeved button-up and jeans, but his outfit made him look like he had just stepped out of a magazine.

His light eyes crinkled at the corners as he took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on the curves of your body in that little black dress.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You look… you look so damn fine, beautiful. There's no way I’m takin’ you out like this. You gonna have n*ggas losin’ their minds.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but you couldn’t help how your heart swelled at the compliment. “And what makes you think I’m gonna let you take me out lookin’ like that?... I don't want no bitches looking”

Terry stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Well, since we look so good together. I guess we can make an exception. Plus, I’m the only one who’s gonna give you what you need. And trust me, baby, you need it.”

His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your hip, and you felt the spark of electricity at his touch. You wanted to pull away, to keep up the act of being unbothered, but your body had other plans. You leaned into his touch, your eyes meeting his.

“Yeah, alright,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Let’s go.”

Terry chuckled, stepping back and gesturing for you to lead the way. “After you, sexy.”

The walk to the car was short, but the tension between you was palpable. You could feel his eyes on you, the way he watched you move, and it only made you more aware of every step you took.

When you slid into the passenger seat, you practically vibrated with anticipation.

The drive was quiet, and the only sound was the smooth hum of the music playing in the background. But the silence was anything but awkward. It was thick with unspoken promises, the silence that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world.

When Terry finally pulled up to the destination, you raised an eyebrow. It was a small, unassuming house on the outskirts of town, the kind of place you’d never notice unless you knew it was there.

“Terry, what—”

“Just trust me,” Terry said, cutting you off with a smile. “You're gonna like this.” You hesitated momentarily, but something about how he always looked at you made you nod and trust him.

You knew why he’d brought you there when you stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with candles that cast flickering shadows on the floor.

A small table with two plates of food was set up in the center of the room. The smell of something delicious filled the air, and your stomach growled in response.

Terry chuckled, his hand pressing against your lower back. “I knew you’d be hungry,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You've been working hard. Both of us deserve a cheat day.”

You turned to look at him, your eyes narrowing. “You did this for me?”

Terry leaned in, his breath grazing your ear. “Yeah...you're special to me and I like you a lot....but this ain’t all, baby. This is just the start. I told you, I’mma give you that lesson. But first… first, I’mma feed you.”

The way he said it made your knees weak, the implication hanging heavy in the air. You wanted to say something clever, to keep up the banter, but all you could do was nod.

“Good girl,” Terry said, his hand tightening against your back. “Now sit down. Let me take care of you.”

And with that, he pulled out your chair, his fingers brushing against your shoulders as you sat. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you knew, right then and there, that you were in trouble.

But you weren’t mad about it.

The food was incredible—juicy, tender, and seasoned to perfection. You couldn’t help but let out a little moan as the first bite touched your tongue, and Terry’s eyes lit up with amusement.

“Told you I’d take care of you,” he said, his voice low and smooth as he watched you eat.

You looked up at him, the candlelight dancing in his eyes, and smiled. “Yeah, yeah, you think you slick, don’t you?”

“Think? Baby, I know. I know exactly what I’m doin’,” Terry said, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes.

“And right now, I’m feedin’ my bae. But don’t think this is all you gettin’. Nah, this is just the appetizer.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your pulse quickened at his words betrayed you. “And what’s the main course?”

Terry leaned back in his chair, his broad frame relaxed, but his eyes never left yours.

“The main course… that’s you. All of you. Every inch, every curve, every sound you're gonna make when I’m inside you.”

The room seemed to shrink at his words, the air thickening with tension. You tried to play it cool, but your voice came out breathy.

“And what if I ain’t ready for the main course?”

“Baby, you've been ready. You've just been playing hard to get. But I like that. I like the chase. It makes it sweeter when I finally taste it.”

You swallowed hard, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. “And what makes you think you’re the one I’m gon’ let catch me?”

Terry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his voice dropping to a whisper.

'Cause I’m the only one who’s ever taken the time to see you. You think I don’t know what you want? What do you need? I see you, baby. I see all of you. And I’mma give it to you. Every. Single. Thing.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and your resolve crumbled. You wanted to deny it, to tell him he didn’t know anything but how he looked at you.

It was like he could see right through to your soul. And in that moment, you knew he wasn’t wrong. “You talk a lot of shit,” you said finally, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yeah, and I back it up,” Terry shot back, his smirk returning. “Now, finish your food. You gon’ need your strength.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you momentarily broken. “You must think you're some kinda superhero or somethin’.”

“Nah, baby, I’m the king. And you? You’re the queen. Now, let me feed my queen.”

The rest of the meal was a blur of conversation, laughter, and unspoken promises hanging in the air. You talked about everything and nothing—music, movies, childhood memories.

With every word, you felt yourself getting closer, your connection growing stronger. When the plates were clean, the room felt smaller, the air hotter.

Terry stood, his movements fluid, and walked around the table to pull out your chair. His hand rested on the small of your back, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

“You ready for dessert?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “What’s dessert?”

Terry leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Me. You. And a whole lotta screamin’.”

Your legs almost gave out at the words, but Terry’s arm was there to catch you, pulling you close. “You good?” he asked, his voice full of amusement.

“Yeah,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” he said, his hand tightening around your waist. “Now, let’s go. I got a lesson to teach.”

And with that, he led you out of the room, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

Terry’s hand rested firmly on your back as he guided you through the dimly lit hallway, the soft hum of jazz music drifting through the air. The house seemed to grow quieter with each step, as if the world outside had melted away, leaving only the two of you.

You could feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of your dress, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Told you I’d take care of you,” Terry murmured, his breath grazing your ear as he leaned in close.

His words sent a flush of heat through your body, and you couldn’t help but glance up at him, your eyes locking with his.

The way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world, made your heart pound.

You wanted to say something clever, something to keep the banter going, but all you could manage was a nod.

The room he led you to was even more intimate than the dining area. The walls were painted a deep, rich color, and the air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and something else—something uniquely Terry.

The large bed in the center of the room was covered in soft, plush blankets, and the floor was littered with candles that cast flickering shadows on the walls.

Terry stepped closer, his hands resting on your hips as he turned you to face him.

“You see, baby, I've been waitin’ for this moment for a long time,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping over ice. “And now that I got you here, I ain’t lettin’ you go nowhere.”

His fingers tightened on your hips, and you felt a surge of desire course through you.

“You better not,” you shot back, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Or you might just find yourself alone.”

Terry chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, and leaned in closer.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, his breath hot against your skin. “You see, I got somethin’ you need. Somethin’ you've been cravin’ without even knowin’ it. And I’mma give it to you. All of it.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, your body betraying your resolve. Terry’s hands moved up, his fingers brushing against your neck before tangling in your hair.

Terry pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze intense and unyielding.

“You hear me, baby?” he asked, his voice low and commanding.

“I’mma give you every inch of me. Every part of me. And you gon’ take it. All of it.”

You swallowed hard, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. “And what if I don’t want it?” you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper.

Terry smirked, his lips brushing against yours. “Oh, you want it,” he said, his voice confident.

“You've just been too scared to admit it. But I’mma help you with that. I’mma make you see exactly what you need.”

The kiss was sudden and intense. His lips pressed hard against yours as his hands tightened in your hair. You tried to pull back, to keep up the act of being unbothered, but your body had other plans.

You leaned into the kiss, your hands rising to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with desire.

And as Terry pulled back, his eyes locked on yours, you knew there was no turning back.

“Now,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “it’s time to show you what you've been missin’.”

And with that, he swept you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed as the candles flickered around you, casting shadows on the walls.

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing, and the heat between you was almost unbearable.

“You ready for this?” Terry asked, his voice filled with anticipation as he hovered over you, his body pressing against yours.

You looked up at him, your eyes locked on his, and nodded. “I was born ready.”

Terry chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, and leaned in close.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear. “But one thing’s for sure, baby. You ain’t never gon’ forget this.”

And with that, he began to show you precisely what he had been talking about. His hands moved with a practiced precision, every touch deliberate, every kiss intentional.

You felt the weight of him pressing down on you, the heat of his skin against yours, and the way his muscles flexed as he moved.

“Relax, baby,” he whispered, his voice a low, sultry command. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

You wanted to respond, to say something smart, but the words caught in your throat as his hands slid down your body, tracing every curve, every contour.

His fingers were rough, calloused, but gentle, leaving a fire trail in their wake.

“Terry,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his mouth found the hollow of your neck.

“Right here, baby,” he murmured, his lips nipping at your skin. “I’m right here.”

The room seemed to spin around you as he worked his way down, his hands and mouth teasing, taunting, driving you higher and higher. You arched your back, your hands clawing at the sheets as he peeled away the last of your clothes.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice filled with reverence as he stepped back for a moment, his eyes raking over your body.

“Damn, you’re even better than I imagined.”

“Shut up and do something,” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

Terry chuckled, the sound low and wicked, and stepped closer, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, I’mma do somethin’,” he said, his voice dripping with promise.

“I’mma do a whole lotta something."

And then he was there, his mouth hot and relentless, his tongue working in a rhythm that had you crying out within seconds. Your legs trembled, your hands on the back of his head as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Terry, oh my God,” you moaned, your voice shaking.

He pulled back, his lips slick and wet, and smirked up at you.

"That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. “You like that?”

You nodded, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Good,” he said, leaning in again. “Now, let’s see how much more you can take.”

The next hour was a blur of sweat, flesh, and sound. Terry was relentless, his body moving against yours with a strength and rhythm that left you breathless.

He was everywhere—his hands, his mouth, his big dick—filling you, stretching you, driving into you with a power that made your head spin.

“You feel that?” he growled, his voice raw and guttural as he thrust deep. “You feel me inside you?”

“Yes, yes, so big!” you screamed, your nails digging into his back as the first wave of an orgasm hit you.

“Oh my God, Terry, I feel it! Shit...fuck me”

Terry laughed, rough and triumphant, and leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

“This is just the beginning,” he said, his voice a low, dirty promise. “I’mma fuck you till you can’t walk straight. Till you can’t even think ‘bout nobody else.”

And then he did.

Terry fucked you like he owned you, like you were his to claim, his to break, his to rebuild. Every thrust was a statement, every kiss a brand, every whisper a vow.

"Fuck, it feels so good. I need to cum, let me cum terry please" You moaned.

"Hold on for a little longer, for me, baby," Terry said, pulling you back for a kiss.

By the time he finally let you come, the room was spinning, your body trembling like a leaf, and your voice hoarse from screaming. As he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving.

His breath was hot against your neck, so you couldn’t help but whisper the truth. “Terry… I think you might’ve broken me.”

Terry lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with pride and satisfaction.

“Nah, baby,” he said, his voice still rough from exertion. “I ain’t broke you. I just fixed what was wrong.”

You rolled your eyes, too tired to argue, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “Whatever you say.”

Terry chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, and wrapped his arms tighter around you.

“You better believe it,” he said, his voice softening as he kissed your temple. “Now, go to sleep. We ain’t done yet.”

And with that, he held you close, his body warm and heavy against yours, and you let yourself drift off, your mind still reeling from what had just happened.

When you woke up the following day, your body ached in places you didn’t even know you had, but your smile was genuine.

And as you lay there, his arm still draped over your waist, you couldn’t help but wonder…what else could this man do?

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notapradagurl7 · 3 days ago

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Love his laugh , his smile , his teeth 😩

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notapradagurl7 · 3 days ago

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Do It Scared.

Aaron Pierre x Reader

Summary: Aaron left your shared apartment in New York three months ago to film the biggest movie of his career, and every day since, the distance between you has grown. When photos surface of him looking a little too comfortable with an actress at an event, you hit your breaking point and decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: smut

Note: Partially inspired by a Terry fic I read on here recently. Link at the end <3

Word Count: 8.5k

The silence in your apartment feels heavier these days.

It used to be filled with his voice—his deep, warm laugh echoing through the space, his teasing remarks as he stole bites of whatever you were cooking.

But now, it’s just you. Just the quiet hum of the city outside your window, the occasional vibration of your phone lighting up with a text that never seems to be from him.

