#Terry Richmond AU

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Preview...

"A Tattoo and the Bloodsucker Blues"

(A Terry Richmond Vampire AU Fic)

Summary:

You thought the tattoo on his arm marked him as one of those Hoteps or Nation of Islam brothas that hawked bean pies on the corner with the Final Call. But little did you know it meant more than that. That's why you have to track him down and kill him... before the baby in your belly can turn into his kind.

(This fic will strictly be for the grown and sexy. Smut, Violence, Blood. Dropping October 30th at Midnight on All Hallow's Eve.)

“I don’t wanna wait for love

Every time I do

I don’t wanna wait for love

Waitin’ on him

Are you warm enough?

Coco blood

Are you warm enough?

Coco blood”

Celeste – “Coco Blood”

Celeste Profitt checked the GPS on her smartphone one more time before stepping out of her gun metal gray Dodge Charger.

She drove out to find the pale green double shotgun house, which was sequestered on the outskirts of St. Celestine Parish. Ten years previously, there had been flooding in the county her grandmother named Celeste after, and many families left the area when their insurance wouldn’t pay for water damage. The houses left behind looked like gaps in the teeth of someone with infected gums. It reeked of working class poverty, the kind of poverty Celeste ferociously clawed her way out of by holding down two jobs. One at the poultry factory, where she removed the putrid raw entrails of slaughtered chickens, and the other at a nursing home, where she cleaned shitty bed pans and kept company with neglected elders with no kinfolk nearby.

The shotgun houses left standing weren’t different from the Creole cottage she rented less than seven miles away, and she cut her eyes back to the one she needed. Damp air with the hint of rain coming caused her to sniffle. It smelled old around there, and something had definitely died in some bushes across the street. She zipped up her dark blue windbreaker and fingered the pepper spray she carried in the jacket’s pocket. Couldn’t be too careful around folks who chose to stay in a bad situation. It still smelled like floodwater and deep regrets.

She pulled a cigarette from her purse, but stuffed it back down to the bottom, reminding herself that she was pregnant now and couldn’t hurt the baby that rested in her womb. The urge to puff daily was a struggle, and she refused to toss a ten-dollar pack of nicotine in the garbage. Shit, she might sell a few loosies if she needed to. Her funds were getting low paying for all the high-priced gas she burned through looking for her baby daddy.

Terry Richmond.

That’s what he called himself, but now she wasn’t too sure if that was his real name or not since she couldn’t find his ass anymore once she decided to keep their baby. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She needed to stay calm and not think about the hurt and hate she carried in her heart for that man. Never trust a pretty boy with pretty eyes and a third leg. That should’ve been her motto from jump. But that was neither here nor there with the position she found herself in at the moment. Right now she needed some answers and the woman inside the pale green shotgun house was supposed to have the solution.

She fingered a plastic grocery bag she also carried in her purse. Inside it was a blood plasma bag she toted around every day that she fed from when the urge overtook her on some days. The cravings for blood grew worse, and the fetus inside her stayed absorbing every nutrient from her body. What it wanted most lately was the blood in her purse. The baby inherited fifty-fifty of its parent’s genes, and back when she thought things were cool between them, all lovey-dovey and real passionate in those early days…well, Celeste imagined their baby inheriting Terry’s pretty eyes and her thick wondrous hair. He was lighter than her and she figured the baby would come out a gorgeous brown that was a mix of their two different skin tones. The last thing she wanted was for her child to come out with Terry’s hunger.

For blood.

Celeste zipped her purse back up and concentrated on what she was there to do.

Talk to the Black witch of St. Celestine Parish.

The renowned Voodoo priestess down in Nawlins last weekend was a grand failure at solving her problem. That lady's Catholic ass made the sign of the cross several times throughout Celeste’s consultation, which was a bit much for her taste. Celeste grew up Catholic too, but found it irritating that a Voodoo priestess acted so scary about a bloodsucker, while also bragging about turning people who were made into zombies back into human beings. At least that’s what she claimed on her website. That phony bitch started whimpering and calling for Jesus when Celeste pulled back her shirt and lifted her bra to show the fang marks on her titties that Terry made that never healed properly. She explained how she became allergic to her silver jewelry, and fought with a three-inch bundle of developing cells over blood intake from the plasma bag.

She left the fake Madame Zeroni’s Curio shop disgusted and a hundred dollars broker.

Her homegirl Mercy texted the name of a woman who quietly practiced Hoodoo on her phone. Mercy believed everything Celeste told her because she had been there from jump, and without judgment, guided her to another root of the African diaspora tree.

Celeste lifted her foot onto the first creaky step of the shotgun house and the front door on the left opened. Behind the screen door she made out the face of a man with the skin-color of dark tobacco leaves.

“Yeah?” he said in a gruff tone.

Celeste glanced at the door on the right, which was her destination. She ignored the man and knocked on the glass window on the upper half of the wooden door. The neighbor opened his screen and stepped out.

“You sure you here to see her?” the man asked.

Without a screen barrier, his face looked younger and more handsome, his short locs pointing every which-way on his head like tiny black antennas. The front door on the right opened and a pretty, dark brown-skinned woman stuck her head out.

“Mind ya business, Bertrand. She ain’t here to see you.”

“Lynn?” Celeste asked.

“It’s me,” Lynn said.

She opened her door wider and glanced back at her neighbor.

“Come on inside before anymore noisy birds stick they heads out,” Lynn said.

Celeste stepped over the threshold and passed Lynn to get inside.

“Good Lord, gal, you got a head full of hair on you! How long you been growing it?”

Celeste touched her heavy and long bongo locs that fell down to her waist.

“Ten years now. Since I was a teenager.”

“So thick and pretty. Betcha when you go swimming it’s like fighting with an octopus, huh?”

Celeste grinned.

Lynn was much younger than she expected. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Out in the parish swamps, there was no telling how old melanated folks could be.

“Come on back here into my kitchen,” Lynn said.

Celeste waited for her to lead the way and they walked past two rooms straight to the neat kitchen.

“Hungry?” Lynn asked. “Got some beans and rice on the stove. Frying up some pork chops, too. Go ‘head and sit at the table.”

Celeste took a seat at a small table with a pink plastic covering. The savory odor of red beans and seasoned, fried meat made her mouth water. Her stomach grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, you hungry. I’ma fix you a plate.”

“Please, don’t go to any trouble for me.”

“Ain’t no trouble. Got plenty. I made extra for you, anyway. Pregnant women gotta eat good.”

Celeste stared at the woman. She wasn’t even showing yet and never mentioned being pregnant over their phone call consultation. Did Mercy tell her?

“Don’t get spooked, Celeste. I work as a mid-wife. I can smell a pregnant woman a mile away. Relax.”

Celeste watched the young Hoodoo woman fix a big plate of string beans, red beans & rice and a thick cut of pork chop fried to golden brown perfection. She plopped it down in front of Celeste and fixed herself a plate, too. Her close-cropped brown hair had a cute undercut, and both her ears had at least seven small gold hoops pierced through them. She wore an off-the-shoulder white t-shirt and booty shorts for the heat. Her eyes were small for her face and were the only thing on her that looked mature. Had she not known any better, Celeste would’ve thought she was chatting with a senior in high school.

Lynn sat down across from her and held out her hand toward Celeste.

“I like to say grace over my meals,” Lynn said.

Celeste clasped her hand, and a charge of energy seeped into her palm from Lynn. She closed her eyes as Lynn said a short, heartfelt prayer, then lifted a half loaf of Wonder Bread from her table. She unfastened it and handed Celeste two pieces.

“Ooh, wait, I forgot some libations.”

Lynn jumped up and brought back a large glass pitcher of fresh lemonade. She grabbed two plastic cups and poured them each a good fill.

“I don’t have no ice cubes for it, sorry,” Lynn said.

Celeste sipped and the sweet/tart taste was delicious and cold enough. Both women ate quietly for a few minutes, and after Celeste’s third bite of her pork chop, Lynn stared at her directly with fierce chocolate eyes.

“Did you bring the things I asked for?”

Celeste nodded and pulled out a bundle from her purse and slid it to Lynn.

“I got some hair from a brush he used at my place, and summa his semen. We made love the last time I saw him and he wiped himself with a washrag and threw it in my dirty clothes hamper.”

“Semen is good. Anything liquid from the body is good,” Lynn said, collecting the items that Celeste stuffed in a little sandwich baggie.

“Tell me everything about this man you’re looking for. From the beginning,” Lynn said. “In order for me to make a root powerful enough to find him and bring him back, I gotta know every detail.”

Those chocolate eyes stayed intense.

Celeste fought the urge to sip on the blood in her purse and took another healthy swig of lemonade from her cup before she told the tale, from top to bottom, of how Terry Richmond, a whole ass vampire, seduced her out of her panties, stole her heart, bit her, then left her with something growing in her belly that she was afraid of…

A.N.:

Reminder, this long fic is dropping All Hallow's Eve at Midnight! Comment below if you want to be tagged for a sexy, supernatural treat at the end of the month!

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[erikftglitter]

Christmas in Winona Springs 🤍🎄

Terry Richmond AU

Created By: Erikftglitter

Terry’s car had been giving him trouble for miles. He was headed north to visit his great aunt. He was also fond of the thought of a change of scenery, but the flat tire had put an abrupt halt to his plans. The only thing that he could see through the hovering clouds were a few cabins nestled among the trees.

Terry figured that this would be the only way to fix his problem in the current climate. He would check the cabin out, take a look, and find someone to help.

To Terry’s surprise, as he got closer to the cabins, he discovered that it was an actual resort. It was home to many different cabins and lodges, as well as camping grounds, tents, and a connecting lake. In the midst of the inconvenience, Terry still took time to appreciate the beautiful scenery.

He was greeted upon arrival within seconds.

The gentleman was older, his face lined with years, but he was as welcoming as could be. He was dressed comfortably and typical for someone who ran a cabin business. He sported a red and black flannel shirt and khaki work pants. He greeted Terry with a warm smile and ushered him out of harsh winds of the evening.

After accepting the man’s hospitality and enjoying coffee, Terry eventually explained his circumstance. He figured that the man would know someone with car services. Terry would happily fix the tire himself but he couldn’t get the tire off without the proper equipment.

“It’s late. Thankfully your car knew where to cause trouble.” The man chuckled. “Why don’t you settle in for the night and we can revisit this in the morning?” He offered.

“Are you sure?” Terry felt hesitant. It was never his intention to expect a hand out. He had took care of himself since a child and wasn’t fond of being a freeloader.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble. I can just call a tow truck or—”

“Nonsense. You’re in a pickle. It happens to the best of us.” The man smiled. His morals refused to allow anyone to struggle in his presence. “Stay the night. Get you some food, and tomorrow, we’ll fix that tire. No worries.”