Aaron has been in L.A. for three months now, filming the biggest project of his career. A high-budget action film that is officially making him household name in Hollywood according to the press.

And you? You’re still here in New York. Still in your shared apartment, still going through the motions of your life as an interior designer, still waiting for some sign that you belong in his world now.

You’ve supported him through everything—the auditions, the rejections, the near-misses. You were there when he was barely making rent, when he was working odd jobs between gigs, when he questioned if this dream was even worth it.

Now he’s finally getting everything he ever wanted.

And you’re not sure where that leaves you.

You don’t want to be that girlfriend. The one who demands answers, who needs reassurances, who can’t handle a little distance. But this feels different.

You thought he’d at least ask you to visit him by now. Thought he’d tell you he missed you so much that he couldn’t take another night apart.

Instead, he’s been busier than ever, responding to your texts hours later and giving you clipped responses during your phone calls.

You understood that he was under an immense amount of pressure, trying to carry a film on his back for the first time in his career. You tried your best to not add to his stress by not complaining about any of it.

Your phone vibrates on the kitchen counter, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Aaron.

You let it ring twice before answering, not wanting to seem like you were waiting for it. You know it’s silly this far into your relationship, but you do it anyway.

“Hey,” you say, keeping your voice light.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rich, deep—but tired. He always sounds tired when he calls now. “What are you doing?”

You glance around the kitchen, where your laptop is still open from the project you were reviewing. “Trying to be a responsible adult. What about you?”

Aaron exhales a small laugh. “Trying to not lose my mind, memorizing all these lines.”

You smile despite yourself. “How was set today?” you ask.

“Long,” he sighs. “Good, though. Just… a lot.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t press. He never used to be like this. Before, he would tell you everything—the directors he liked, the actors who annoyed him, the lines he struggled with.

Now, it’s just good, though.

“What’s new in the life of America’s Newest Obsession?” you ask, holding up a copy of GQ with his face on it. You couldn’t resist buying it when you came across it at CVS earlier that day.

Aaron groans, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t start.”

“What? You’re the one out there in L.A. making the whole world fall in love with you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—softer—“Only care about one person being in love with me.”

“Smooth,” you murmur, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips.

“I try.” he teases.

You shake your head. God, you miss him. But you don’t say that, either. Instead, you exhale, glancing at the time. It’s late for him, even with the three hour time difference. His call time is usually 5:00 am.

“You should get some sleep,” you murmur.

Aaron hesitates. “You trying to get rid of me?”

You chuckle. “Just trying to keep you on track as always.”

A beat. Then—“I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone. You know he means it. But missing someone and making sure they don’t feel forgotten aren’t the same thing.

“I miss you too,” you admit softly.

Another pause. This one longer.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Aaron murmurs.

You nod, secretly wishing he would ask you to stay on the phone or tell you more about his day. “Okay.”

And then, just like that, the call ends.

You set your phone down on the counter, staring at it for a long moment.

Waiting for the heaviness in your chest to pass.

It doesn’t.

--------

You knew this would happen eventually.

Aaron has always been desirable. He’s talented, charming, and now—famous. The kind of famous that has the internet scrutinizing his every move, every glance, every woman he so much as breathes near.

You’re sitting on your couch, wine glass untouched, staring at the screen.

It’s everywhere.

Aaron, seated next to Emilia Stark at an award show.

She’s beautiful. Confident in a way that commands attention. They’re leaning in close, talking, laughing, her hand resting lightly on his arm. The cameras captured it all.

The headlines are already writing the love story for them:

"Hollywood’s Next Power Couple?"

"Aaron Pierre and Emilia Stark Spark Dating Rumors at Award Show."

Your stomach twists as you scroll through the comments, knowing you shouldn’t, knowing you’re going to hate every word.

You close the app, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.

You’re his woman. Have been for four years. But no one knows that.

Because Aaron wanted privacy. Because you both agreed it wasn’t the world’s business. Because he didn’t want everyone scrutinizing your every move.

But now, with the world watching, you wonder if privacy was just another way to keep you out of his new life.

Aaron doesn’t call that night.

He always calls.

Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s jet-lagged, even when he’s drunk from whatever post-event party he’s forced to attend. He always finds time for you.

But tonight? Nothing.

You stare at your phone, the screen dark, taunting.

Your stomach is in knots, your mind looping through the possibilities like a film reel stuck on repeat. Did he talk to her all night? Did he think about calling you and decide against it? Did he take her home? Did he notice the internet already crowning her his queen and think—

You squeeze your eyes shut, banishing the thought before it can finish forming.

You shouldn’t feel this way, but you do.

------

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing against the nightstand.

You scramble for it, heart hammering against your ribs when you see his name on the screen.

Aaron.

You hesitate—just for a second—before answering.

“Hello?” Your voice is steady, but your fingers grip the phone tight, waiting.

He exhales, slow and groggy. “Hey, baby.”

Baby. The word should soothe you. But it only makes you feel sick.

Because he says it like nothing happened. Like the whole world didn’t spend the last twelve hours pairing him up with someone else. Like he didn’t go radio silent on you for the first time in years.

You swallow, your voice even. “Hey.”

There’s a pause, long enough for your chest to tighten.

Aaron sighs, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Didn’t mean to disappear last night. Got home late, crashed right after.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. No mention of the photos. No mention of her.

Your fingers tighten around the phone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s just another day. “You good?”

Am I good?

The words sit heavy in your throat.

You could say yes. Pretend you didn’t see. Pretend you’re not questioning every single thing. Pretend you’re not wondering if he was out all night with someone else.

But you can’t.

You sit up in bed, your free hand pressing against your temple. “I saw the pictures.”

The line goes dead silent.

And just like that, your entire body tenses.

“I figured you would.”

Your stomach drops.

That’s it? No denial, no immediate reassurance, no baby, it’s nothing.

Just I figured you would.

You exhale sharply, swinging your legs out of bed, your heart pounding against your ribs. “And you weren’t going to bring it up?”

“I—” Aaron sighs, slow and measured. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

A bitter laugh pushes past your lips before you can stop it. “Oh, it doesn’t matter?” You shake your head, pressing your palm against your temple. “Well the entire fucking internet thinks you two are Hollywood’s new power couple, and I can’t even blame them with the way you’re whispering in her ear and letting her put her hands all over you.”

Aaron groans. “Come on, it’s not like that.”

You push up from the bed, pacing the length of your bedroom. “Then what is it like, Aaron?”

“Jesus.” His voice drops lower, frustrated now. “It’s a fucking seating arrangement. She was next to me, we talked, cameras flashed. That’s all.”

You clench your jaw. “You definitely seemed to be enjoying yourself with her.”

He exhales, like he’s struggling to stay patient. “I was being polite. What was I supposed to? Just ignore her while she's trying to speak to me? It’s not that deep.”

You scoff. “Right. Gotta keep her comfortable. Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “Are you serious right now?”

Your jaw tightens. “Forget it.”

“No, really.” His voice is sharper, cutting through the phone. “You think I’m—what? Cheating on you?”

You exhale, voice light, careless. “Aaron, I said forget it. You’re a grown man, do what you want.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “Come on, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like this suddenly isn’t bothering you. I’m trying to talk to you.”

You tilt your head. “You’re right. I was annoyed. And then I realized how stupid it was to waste my energy worrying about things I can’t control.”

Aaron scoffs, his frustration bleeding through. “That’s a real poetic way to say ‘I don’t trust you.’”

You smile tightly, even though he can’t see it. “I trust you to do whatever you want to do.”

Aaron lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Wow. Got it.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, quieter, almost like a plea—“I need you to talk to me, baby.”

Your throat tightens, but you force your voice to stay light. “I am talking.”

“No, you’re shutting me out.” His voice is strained, low. “You do this every time.”

You swallow hard, keeping your expression neutral, even though there’s no one in the room to see it. “Aaron, I promise you—I’m fine. Seriously. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Another silence. This one feels heavy. Frustrated.

Then, voice tighter now—“Fine.”

“Good.”

A pause. Then—“Are we good?”

You hesitate.

Then, carefully— “We’re good. Have a great day.”

Aaron exhales, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows you’re just saying what you think you’re supposed to say.

You hear him shift on the other end of the line, like he wants to say more, but you don’t give him the chance.

“I’ll talk to you later,” you say, already pulling the phone from your ear.

Aaron exhales sharply, but before he can respond, you hang up.

---------

You know it’s toxic. You know.

But desperation makes you reckless.

You don’t trust words—you never have. Promises are just sounds strung together, and you learned a long time ago that actions hold all the weight. And Aaron? He hasn’t done anything to prove you’re still the woman he’d go to war for.

So tonight, you need to know.

You put on the shortest dress you own, something sleek and black that hugs every curve just right, and when you step into the club with your friends, you make sure to look happy. Carefree. Like nothing in the world is eating at you.

The second you walk in, the music vibrates through your bones. Your friends lead you to the VIP section, and within minutes, drinks are flowing, bodies are moving, and the night is alive with laughter.

You pose for group pictures with your friends and some of their male friends. Nothing explicit, nothing outright disrespectful, but just enough. Enough for someone to wonder. Enough for Aaron to see.

You don’t post them yourself. That would be too obvious.

Instead, you make sure your friends do, knowing damn well that Aaron—or someone who knows him—will find them.

And then?

You wait.

You sip your drink, lean into the music, and try to ignore the way your stomach churns with nerves. Because if this backfires, if Aaron doesn’t react at all—

That will tell you everything you need to know.

*One Hour Later*

Your phone vibrates against your thigh.

You knew it was coming.

Still, when you glance down and see Aaron’s name lighting up your screen, a sick sort of satisfaction curls through your chest.

You don’t answer.

He calls again.

Then again.

Then—

Text message after text message.

Aaron: Where the fuck are you? Aaron: Who are these fucking guys? Aaron: You think this is funny? Aaron: Answer your phone.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He’s pissed.

But that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?

You: No thanks. You: Have a great night :)

You lock your phone before he can respond.

Then, you take another sip of your drink, letting the fire burn all the way down.

Your phone vibrates again. Another call.

Aaron’s name glares up at you like a warning.

You let it ring.

Your best friend, Camille, leans in, eyes flicking toward your still-ringing phone. “Are you gonna answer?”

You scoff. “Nope.”

“Seriously, though,” Camille presses. “What’s your endgame here?”

You open your mouth to respond, but your phone dings again—a text.

Aaron: Pick up the fucking phone.

Your stomach clenches.

Camille lets out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s mad mad.”

You roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “He’ll get over it.”

Another text comes through.

Aaron: You want my attention, sweetheart? You’ve got it.

Your breath hitches.

Then—one more.

Aaron: Let’s see how you feel when I give you a taste of your own medicine.

Your grip tightens around your phone.

Shit.

Your phone buzzes again. Aaron.

You swipe to accept the call, pressing a finger to your other ear to hear better over the pounding club music.

“You think this is funny?” His voice is low, sharp.

You blink, acting confused. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he mutters. “You’re out at a club, with a bunch of guys around you, drinking, posting shit all over the internet—”

You roll your eyes. “Are you serious? I'm out with my friends for the first time in months. That’s not a crime.”

A harsh exhale. “You didn’t tell me.”

Your brows knit together. “Since when do I have to?”

Aaron lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Since I’m your boyfriend.”

You pause. Your stomach clenches at the word. He’s never been the type to throw that around like a trump card.

“So let me get this straight,” you say, voice cold now. “You can be at all these events and parties every week, surrounded by famous women in gowns, but I can’t go to a club with my friends?”

“That’s different,” he finally says.

You scoff. “How?”

“I don’t go to clubs,” he snaps. “I don’t get drunk out of my mind. I go to work events that I'm contractually obligated to attend. There’s a difference.”

You bite your lip. Because that part is true. You’ve never seen Aaron out at clubs. But who would have the energy to go clubbing after the lineup of events he attends every week?

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you say. “Those are Camille’s friends, they’re just at the table next to ours.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “I’m sending you a car.”

Your breath catches.

“What?”

“A car,” he repeats, voice tight. “An Uber. A driver. Whatever the fuck you want. Just go home.”