Terry wasn’t sure what to make of it, but something in the older man’s voice—the calm certainty—made him set aside any skepticism. He didn’t have many other options and at least he’d be warm and safe.

“Thank you,” Terry finally said. He let his eyes roam the longue. It was supplied with wooden tables, warm, brown furniture with blankets topped over them, and the faint smell of apples and cinnamon felt surprisingly homey.

“My name’s Lee, by the way,” the man said as he led Terry to a clean room. “If you’re up for it, I’ll make you a drink.”

After the many hours of driving, and the ultimate disappointment of not arriving at his destination, Terry allowed Lee to make him a drink.

They sat at the small resort bar for hours. Terry found Lee to be an entertaining man. They sat and talked about everything and nothing. Lee told stories about the craziest experiences that he’s had over the years. A runaway bride being the most memorable. He got a great laugh out of eating on the wedding cake for weeks.

Terry shared a little about himself as well, but he didn’t think of himself as really interesting. He talked about his great aunt, who he was going to visit, his brief time in the service, and that is all that Terry Richmond summed himself up to be. Lee listened to everything though, patiently, never pushing, never judging.

He hadn’t expected to find comfort in the middle of nowhere, but here he was—sitting across from a stranger who felt more like an old friend. Lee was a wise man.

That night, Terry sat awake in the small guest room Lee had given him, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the place. Tomorrow, he’d help out around the resort to show his appreciation. For the first time in a long while, Terry felt needed.

[Two Months Later]

Terry never had the chance to see his great aunt before she succumbed to her illness. Stage 4 pancreatic cancer wasn’t an easy battle, and he’s just relieved that she was no longer suffering.

When Lee heard of the news he insisted that Terry stay the week. Being the honest man that he was, Terry wouldn’t allow Lee to house him without helping out. Business was going to become busy again as skiing became more common during the cooler months and Terry was determined to make it easier for Lee. He couldn’t stand the thought of Lee being left to repair cabins in the unforgiving weather condition and snow.

He helped him locate leaks and level the floor inside of the noisier cabins. Lee’s resort in Winona Springs was well-loved. Terry would stop to admire the photos that Lee had around the longue of families who came and went. Some even went as far as sending Lee annual holiday cards. Deep down, Terry wondered how it felt to be so loved.

But just as quickly as the thought came it left Terry’s mind. This is how he operated. He was unpredictable and flexible. He hadn’t seen home in months. How could he be loved if he disappeared from time and time again? This was his thing. He knew that he was a lone wolf and spent his adult years not trying to fight it.

Terry often filled in the work orders for Lee. He took quite a fall a few weeks before and Terry found himself being more upset than the older man.

“Terry. I’m old. This is the unrelenting truth of age, bud.” Lee laughed, reaching his hand out for Terry who eagerly helped him off the freshly waxed surface.

“Yeah I get that Lee, but don’t you have a nephew or something to help you out.” Terry’s heartbeat quickened at the realization that Lee was in fact an old man. Their unlikely alliance seemingly provided youth to Lee in Terry’s eyes. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he was definitely old enough to be his father. Definitely too old to run a rigorous business like a cabin resort alone, where snow and ice were detrimental for someone of Lee’s age.

“A nephew? I wish.” Lee sighed. “My brothers died much too soon. They didn’t have time to have any children.” Terry listened. Lee rarely spoke of his own family.

“It’s just me and my little girl.” Lee smiled and reached into his pocket. Terry watched as Lee rummaged through the thick leather wallet before retrieving his point of interest. He offered Terry a photo of a little girl who was missing two front teeth.

“I’m assuming she’s no longer a little girl.” Terry asked, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.

“I’m afraid not. Baby girl’s big time in New York.” Lee sighed. “She visits every Christmas. I just miss the times when we did this together. Just me and her.” Lee looked down. He was starting to remember just how much he missed his family.

“Her mother died during a snowstorm.” Terry took a seat next to Lee. He hadn’t realized that he lost his wife so early on. He gave Lee is undivided attention.

“Car slid right off the road just before Christmas Eve.” Lee still didn’t look up from the floor where his eyes rested. Terry glanced back at the photo and back to Lee. The girl had his exact mocha colored skin tone. Terry wondered how much she resembled the older lad now.

“Is that why you allowed me to stay with you Lee?” Asked Terry. He knew that Lee came from a generation that was built on community, but Lee was more than polite to him. He took Terry in like he was his own.

“Yeah. I feel like she would want me to do that. I wish someone could have done it for her.” Lee admitted. Taking Terry in during a troubled time helped his conscious. He was more than happy to do it. “I had the space and the resources. So why not?” Lee smiled.

“You’re a stand up guy Terry Richmond.” Lee stated. Terry nodded at the praise. He was grateful for the opportunity to listen and learn from Lee.

“Hoping to be like you one day Mr. Parker.” They both laughed at the formality. They sat in silence for a while, silently watching the snow fall onto the ground. Terry wasn’t sure how long he’d be around but he knew that he wouldn’t be leaving his new friend alone anytime soon.

[msbigredmachine]

The Boy Next Door: Chapter Two

MASTERLIST✨ harmshake's masterlist ✨ msbigredmachine's masterlist

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, language, angst, violence

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the other pics and gifs.

“Uhhnnn, fuck...baby I’m comin’...”

Angelo’s deep, rough voice broke as he yanked a little too hard on Ivy’s hair, causing her to wince from the sharp pain. He thrust inside her just as hard a few more times before his body seized up, his pelvis mashed against her backside to make her feel him pulsing inside her as he came. Not for the first time, she was thankful condoms were a thing and she always insisted that he had one on him before he touched her; there was no doubt he would get her pregnant the next chance he got with the aim of tethering himself even deeper into her life. It was apparent in the desperation with which his admittedly above-average dick dug all up in her pussy every time they got together. On the bright side, his efforts got the job done…Well, that, along with the frantic circling of her fingers around her clit that never failed to drag her to a long-awaited nut that currently had her moaning noisily into her bamboo sheets. Thank goodness her daughter was a long way down the hallway, fast asleep in her four-poster bed, oblivious to the late night goings-on of her dysfunctional parents.

She hissed with relief when Angelo finally released his vice grip, flopping onto his back, his sweat-slick chest heaving up and down. The same old routine followed, with him lazily and unwisely reaching out for a cuddle, prompting her standard rebuff of rolling away from him. She waited patiently for the gradual shift in his breathing, from heavy to relaxed, signaling that he was out like a light. Glancing over to confirm, she rolled her eyes with a huff. This dude left the condom on. Again. Even in his sleep, he was making her clean up after him. Exhaling heavily, she reached over to carefully slide the thin latex off his dick and tie it up in a knot, climbing out of the bed to dump it in the trash can nearby. 

The lights illuminating the paved streets outside her home seeped through her bedroom windows, shedding more light than was necessary considering it was deep into the night. She padded over to the window to draw down the roller blinds, making a mental reminder to herself to keep them closed more often now that the house across was occupied. Her fingers wavered when she noticed that the lights of his bedroom were still on. It piqued her curiosity as to what would be keeping him awake at this late hour. Work, perhaps?

And then, almost on cue, the hulking figure of her new neighbor came into view, and her breath caught.

Roman stepped out of what was probably his bathroom, his towel hanging dangerously low around his waist. His hair was down, long, silky and clearly wet, the droplets of water glistening against his bare chest. He was walking around the room, seemingly acquainting himself with the new space. Ivy was on the money with the athletic physique, unable to take her eyes off his bulging muscles, the ridges of his abs, and the intricate tribal tattoos adorning his right arm, pec and half of his back that only embellished the majesty and beauty of this stranger. Standing there like the voyeur she’d become, she allowed her mind to wander, to wonder what those taut, rippling muscles would feel like pressed against her nakedness, his long hair fanning her face as his big body pinned her down…his voice, deep and rough and needy in her ear, talking her through her pleasure…

So entranced was she in her fantasy that she didn’t realize he had pivoted in her direction, fully facing the window, until it was almost too late. Her eyes widened as his hands slid south, unraveling the towel from his waist…

Gasping in alarm, she quickly turned away, fumbling with the blinds to snatch them shut. She leaned against the wall, her cheeks blazing, hand on her hammering heart as it dawned on her that she’d almost seen him naked.

And yet, as scandalized as she was, a small part of her wished she did. 

Damn.

Willing away the disappointment and the stirring in her loins, she dragged herself back to bed, hoping she would get some sleep.

Morning arrived too quickly for her liking, and she was up too early considering it was her day off, with her next shift not until tomorrow. Untangling herself carefully from Angelo’s clingy grasp, she rolled onto her side and checked the time on her phone charging on her nightstand. Seven a.m. was a decent hour to take Duchess out for a morning walk and be back home in time for Zaia to be out of bed so they could make red velvet pancakes together, assuming she wouldn’t be glued to her father’s side like she liked to be. 

Climbing out of bed carefully so as not to wake Angelo and kick off her day on a sour note, she threw on a forest-green sports bra and matching leggings from Actively Black, along with a pair of Nike sneakers, and wrapped up her hair in a bun on top of her head. Grabbing her phone and headphones, she stopped by Zaia’s room to check on her. As expected, her baby was sound asleep, buried beneath her Disney Princesses duvet. Ivy would have woken her up to join her but she wanted her to rest; she’d worked so hard all week in school and with her chores and therefore earned this Saturday morning lie-in. 

Laying by Zaia’s bedside, Duchess’ head snapped up when the door opened. She bolted across the room towards Ivy, her tail wagging excitedly, bouncing on her hind legs and pawing at her mama’s shins.

"Hi, girl! You awake? You’re a good girl, yes, you are!" Ivy cooed softly, shutting the bedroom door quietly before lifting Duchess in her arms to be attacked with excited licks and doggy breath. "Come on, let’s go for a walk." Grabbing her leash, harness and a water bottle, she headed downstairs and out the door. 

The route was a simple one, the expanse of tarred road sandwiched between rows of houses of various sizes and styles leading down a winding path to the public park. The weather was perfect, the fresh air sweeping over Ivy's face with a calming, peaceful feeling that was a stark contrast from the controlled chaos of her life. She let Duchess lead the way, the little dog stopping every now and then to sniff a tree or bark at an innocent squirrel. Another sharp turn round the bend brought them to the entrance of the dog park. Lowering her headphones around her neck, Ivy settled down on a nearby bench, watching Duchess run towards the puppy playground. It was relatively empty with just two other owners and their equally small dogs, but she was sure she’d leave once it became crowded. To pass the time, she scrolled through her unread emails, responding to the urgent ones while keeping a watchful eye on Duchess. A flash of movement to her left caught her attention, and looking up, her heart raced in her chest.

Slowing down to a stop on the pedestrian path, dusting his knees off, was Roman. Even with a beanie and a hoodie covering his head, there was no mistaking his striking features; the prominent cheekbones, the sharp jawline framed by his thick beard. His long-sleeved Nike shirt clung to his upper body, straining the fabric’s futile attempt to contain the burgeoning muscles underneath. Ivy found herself taking a swig of her water due to the heat that had nothing to do with the morning sun.

She shouldn’t have disturbed him. She should have let him go about his day - but her mouth and hand moved faster than her brain, waving from her seat, “Hey Roman!” She watched him glance around in search of her voice, a hint of apprehension on his handsome face before his eyes landed on her. His tight frown bloomed into a bright smile that sparked a sensation similar to the one last night when she was ‘spying’ on him. The way he walked exuded confidence and power, commanding the space around him, as she noticed, to her chagrin, other women doing double takes as he passed by them. 

"Wassup, neighbor? This seat taken?" he asked.

"Not at all,” she answered, a little too eagerly as he settled down on the opposite side of her bench, keeping a respectable gap between them which allowed her to gawk…respectfully. His dri-fit shorts accentuated the thickness of his thigh muscles that flexed when he shifted, inadvertently drawing her eyes there. She’d seen a lot of him last night and internally she craved more, craved to see exactly what lay underneath. The sunlight enriched his caramel skin, the light sheen of sweat giving him a vibrant glow. Ivy swallowed hard, willing herself to remain composed. “How’s your morning going?” she asked.

“Great, now that I’m talkin’ to you,” Roman smiled at her, leaning back in his seat to admire her in her sports bra and high-waist tights, her afro curls piled high on top of her head. “You look really nice.”

The blush threatened to burn her cheeks as she tugged shyly at her top. “Thanks. It’s just sportswear though.”

“Maybe, but that don’t change what I said,” he insisted, his deep brown eyes deliberately scanning her body. A shiver swept up her spine at the growing intensity as he looked at her. Flustered, she played it off by looking around for Duchess who happened to be just a foot away, racing two other dogs around the canine condo.

“I see you came alone,” Roman observed, “Your little girl alright?”

“She’s good. Sleeping in. She’s been a busy bee all week so she’s earned the rest. We’re gonna make pancakes when I get back.”

“Hmm, sounds delicious. I heard you call her Zaia? Am I right?”

“Correct. It means ‘precious’ in Arabic.” A fond smile fell over her features at the thought of her bright, beautiful little six-year old angel.

Roman nodded, digesting the information. “It's a great name. Pretty, just like her mama’s.” 

Ivy looked away, her grin now bashful. “Here you go again with the compliments.”

“We still on that, huh? You do owe me a couple yourself,” Roman replied with a cute smirk that made her warm all over. “I’m still working on it, tryna find the right time,” she joked.

“Any time is a good time for a compliment.” His smile faltered, his cheery tone hardening slightly, “Unless you’re worried about the boyfriend. He still bein’ a headache?” 

Ivy scoffed. She’d almost forgotten about him. Almost. “He's not my boyfriend. We share a child, that’s it.”

“Oh? He made it pretty clear when he was all over you and then tried to jump me.”

She almost laughed at that. One look at Roman quickly erased any scenario where he could be jumped. “About that…I’m really sorry…he can be a little…assertive sometimes,” she began.

But Roman shook his head, his nose turned up. “Don’t apologize for him. He might be your kid’s father but you’re not responsible for his foolishness.”

Most times he didn’t give her a choice in the matter, forced to deal with the mess afterwards. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” she sighed.

“That’s my point. There shouldn’t be a next time,” he replied, staring into her eyes, the sincerity radiating from them unnerving her a little. Her issues with Angelo was the last thing she wanted to talk about, especially with a relative stranger. Thankfully she was given a way out as the playground started to fill up with more people. “Well, I’ve been out long enough. It’s time I headed home,” she announced, getting to her feet. “Duchess! Come here, girl!”

"Cute little puppy. How long have you had her for?" Roman enquired, watching her hook the leash and harness around the puppy.

"About three months. She was Zaia’s birthday present from my friend Gemini. She’ll be eight months old next week. She and Zaia keep me fit with their combined energy," Ivy explained with a laugh, going quiet for a moment. “What happened to your hand, by the way?” She nodded at the white crepe bandage wrapped around his left hand that was peeking through his sleeve. 

Glancing down, he cleared his throat and shifted his hand out of view, seemingly embarrassed by his injury. “Oh. Knife wound. I was meal prepping and accidentally sliced my palm. A little bit of bleeding but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Wow, that must have hurt. I can take a look at it if you want, make sure it’s-”

Roman smiled and waved away her concern. “I know that’s your nurse instincts poppin’ out, but I’m fine. Don’t worry your pretty little self. But who knows? Maybe somewhere down the road I might need you for…other things,” he finished with a sly wink.

The lowered bass of his voice had Ivy biting her lip at the blatant innuendo, not missing the way his eyes flickered to her mouth. She grinned sheepishly and shook her head, tugging gently on Duchess’ leash. “Alright then, I’ll leave you to your workout…”

“I’m done, actually, and I’m about to head home. I can drop you off too, if you'd like. I drove here,” Roman offered.

For a split second, she imagined Angelo’s reaction to her pulling up in another man’s car. But the visual was gone as quickly as it surfaced. It was none of his business. “Sure.” 

As they approached the parking lot, her eyes widened as he remotely unlocked the doors to a shiny, sleek black Maserati GranCabrio. “Is that yours? Oh, you ballin’, ballin’,” she remarked, noting the blush creep up his cheeks as he opened the passenger’s door for her. “I do alright,” he mumbled.

“Wow. What do you do? I don’t think I’ve asked.” 

“I’m a Senior Finance Manager at an accounting firm downtown,” he answered, starting the car and letting the top down. “But I also freelance for private individuals, angel investors, pro and college athletes. I mainly work remotely, so you’ll be seeing me at home often.”

Ivy settled in her seat, awed by the lush beige color of the interior, feeling slightly intimidated being inside such an expensive car. “Well, they’re treating you real well,” she said. 

“They’d better, I work my ass off for ‘em,” Roman chortled, backing out of the parking lot. 

Conversation flowed easily on the drive home. Ivy did her best to keep her eyes on the road, but she couldn’t resist taking the occasional peek at Roman while they chatted. She noticed he was doing the same, sprouting more butterflies in her belly. As they pulled up to their street, he killed the engine next to his sidewalk. A tentative silence fell between them that would probably have been suffocating if it weren’t for Duchess’ routine panting. Ivy dared another glance at the big man, the feeling in her stomach intensifying as those gorgeous eyes of his lingered on her again.

“Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it,” she whispered, gathering Duchess in her arms.

Roman smiled. “Not a problem. Tell Zaia I said hi.”

“I will.” Another long look, another grateful grin before she stepped out of the car and crossed the street towards her front door, fully aware that his gaze was still on her, fully aware that she liked his gaze on her. A lot.

However, a deep frown replaced her giddy smile when the door swung open, Angelo standing there, his face like thunder. The darkening of his light eyes as he glanced over her shoulder and the sound of the Maserati’s door slamming shut told her the two men had locked metaphorical horns, the tension pulsing from both sides.

“What the fuck! I know I ain’t just seen you come out of his car,” Angelo hissed.

“Wassup, man. Ivy, you good?” Roman called out behind her. Stoking the fire.

Quick to douse it before it raged, Ivy threw a smile his way. “I’m fine! Thanks again!” Not waiting for a reply, she ushered Angelo back into the house and set Duchess on her feet, the puppy immediately dashing away in search of Zaia. “If you must know, I ran into him at the park and he offered to bring me home,” she explained, entering the kitchen. “I had to apologize to him for that disrespectful crap you pulled yesterday. I get along with all my neighbors and you’re not about to fuck that up for me.”

“Get along, huh? Zaia coulda seen you. How you think that’s gonna look, her mama joyriding with some other dude, huh?” Angelo demanded, his eyes narrowed accusingly.

Incensed, Ivy spun around, glared at him. “Are you using my daughter to gaslight me, Angelo? Seriously?”

“Our daughter, Ivy! You out here lookin’ like a thot and for what? Is that the example you wanna set for our kid? Where’s your sense of self-respect?”

Clearly, the audacity of the man she called her daughter’s father knew no bounds. “Respect?! Like the respect you showed me when you cheated on me?” Ivy countered, crossing her arms, fire in her eyes. “When you only came crawling back because that bitch dumped your slow ass and left for California? When you refused to be in ‘your kid’s’ life until you had a DNA test done, despite your dumbass knowing you’re the only one I was with? Refresh my memory, Angelo!” 

Silence. Deafening. Tense. Truth.

Angelo shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke, his tone low and exasperated. “Why you keep doin’ this shit, Ivy? How many times do I gotta apologize for that?”

“I don’t want your apology. I don’t need it,” she snapped. “You lost my trust a long time ago and nothing you say or do will ever change that. Period.” She trailed off, focusing on the clock on the wall like she’d learned to rein in her emotions. It was only eight o’clock and she had a headache already. Rinse and repeat. “Don’t you got some conference to be at?” she threw at him, eager for him to be out of her face.

Bristling at her harsh dismissal, Angelo sucked his teeth, snatching his belongings off the countertop. “Ol’ meathead ass gives you some attention and now you got a fucking attitude.” His sigh was heavy and dramatic as he finally, thankfully walked away. Her eyes closed with a sigh of her own, the familiar gnawing in her chest surfacing as she overheard her daughter’s sniffles from the living room pleading with her daddy not to go, him soothing her and promising that he would be back soon. Her heart broke for Zaia, but selfishly, she was glad he was out of her space, even going as far as to wish, yet again, that he could take it one step further and be out of her life, too.

A crime documentary come to life. 

The news reporter stood in the neck of the woods, under the shaded protection of a few giant sequoias and a couple of smaller deciduous trees, a short distance away from a clearing that was cordoned off with caution tape guarded by several uniformed cops. In the background, a body bag was being loaded onto a gurney. The face of the victim splashed across the screen made Ivy’s blood run cold.

She’d seen the young woman, Rhea, just three days ago at the hospital. They didn’t interact, but she was hard to forget with her pale skin, numerous tattoos and goth clothing that stood her out from all the other patients at the Gynecology ward. Never did Ivy imagine she’d be dead just days later. Murdered. The news said she had been reported missing yesterday and was found by a jogger, bound and gagged with her throat slit from ear to ear. The woods were close to the dog park, so to know that such a horrific crime was committed so nearby, while she was out there just this morning with Duchess, sent chills down her spine.