You blink. “Aaron—”

“I mean it,” he says roughly. “I don’t want you there anymore.”

You feel a flicker of irritation. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His voice is deadly quiet. “No, but I can tell you that I don’t like this. And I know you don’t either.”

You hesitate. Because he’s right. You don’t even want to be here anymore.

Aaron exhales. “Go home, baby.” His voice is softer now, more like himself. “Please.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

A slow, relieved exhale. “Good girl.”

And with that, he hangs up.

-------

You curl into yourself under the covers, your phone screen still glowing in the dark.

Aaron: Your driver’s outside. Let me know when you’re home.

You never responded.

Now, lying in bed, staring at your ceiling, your chest feels tight, like something is pressing down on it. You hate this. Hate that you feel like you’re losing him.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You won’t cry again.

But then your phone vibrates. The screen lights up.

A FaceTime call.

Aaron. Shocker.

Your fingers hover over the screen, your heart pounding. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you answer.

Aaron’s face fills the screen. He’s leaning against the headboard, one arm resting on his knee, his expression unreadable. But the moment he sees you, his brows pull together.

"You been crying?"

Your stomach clenches. You hate how well he reads you.

You let out a small scoff, rolling onto your side. "What? No."

Aaron exhales, tilting his head, studying you through the screen. His jaw is tight, his blue-gray eyes sharp and searching.

"You’re lying," he murmurs.

You force a small smile. "I’m just tired."

His lips part slightly, like he wants to push, but instead, he sighs.

"You didn’t text me when you got home," he says.

You shrug. "I forgot."

He doesn’t believe you. You can tell by the way his fingers twitch where they rest on his knee, the way his jaw tenses like he’s biting back a hundred things he wants to say.

Aaron licks his lips, sighing. "You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?"

You keep your face neutral. "Likewise."

Aaron chuckles softly, shaking his head. Then, after a moment—

"What’s going on with you?"

Your breath catches. "Nothing."

His voice is rough now, insistent. "I can tell when something’s wrong. So tell me."

You chew your lip, staring at the screen, at the way his eyes are burning into you. "I just—" You hesitate. "I don’t know."

"Try," he presses.

You swallow hard. "I just feel… weird lately."

Aaron exhales. "Weird how?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Weird because he’s suddenly everywhere. Weird because for the first time in years, he feels just out of reach. Weird because maybe he was never really yours to lose, and that realization is eating you alive.

Instead, you just shake your head. "I don't know."

His voice is sharper now, more impatient. "You always make me pry everything out of you."

Your throat tightens. "I don’t—"

His voice is insistent. "You’re clearly upset. And I don’t know why. And you’re not gonna sleep tonight if you don’t say it out loud, so—say it."

You shake your head. "Aaron—"

"Say it."

You swallow, staring at him through the screen. He’s watching you carefully, waiting, giving you that look that always makes you fold.

Your chest tightens.

"I just feel like we're drifting apart."

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Aaron stills. His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes.

"You’re in LA," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "You’re at these big events, with these big names, and I’m here—alone. And it just..." You exhale sharply. "It feels like you’re leaving me behind."

Aaron’s jaw tenses. His fingers twitch slightly where they rest on his knee.

Aaron exhales, rubbing his temples. "Baby..."

"I see the pictures, Aaron," you cut in. "I see how good you fit in there. And I just…" You blink rapidly, fighting the burn in your eyes. "I don’t know if I fit in your life anymore."

Aaron’s face hardens. "Don’t say that."

"But it’s true," you murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And it scares me."

Aaron’s expression softens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Then come here."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

"Come to LA," he says simply.

You stare at him through the screen, your pulse hammering in your ears.

"Aaron…"

"You don’t have to decide to stay right away," he presses, voice rough. "Just come. Let me prove to you that you belong with me, no matter where the fuck I am."

Your throat tightens. "No."

Aaron’s brows furrow. "No?"

You shake your head. "You’re only asking me because you feel bad."

Aaron’s jaw clenches. "That’s not—"

"It is," you say, voice quieter now. "If I hadn’t said anything, you wouldn’t have asked. And I—" You exhale sharply. "I don’t wanna come because you pity me, Aaron. I wanna come because you want me there."

Aaron’s eyes darken,"You think I don’t want you here?"

You don’t answer.

Aaron swallows, staring at you for a long moment. Then, voice raw—

"I fucking hate that you feel like this."

You inhale shakily.

Aaron leans in slightly, his face inches from the screen. "You think I fit in here? You think I want to be at these parties, talking to people I don’t give a fuck about?" He exhales sharply. "I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner."

Aaron studies you, his eyes scanning your face. Then, voice softer, "Just tell me what you need. from me."

You swallow hard. "I don’t know."

Aaron exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Okay."

Silence.

Then, after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper—

"I love you."

Your breath catches.

"I love you, and I’m not leaving you behind," he murmurs. "You belong with me. Always."

Your throat tightens, your vision blurring.

You bite your lip, nodding slightly. "I love you too."

Silence stretches between you as you drift off to sleep.

And for the first time in weeks—you finally feel like you’re not alone.

--------

The next day, your phone buzzes with a text while you're trying to sleep your hangover off.

You groan, blindly reaching for it, already knowing who it is.

Aaron: Check your email.

You swipe out of your messages, opening your inbox. A new email sits at the top of your screen.

You click it, eyes scanning over the subject line.

A flight itinerary.

Your stomach drops.

You scroll, scanning the details—first class, a direct flight to LA, departing tonight at 7 PM.

You barely have time to process before your phone buzzes again.

Aaron: Pack a bag.

Your pulse spikes.

You type quickly.

Me: Are you insane?

His response is immediate.

Aaron: Sometimes.

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Me: You really think this is gonna work?

Aaron: Yes.

You shake your head.

Me: What part of “I don’t want to come just because you feel bad” are you not understanding?

Aaron’s typing bubble pops up, then disappears, then pops up again.

Then, finally—

Aaron: If I wanted you here just because I felt bad, I would've just accepted your answer last night.

Your hands shake slightly as you type.

Me: This is crazy.

Aaron: So is pretending we’re fine like this.

You swallow hard.

Aaron: Baby.

Your heart stutters.

Aaron: Please.

Your throat tightens.

You don’t respond.

But you do start to pack.

You could keep fighting this. You could tell him you’re not ready, that you need time, that he needs to earn this.

But then what?

You’d go to bed alone again, your phone face-down on your nightstand, staring at the ceiling, missing him so much it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

And for what?

For pride?

For the illusion of control?

Aaron is home. And the truth is—you just want to go home, too.

-------

LAX – 11:42 PM

You step through the terminal, nerves buzzing under your skin.

Aaron told you he’d send a car. Told you to text when you landed.

But standing here, scanning the crowd—

He’s here.

No car. No driver. Just him.

Black hoodie pulled over his head, hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning against a pillar like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

Your breath catches, heart hammering against your ribs as his gaze locks onto yours.

He pushes off the pillar, walking toward you—slow, easy, certain.

"Hey, baby," he murmurs when he reaches you, voice low and warm.

You swallow hard. "Hey."

Aaron tilts his head, eyes sweeping over you. "Missed you."

You scoff, shifting your weight. "Yeah, well. You’re annoying."

His lips twitch. "So are you."

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

Aaron steps closer, voice dropping. "You know what I think?"

You raise a brow. "Do I want to?"

He smirks. "I think you got on that plane because you couldn’t stand another night without me."

You cross your arms. "I think you should shut up before I get back on another plane."

Aaron chuckles, shaking his head. Then, softer—"Let’s go."

Your chest tightens, the fight in you crumbling piece by piece.

He reaches for your bag, pulling it off your shoulder before you can argue.

You should protest. You should roll your eyes and tell him to quit being so smug.

Instead, you let him take your bag.

And you let him take you home.

The ride to Aaron’s Airbnb is quiet, but the air is thick—heavy with something unspoken.

Your body is still tense, your mind still reeling. The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind of emotions. Aaron unlocks the door, stepping inside first, flicking on a few lights.

You hesitate.

This is his space. You’ve never been here before. The place he’s been living while you’ve been in New York, wondering if you even still fit into his life.

Aaron turns around, eyes catching yours. His brow furrows slightly, reading you instantly.

He steps forward, his voice softer now. "Come here."

You don’t move.

So he closes the space himself.

One hand reaches for your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulls you inside, closing the door behind you.

And then, before you can say a single word—

His hands cup your face, his lips crashing onto yours.

Finally.

You gasp into his mouth, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he devours you, like he’s been waiting for this for months.

Aaron presses you back against the door, his body solid and warm against yours, his grip possessive as his fingers tangle in your hair.

"You have no idea," he murmurs against your lips, voice rough, needy, "how much I fucking missed you."

His mouth trails down your jaw, his breath hot, sending a violent shiver through you.

"You could’ve just asked me to come," you manage, barely above a whisper.

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "And miss the part where you tried to pretend you didn’t want to?"

You pull back just enough to glare at him. "That's not funny."

He smirks, thumb brushing over your cheek. "You still mad at me?"

You let out a breath, trying so hard to stay indignant, but he’s right here, touching you, kissing you—

And you’ve wanted this too much to stop now.

You forgot what it felt like to be with him.

To be wrapped in him, to feel like this was yours and no one else’s.

Your nails graze his scalp as you sigh against his lips. The past few months of distance, of doubt, of letting your own pride keep you from him—it all feels so stupid now. You hate how easily other women get to be around him, touching him, laughing with him, making the world believe they have a shot.

His free hand roughly palms your breast, kneading the soft flesh as his thumb circles your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. He can feel it pebbling under his touch, betraying your body's eager response to him.

"You can't resist me, can you, love?" he purrs, nipping at your earlobe. "No matter how mad you are, your body remembers who it belongs to."

"Don't be so sure of yourself," you pant, even as your back arches, pressing your breast more firmly into his palm. "I'm still pissed."

But your words lack conviction, undermined by the breathy quality of your voice and the way your thighs tremble, opening slightly in invitation. Aaron notices, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Really?" he murmurs, low and dangerous. In one swift motion, he hikes up your skirt and pushes your panties aside, his thick fingers caressing your folds. "Then why are you so wet for me already, hmm?"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck. "Stop lying to yourself, love."

Two long fingers suddenly plunge knuckle-deep inside you, curling to stroke that sensitive spot. "Tell me how much you've missed this, baby."

You gasp sharply, head falling back as Aaron's fingers fill and stretch you so perfectly. "Fuck, Aaron…"

Your inner walls flutter and clench around the intrusion, drawing him deeper. "I-I've missed you so much." you admit.

He curls his fingers just right, rubbing insistently against your G-spot as his thumb flicks rapidly over your clit. "I know, baby."

You moan wantonly, grinding down onto Aaron's fingers as they work magic inside you. "Ahhh…f-fuck, just like that…"

He growls lowly as he suddenly withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and empty right as you were approaching your release. "Not yet, love. Did you think I was gonna let you come that easily after what you pulled last night?"

In one smooth motion, he scoops you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you to his bedroom, and puts you down next to his king sized bed. "Strip for me. Nice and slow."

You slowly remove your disheveled clothing, revealing your curves inch by tantalizing inch. You keep your gaze locked with Aaron's, a defiant glint in your eyes despite the blush coloring your cheeks.

He unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, freeing his throbbing erection. He strokes himself slowly as he watches you strip. "Fuck, look at you… so fucking sexy. You drive me crazy, you know that?"

He climbs on the bed and leans back against the headboard. Stroking his dick slowly, eyeing you with intense desire and a hint of challenge. "Come here, baby. Show me how much you missed this dick."

You straddle Aaron's lap, positioning yourself over his throbbing erection. You tease him, rubbing the tip along your slick folds. "Like this, baby?"

You sink down slowly, inch by delicious inch, until he's fully seated inside your tight heat. A low moan escapes your lips at the feeling of being so perfectly stretched and filled after so long.

He groans deeply as your tight walls engulf him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. "Fuck yes, just like that."

He grips your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you start to roll your hips, riding him slowly. "That's it. Show me how bad you needed this dick."