“I’m still in shock,” she confided in her best friend Gemini over FaceTime, adjusting her iPad on her kitchen island. “I remember seeing her in the hospital earlier this week. She was so young, barely in her twenties. Who could have done that to her?”

“That’s what everyone’s trying to figure out,” Gemini said, her expression grim as she lounged on her patio. “I spoke to Officer Gable. He says she was killed in her home then her body was dumped in the woods either last night or early this morning.” She dropped another bombshell. “And get this…this hasn’t been made public yet, but they also found a positive pregnancy test in her backpack.”

Ivy clapped a hand over her mouth, floored. That poor girl was pregnant?! “Oh my god.”  

“I know, it’s wild. They’re looking for her boyfriend, Dominik. Apparently he’s outta town but they’re ruling him as the prime suspect,” Gemini went on, “If you ask me, I think there might be a serial killer on the loose. She’s not the only one that’s turned up dead in the last few months in the surrounding counties.”

If it weren’t for the severity of the situation, Ivy would have rolled her eyes. “What? Gem, don’t start with all that again.”

“Girl, you haven’t been following this like I have. Similar cases happened in the last three months in Fairfield and Middlesex. A couple of twenty-something year old women. Throats slit, dumped in ditches and bushes. The M.O.’s are all the same.”

Casting a quick glance over at the living room where Zaia was dancing with Duchess to ‘The Veggie Dance’ by Gracie’s Corner, Ivy shifted to a quieter side of the kitchen to prevent her baby from overhearing this gruesome conversation. “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions when the police don’t even have all the facts. What does the group think about this?” she asked, referring to the local Neighborhood Watch of which Gemini was a member. In the three years she had lived here, they had only dealt with vandalism and break-ins. To her knowledge, nothing this violent had ever occurred in this harmless, almost sleepy little town, and it spooked Ivy that it happened so close to home.

“We’re having a meeting tomorrow to update everyone and address safety concerns we know will be brought up. Make sure no one’s panicking unnecessarily.” Gemini chuckled at the trepidation on her friend’s face. “Girl, relax. Zaia, Duchess and I will protect you.” There was a brief pause as she stood up from her lounge chair and walked around her backyard pool. “Want me to come over later? I haven’t seen my two babies in a while.”

Enticed by the thought of having company that wasn’t Angelo, Ivy happily replied, “Of course, babe, you never have to ask. How about dinner tonight?” 

“You know I could never say no to your cooking.” Gemini wrinkled her nose. “But if that bitch baby daddy of yours is still lurkin’ then I’ll pass.”

“Nope. He’s away for the weekend,” Ivy assured her.

“When will I hear he’s away for good?” Gemini prodded, her words drawing a sigh of defeat from Ivy. It said a lot that none of her friends got along with Angelo. If she had a dime for every time Gemini warned her to get rid of him, she’d be living in the Hamptons instead. But she understood that she was only looking out for her and she would always appreciate it and reciprocate accordingly.

Beautiful, wisecracking and often cynical, Gemini was a successful, high-powered corporate lawyer with a love for fashion trends and (Ivy called this an obsession) crime and mystery shows that fed into her crazy, oft-amusing conspiracy theories. Like Ivy, she often had it tough with relationships, swearing off men every couple of months. It didn’t help that suitors were usually intimidated by her financial status and her brash, blunt nature. But all of that also came with a heart of gold. Ivy would never forget her hospitality, being the first to welcome her and Zaia with open arms when she first arrived in town. Helping her secure the mortgage on her house. Taking Zaia to the local dog shelter on her birthday and pairing her little girl with the most loyal companion she would probably ever have. She was the life of the party everywhere she went, including Ivy’s household, as she sauntered through her doorstep later that evening with a big bottle of Pinot Noir and an even bigger hug for her favorite niece. The wine was very welcome, as Ivy was forced to abstain around Angelo who was a recovering alcoholic. 

Together, the women moved the food to the dining table, with little Zaia playing her role as the dutiful assistant to her mama and aunt and filling up Duchess’ food and water bowls. As they settled down to eat, a knock on the front door startled them, their heads whipping in its direction. Gemini exchanged a look with Ivy. “Expecting someone else?” 

“No…” With a heightened sense of caution, Ivy crept towards the door and opened it, surprised to see Roman standing behind it. “Hey,” she greeted, a hint of concern in her tone. “What’s up? Everything alright?”

“Hi…wow,” His greeting was distracted, rendered temporarily speechless as he took in her sweater minidress that clung to her generous curves. “Uh…sorry if this is a bad time, but I was wondering if I can borrow some sugar? I’m trying to bake cookies for my office party in the morning and I haven’t got time to run to the store.” Scratching the back of his head sheepishly, he continued, “I know it’s cliche as hell, but I thought I’d come over and ask since your cooking smells so delicious.” 

Corny request or not, it was way too charming to turn down. Not that she would. “Mr. Compliments does it again. Come on in.” She motioned for him to follow her inside and into the warm, homey atmosphere of her kitchen. His eyes glossed over the spread of food on the table, then fell upon the two other sets of eyes staring back at him, one innocent, the other suspicious. “I see I’ve interrupted dinner, sorry about that, ladies,” he said, a demure, friendly smile gracing his lips as he waved.

Gemini got to her feet, almost burning a hole through this stranger with her sharp gaze. “Ivy, who is this?” she demanded with an attitude, making Ivy shake her head behind Roman’s back. Her friend always had a hard time warming up to new people.

“Gem, this is Roman, my new neighbor. He moved across the street a couple of days ago. Roman, this is my friend Gemini,” she introduced them, watching Roman extend his hand, the other woman hesitating for a long beat before shaking it. “Hi, Gemini. Nice to meet you.”

Gemini gave him a tight smile. “Hi. So you’re the one who got that big ass house.”

Well, that went as well as it could have.

“Zaia, wanna say hello to Mr Roman?” Ivy encouraged her daughter. The little girl cocked her head to the side, and Roman noticed how much she resembled Ivy at that moment. “Hello, Mr Roman. You’re really tall,” she pointed out, her eyes filled with awe. 

“Thank you Zaia, I get that a lot,” he laughed, crouching down to pet Duchess who had bounded over happily, recognizing him from earlier this morning. Ivy rummaged through her walnut kitchen cabinets looking for the bag of sugar she had purchased a month or two ago. Locating it, she handed it to Roman along with a small-sized cookbook. “Here. You can use as much as you need. And I earmarked the page for the recipe for chocolate chip cookies, in case you need it.”

“You are so kind. I appreciate that,” said Roman, his deep brown eyes shifting downwards shyly. The subtle action did something to her, compelling her to utter next,

“Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re having Cajun chicken pasta and Caesar salad,” she spoke up, ignoring the look Gemini leveled at her. It was the way his eyes softened right away, clearly touched by her gesture, that let her know she did the right thing.

“I’d love to.” His smile lit up the room, warming Ivy’s heart. This was her house. She could invite anyone she wanted. Attraction aside, Roman seemed like a really sweet guy that just needed new friends in this new town.

In no time though, he and Zaia became fast friends, discussing everything from their favorite cartoons and hobbies to their favorite subjects at school, and the rather funnier topic of why the adults could have wine and she couldn’t. Even Gemini seemed to warm up to him over the course of dinner, also seduced by his charm and wit. Watching them all talking and laughing caused a funny sensation to stir within Ivy, but she banished any wayward thoughts before they had the chance to settle. 

Afterwards, Roman began to gather dishes and stand, prompting Ivy to rush over before he could move too far. “Er, no booboo. You’re a guest here.” She turned to her daughter. "Baby, why don't you take your fruit salads to the living room and turn on the TV for Mr Roman?” she suggested.

“Yes, ma’am! Come on, Mr Roman.” Zaia’s little fingers closed around his thick forearm, Roman briefly glancing back at her mother as he was all but dragged away, Ivy simply giving him a reassuring smile as they disappeared from the kitchen.

“You like him.” 

Never one to beat around the bush, was she? Gemini’s words shook Ivy inwardly as she fought to maintain a poker face. “Girl, we’ve only known each other for a couple of days.”

“And he likes you,” Gemini continued, easily rebuffing her lame excuses. “I saw the way y’all kept looking at each other, you giggling like a damn school girl at his jokes. You could cut the tension with a damn steak knife. I wonder how Angelo’s gonna feel about that.”

Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about Angelo’s feelings?” 

“Never. But I bet he’d combust into flames if he was here,” Gemini smiled evilly.

Sighing heavily, Ivy loaded the last plate in the dishwasher. “Do you know he got into it with Roman on the first day? A whole shouting match. Barely twenty-four hours since the new neighbor moved in and he’s already fighting the guy. This was just me kinda trying to make up for it.”

“What?! I’d love to see that fight. My money’s on the dude that looks like a linebacker.” The stretch of silence that followed was ominous, and Ivy could already forecast her next words. “I’ll admit. He seems…nice. Sexy as hell. Charming and all that shit. But I need you to be careful, hun. There's an energy about him that I can’t put my finger on.”

Unsure she was ready for this lecture, Ivy rubbed her temples. “Judgmental much? You only just met him.”

“I’m good at reading people. You know this.”

“And I’m just being a good neighbor. You know this.”

“I do. You can’t help yourself, my sweet, wonderful bestie,” Gemini playfully nudged her friend with her shoulder. “But don’t forget you have a young daughter to look out for. I don’t want either of you to get hurt by getting too close too fast.”

Taking in a calming breath, Ivy spoke again, slow and measured to keep the peace. “Gem. I love you and I appreciate you always. But I’ll be okay. I promise,” she answered, her eyes shining with resolve.

As the two women continued to gossip, Roman stood silently by the entrance of the kitchen, his expression unreadable as he listened to every word.

Another long, tough week segued to another weekend of needed rest which found Ivy relaxing in her newly purchased hanging daybed, watching her daughter and her puppy play together as 2000s R&B tunes wafted through the Bluetooth speakers stationed in her backyard. However, her watchful eye was a bit distracted today as it kept glancing over her picket fence for any sign of Roman, who seemed to have vanished without a trace in the past few days. His outdoor chairs remained unoccupied, no coffee mug on his side tables, the house as quiet and empty as it was before he moved in. The serial killer discourse with Gemini and the feedback from the Neighborhood Watch had her feeling slightly more agitated these days, and as absurd as it was, she found herself hoping that her new neighbor hadn’t suffered the same fate as Rhea…

There was no need to worry. Maybe he was caught up with work, or was away visiting friends or family. Either way, she found herself missing his looming yet comforting presence, missed seeing the crinkles around his eyes that accompanied his sunny smile, longed for the longing glances they’d shared far too many times to count now... 

Blowing out her cheeks, she leaned back and closed her eyes, hoping to clear her head. For someone who she just met, he was on the brain way too much. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. At all.