Your hands rest on his broad chest for leverage, nails lightly scraping his skin. "Mmmnh… I did need this… needed you so badly…"

He grunts and thrusts up into you, meeting you stroke for stroke. One hand moves to your ass, gripping and kneading the soft flesh as he guides your movements.

Your breasts bounce enticingly with each movement, nipples hardened into stiff peaks. You throw your head back in ecstasy, lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly filled and pleased. “Ahhh... fuck Aaron... I missed you so much...”

He groans appreciatively as he watches you lose yourself in pleasure, reveling in the sight of your body moving so beautifully above him. “That's it, baby... let go for me.”

He leans up to capture one of your bouncing nipples in his mouth, suckling and nibbling the sensitive bud as his hand snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. “Cum for me, darling.”

You cry out sharply as Aaron's skilled fingers find your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Ahhh... fuuuck... I'm gonna cum!”

Your movements become erratic, chasing your impending release. Tears of overwhelming emotion prick at the corners of your eyes. Despite your reluctance to express your feelings, you cant help but say, “I love you. I never want to be apart from you again.”

With a final roll of your hips, your orgasm crashes over you. Your inner muscles clamp down rhythmically on Aaron's dick. “FUCKKK!”

With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his own release overtaking him.

He holds you tightly against his chest as he pulses and throbs within you, filling you with his hot seed.

Panting heavily, he presses fervent kisses along your neck and jawline, each one searing with need, but also with something else—something deeper, something he’s been holding onto for too long. “God, I love you so fucking much... Never doubt that, okay?” His words are rough, filled with raw emotion, and they send a wave of warmth and longing rushing through you.

He cups your face tenderly, his fingers tracing the delicate contours of your skin, his gaze intense and unwavering. His eyes shine with adoration and lingering passion as he gazes at you, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in the same breath. “We’re in this together, always. I promise.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, like a rush of relief flooding through your chest. His sincerity washes over you, but you can’t stop the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill out. You pull back slightly to meet his gaze, needing to look him in the eye as your own shimmer with unshed tears and raw emotion.

“I’m sorry I have such a hard time expressing my feelings, I don’t know why I’m like this,” you whisper, the words slipping from your lips before you can even think about holding them back.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he wipes a stray tear from your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across the skin, his touch soft, yet grounding. He studies your face with that same loving gaze, his expression soft and understanding, but there’s a hint of something deeper—concern, perhaps, or even a touch of hurt.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper that feels like the calm after a storm. “I do wish you felt safe enough to tell me anything after all these years. I want to be the person you lean on when you’re struggling with your feelings.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly you’re flooded with guilt. You knew how much he cared, how deeply he loved you, but hearing him say it, hearing him speak of his own pain at the wall you’ve built between you—it hurts. You feel like you’ve let him down, like you’ve betrayed the very trust he’s shown you. He’s right. He’s always been right. And still, you kept walls up like he was the enemy, when he’s only ever reached out with open hands.

You’re horrified that he thinks he doesn’t create an emotionally safe environment for you when that’s so far from the truth. “It’s not your fault at all,” you say, your voice cracking slightly, “I’ve always been this way. I’ve always been so scared of being vulnerable, scared of needing someone too much.” You feel the weight of those words as they leave your mouth, and a part of you knows they’ve been trapped in you for so long that it’s finally time to let them out.

Aaron watches you for a long moment, his thumb still brushing softly across your cheek like he’s trying to calm something in you that’s always been just out of reach.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he says. “You don’t even have to be ready. But you do have to let me in. That’s the only way this can work.”

You look away, jaw tightening. But he doesn’t let you escape into silence this time.

“Don’t do that,” he says gently. “Don’t shut down. Not now. Talk to me. Say what you’ve been wanting to say since I left.”

You bite your lip, your throat tight.

“I hated waking up alone every day,” you admit. “I hated not knowing if you were thinking about me, not knowing if I still mattered in a world that suddenly couldn’t get enough of you. I hated seeing your name in headlines next to someone else’s face. I hated that I couldn’t tell anyone you were mine. I hated that you didn’t seem to care.”

You pause, breath shaky.

“I used to wait for your name to pop up on my phone like it was oxygen. And when it didn’t... I’d lie to myself. I’d tell myself you were too busy. That I was being needy. That this is what I signed up for. That you already had so much on your plate.”

Aaron’s expression doesn’t waver. He doesn’t flinch or deflect or turn away.

He listens.

And then, he speaks—voice low but firm.

“You should’ve told me all of that the first night you felt it.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“I should’ve done better,” he says. “I should’ve made sure you never had to wonder if you still mattered to me.”

“I got caught up in it all,” he admits. “The press, the schedule, the pressure. I kept telling myself you understood, that you were strong, that you’d wait for me to get my shit together.” His eyes find yours, full of something honest and unguarded. “But that wasn’t fair to you."

You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how to ask for more without feeling like I was asking for too much.”

His hand lifts to your cheek, tilting your face gently back to him.

“You’re never too much,” he says, his voice soft but laced with that familiar teasing edge. “I love knowing how obsessed you are with me.”

You roll your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching despite the weight in your chest. “You make it hard to stay mad.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

There’s a silence that settles between you then—not empty, but full. Heavy with all the things that no longer have to be said in the dark, or buried beneath pride.

“I don’t want to live in separate lives anymore,” he says after a beat.

Your heart skips.

“I want you here,” he says. “Permanently. Let’s find a place that’s ours. Start fresh. I know it’s a lot to ask—starting over, uprooting your life. But I’ll support you. If you want to work, work. If you want to take your time, do that too. I just want to know that I get to come home to you.”

You let out a slow breath, all your old defenses still rising like reflexes—but you push through them this time.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “Do it scared.”

You let out a breath that feels like it’s been caught in your chest for months. “We're being so fucking dramatic right now. Have you been stealing lines from your scripts again?”

He chuckles, sliding his arms around your waist again. “You say that like you didn’t just admit you waited for my texts like oxygen.”

You bury your face into his chest, groaning. “Can we not bring that up ever again?”

There’s still fear threading through your chest, still questions and doubts lingering in the corners of your mind. But for once, they’re not winning. Because he’s here, and you feel something you haven’t in months.

Home.

Not a place. Not a plan. Just him. Just you. Still choosing each other.

Even scared. Especially then.

------

A/N: Here is the story I mentioned earlier that inspired the club scene a bit: Read Here.

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notapradagurl7 · 3 days ago

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Housewife Blues

Pairings: Terry Richmond x Housewife!Reader

Summary: Operation making a baby

Warnings: Language, Traditional Gender Roles, Controlling!Terry, Daddy Issues, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Controlled Orgasm, Unprotected Sex

A/n: Reader literally calls him Daddy. Please don't read this if that's not your vibe.

When your days weren't spent caring for your home as an active military wife, you engaged in reading, crocheting, baking and positively, actively avoiding the southern housewives that haunted your sunny cul-de-sac. Terry knew you'd much rather be doing things alone when he was at work.

This woman was intruding on your alone time.

"We've got to stick together!" the woman had said, her voice dripped like her honeycomb hair haloing her head. You wouldn't have willingly opened the front door had you known she would be lurking on the other side. The amicable smile that was on your face was cracking.

You initially thought it might be your husband, come to surprise you, knocking off from work earlier than usual. All throughout the day, you had been eager to see him.

He had left you in quite the state this morning.

"Faster," he had commanded in that mahogany veneered voice as he watched you try and fail to give yourself even a sliver of the kind of pleasure you were used to. He liked watching you struggle to take your fingers that were far too small, nothing like his large, skillful hands that would drill into your cunt when you needed it to.

"Why are you slowing down?" He enquired calmly, his head leaning against the headboard as he watched you try to please yourself in order please him to the best of your abilities.

You were seated between his legs with your legs spread open. The only contact established between you two was your ass pressed against that bulge straining his boxers. If Terry was a lesser man, he'd forget that he was trying to teach you a lesson about coming without permission. If he wasn't so deeply wired with self control he mightve said fuck the lesson and pulled his cock out to slide inside your weeping cunt.

But he wasn't a lesser man.

And no matter how hard he got, he loved watching you struggle to make yourself cum.

"M'sorry okay?" Gone was the trace of bratiness in your tone. All that was left was a little girl's pathetic whine and even that made him harder.

"M'sorry, I wont cum without your permission again-" you craned your head back. Your cloudy hair moved across his chest as you met his eyes, "Please help me," you hoped eyes displayed your desperation. Even if that weren't enough you knew your next words would be. "Please, Daddy-" he made a sharp intake of breath and you knew you had him.

"I need y-"

"I need to go to work-"

Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull as the man behind you moved to rid himself of you.

"What!? You're just going to leave like that?!"

"Who're you talking to?" He had asked so calmly, with his head tilted, corralling you into absolute silence.

"I-"

"Give it' till this afternoon," he wasn't a complete monster. He kissed you on your forehead, making you feel whole even for a split second before ridding himself of you once again.

"Can you be good for me until this afternoon?" You loved when he did that. You loved when he spoke down at you, as if you weren't sporting numerous degrees. As if you weren't a fully autonomous woman.

You liked the break he gave you from thinking.

"I can." You had said. Completely determined not to touch yourself until he arrived home.

All day, your brain had been fuzzy with thoughts of him. 'The dangers of being a housewife', your best friend had called it. He was consuming your every thought. Your mind was plagued by images of him inside you. Your mouth. Your cunt. Your mind.

You had no time for this. Not time for her.

"We?" You reiterate with your head slightly tilted as you lean against the door you were itching to slam shut in her face. "We should stick together?" You asked it as if hoping to make sense of how in what world a woman like her and a woman like you might ever be classified as 'we'. In front of you stood the seemingly perfect example of a nuclear housewife. Poodle puff golden hair, bright eerie smile and a body that could reproduce, seemingly at will.

"Yes!" The blonde woman said, "Us wives of veterans, we need to stick together-"

"Oh-" you were in the process of shaking your head, "I- don't really see myself as a product of Terry's-"

"I think we should have a little meet up tonight! We'll wrangle up the husbands and the kids-"

"I've got no kids," You said so curtly it could've given anyone a harsh chill.

"You and Terry have no children?" Judging by the look on her face you could swear you've just admitted to some form of bio terrorism.

"No kids?" She nodded gravely. Far too gravely. "H-How interesting, well. That's okay! I'll just call our babysitter- She's a lovely girl. Hopefully you find someone like her when you and Terry finally get to it-"

"When her and Terry get to what?" You hadn't even heard that roar of the truck easing up the driveway, your mind had been far too plagued with images of your childless marriage to really pay it any mind. But you're very much of him now as he appears behind that stupid little housewife.

Like Pavlov's dog, your body and all its machinations react to the sound of Terry's voice alone.

The gravel that seemed to roll in his esophagus. The way he dwarves the woman taking up your precious time. He had finally come home, but here you were, being occupied by your neighbors, dressed in nothing except a tight fitting night dress.

"Oh Terry!" The woman said, hoping to steal his attention, despite his eyes remaining fastened on you, "How lovely to finally meet! I was just telling your lovely wife we should all have a family meet up- she informed me that you two don't want kids?"

"Have-" You said so quickly, "I said we don't have kids. Not that we don't want any."

Without sparing the woman another glance, Terry strolls past her. His large bicep squeezes you into the frame of the door as he walks up behind you but you don't mind. In fact you suddenly feel calmer in his shadow. Your nerves are both calm and set alight as he moves his heavy arms around your waist.

"You explained yourself?" He bends down, his lips pressed against your ear, "You didn't need to do that." Your mouth stammered open as the woman by your doorstep pales.

"Well- I was just enquiring-" the woman attempts to salvage the situation but Terry’s already pulling you into the house.

"We'll come back to you about the dinner-”

“We could set a date right now and-”

“Excuse me,” Terry says, “We gotta go make that baby we apparently don't want-” you catch a final glimpse of that woman. Her mouth stammered open.

Terry's leading you towards the couch and you follow him, your fingers wrapped around his pinky. You swallow heavily watching his back muscles contract.

He's so big.

So in control.