“Hi Mr Roman!”

Zaia’s excited voice, as well as the deep one that followed her daughter’s greeting, startled her from her thoughts as her eyes flew back open, landing on his big frame as he stood at the fence that separated their homes. Ivy rose to her feet, trying to ignore the relief, excitement and nervousness bubbling inside her as she approached him slowly, their eyes locked. Other than the bags forming under his irises, he was still as handsome as ever, his cable-knit sweater and dark jeans giving off that polished, modelesque aesthetic she’d become accustomed to.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he said to her, the sound of his voice deep and soothing and sorely missed.

“Hey, stranger. Been a minute. Are you okay?” she asked, getting her answer from the way he dragged a big hand down his face with a loaded sigh. She noticed the bandage was gone. “How’s your hand?”

“Good as new.” Roman lifted his now bare hand and rotated it for emphasis. “As for my absence, just work stuff. Back-to-back late hours. It be like that sometimes. I hope you didn’t miss me too much.” He met her stare with a knowing smile, the same smile that made her swoon since the day they first met, and not the first time had her averting her gaze, tugging coyly at the hem of her retro Backstreet Boys t-shirt. 

“I never got to properly thank you for dinner, and for the cookie recipe,” he continued, “It was a big hit at the office, everyone loved it.”

Ivy beamed. “Aww, that’s so sweet. I’m glad to hear that.” 

“Man, you saved my ass, that’s for sure. You’ve been so wonderful to me, Ivy, and I was hoping I could repay it by taking you out to dinner sometime.” Gauging her raised eyebrows, he chuckled softly as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ay, I woulda stayed home and cooked somethin’, but my skills could never measure up to yours or my wife’s.”

Wife.

This was the first time he’d mentioned a spouse of any kind. There was no ring on his finger, so there was a story there, one she felt compelled to know more about.

“Your wife…Is she not here with you?” she asked, treading lightly on what she could already tell was a sensitive subject.

Roman was silent for a moment, then when he spoke again, his voice was a little more than a hoarse whisper. “Nah, she isn't. She, uh, passed away last year.”

That explained it. The haunted expression she perceived lurking behind the vibrance of his eyes. Carrying the burden of grief and heartbreak that she empathized with more than he would ever know. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry,” she whispered. 

Clearing his throat, he managed a nod, returning the sincere look she gave him. “Thanks. It’s been…rough, to say the least. But I’m hangin’ in there. One day at a time, ya know?”

He looked so sad, so worn down by opening up about his loss, and it tugged at her heartstrings. Without thinking, she reached out to rub his arm, offering him comfort, solace. When his eyes shut at her touch, she feared she had toed a line, crossed it, even. Until he opened them again, the sadness wiped away by a searing heat she felt in her bones. Her heart raced as he shifted their hands to link their fingers together, sending a defibrillator’s worth of electricity through her curvy figure. Fuck. He was looking at her that way again. All intense and serious and sexy and all sorts of tempting. She didn’t want him to ever look away. 

There was no denying the mutual attraction that simmered between them. It was clear as day. But it was also clear that he was still grieving and was lonely and craved some semblance of comfort. Yet, she found herself wanting to give him that comfort. She wanted to get to know him. She wanted to jump over the fence and into his sturdy arms, wanted to kiss those soft-looking lips of his. To know what his hair felt like between her fingers…

How she missed it, she wasn’t sure. The roar of the engine of the Lexus pulling into the driveway, the owner of the vehicle storming through her house. She’d been so lost in Roman and in his aura and the intimate moment they were sharing that she hadn’t even heard Angelo barreling into her home like he always did until he was standing in front of them. Her deer-in-the-headlights countenance could not have helped her cause as Angelo looked from her to Roman and then back again, zoning in on their entwined hands, the bewilderment on his face giving way to blind wrath. 

“Motherfucker, I thought I told you to stay away from my girl!” Swiping Ivy aside with enough force to send her crashing against the fence, he shoved Roman hard in the chest, knocking him a few steps back. “Oh I see what this is! You wanna fuck my woman, huh?” 

“Angelo stop!” Ivy yelled as in the distance, Zaia began to cry. Grimacing through her pain, she tugged him by the arm and dragged him forcibly away, which was a tough task as he was nearly a foot taller than her, outweighed her by a good fifty pounds and vibrated with misplaced rage. Glancing behind her, she watched with an almost morbid fascination as Roman’s disposition completely shifted, his gorgeous face twisted with unbridled fury. 

“You put your fucking hands on me?!” In what seemed like slow motion, the much bigger and much taller man leapt smoothly over her fence like it was nothing. He propelled forwards with long strides like an angry bull across her backyard and into her house in a matter of seconds. “A’ight, I’m tired of being humble! You wanna fuss like a lil’ bitch, let’s go!” 

Guiding Zaia and Duchess to safety, Ivy’s anxiety reached a fever pitch as the two men stood literally nose to nose sizing each other up in the middle of her living room. “Guys, please! Zaia’s here!” she pleaded.

Angelo puffed out his chest as he eyeballed his adversary smugly. “Don’t get yourself hurt cuz you tryna comfort my bitch or my kid when I ain’t around. You in my house, fool,” he threatened.

Thick eyebrows raised in cruel amusement, Roman looked around the house. “Funny, I don’t see your name or your face anywhere.” He leaned in closer, his next words loud enough for only the other man to hear, “But pretty soon, your bitch gon’ be screamin’ my name and sittin’ on my face,” he bragged, pointing at his chin, hoping, praying that the punk bitch would take the bait. 

Too easy.

With teeth bared, Angelo swung at him. Wildly and carelessly enough for Roman to dodge easily and retaliate with his huge fist smashing into the other man’s face. There was an ugly cracking sound, and blood spurted from Angelo’s nose as his head snapped back and he stumbled backwards.

“Stop it! Stop it right now!” Ivy cried, but it was to no avail as Angelo lunged again, crashing into Roman. She threw herself between them, trying and woefully failing to pull the warring men apart who were seeing nothing but red as they beat the crap out of each other.

“Daddy, stop fighting! You’re gonna hurt Mama!”

Zaia, bless her brave little heart, was at her father’s side, tugging desperately on his sleeve. It all happened so fast, Ivy only able to see the moment Angelo lashed out blindly, his hand smacking Zaia right in the face. Her scream of pain as her little body collapsed on the ground pierced the air, plunging the room into stone cold silence.

“Mama!” Zaia burst into fresh tears as she clutched her face with one hand, the other reaching out to Ivy who quickly rushed over, scooping her into her arms and gently cradling her little head as she wailed loudly and clutched at Ivy for dear life.

A bloodied Angelo clambered to his feet, visibly devastated by his mistake. “Baby…Princess, I’m so sorry…Daddy didn't mean—”

“No! Don’t touch her!” Ivy snapped, backing away. Enough was enough. “I told you to stop. I told you!” Grasping her baby carefully, she glowered at him through unshed tears of anger. “Get the fuck out of my house! Now!” she hissed.

Swallowing hard, Angelo edged forwards again, his eyes full of regret and focused on his daughter sobbing into her mother's shoulder. “Zaia-”

“I said get out!” Ivy shouted again, feeling for the first time in a long time, nothing but disgust towards her ex-boyfriend. “I’ve had enough of your childish bullshit, enough of you!” She hated cursing in front of her baby girl, but her father had pushed her to her absolute limit. “Leave and never come back. You’re not welcome here anymore.” He could perform his fatherly duties from across town. Today was the last day he was setting foot in this house. 

Stunned, his face contorted indignantly at her words. “You playin’, right? You seriously gonna do this? It was an accident! Zaia, come here. Come to Daddy,” He extended his hands towards his daughter, his features sagging in dismay when she burrowed deeper into Ivy’s bosom, refusing to look at her dad as her sniffles intensified. 

“She asked you to leave. Several times.” Roman towered over Angelo menacingly, his big body shielding Ivy and Zaia. “Don’t make her repeat it again.” 

Angelo tilted his chin defiantly. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you deal with me. I’ll be happy to whoop your ass again,” Roman said simply, silently daring the son of a bitch to make a wrong move. 

“Baby, you trippin’. That’s my daughter! This meathead nigga needs to know that he’s oversteppin’! You’re mine!”

“No I’m not!” Her reply was cold and exhausted. “We’ve been over for years, Angelo! Get that into your thick skull and get out of my life!”

Scoffing snidely, the man’s blood-stained sneer was a frightening visual as he walked backwards out the front door, talking his shit on his way to his car. “You’re not keepin’ me away from my child. You need me, Ivy. You’ll come crawling back,” he growled, then pointed angrily at Roman, “And whoever the fuck you think your bitch ass is, bet, I’mma see about you...”

Roman stood in the driveway, muscular arms crossed over his torn, blood-stained sweater, watching like a hawk as the piece of shit backed out onto the road and drove off. He looked down at Ivy to his left. “Are you oka-”

But she had already retreated into the safety of her house, slamming the door shut. Roman returned his attention to the Lexus driving down the street, silently vowing that today would be the last time Angelo would ever be seen again.

Thanks for reading and thanks again to this anon for the story idea. Your replies and reblogs would be much appreciated if you enjoyed!

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[violetmuses]

5,501 words and counting... 😩

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[venusincleo]

working on a new fic i think ya’ll will like… doing some early plotting now but i want it to be ya’lls soon 🥹🫶🏾

[sageispunk]

red lipstick (18+)

↳ "Don't let your husband stop you from finding the love of your life"

pairing: Maintenance Man! Terry Richmond x blackOC! Alisha Bryce

wordcount: 2.2k

warnings: infidelity, oral sex (m receiving), use of handcuffs, switch! Terry & OC, Daddy kink, lipstick kink, messy bjs, pouty desperate!Terry bc I wanted to

A/N: this is like basically a random part for this AU I've been fixated on for a minute, still not sure if I want to do chronological series or just a bunch of loosely connected oneshots but I'll figure that out l8rrrrr!!! lmk in the comments if you enjoyed this, also pls like + reblog, feel free to follow my notif blog @sageispunklibrary for updates!!!

“C’mon baby, you can do better than that.” 

Alisha kept her gaze on the man, down on her knees in the fancy, red, low-cut dinner dress he’d bought for tonight. The lights were low and her mouth was full, throat nearly stuffed with her lover’s manhood. He sat on her sofa, leaned back with his bare thighs spread apart on the orange velvet, one arm thrown across the back as if he owned the place. 

Terry was big–thick and long, unforgiving. She held her hands together down in front of her, wrists bound together by the fuzzy black cuffs he found while peeking through her nightstand drawer earlier in the day, as new as the day she bought them. 

She hummed as she took most of him down her throat, leaving only about an inch of his warm brown skin exposed to the chilled air. She could tell that wasn’t enough for Terry, not right now at least. He was desperate, aching for a release and she would be just that. 

She felt his hand on the back of her head loosely tangle itself in her long brown locs, fingertips lightly massaging into her scalp. With a sigh from her nose, she closed her eyes and relaxed herself, allowing him to stroke his hips up into her throat, bringing her precious cherry-tinted lips just a little closer to his base each time. Saliva dribbled out from the corners of her mouth, dripping down off her chin and onto his heavy balls. She could feel her thighs sticking together, the heat between them building with each passing second. 

“You can do it, mama…take Daddy’s dick down that throat…”

His sweet, daunting voice echoed in her mind, keeping her grounded in the moment. She loved it when he talked to her like this, so rough and dominating–manly. Not to mention using the handcuffs that had been sitting in her drawer for months, brand new and awaiting the perfect opportunity. Now, her dreams were being fulfilled. It was everything she was missing with Isaiah, and that fact only made her more eager to please him, pushing herself to her limits every time they fucked, and then some. 

“Look at me, Lisha.” 

Terry watched as she obeyed his command, breathless as he took in the scene before him. This perfect, nasty, brown-eyed beauty kneeling for him, worshiping his dick like it was all she’d ever needed. All that consumed her mind, day and night. He knew that it was, the same feelings growing within her and dictating her every move, he felt in himself. They were on the same level again, and he’d be damned if another motherfucker got in between them after this. 

He couldn’t help the moans that evaded him as she finally throated his entire length, not breaking eye contact as she nuzzled her nose into his trimmed pubes. For over twelve years, the man’s life had been structured around maintaining self-control and mental strength, but there was nothing or no one on this planet that made him feel as weak as Alisha did in this very moment. 

His bottom lip found itself clenched tightly between his pearly whites, a crease growing between his eyebrows while he took everything she gave him. She pulled up off his dick, slowly sliding back up with red lips, glossy with spit and precum.

“I missed you.” 

Alisha didn’t plan to say those words, but her nerves were soothed when he reciprocated the statement, his gruff voice hitting her ears and vibrating through her chest. She loved the strain in his voice, in his eyes, knowing that she had his tough exterior breaking down made her feel…powerful. On top of the world. 

Terry’s other hand came to her cheek, caressing her gently as he stared into her eyes, slightly pouting at the sight of his rock hard dick standing up right next to her face. 

He subconsciously made it jump, stealing her attention away. She watched it twitch in front of her, a hungry look growing in her dark eyes as her mouth watered. She needed to feel him stretch her again, her lips, her jaw, her throat. She just needed him inside again. 

Alisha leaned forward and her pink tongue darted out, licking a slow trail up the vein on the underside of his dick. She circled the tip of her tongue around the throbbing head, specifically avoiding his needy, leaking hole. Terry groaned from above, losing his restraint the more she avoided his most sensitive spot. His head was filled with nothing but echoes of pleas, anguished cries for her to relieve him. All he needed was her tongue. 

She smiled, watching his thighs flex and feeling the grip of his fingers tighten in her roots. She pressed her lips against the tip,  firm enough to leave a smudge of red lipstick against the brown flesh. A mark of her love. Craning her neck down, she aimed for a new spot: his balls, heavy and full of cum that he’d reserved for her and her only. Over three weeks apart and he found that nothing matched his freak quite like she did…not even his own hand would suffice.

Terry bucked his hips up when he felt her soft, sticky lips on his sack, leaving yet another beautiful stain. “Lishaaa, fuck!” 

He was supposed to be the one in charge at this moment, yet he felt like he had the least power, even with Alisha in handcuffs. He threw his head back, a loud groan escaping his lips as he found himself writhing, unable to take the teasing. This girl had his goddamn toes curling just from kissing on his balls. 

“Look at me, Terry.” 

Her sweet voice met his ears, gentle and delicate, with a hint of deception laced into her words. He returned his gaze to the woman, seeking some sort of solace in her deep brown orbs. As big and tough as he was, he was not prepared at all for how Alisha wanted to play with him tonight. For the last couple weeks, all he’d fantasized about was breaking her down all across her place…leaving his mark on her, in her, all around her. 

But here she was, beating him right to it. 

Alisha sat up on her knees a bit, not bothering to fix the cleavage spilling from her dress before leaning forward to plant her lips on the skin near his hip. They both stared at her nearly perfect lip print, eyes low and full of want. “Baby–”

“Take these cuffs off me, Terry. Let me take care of you like you take care of me, please.” 

Terry paused, searching her eyes for any hints of mischief but he came up short. Sitting forward on the sofa, he brought his hands down in between them, pulling hers up into his lap. He clasped both her wrists with his left hand, using his right to take his chain off, a shiny silver key dangling in front of her greedy eyes like the world’s last golden ticket. 

It was as if time slowed down, the air seemed thick and heavy, a cloud of desire extinguishing any sense of hesitation in the pair. They both watched as the key slid inside, twisting and releasing the lock with a soft click. The cuffs fell to the floor but Alisha’s hands remained, suspended in his hold. Terry’s eyes came back up to meet hers, intense and unrelenting as he pulled her closer. 

He swallowed down her gasp when their lips met, his eyes fluttering shut as he relished in both the softness and the slight taste of himself. Terry’s tongue wriggled into her mouth, passionately dancing with hers in a battle for dominance. They moaned into one another, lips melding together seamlessly, a reminder of how perfect they are together. 

Alisha pulled her hands from his grasp, slowly so as not to be noticed. Her slender fingers found his length, stiff and weeping for her. A thumb lightly tapped the stickiness on the head, and she grinned into the kiss at his sudden twitching. She rubbed light circles on it, attentive to the way his mouth began to fall open as she pulled back from the kiss, not bothering to slow her movements on his delicate tip. Her left hand fell back to his balls, holding them and only slightly squeezing the warm sack in her palm, just as she’d wanted to earlier.

“Does that feel good?”

His nod was barely noticeable, but she caught it. Just as well as she caught the quiver in his bottom lip when she squeezed just a bit tighter. 

She kneeled down between his thighs again, bringing her face back closer to what she’d needed most. Not wanting to waste anymore time keeping him on the edge, she dived in, removing her thumb and replacing it with her hot tongue. She reached her right hand up to one of his small brown nipples, rubbing his own stickiness from her thumb into the hardened bud. Terry’s body jerked up, attempting to crumble in on itself while her hungry tongue swirled around his tip. “Ohh shiiiiitttt, Lish, please, fuck!”

Her head dropped into his lap, her other hand coming up to rest on his thigh while his dick slid into her throat with much more ease than before. She bobbed up and down, savoring his taste on her tongue and his cries in her ears. She felt so in control, taking him down to the hilt each time, moaning and drooling around his thickness like a slut. 

“Baby, that shit feels–mmmm–so motherfuckin’ good, I swear to god…” Terry groaned out, his brain growing fuzzier while she went down on him like she’d been starving for his dick. She gagged and slurped and hummed around him, all the while looking up at him with those perfect, teary eyes– like a wet dream come to life. His big hands gripped the edges of the sofa while he tried to hold on to the little bit of self-control he had left.

Alisha came up once more, letting him fall out of her mouth before she refocused her attention on his balls. Both hands wrapped around his dick, steadily jerking him as she sucked and licked on his sack, not caring to wipe away the spit across her cheeks and chin. She was being messy and nasty and she didn’t give a fuck about embarrassing herself because she knew that Terry was loving this side of her as much as she did. 

He palmed his face, cursing under his breath as he felt himself at the edge once again. His legs trembled as he tried to hold on, to savor the feeling of her hands and her mouth on him again after so long. There was nothing he needed more but to be surrounded in her warmth, physically and emotionally. He longed to be this close to her, this vulnerable with her, always. 

She released his balls with a gentle pop!, continuing to jerk him off with both hands from the base to the tip. “Cum for me, daddy…” She stared i​nto his eyes, finding herself lost in them, in him. “I need to taste you, please.”

Terry relaxed as her soft whispers hit his ears, the combination of her dirty words and the yearning that was revealed in her eyes helping him over that peak. “Lisha, I’m–” 

She quickly put her mouth on the head as he tensed up underneath her, both his cries and her moans filling the room. The taste of his nut on her tongue had her nearly cumming herself, her thighs subconsciously grinding together as she listened to his whining above. 

“Oh my god, ohmyfucking–fuckkkk…” Terry’s usual rough, baritone voice was higher now, sweet and shaky as he panted out and emptied himself in her. His vision was teary but he tried to stay focused on Alisha between his thighs. She took everything that he gave her, slowing her hands down on his dick while swallowing down nearly every drop of his seed. The filthiest image of tonight seared itself into his mind when she smiled up at him, licking the spare cum off her fingers with more smeared on her plump pink lips. 

She giggled softly, watching the big man come back down to Earth, his dick softening back to its usual form. His gaze was soft now, the love he felt for her shining right through his long eyelashes. As the intensity of the moment calmed down, she became more aware of her sore knees on the carpet, but especially her bare, aching pussy underneath her dress. Terry noticed her shifting and immediately straightened up, leaning forward to pull her up into his lap. “C’mere, love..” She sat on his left thigh with her legs stretched out across his right, burying her face into his neck. “You did a good job, baby…made me feel so good, thank you.” 

He spoke his praises into her hair in between kisses, rubbing a large hand up and down her exposed back. She sunk into the feeling, head still hazy but paying more attention now to what her body craved from him. Terry gently laced his fingers in her locs, pulling back to find her eyes again. 

“You gon’ let me take care of you now?”

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@planetblaque @urfavblackbimbo @brattyfics @hotmessexpressssss

@soft-persephone @blowmymbackout @sweettea-and-honeybutter

@wakandamama @avoidthings @mzindependent

(lmk if u wanna be added/removed from this, i just went through my other terry fic rbs)

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"There's Some Whores in This House" Geechee!Erik Killmonger (Part 2 of Ice Cold Jax)

Pairing: Geechee!Erik Killmonger x Black Female OC x Hoodoo!Terry Richmond (as the Crossroads Man)

Warning(s): 18+, Smut, Supernatural Horror, Period Piece, Erik Stevens AU, Terry Richmond AU, Black American Folktale. You have to read "Ice Cold Jax" First!

Summary:

P-Valley Meets Black Supernatural Goodness in 1940s Itta Bena, Mississippi as the second world war winds down to a close. Lulabelle hasn't seen her Geechee man for months, but there's a new whorehouse deep in the woods that's keeping her busy as they steal loyal customers from her juke joint and her stable of working girls. Lulabelle suspects the new Madame in the woods has something to do with Geechee Erik not coming around anymore and she intends on finding out what that heffa is all about, especially when previous customers start dropping dead near the crossroads. An old friend of Erik's, Terry Richmond aka High John the Conqueror, shows up to help. (Need to have read the first installment, "Ice Cold Jax With Geechee!Erik Killmoger")

Word count: 12.9K

"There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house..."