It has your mind swimming in the pools of subspace as he lowers his frame to the couch. He pulls you into his lap and you yelp as the skirts of your dress fan around his lap.

For a moment all is quiet.

You evade eye contact and he tries to hide his smile as he forces you to interlock your hands behind his neck while his titan hands meet around your waist. You were quite literally trapped.

“That woman probably isn't going to talk to me again after that little display of yours,” you mumble lowly and he chuckles softly as he brings his nose to the crook of your neck and he breathes in.

“Try not to sound so pleased about that.”

“I have to make friends, Terry-” your breath stammers when you feel his pillow lips open up until he's pressing his tongue to the sensitive skin by your neck.

“Did you touch yourself?” He asks and despite his words holding that usual sliver of control, you can feel the slight eagerness to his actions. His steadily hardening cock straining through the front of his jeans and his restless hands moving underneath the skirt of your dress.

“No, you told me not to.”

“I've told you not to do many things,” he presses another kiss to your temple and you breathe in rather sharply when his fingers reach your inner thigh. “Sometimes you don't give a shit about what I say.”

“I promise I didn't touch myself,” it was becoming difficult to breathe. Your mind descended into lechery as his fingers inched up your thigh and you opened your legs slightly. “Honest.”

“Should I check the cameras?” Your body tensed ever so slightly and for someone as observant as Terry was trained to be, you knew he spotted it.

“We have cameras?”

“You think I'd just leave you in this hick ass town alone throughout the day and not have cameras in the house?”

“Oh- well-”

“Doesn't matter if you touched yourself, does it?” Your breathing swells as his fingers finally connect with the seat of your panties. He adjusts himself underneath you. You're absolutely soaked.

“No one can make you cum like I do,” He whispers, sliding your panties to the side, “Not even you.”

Your eyes grow hazy as his fingers begin to play with your aching cunt. It's everything you've needed and more.

“Say it-” You're teetering on the edge of a complete mental check-out as his fingers rub your clit. You squirm on top of him, searching for the seating position that would let you grind down on his hand but he keeps you still.

“Fuck-” he groans and for a split moment, you're nearly close.

Until he pulls his fingers away and you're once again whining and squirming with no sense of relief.

“You can't just-”

In a series of fluid and swift movements, Terry moves you off of his lap. Your back hits the couch as he hovers over you.

“what're you doing-”

“You thought I was kidding about making that baby?” He asks, so incredibly serious as he undoes his belt buckle and all you're able to do is lay supine and take whatever he gives

According to your family, everything about Terry Richmond had been a seemingly blood red flag: from his overtly frightening countenance, to his slightly unnerving marine status.

He is nothing but menacing as he hovers above you, parting your legs before reaching inside his jeans.

“You're squirming too much,” he says, “You want the cuffs?” Your throat dried with the recollection of the previous tike Terry had slapped his cuffs over your wrist. He had quite literally used your cunt to milk his cock and there was nothing you could do about it.

Despite loving the memory, and the sharp thrill it shoots straight to your clit, you wanna touch him, and you tell him as much.

He groans before lowering himself towards you.

“Shouldn't I take off-”

“Keep the dress on,” he lifts your hips before spreading your legs, for a moment he gets lost at what he sees There underneath all the pink frills and tulle.

“I'm going to get you pregnant,” he promises before lifting his eyes to meet yours, “Any objections?”

He's not smiling. His eyes are deep and hypnotic and you move your hips as if so incredibly needy to take anything he gives.

“No objections,” You shake your head and your words die in your throat when you feel your panties be swiped to the side once again. Terry's restraining himself. You can see it in the veins popping out of his neck.

You're not sure why.

“Green or Red?” His Eyes lift to meet you and you can feel the head of his cock press against your tight opening.

“Red,” you respond. “You can be rough- i just need y- FUCK-” he thrusts inside you, bottoming out almost immediately.

You didn't need any prep because you were already soaking through your underwear but your cunt still fought To bully his cock back out.

“Th-That hurts-” you grit your teeth as he begins to thrust shallowly inside you, despite having already bottom out. It's like he's searching for somewhere deeper to go and you both groan out loud at the thought.

“You’re so fucking wet, fuck-” He watched his cock slides back out completely before slamming it back in and you yelp at his brutal intrusion. It fulfills something ravenous in you, the way he lowers his hand to the side of your head before fucking into you with wreckless abandon.

“So fucking tight-”

“Fuckyoursobig-” your eyes are hollow and Terry knows from your slurred speech that you were fully in subspace.

“Shit- you tryna make me cum already, huh?”

Your bottom lips portudes and you look up at him, nodding dumbly, “You wanna be a good slut for your Daddy, don't you?”

The second he locks his thick palm around your throat, and you wear his hand like a collar, you're absolutely done for. Your hips lift to meet his thrusts and your tongue lolls out of your mouth.

“Such a fucking slut- shit-”

“Yo-Yours,” you moan, “Your slut-”

He immediately stills his hips before cursing aloud. Terry's lips crash down onto yours. A hungry kiss you weren't expecting but eagerly reciprocate.

“My pretty slut,” he nods his head in affirmation. patting down your head as if you always knew what to say. “That's right, baby.” You're bathed in the praise. You fucking absorbed it. “That's right, Clever Girl-”

“Oh my God, Daddy- please,” you lift your hips, urging him to continue drilling into you.

“You're such a good girl for me-” he continues to affirm as his hips move once more, “You gonna take my cun, aren't you, Pretty Girl? You gonna make Daddy proud and give him a baby-”

“Terry, ohmygod-” you can feel your cunt spasming around his cock.

“Ask.” He can see you teetering on the edge but his voice is dark and commanding. “You know better.” He warns. “Ask.”

“Please-” you search to hold onto something, anything that would stop you for cumming outright on your husband's cock, “Please let me cum, oh my god-”

He speeds up his own thrusts. Unbeknownst to you, your eagerness to take him, your whining and begging had him twitching inside you. It's like you became a vessel of his pleasure alone. You were good at that. You were good at making him the center of your universe.

“Cum for me, Pretty Girl.” It's all it takes for you to let yourself go completely. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as Terry squeezes your throat, sending you flying amongst the clouds. You curse and scream and your cunt is suffocating his cock until he can't handle it anymore.

“Gonna cum,” he affirms, his voice tense and his muscles tight, “Gonna cum so fucking hard inside my Pretty Girl-” even he had his limits. Soon he wasn't able to say anything. His words bled into uncontrollable groans as he trusted a steady stream of cum inside you.

You're patting down on his tense muscles, urging him to part with every single drop.

You're full.

So utterly full it has you seeing stars.

“That ought'a do it.” He says.

He’s nice Terry again.

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notapradagurl7 · 3 days ago

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Absolute Green Lantern #3 (DC, June 2025) variant cover by Juliet Nneka

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notapradagurl7 · 3 days ago

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For Mr. Robot/Joey BadA$$: can you do a Leon x Fem!Reader as Elliot Alderson where around late November/early December the reader (as Elliot) meets with Leon and seduces and tells him while she makes out with him, she wants him to help her take down Whiterose, with Leon promising her to be her "loyal knight"

My Loyal Knight.

Pairings: Black Fem! Reader(Elliot Alderson) x Joey Bada$$ as “Leon” from Mr. Robot.

Summary: See Ask. You worked in a cybersecurity company but a skilled hacker by night, and crossed paths with Leon. When you headed to his house, you decided to come over not only for a seductive encounter, you expressed your desire for his assistance in bringing down Whiterose. Leon promises to be your “loyal knight”

A/N: I really appreciate this, lovely anon! 😌 I've been eager to write about Leon in Mr. Robot for weeks, but here it is! Please resume sending in your requests for Leon in Mr. Robot! I wrote this with a black woman in mind but all are welcome to read, Don't forget to leave comments, likes and reblogs are welcome to support, drop a request if you like, they're always open! ❤️🫡

WC: 4,641k.

Warnings: dirty talk, cursing, mention of violence, seduction, mention of murder, consensual for both parties, steamy make-out session, fingering(fem receiving), use of AAVE, reader embodying Elliot Alderson, praise, mental health, reader being stressed out, paranoia, anxious reader, PWP, love-smitten Leon, mention of masturbation, jealous!Leon, smut, voice kink, (if you squint), slight masochist reader.

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @naj-ay444

@becauseimswagman1

@beenathembo @brattyfics

@hxneyclouds @henneseyhoe

@yassbishimvintage

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house @caashmoneynae @siqueth @miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest- @uniqueoutlierblog @dxddyken

@mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert

@lady-olive-oil @23jammy @musicisme333 @saturnville @enchantedillumination @mogul93 @theereina @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @hotmessexpress94 @fakxmbj @kumkaniudaku @ranikyani @mama-2001

—————

The biting chill of the winter air pressed against the windowpanes of your cozy apartment, sending a shudder through the old building. Each creak and groan echoed like a warning bell, a reminder of the impending winter that loomed over the city.

You instinctively pulled the soft, woolen pink blanket tighter around your shoulders, seeking solace from the draft.

The glow of your computer screen illuminated your face as you scrolled through lines of code, your mind racing by a second to second.

You had been meticulously planning your next move against Whiterose, the elusive enemy lurking in the shadows of your digital world.

The night still enfolds the world outside, yet your mind stirred restlessly, breaking the peaceful silence with a sudden, insistent thought that demanded your attention despite the hours of sleep you had already managed to steal.

The thought that motivated you was about taking down Whiterose, but somehow they returned to wreak havoc on everything and everyone you cared about. You couldn't allow this to happen—not to you, not to your best friend, and not to Leon.

With a soft sigh escaping your lips, you sprang up from your desk chair before turning off your computer and watching it fade to black, your socks gliding over the cool, smooth brown hardwood floors.

As you gracefully navigated your way down the dimly lit hallway. Turning left, you made your way toward the warm bathroom, the faint scent of lavender from the air freshener lingering in the air ahead.

You flipped on the light switch before entering, completed your morning routine by showering, brushing your teeth, and washing your face, while the bright orange, circular light on the ceiling shone on your brown skin.

Your brown pixie haircut framed your face, while your nose, lips, and determined brown eyes gleamed on that anticipated day.

It was a good thing you didn't have to worry about your hair since it was in a protective style, thankfully your aunt was a hairstylist. Free of worry, and free of charge was her motto and yours as well.

After that, you pulled on your familiar oversized black sweater and jacket, its fabric soft and worn from countless outings, enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort.

The jacket draped loosely over your frame, the sleekness of your black sweatpants, which pooled around your legs like shadows. Your matching black shoes, polished yet understated, each step soundless against the ground.

However, you couldn't shake the annoyance that crept in whenever someone tried to disrupt that harmony.

As a final touch, you settled a snug beanie over your head, its warmth reassuring against the chilly air, shielding your ears from the cold.

It was one of the many days you spent with Leon, you couldn't wait for it. You stepped out of the medium-sized bathroom with ease, and headed back to your bedroom.

Having Leon as a friend felt comforting. He was chatty as hell, and his words flowed effortlessly, while you found solace in simply listening, responding with soft hums and nods. He could go on and on about literature and television.

With him, your social anxiety seemed to fade into the background, allowing you to feel momentarily at ease in a world that often felt overwhelming.

Today, you planned to visit Leon at his home to discuss your upcoming plans on taking down Whiterose. The anticipation buzzed in your mind as you thought about finally seeing where he lived, a place you had never laid eyes on before.

Curiosity tugged at you; you wanted to know more about the space that Leon inhabited. He had mentioned that his house was situated near a location you had purposely kept to yourself.

Did the Darkarmy mention that particular detail to him? The thought lingered uneasily in your mind.

You brushed it off rather too quickly, and preoccupied your mind with something else. Walking out of your safest sanctuary known as the bedroom, heading for the front door, and unlock it by using a key giving a swift twist. Heading out into the chaotic world of danger, thieves, and liars.

He had saved you more times than you could count, stepping in with unwavering courage when danger lurked just around the corner.

Leon was not just a friend; he was a valuable asset to you, he used work for the Dark Army and skilled enough to handle any weapon that crossed his path. But now, he was a freelance agent.