Frank Ski – "Whores in this House"

The first dead body appeared at the crossroads after the rising of Hunter's moon.

No one thought much of it because the deceased was a known pickpocket and rabble-rouser named Earl Lee Washington. Folks around Itta Bena didn't pay it no mind for about a week until they found another body in the exact same spot in the middle of a Saturday night. This time it was Reverend Mosley from the Hopewell Missionary Baptist Church and people fell out because why was Reverend Mosley out near the crossroads? The only thing around in that part of the woods was a creek for good fishing, and Lulabelle Humphreys juke joint and whorehouse called "Lula's". Since Mosley didn't have any fishing pole on him in the middle of the night, that only meant that he had been tippin' over to Lulabelle's place pretending to save lost souls for Jesus as he felt up a thick thigh or two with moonshine on his lips.

Lulabelle herself thought little about the dead men. Everybody had their time to go, but that third body stirred everybody up because it was a woman. Zadie Greene was married to Butchie Greene who worked as a Pullman Porter for the railroad. He had emptied his pockets at Lulabelle's on good pussy and strong corn liquor while listening to the hottest backwoods band on that side of the Mississippi River, The Midnight Ramblers featuring Gertie Mae Robinson, the nastiest woman singer to ever touch a stage with her vulgar lyrics and raunchy, good-time energy. The man stumbled across his own wife's body on the way home smelling like another woman's cooch and marijuana. Zadie had worn her J. C. Penney nightgown and a big overcoat hunting for her man and headed for the only place that could keep him from her bed.

The cow shit hit the fan then. Lulabelle couldn't afford folks getting spooked by the specter of death hanging near her establishment. She was an enterprising woman who sold a commodity that folks craved, whether they wanted to admit it. Death was terrible for the pussy business.

Zadie's death hung a pall over the town, and Lulabelle became worried once she started counting up days and putting two and two together. Her Geechee Man, Erik Stevens, hadn't been around for a long time. There might be a random shooting or stabbing that left a man wounded and his ego bruised for a few weeks, but rarely did folks outright die under mysterious circumstances. She became extra concerned when the problem hovered around his territory. Geechee Erik was the Crossroads Man. His dominion was the protection of the supernatural world and preventing otherworldly beings from coming around her. He had claimed Lulabelle as his woman and promised that no harm would come to her, and part of that harm wasn't just physical. Her livelihood meant everything to her. Erik kept the haints, boo hags, the Plat Eye, and the Devil away.

Something must've happened to him.

She fretted about it, reading the paper on the latest victim while sitting on her juke joint's front porch. Honey Boy, her part-time male whore for sweet men, rolled her hair in long metal duckbill clips. She had taken a liking to tight curls all around her head with a side part, and it wore her fingers out, putting the curlers in herself. Honey Boy curled and clipped and she stared at a church photo of Zadie Greene, a plain-faced woman with a big heart and four children to feed by herself now that her husband was gone. Lulabelle tutted under her breath.

"Business is already slowing up. I don't need dead people scaring off my money," she grumbled.

The war had ended and all the men in uniform were coming home once V Day had been declared. Dollar bills sat on Lulabelle's eyelids every day. The boom was heavy for an entire year until recently as it trickled off to regulars and the occasional cross-country traveler.

"If you ask me, ain't none of this mess started happening until them other ladies showed up," Honey Boy said as he twined hair around the clips with nimble fingers.

"What ladies?"

Lulabelle put down the paper and twisted her neck around to stare at Honey Boy.

"You ain't hear? There's a new madame in town. I hear she's got some of the finest women around. No one wanted to say nothin' to hurt your feelings, Lula."

"Eva!" Lulabelle shouted.

Eva, the juke joint cook, and barmaid stepped out onto the creaky porch. She smelled of fish grease and her fingers were covered in cornmeal.

"Why are you hollerin' like that?" Eva said, putting a heavy cornmeal hand on her plump hip.

The older woman looked crossed at being interrupted with her work.

"You know about some new woman setting up shop out here?"

"Sadie Blackstone," Eva said.

"Sadie Blackstone?" Lulabelle said.

"That's what she said her name was. She come 'round here about three months ago. You were in town shopping, and she come right up here introducing herself. She had a big ole fur coat and a fancy car too, filled with pretty girls. She got all the colors of the rainbow, just like you."

"Ain't not one of you heffas think to tell me some new bitch is horning in on my spot?"

Lulabelle swatted Honey Boy's hand out of the back of her scalp.

"She said she was opening a little dress and hat boutique over yonder. It was cheaper than tryna rent a building from the white folks and house her dressmakers in town. She looked all expensive and was using big words like she done came from up North. Y'know how them northern negroes like to act uppity," Eva said.

"That bitch rolled up here with a car full of hoes and everybody kept their lips shut? I oughta fire both of y'all right now!"

"Who 'gon fry up this fish then, gal?" Eva said, staring Lulabelle down.

"Y'all supposed to be loyal and warn me about interlopers. They sitting out there stealing my customers and taking money outta my purse... and yours."

"They ain't got no mens, so I'ma be alright," Honey Boy said.

He left the porch and went inside the juke joint to set tables and prep glasses for the night. Dust kicked up from the slope of the road that led to Lula's, and a black car rolled toward them.

"What is it now?" Lulabelle said. "Betta not be someone telling me they found another body at the crossroads or I will scream!"

Lulabelle and Eva waited on the porch until the car stopped twenty feet away from them.

"Lawd, Jesus," Eva said.

Eva kissed the cross around her neck and grabbed the knob to the screen door.

"Wait now, who that is?" Lulabelle said.

Her heart skipped a beat thinking it was Geechee Erik, but instead, another man with honey, caramel skin, and piercing green eyes that hid a dangerous cunning behind them approached the porch. His dark brown suit was tailored, crisp, and casket sharp. The brim on his head was stylish and new, with a small peacock feather in the band.

"You don't wanna mess with that one, Lulabelle," Eva whispered. "That there is High John the Conqueror."

"The conjure man from over in Yazoo?"

"He more than that. Send him on his way, and don't let him come inside!" Eva said.

Eva ran into the juke joint and locked the door. Lulabelle wasn't worried; she had keys to get inside clipped to her dress. She turned and faced High John.

"Sorry to bother you, Miss. I'm not from around these parts. I'm lookin' for a fella that goes by the name of Erik Stevens."

Lulabelle stayed on the porch. Something told her to stay there and not step down to the man. As fine and polite as he was, there was sinister energy around him. He stepped forward, and she held a hand up.

"You can stay right there, mister. I can hear you good from here," she said.

"He's a big strapping fellow, about your color. Not as pretty, though."

"Whatcha want with him?"

"You know him?"

"I know the Geechee Man," she said.

There was no sense in lying. The man came there directly, so he clearly knew Erik's stomping grounds. The Geechee wasn't human, so that man on her property probably wasn't human, either. Lula stepped closer to the door and kept her eyes on High John.

"Whatcha want with him?" she repeated in a firmer tone.

"I ain't seen him in a long time and that ain't so good for my business," High John said.

Lulabelle was worried herself.

"He hasn't been around here for a couple of months," she said.

"You're worried about him. You his woman?"

"I am."

"Hmmm. I see why he likes it around here so much. Big fine woman like you to lay up with."

Lulabelle's cheeks warmed up. High John moved in closer.

"Big hips. Big titties. Big legs. You sure you didn't swallow him up between your thighs, beautiful?"

Lulabelle squinted at the audacity.

"Maybe I need to spend some time with you and follow where he went," High John purred.

"You best move along, sir!" Eva shouted.

She ran out of the juke joint and flung a bowl of salt on the ground in front of High John. He chuckled and kicked black dirt over the white grains.

"That don't work on me, ma'am, but I respect your efforts," High John said.

He tipped his hat at Lulabelle.

"I'll be back around again. I can smell his scent all around here. Tell Elizabeth I may need her services soon," he said.

He hopped into his car and drove off.

"Who is Elizabeth?" Eva asked.

"Just an old friend of mine," Lulabelle said with a chill running down her back.

Elizabeth had been dead for nearly two decades. But her ghost still lingered around Lulabelle's juke joint and whore house.

Something awful bad must've happened to Erik, and none of that trouble started until Sadie Blackstone showed up in Itta Bena. Ghosts, the Crossroads Man, High John, and a northern bitch stealing her customers had her thoughts in a tizzy. Lulabelle wanted to sell pussy and moonshine in peace. That's what she aimed to do. She marched herself to her bedroom attached to the back of the whorehouse to find her best dress and shoes. It was time to meet Sadie Blackstone. Her mind was on her money, and money was on her mind twenty-four seven. No northern hussy was going to ruin her pockets. If she had to fight haints and conjure men, so be it. She lived in goddamned racist America. Money was the only thing that would protect her, and since Erik Stevens wasn't around anymore, she'd have to face the enemy all by herself. Human or not.

The new whorehouse was within walking distance of the crossroads.

Lulabelle trampled through the heavily trafficked path of grass and fall leaves that led past tall loblolly pines. She curved around a few rotting snag trees and swatted away annoying gnats that buzzed around her eyes seeking moisture. A clearing opened up and she expected to see a ramshackle house. Instead, a sturdy tan and brown craftsman home came into view. Lulabelle stayed hidden behind a trio of skinny trees. Although it was daylight, the house gave off a cold dread that overtook the warmth of the sun toasting her skin.

The land they were on used to be part of a plantation with an old manor that had long burned down to the ground four miles away. It had now become part of the overgrown woods. An unfinished stretch of railroad tracks sat near the property covered with overgrown brush that ran out behind the creek it tried to follow a long time ago. The train route that was supposed to pass through and flatten out that part of the woods never came into fruition, having been moved a couple of miles away by the railroad company. It was the main reason why Lulabelle picked that part of Itta Bena to do business in. Close enough for travelers far and wide to get to her, while also discreet enough to hide from main street's conservative prying eyes. The Choctaw words "itta bena" meant a house in the woods or a camp of trees, and the area lived up to the small city name. Shrouded with the canopy of branches and leaves protecting it from sunlight, the house looked out of place. Unnatural. Only decomposing trees belonged out there, and the whorehouse reminded Lulabelle too much of the Hansel and Gretel story from her childhood. Sadie Blackstone's place was a lure for straggling adults. Instead of a house made of candy and gingerbread, grown-ups came to taste the nectar between the legs of lascivious women. In the light of day, Lulabelle shivered and wondered if it was better to come back with other people. Being alone in the woods with a pristine house that looked too new, too bright, and so wrong brought goosebumps to her arms. She twisted her hands in the pockets of her dress.