You two had been friends for what felt like a lifetime, but there was something deeper simmering beneath the surface, something that both excited and terrified you.

His unpredictability was both a comfort and a risk, and you had learned to trust his instincts as much as your own. He was a force to be reckoned with.

From the harrowing nights when menacing figures tried to kidnap you, to those moments when he intervened at just the right time to protect you from various threats, you always felt a mix of gratitude and admiration for him.

You had a tendency to overthink everything, conjuring up detailed scenarios in your head that often skewed toward the dramatic. It wasn't hard to do, especially considering all the close calls you had faced together.

You maintained a steady, smooth pace as you maneuvered through the bustling crowd, with the city's lively energy pulsing around you.

The noise that filled the streets quickly faded into an unexpected silence when you took a sharp left onto a narrow sidewalk, leading you into a gate to a shadowy path and no one followed behind you. The sign said “Don't enter, danger”

As you entered a dimly lit tunnel of concrete, a weathered green gate groaned softly, its hinges refusing as you pushed it open.

Bursting through the gate, you stepped onto the sidewalk and approached a quaint cul-de-sac, where rows of charming houses stood shoulder to shoulder.

Leon’s house was the light green one in the middle of the other houses. You could almost spot the television rays filtering on the curtains, which was too easy.

The street was bathed in the warm glow of orange streetlights that flickered like soft fireflies against the inviting dusk.

Each house was adorned with four neatly arranged windows and light greens, bright reds and oranges, their facades simple yet inviting, and the towering trees stood sentinel in the back.

It looked as if the trees were protecting them from whatever was out there, as some would say that Mother Nature was on their side.

The lawns were meticulously tended, the grass trimmed short and free of any debris, enhancing the serenity, this looked like seemingly ordinary neighborhood.

It also had the kind of charm that felt both nostalgic and safe, as you approached Leon’s house, a wave of excitement bubbled within you.

But still, you couldn't shake the feeling that your relationship with Leon was on the verge of shifting.

The stakes were high, and there was no telling how this mission would change the dynamics between you.

Leon was likely already inside, probably watching something on TV, a grin plastered on his face as he lost himself in his favorite shows.

You knocked on the door, the rhythm of your heartbeat syncing with the theme song that played on his television and spilled out into the night.

Seconds later, the door swung open almost immediately, revealing Leon with that signature smile.

He sported a simple black tee shirt, a camouflage jacket with and matching pants pooled around his legs, his locs in two-strand twists swayed gracefully with a navy blue bandana atop his head, the jewelry in his hair glistened prettily. Two earrings in his ears shone brightly from the glow of the television screen. His socks on his feet and shoes rested beside the door.

You quickly kicked off your shoes, then placed them beside Leon’s shoes, your sock-clad feet made contact with the cool, brown hardwood floors.

His face lit up when he saw you, a wide grin breaking across his attractive face with his dark brown eyes on youZ

“What’s up Y/N? Glad you made it to my crib, make yourself right at home,” he exclaimed, his voice rich with joy from seeing you.

You felt the corner of your mouth curl up in a smile, and stepped right in, “Hi Leon, Thanks,” you replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

His house was a reflection of himself, the walls painted in chocolate brown were adorned with posters of classic movies and shows, and the few remnants of night binge-watching sessions littered across the polished brown coffee table.

The decor of his house, reminded you of green mint chocolate bars, a blend of it all made you smile. Simple but not too much color in one space.

He flipped the light switch, casting an orange glow to the spacious yet tidy living room, the light sprawled out in the cozy ambiance, and your eyes resumed roaming the place, it was your first time here after all. Maybe you could live in this neighborhood with him, hidden from the city and in this quiet place.

The flat screen television rested on the black dresser, steady in place, showing off a TV show called The Wire.

“I've been binge-watchin’ The Wire and I'm four seasons in but I gotta say, that show is a masterpiece, This one character, Omar is a good villain, everyone starts runnin’ like hell whenever he’s around,” Leon trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

You did the usual head nod and soft humming routine until your stomach growled in middle of him talking, you liked to hear him speak, the way his Brooklyn accent left from his speech, the way his plump lips curled up into a smirk made those feelings come right back to you, it was only a crush though.

“I need to tell you something important, Leon,” You brought up, ripping the band-aid rather too quickly, hating that impulsive decision making side of yours.

He leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, raising an eyebrow. “I'm all ears, you know I'm down to help my girl out however I can.”

His words sent a tingle through you, feeling the heat crept up on your cheeks. The way he said “my girl” felt like more than friendship, that unwavering loyalty he had for you made you grateful to keep him around.

He paused, his eyes locking with yours that made your heart race, “You hungry? My mom whipped up some bomb-ass food in the kitchen last night,”

You laughed softly, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you then rubbed your stomach in circles, “Yeah, I could definitely eat,” you replied, trying to keep the conversation light.

You didn't want to dive into the heavy stuff just yet—there would be a time for that later.

Leon leads you to the kitchen, where the scent of beef pot roast, roasted vegetables, and dirty rice, he had the table set with a casual flair, and mismatched plates. Both of you took the seat across from each other.

“Here you go, sit down and eat,” he said, a proud grin on his face as he passed you a plate of food.

“Got some drinks in the fridge, help yourself,” he replied, gesturing toward the kitchen as he plopped down on the safe green couch.

“Thanks, Leon,” you called over your shoulder, opening it and grabbing a water bottle before twisting the cap, and taking a sip. Closing the fridge quickly.

As you dug into the delicious meal, you heard the man ramble endlessly about the characters from The Wire, such as Marlo, Wee-Bey, Avon, and a few of the detectives. Leon expressed that the show deserved an award, talking about how unfair it was that the show didn't have one.

After finishing the meal and he washed the dishes, you both migrated to the couch, settling back into the plush cushions with him. Leon flipped through the channels aimlessly, but his attention quickly drifted back to you.

Leaning a bit closer, his gaze searching your gaze, he couldn't read your mind but he knew that you had something to say, he’s so damn observant. That almost scared you.

“You good, Y/N? You seem kinda distant,” he asked, his tone laced with concern.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you felt the tension rising, “Just…a lot on my mind, you know?” you trailed off, shrugging your

“Yeah? Wanna talk about it?” His voice was low, and inviting, but you your head, felt a rush of boldness through your being.

“Not yet, I want to feel something with you,” you said, your voice sultry as you leaned closer to him.

Leon’s breath hitched, and you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes. “What’chu want, then?” he asked.

“Touch me,” you blurted, your heart racing as you closed the distance between you two.

Your hand softly glided up his arm, the gentle material of his jacket obscuring your tender touch, yet Leon could still sense it; your gazes intertwined with fervor, and your fingers caressed his arm once more, this time with deliberate slowness and meaning.

Until Mr. Robot spoke up in the depths of your mind, “Are you seriously wasting your time right now? You have a mission to do, take down Whiterose! Go!”

Your hand desperately gripped and pulled on the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer as he caught on to the hint quickly, crashing his lips against yours, your mouth parted to moan, inviting him in before kissing him back again. Your tongue gliding across his upper lip, motivating his tongue to match with your pace.

You felt his fingers slide under the hem of your oversized sweater, his hand rubbing the small of your back, the softness of your brown skin made him groan in response, tasting the chocolate mint candy and lip gloss on you, “Damn, girl,”

But this time you ignored the voice of your father that haunted you for what seemed like years but you when you got closer to your knight in stylish attire, that voice went silent. Finally.

His hands glide back to your waist, pulling you close as he deepens the kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue and eliciting soft moans from you while pulling at his bottom lip using yours.

Suddenly, Leon pulls away, leaving you whining from the loss of his warm lips, and you gasp as he sucked your pulse point on your neck with a fervent intensity, sinking his teeth in your skin like a vampire.

Trailing kisses along your neck, Marking you as his girl, leaving a trail of tiny purple hickeys on you.

“You sure about this?” He asked again in concern, pulling away from your lip.

You nodded, craving his touch. “Yes, I'm sure, I want this,” you replied back, giving him a small smile.

With that, he lifted you slightly on his lap. your hands gripped his shoulders from feeling the heat radiating off him, His hands slid over your sweatpants, gripping your ass with a possessiveness that the heat crept into your cheeks.

Your bodies molding together perfectly as you straddled him, the strength in his arms as he held you tight, and it only spurred you on. He groaned in response until he kept his eyes on you.

He lifted you slightly, adjusting his position as his lips smashed into yours, his hand sliding past the waistband of your sweatpants as he gently tugged on them, “Take this off for me, baby,” he coaxed, gently lifting your chin forcing you to look at him.

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you hands gently pulled down your sweatpants, your socks rolled off, and his fingers locked with your panties, pulling them off and watching a chain of your wetness separate from them.

His fingers found their way to your thighs, brushing against your folds, “So fuckin’ wet for me huh?” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. He withdrew his fingers from your pussy, and licked them clean before sliding them back in.

You only nodded too quickly, feeling the soft warmth of his fingers inside, your back arching instinctively toward him. “You taste better than I imagined,” he panted, rubbing your breasts in a steady motion while you looked into his eyes.

Your mind reeled back to what he said, Leon definitely imagined this just as you did. The fantasies in his mind weren't close enough to this very moment, it was even better.

Thinking of you in various positions, saying his name repeatedly like a mantra, so wildly instead of a greeting. Your faces spurred him on and on, pushing him to give you more as you slipped your sweater off, his other hand massaged your breast in a swift motion and his mouth wrapped around your nipple, the other, You felt so filled up yet you needed more, but this will suffice, you kept your breathing steady.

Leon pumping his fingers in and out of you, your wetness pooling on the couch, wetting up in his palm, “You've been waiting for this? This is what you wanted?” he smirked, kissing along your collarbone.

“Yess..I wanted this so bad…” A moan escaped your lips, as you rolled your hips against his fingers. Your slick walls tightened around him, a multitude of waves washed over you immediately, bear-hugging him once you saw stars sparkling before you.

“Oh, you did? and you feel amazing,” he encouraged, his voice low yet a bit raspy. His thumb circling your clit as he watched your reactions closely, curling up his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion inside, making it difficult to keep your composure.

“Fuck, yes!” you breathed, the pleasure building with each stroke of his fingers, you were feeling the world fade away around you, the paranoia, the pain, and the problems. It felt so good to forget everything and not to worry about anything for a while, that was Leon for you. Your escape, your solace in an empty, cold place.

Leon observed how your pussy eagerly sucked his fingers back in when he nearly withdrew them, but he held off on teasing you for the moment. “If only you could see yourself, makin’ those pretty faces, sayin’ my name like this?” Leon teased with a smirk, enjoying every moment.

You were already bottoming out by the sensation you had long desired. You drew him closer for a passionate and untamed kiss while pressing your hips down even more. “Ah..shit! Leon! Fuckk! I..need!” you cried out in desperation, you quickly grabbed his wrist that was still around your throat.

The pleasure coursed through your body over and over again, unable to keep himself quiet, moaning quietly. “Need what? Speak the fuck up, baby,” he growled with a deepened tone, His hand adorned with gold rings gently gripped your throat, momentarily constricting your airflow, eliciting a soft harsh gasp from you.

“I need more…” you babbled with a slut like moan, your face twisted with pleasure, as you arched your head back, your mouth hung open and left breathless once his thumb flattened on your swollen, throbbing wet clit. He did what you requested, drilling his fingers into you relentlessly.

“You’ve been playin’ with your pussy? Hm? Who’s been on that nasty mind of yours?” Leon chuckled darkly, picking up the pace, as he watched your legs shake weakly and your hands gripped his jacket tightly.

Your mind blurs from the pleasure into nothingness, going completely blank. Leon applied more pressure on your neck, you screamed in pleasure at the pain he was giving you, and he showed off a sadistic smirk, taking in your half-lidded eyes, feral moans and his name in between all of it.

It was too embarrassing to mention, Your crush was right there in front of you. You only moaned wildly as his fingers curled up again just to torture you further, relishing this, and he spanked you ass roughly in response. Bringing your face closely to his, his nose nuzzling against yours lovingly.

So this is what love felt like that? That burning heat scorching through your veins, that soft warmth feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach, you didn't want to let go of this feeling. It was too precious and sacred to let go so fast, you had Leon.

You etched that in your brain, as if it played like a cinema.

“I said, who’s been on your mind? Someone else? Answer me,” he recited in a possessive tone, you whined softly but your nails scratched onto his skin, you wanted people to know that he was all yours.

“Y-you! Shit…it’s only you Leon! I promise!” You screamed, the sound of his name a prayer on your lips. He wanted to be the one to answer that prayer, that call and give what you asked of him.

You were on the verge, hovering near the boundary you had crossed with him, and you noticed the intensity in Leon's gaze filled with passion, affection, and desire.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words wrapped around you and gave you butterflies. His fingers worked with precision and just when you thought you might burst from pleasure.

Leon leaned in closer, his lips biting on your ear, brushing against it before pulling back to look into your half-lidded eyes. His teeth dug into his lips, stifling a moan from giving you so much pleasure. He loved it, relished in it.

“Because I can't stand the thought of anyone else havin’ you, you’re mine, and I’ll do anythin’ to protect what’s mine, ours." He promised to you, feeling that sensation again but you could hardly breathe.

He dominated the moment and ensured you experienced pleasure like never before. It surpassed mere goodness; it was extraordinary.

“Leon…I’m…I’m gonna—-” You groaned, the words barely left your mouth before he silenced you with a kiss, deep and passionate, as if he was trying to consume you whole.

“You can cum, baby, I got you,” he breathed against your mouth, and that was all it took. That voice of his was dangerous, it turned you on deeply, making you moan again.

Your climax tore through your entire body, the knot tightening ready to unlace, but Leon drilled his fingers into you roughly and stood still, making you drool on his neck and your body twitching against him from overstimulation.

Your essence spilled out onto his fingers, pouring on his palm, making his rings glisten underneath the light. You screamed out loudly, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room. Your hand gripping his shoulders tight as you rode out his fingers in pure bliss.

His hand released your neck quickly and looked to see if he left anything, but there were only purple hickeys. He withdrew his fingers from you, He smirked at you and planting a sweet kiss on your forehead, pressing his against yours. It felt nice, felt right with him.

“You’re so good to me…Leon” you whispered to him, peppering sloppy kisses onto his soft lips as he kissed you back each time.

“Always, my beautiful girl,”

As your body came down from your high, you found yourself collapsing against him, spent and breathless. Leon’s arms wrapped you, holding you close as you tried to catch your breath.

“You good?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concren.

You nodded, a small smile creeping onto your face, “Yeah, I'm good,”

Leon sat up from the couch and made a left turn toward the closet, opening it and walked into the bathroom to wet the washcloth, he came back and crouched down in front of you wiping the mess between your legs, you twitched and hissed from the sudden touch, he looked up at you with concern.

“My bad, baby,” He said to you, his eyes flickering toward to him.

Oh right, you'd almost forgotten to talk about what you came over here for.

“T-there’s something I need to talk to you about, but i need to take a shower first,”

The rise and fall of your chest filled the room once you finally gathered your thoughts but you asked him if it was okay if you could take a shower, he said yes with a nod.

You made a left and headed for the bathroom, picking up your clothes, taking a shower and Leon cleaned up the mess on the couch. Heading back to the living room where he was still sitting on the couch. You drank some water and pulled out your laptop.

“I'm back, okay so here's my plan," You declared with confidence, walking back to the living room with same clothes you camw

“I'm all ears, baby girl,”

You grinned like a Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland once you heard those spoken by him, Leon was putty in your hands. He was all yours and you refused to let go of him.

“I need your help with Whiterose, and I want to make sure that we’re on the same page and not distracted,” You replied to him with confidence.

“A’ight, I got you,” Leon replied back, nodding. His expression shifted to one of seriousness.

As you both settled down at the small dining table, you settled your laptop on it. The laptop brings a sense of clarity to your anxious thoughts.

You started outlining your plan, and the screen reflected your strategy, the number of options and a way out for both of you to be alive.

Leon leaned in, his eyes scanning the screen with interest as you explained your ideas, the way you wanted to infiltrate Whiterose’s operations.

“That’s great, but we gotta be smart about this, we both know they don't play fair. You think that we can play it off without gettin’ caught?” He asked, feeling a sense of belonging.

“We have to, I can't let anyone else I care about getting hurt, not again.” You shot back with a resolution, nodding.

Leon reached across the table, his hand covering yours, grounding you.

“I promise to be your loyal knight, to every end. It’s us versus them, we‘ll get through this like we always do baby,” Leon promised to you, his lips curled up into a smirk. Giving you peace and soothing your thoughts.

————

76 notes · View notes

notapradagurl7 · 3 days ago

Text

In The Backseat.

Black Fem!Actress! Reader x Kelvin Harrison Jr.

Summary: You were featured in a pioneering black romance movie alongside Aaron and Kelvin, completed the promotional course and interviews, but felt exhausted, all while dating Kelvin. You both finally reached the limo and chose to ease the pressure on him once it halted and arrived at your house.

WC: 4146k.

A/N: Here is a better khjr. fic for ya’ll hope you enjoy my loves, ☺️ don't forget to leave comments, likes and reblogs are welcome to support, drop a request if you like, they're always open!🫡 let me know if you want a part 2!

Warnings: praise, car sex, fingers in mouth, exhibitionist kink, fingering(fem receiving), oral(m), dirty talk, slight voyeurism, consensual for both parties, kissing, unprotected sex, drunk sex, cussing, let me know if I missed any.

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@zillasvilla

—————

Sitting between Aaron and Kelvin in the seats, in front of the camera and your brown eyes locked on the interviewer and asked you, and your castmates Aaron and Kelvin about the movie, you fake smiled and nodded. It’s been hours and hours, of interviews, talk shows, photoshoots, talking with your manager Leona and bodyguard Felix to make sure you're good.

But this was exhausting mentally and physically, you knew that this part came with the entertainment industry but the fame part was difficult, deranged and delusional, stalker fans, toxic gossip blogs ready to get something on you. The worst part was no privacy when it came to certain things.

“Y/N, how does it feel to be in an award-nominated and award-winning film with Kelvin, and Aaron?” The interviewer asked, using a bright tone.

“It feels great to be in this film beside these two, showing the right ways to tackle certain topics that are spoken about enough, you feel that my character Nia is conflicted and chooses the one who’s been yearning for her all along, it’s reminded us that she’s human,” You spoke with confidence, smiling again. Your cheeks ached in pain.

You’ve been acting for seven years, your film credits have expanded significantly, and you’ve won Emmys and an Oscar by the age of 31. Hobnobbing with your favorite stars like Angela Bassett, who inspired your dream.

You were picky when it came to roles in Hollywood, the reboots, remakes, sequels and constant shady, predatory directors, asshole producers, and stuck and entitled managers.

But you finally your manager Leona, who was the best in the business. You preferred working with a black women, you felt safe, seen, and protected properly by her. You had to do so much on your own but it took a toll on you.

You've made it, you were proud of yourself. You had a black-owned production, management team.

You starred in a black romance movie titled More To Love, which revolves around two close friends employed at a black-owned law firm. In the story, they handle legal cases, and things take a turn when your ex, portrayed by Aaron, arrives to propose. Your character named Nia never forgot how much her ex hurt you from heartbreak and betrayal, so your character pretend to be with your colleague Kelvin.

It was very similar to your story when you began dating in high school, Aaron played the role so well and it made you not speak to him, you explained to him that the story was personal to you. Aaron understood completely, shared the same story as you and he apologized.

As the interviewer continued to throw questions your way and Kelvin’s, you could feel the weight of the promotional duties pressing down on you. Your cheeks ached from the forced smiles, and you stole a glance at Kelvin, who flashed you a reassuring grin. It was a momentary distraction from the barrage of queries.

You wore a black knee-length dress that exposed your back paired with black heels, French tip nails with gold rings, and your natural curls pulled up in a cute bun. Your plump lips are adorned with lip gloss, and Your dark brown skin beautifully shines.

Kelvin and Aaron were matching with you, wearing the classic black suits, with white tee shirts, and black pants without ties, thin gold chains draped around their necks while diamond stud earrings hung in their ears.

They were so handsome, and the size difference was cute, Aaron was much taller in person though. Was Aaron a Greek god in another life? You wouldn't be surprised.

“Y/N, do you think the film accurately portrays modern black relationships?” the interviewer chimed in, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Absolutely, the film highlights the complexities and intricacies that many couples face today. Not just about love, but heartbreak and understanding,” you replied, your voice steady and calm.

As the interview wrapped up, you felt a rush of relief. You stepped out of the studio and outside to the lane that led to the red carpet, the rush of the day almost dissipating.

“Great work, we’re getting to the finish line,” Aaron spoke up, nodding.

“Yeah, we did,” You sighed until the both of them noticed that you looked exhausted. Burn out approaching.

“You okay baby?” Kelvin asked concerned, his brows raising.

You shake your head, “No, sweetie. I’m tired as hell,”

Kelvin rubbed your back in the soothing circle, the feel of his hand and the cold chill from the gold metal of his ring sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s going to be alright, once we’re done with this red carpet, we’ll be heading home after that okay?” Kelvin reassured you softly, kissing your cheek.

You nodded, biting down on your lip as you gazed upon the man, he smelled good with the scent of cinnamon and citrus. Your hand rested on the back of his neck, your thumb swiped over. He groaned lowly.

Regrettably, the gossip and dating scene have been lacking recently; you vowed to avoid dating celebrities because of all the negative press surrounding them, as they tend to be deceitful and dishonest.

Until your best friend, Nia introduced you to Kelvin Harrison Jr. and Aaron Pierre, others would assume that you were dating Aaron but you explained repeatedly that you were just friends, nothing more.

Kelvin had his eyes on the moment he met you, and he wasn't like the rest, he was funny, kind, patient and charismatic.

The better you got to know him, the closer you became, transforming the typical friends-to-lovers storyline from the film you acted in into something genuine in real life—who would have thought?

The three of you stepped toward the red carpet laid out for you, a fence in front of you to block paparazzi from stepping too close, Kelvin and Aaron stayed between you, he held your hand.

Your anxiety fell silent amidst of the overlapping chatter of the paparazzi, bright flickering lights from every corner and Kelvin’s thumb swiped over your palm. Exhaling through your fake smile, almost there to the finish line like Aaron.

Relax, you said in the depths of your mind. It almost suffocating from amount of things happening all at once. Your cheeks on your face ached again, your mom did tell you that if you kept that face, it would freeze up like that.

Was she just messing with you? Yeah, she definitely was. You resumed walking close with Kelvin along the velvet red carpet as you peeped at the waiting limo at the end of the carpet rope. So close.

Until you were stopped by someone in the paparazzi, fuck, you were so close. They annoyed the hell of you A LOT. The fact they get paid a huge amount of money for this should be a crime.

“Show us some love!” a photographer shouted out with enthusiasm.

Next thing you know, Aaron strode past the two of you before winking at you while Kelvin’s hand snaked from your back to around your waist, wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a snow day.

“I’ve got you, don't worry,” Kelvin said in a reassuring tone, smiling at you as you mirrored the warm action.

The warmth of Kelvin’s body against yours caused your heart to flutter, his touch made you feel safe, protected from everything and everyone out there, especially in Hollywood, another destructive, soul-sucking world that you heard of, seen in documentaries, scary Lifetime movies, tv shows, the news.

A series of crazy shit flying around and you refused to catch it, you couldn't. You've worked too diligently and consistently to get where you are today.

That is definitely what everyone feels, you couldn't be like them.

Kelvin’s head turned towards you, leaning in close before you did, his plump lips brushed against yours, pressing his onto yours gently. You kissed him back passionately after pulling away from each other.

“We’ve got a new star couple!” someone shouted in glee, you couldn't help but mentally roll your eyes. Here we go.

That was the big announcement from the two of you and to the world.

You were dating Kelvin secretly until the two of you had the conversation of not wanting to be a secret anymore, people had a lot to say, and celebrity relationships won’t last long, in and out like a drive-thru. Cheating, sex scandals, some weird cult shit, or some connection to Illuminati.

Aaron, your manager Leona, and your bodyguard Felix were the only people who knew.

But you didn't let what other people say or think, or do kill your joy, Kelvin and you were happy with each other, that is what mattered most.

“I'll see you lovebirds later,” Aaron spoke up, waving goodbye to you.

You waved back in response, smiling at Aaron with a head tilt. He was so sweet, you focused on the cameras flashing before winking at the camera.

At this point, when is it going to be over? It had to be.

You walked through the strobing lights of the cameras, moving from side to side in those same painful heels. With a forced smile for the photographers and your boyfriend by your side, you were nearing the limousine.

“Time to leave, beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, gently guiding you toward the sleek, black limo.

“Thank God,” you whispered back, turning to face him, walking toward the door as Kelvin opened the door.

You ducked your head and settled into the plush suede backseat of the limo with its tinted deep windows, which was spacious and the color of ink black for the seats and the car floor below your heels were soft as a cloud, the color of macaroon cream.

Kelvin ducked his head and settled onto the suede backseat beside you, grinning at you like he was ready to eat you out in the backseat as he shut the door behind himself. “Glad that’s over and done with, now I can focus on you,” he said, his tone low and seductive.

You chuckled lightly, biting down your lips, clenching your legs before opening the door to the refrigerator and grabbing a champmage botte, “I need a drink first before I deal with your nasty ass,” you shot back using a sinful smirk.

The limo had buttons atop your heads, for the white florescent lights including a small refrigerator for drinks, water bottles, champagne, and wine.

He grabbed the glasses and passed one to you, before kissing your lips again, the taste of strawberry lips gloss adorned his lips, your thumb carefully rubbed it off. He groaned at your touch, damn he was in love with you.

You were 100% sure that Kelvin was so smitten with you, he indeed was.

“My nasty ass?” Kelvin asked in a tone as if he was shocked, his hand resting on the armrest.

“Yeah, you heard me right, Mr. Harrison. All those kisses on the red carpet, I can't help but feel like you're trying to stake your claim,” You laughed, pouring the champagne into the glasses.

Kelvin raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave. “And what if I am? You’re mine, Y/N. And I'm yours, You know that, right?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you took a sip of the bubbly drink. “I do know that, but let’s not forget that the limo driver is watching us, he’s probably a pervert,” you whispered back.

Until you suddenly realize that the limo driver was a woman, her brown skin and brown eyes go with her makeup, her lush lips in red lipstick, giving you a reassuring smile through the rearview mirrors. The limo peeled away from the event, gliding smoothly onto the road where your destination was.

“Oh, you didn't? I'm so glad that she’s a woman but you never know these days,” You mentioned with a shrug.

“Agreed, I'm not sure about how long this drive so how about we make the most of it? Hm?” Kelvin asked with a soft hum, shrugging.

The two of you finished your drinks, feeling the buzz of the drink flow through you, “Yeah, how about we try an exhibitionist kink that I want to do?” You suggested to him.

The sleek limo began to take a gentle turn to the right, going through the bright towering lights and passing through other cars, paying them no mind, as if you two were the only ones in the world.

Kelvin nodded, it was something that he never thought he’d do but with you, he wanted to try it. Just thought of it turned him on. An idea popped up in his head.

“Just imagine…there’s the driver named uh…Kendra watching us and the cameras few inches away from us, and here we are,” Kelvin replied in a seductive time.

You grinned at the man before kissing down his neck, “You’re bad, huh?” you said to him.

“Only for you, baby, but what do you want to do first?” Kelvin asked with that sinful grin, kissing your lips again.

His fingers trailing over your arm and shivered from his touch, with your hand snaked below his pants before stopping, “Can I suck your dick while the driver watches? Just a taste Kel?” you whispered softly in his ear.

His breath hitched from your voice, and he nodded at you. “Y/N..yes you can, don't make me beg,” he sighed blissfully with a smirk. He was in for a treat from you, he didn't even know it yet.

And with his consent, you unzipped his zipped and gently slid down his boxers and pants a little bit, kissing his tip before wrapping your mouth around his thick, long brown dick, his arms rested on the armrest of the limo.

His tongue gliding over his lips, he groaned loudly once you bopped your head onto his dick, your tongue tracing shapes on the veins, he knew you looked so gorgeous doing this, “Fuck…so beautiful, suck it harder..” Kelvin panted heavily, his head fell back onto the soft cushion.

“Mmm..so good,” you mumbled lowly, your hand stroking him with your fingers rolling between his balls, he grunted once he locked eyes with the female limo driver. The soft slurping and squelching sounds filled the car, the warmth of your mouth spurred him one.

“That mouth of yours..is perfect, I couldn't resist you, seeing you walk down that carpet…fuck!” Kelvin shouted out, pushing his hip upwards.

Your palm stroked Kelvin's dick with your cheeks hollowing around him as spit dripped from the corner of her lips, spit stuck to your hand and tricked down to his balls, "Fuck..Y/N.." he groaned deeply, his hands gripping the armrest tightly, You moaned around him, sending vibrations through his body.

“It’s turning me on when you suck this dick, the driver is watching us…that feels so fucking good,” Kel moaned again, hearing your muffled moans in response, filling that exhibitionist side of you once the driver’s eyes flickered back to Kelvin.

You bopped your head faster and your cheeks hollowed harder, wetting his dick and seats up, covered with drops of precum and spit. Staining his pants, your dress. Good thing both of you wore black, “Just like that! Shit!”

His balls tightened in response around your fingers, Kelvin’s mouth parted as you twisted your hand around his dick, squeezing it lightly. “Shit!….Shit!…Y/N, please!” he begged for you, he gasped as if he lost oxygen in his lungs.

Finally, he reached it, Kelvin's hot cum spilling into your mouth, you quickly swallowed every drop while you lifted you head,

“It was good wasn't it?” You bragged with confidence, Smiling and using a warm towel from the edge to clean your mouth, you tossed it into the trash. You put his dick back into his boxers, he zipped them up, and pulled up his pants.

Before you could reply, his hand settled on the back of your neck, drawing you in. He kissed you passionately and intensely, and as you returned the kiss, you let out a moan. When you finally pulled away, a strand of saliva connected your lips and his.

“That was amazing, baby, my turn,” Kelvin sang playfully, giving you an tender kiss as you moaned, your pussy from his touch.

More friction, desperately.

You leaned in, “Touch me, please,” you whimpered softly, giving him consent to touch you.

His fingers grazed the edge of your dress as Kelvin planted kisses on your collarbone, marking your deep brown skin with hickeys. “K-Kelvin…” you moaned again, His fingers slipped beneath your panties, sensing your wetness through the fabric, humming softly in response against your shoulder.

“I couldn't leave my girl like this, so wet just from sucking my shit off?” Kelvin asked in a deep tone, his voice deepening. His finger rubbing your clit. “Y-yeah, I-it was big, couldn't fit it all..” you groaned before moving your hips. No teasing was a rule of yours, but Kelvin’s hand slid through your panties, pinching your clit.

He pushed your panties to the side, and rolled them down and off your ankles. You parted your legs wide for him, while gazing into his eyes, “You’re so fucking nasty, girl,” he groaned softly, his legs parted a bit.

His fingers parted your folds and slipped inside with ease, making you moan wildly, causing Kendra to look back at him but she paid attention to the road still. “Shhh, I got you, my girl’s been stressed out?” he said, his lips nibbling on your bottom lip, the taste of wine and lip gloss.

“Kel..fuck!” you cried out, rolling your hips to that torturous pace, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tight, he must've told the driver to take the long way, your essence poured onto the seats, as he gently pulled the strings of your dress, your breasts poked out. He licked his lips.

“Beautiful titties,” he mumbled, his hands cupping your breasts softly, pinching your nipples roughly before sucking the right softly. “Mhhm..” you hummed but moaned, you’d almost forgotten that you were still in the limo, you definitely needed this. Your hand rested on the back of his nape, feeling that comforting warmth.

In need of his touch as if it was religious, you hoped to your ancestors and God above that Kendra kept driving, eventually you would get home later, you need more.

His fingers thrust in and out of you, he watched your face scrunch up in pleasure, he pressed your back to his clothed chest. “I love it when you make a fucking mess on my fingers, I can't wait to feel it on my dick,” He teased, curling up his fingers. He was so nasty, so passionate. His dick hardens in his pants.

“I..i..I love this shit with you, so much, get deeper for me papa,” You babbled softly, panting while moving your hips a bit. Your hands gripped the armrest, Kelvin was still behind you, keeping you close so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

“Oh shit! Shit! Kelvin!” you moaned suddenly once his fingers slid in deeper, your wet walls clenched tightly around his digits. Your wetness covered him completely and stained his pants but didn’t care.

The limo resumed driving straight again, while the little bumps on the roads made every sensation. Your pussy sucked his fingers right back in and clenched tight, “That’s right, you feel it? That pussy sucked me back in..fuck,” Kelvin groaned raspily, biting down his lip, You gasped, feeling the rhythm of his fingers and the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

The thrill of being in a moving vehicle, with the driver just a few feet away, was pulling you close to the edge. You were so close, but you weren't ready to go home; he pressed his bulge against you and moved his hips, “Don't see what you do to me?” Kelvin groaned as he felt your ass against him, giving your backside a playful smack that made you moan, clearly turned on by you.

His thumb flattened on your clit and circled, your mind blurred from pleasure and saw thousands of stars behind your closed eyelids, you were moaning loudly as his fingers went faster. “That pussy knows me so well,” Kelvin teased with a grin.

“You’re so good to me, just a little more baby,” You begged, your voice softened a bit, his fingers hit that sweet spot. Moving in a ‘come here’ motion over and over. “I got you,”

You nodded, feeling the tension build within you, the pressure mounting as he resumed to thrust his fingers, in and out, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot. “You drive me crazy, I'm gone fuck you so good when we get in that house,”

After his fingers turned sporadic and curled again, you felt yourself clench around his fingers. Waves crashing over you as you cried out his name, “Kelvin!”

He slowed his movements, letting you ride out the waves of your orgasm, feeling you pulse around him. The rush of it left you breathless, and you leaned back against his chest, panting as the aftershocks coursed through you.

“Damn, you’re beautiful when you cum,” he murmured, planting soft kisses along your shoulder and lips, sending little sparks of electricity through your body.

You turned to face him, still catching your breath. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you teased, a playful smile creeping onto your lips.

Kelvin chuckled, the sound low and rich, filling the quiet space of the limo. “I love you,” he said, he pulled out his fingers, watching you tie up the strings in the back of your dress.

“I love you too,” you agreed, stealing a quick kiss from him, feeling the warmth radiating between you.

As the car slowed down, you could see the lights of your house glowing in the distance. “Looks like we're almost home,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

“That was fun, I liked that,” Kelvin replied, grinning like it was his birthday and he enjoyed his present. His eyes are still on you.

You nodded, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, “Yeah, I liked it too,” you said, that shy side coming out.

The limo finally came to a stop, and the driver turned to look at you both. “We’ve arrived,” she announced with a knowing smile, as if she understood the connection that had just blossomed between you two.

“Thanks, Kendra,” you said, feeling a bit shy as you realized the driver had witnessed more than just a simple kiss.

Kelvin opened the door, helping you out as you stepped onto the pavement. The cool night air hit your skin, and you shivered slightly, but Kelvin wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close again. He closed the door and let Kendra that he pay her immediately, apologizing for the mess on the seats.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, his tone both playful and protective.

Once inside, you closed the door behind yourself. Kelvin brought you into the bedroom, removing his suit as you peeled off your dress. He quickly kissed you, your lips meeting. Your legs spread, he buried his dick inside you. His hands on your hips.

“My beautiful girl,” he groaned softly.

And with that, he made love to you all night long, distrubing your neighbors who obviously sent a nose complaint but you knew Kelvin would talk care of it. Your moans echoed through the walls, he kissed your shoulder and said, “Fuck ‘em, you can scream as loud as you want to,”

————

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