Dollar bills weighed on her eyelids again and Lulabelle shook away her unease and focused on her task. Meet the enemy. Better to do it in the daytime when she could see everything out in the open.

She stomped her way to the house and marched right up onto the porch. Banging on the screen door, she waited with bated breath for someone to open up. Tapping her left heel on the porch, Lulabelle sucked her teeth and slammed a hand on her hip. She noticed the door frame had a thick lump of brown paint that bubbled up from a cheap paint job. Running her nail against the paint, Lulabelle peeled back a strip and crinkled her nose when a few termite larvae squirmed inside a rotted hole.

"Well, hello, neighbor," a silky feminine voice crooned behind the opened door.

Lulabelle squinted to get a good look at the tall, pretty, dark-skinned woman with a heart-shaped face and a bright, winning smile. Her teeth were whiter than the cracker cops that took a cut of Lulabelle's money to look the other way with her establishment. Naturally thick eyebrows were plucked perfectly over deep-set, dark brown eyes that twinkled with the promise of a good time or some good trouble. Her lush lips were covered in a thick coating of red lipstick. Lulabelle admired a dark woman who was brave enough to wear bold red like that in the daytime. It wasn't the norm.

"You must be Lulabelle Humphreys."

"I am."

"I'm Sadie. Sadie Blackstone."

"I knows who you are."

"Do ya now?"

Sadie opened the screen door in a welcoming manner. She wore a tight, spaghetti-strapped wild berry pink dress with a rose-tinted flower brocade. Lulabelle looked over Sadie's shoulder and observed a slithering den of good-looking women of all hues staring back at her from settees and chairs spread around an inviting front room.

"Heard you been stealing my customers," Lulabelle said, cutting to the quick.

"Stealing?"

Sadie tilted her head back to her stable of whores.

"You hear that, ladies? She accused me of stealing," Sadie said with an indignant chortle.

The other vipery women giggled back at the comment, infuriating Lulabelle.

"Sister girl, there are plenty of men in the world to go around for everybody," Sadie said.

"This is Itta Bena. Not the world, Toots. I've been selling pussy by the pound for five good years here, and I'm fixin' to keep on selling for many more years to come. This city ain't big enough for two cat houses—"

"Calm down your garters, Sister girl. The war overseas is done. No need to start World War three up in here. There's profit to be made for all of us. Plus, I hear you only sell pussy on the side. You got a juke joint, sell fish and chicken plates, provide musical entertainment… all we do over here are tits and ass. Nobody is cutting in on your profits."

Lulabelle reared her head back.

"You think you're gonna sit up here on my turf, comfortable as if pilfering a few coins ain't cutting into my bottom line?" Lulabelle said.

"You need a drink to cool down your temper. Come on up in here," Sadie said.

She opened the screen door and stepped aside, making room.

Lulabelle hesitated. But curiosity got the better of her. She switched her heavy hips into the place, letting Sadie see what down-home ass looked like in a tight dress too. The scarf she had on her head kept her curled hair safe from dust and debris in the woods.

The interior was larger than what the outside first impression gave her. In fact, the hall behind Sadie looked long enough for more rooms than Lulabelle's little whorehouse had back on the creek. The other women gazed at her with disquieting eyes while wearing red satin robes inside the cooler front room. Velvet furniture, Persian rugs, and stylish French alabaster boudoir lamps decorated the place. It had more of a European parlor flavor than a typical country house full of ill repute and cheap goods. Glancing around at the women again, Lulabelle felt more like a Brer Rabbit surrounded by hungry trickster coyotes. She swallowed hard and broke eye contact by staring at a fireplace mantle covered with several mason jars filled with moonshine. She counted ten jars across the top. Six were full, and the other four were empty. Next to the mantle was a liquor table filled with whiskey and assorted libations with fancy glass cups.

Sadie jerked her head toward her stable, and all four women stood up and sauntered to the back of the house.

"Too early for the hard stuff," Lulabelle said, waving at the mason jars.

Sadie grinned and picked up an expensive bottle of scotch. She poured herself a glass and one for Lulabelle, too. They clinked glasses, and Lulabelle took a small sip.

"Excuse me for a moment," Sadie said.

The woman left the front room to go to the back of the house. Lula put her glass of scotch down and inspected the oil painting above the mantle. It was a picture of Sadie and her women. All four of the whores sat on a baby blue and cream tufted French sofa with old-fashioned hairdos that Lulabelle hadn't seen since her grandmother had been alive. Sadie stood behind them, leaning forward with her arms draped across the back of the sofa. The painting unnerved her, and she couldn't put her finger on what exactly bothered her about it.

One of the clear jars filled with liquid caught her eye with movement inside of it. The sixth jar in the row had a tiny funnel swirl inside of it. It stopped when Lulabelle stared directly at it. She slipped her right hand around the jar. It was warm to the touch and seemed to grow warmer against her fingertips. She took her left hand and twisted the metal lid, breaking a seal around it. Lifting the lid, Lulabelle took in a whiff of sulfur, and clearly and distinctly heard a gravelly voice whisper from inside of it.

"Erik?" she murmured.

Another tiny funnel swirled, and Lulabelle watched the shape of Erik's lips and nose materialize in the liquid.

The clicking of heels moving toward the front room frightened her, and she twisted the lid back on the jar, going against her urge to pour the liquid out. She grabbed her glass of scotch and moved over toward a velvet chair, pretending to admire the texture by stroking it with her free hand.

"Had to see about some things. Forgive me for leaving you so long. I'm expecting a friendly crowd tonight," Sadie said.

Lulabelle turned to her and kept a tight-lipped expression. Sadie's eyes slid off of Lulabelle's face and glanced over at the mantle. Her dark eyes squinted for a second as she regarded the mason jars. Sadie shook her head and clucked her tongue.

"Just had to be nosy," Sadie hissed. "Good thing is, Sister girl, there's plenty of room up there."

The four other women slinked back into the parlor and surrounded Lulabelle.

"You like seeing thangs you ain't supposed to see, huh?" Sadie said.

Lulabelle watched the skin of Sadie's face grow puffy like a bullfrog getting ready to croak a loud belch in the creek. The flesh split like it wanted to turn itself inside out, letting her see the raw red insides of a slippery horror.

Sadie's hypnotic gaze kept Lulabelle's feet from running. Frozen in place by the menacing darkening of Sadie's eye color, Lulabelle couldn't even make a sound of protest. Her vocal cords became stiff and immovable. She couldn't even wiggle her fingers or toes. Only her eyeballs still had the ability to move, and they made a slow arc toward the open front door. A car had pulled up, and she prayed it was a customer who could help her escape.

The sound of a driver's side door creaking open shattered the quiet terror oozing all around Lulabelle. The crunch of heavy feet stepping on loose gravel became music to her straining ears.

"Hello?"

The male voice was familiar.

High John.

"Shit," Sadie grumbled.

The distraction freed Lulabelle, and she fled out of the house, leaping off the porch toward High John. He grabbed her arms to halt her frazzled getaway.

"Slow down now," High John said.

"They did something to me," Lulabelle blurted out.

She pushed her face into his chest to muffle her voice.

"Erik is in there. They have him in a jar on the mantle—"

"Shh," High John said.

"She's turning inside out… that woman… Sadie… her face…"

High John gripped her arms tighter as Lulabelle glanced around the woods and noticed that the sun had gone down already. It was only nine in the morning when she left her place, but by the looks of the darkening shadows stretching a night sky across the canopy of trees, it had to be at least five in the evening. They had her in that house for hours, and she didn't even know it.

Lulabelle squeezed her eyes shut. The screen door slammed loud and High John turned his attention to Sadie.

She looked normal again.

The deception lingered around her as Lulabelle watched the woman pat her cheeks like it was hot instead of making sure her cheeks had returned to their artful disguise.

"Let's go," Lulabelle pleaded, tugging on High John's arm and dragging him toward his car.

"Can I help you, mister?" Sadie inquired.

All four of Sadie's women stepped onto the porch with her, their satin robes discarded to show off sexy lingerie that highlighted their best assets.

"No ma'am, just came to pick up Miss Lulabelle here. Promised her a ride back," High John said.

He opened the passenger door for Lulabelle, and she scrambled in and slammed it shut.

"We're gonna be late," Lulabelle said, rushing High John along.

"A fine man like you should spend some time with us. I have a quality selection of ladies to choose from," Sadie said.

"I can see that you do, but I'm a little sweet on Miss Lulabelle's place," he said.

"Hmph. Suit yourself then. When you tire of your usual, come on back around here," Sadie said.

"Will do," High John offered.

He walked to his driver's door with a bounce in his step and hopped in with a whistle on his lips. They drove away without speaking until he reached a turn that led them riding over the crossroads towards her place. High John pulled over near a shrub of red buckeye that hid them from her juke joint. He stared at her, and she remembered he wasn't what he seemed to be, either.

"How did you know I was there?" she asked.

"I followed you."

"Why?"

"I knew you would lead me to the Geechee Man. Tell me what you saw in there."

"They gotta be witches or something—"

"A hag. She's a hag. Close enough to witches, I guess, for you to understand. The others are her minions, demons she's conjured up to act like whores to lure human bodies so the hag can ride them until they're dead."

"She's got a bunch of mason jars on her fireplace mantle filled with clear sulfur water or something. I opened one of them and heard Erik's voice… saw his features through the glass like they trapped him inside of it."

"She trapped his soul in there. What you described is something they do after they've taken a body."

"When she caught on that I had messed with one jar, her face… it started changing like it was flipping itself around… inside out."

High John sat back in his seat.

"He done got himself in a mess of trouble."

"He's still alive though, right?" she asked with a wavering voice.

"Only because he ain't mortal. Them other jars are dead souls. Little mementos for the hag to enjoy as playthings. That's why so many people have been found dead at the crossroads. Somehow, they tricked Erik and stole his spirit, leaving the crossroads unguarded for months. They can't kill him outright. But they can torture him… weaken him until he fades."

"Can you save him? Steal the jar and free him? I opened it, but I didn't know what to do. I was so scared."

"She cast a spell to keep him trapped. The problem is, even if you found that jar, we don't know where his body is. He uses a corporeal form to hide his essence, which helps him control his powers in this world. Without it, he can't come back."

"What the hell kinda powers do you have, then? Eva acts like you're the devil himself. She's scared of you, so you must can do somethin'."

"Sadie will come for you tonight. She can't afford for you to run your mouth about her house. I say, run your business as usual, and let me figure out a way to guard this place and find Erik."

Worry lines creased his face.

"What?" Lulabelle said.

"We ain't got much time. He can't be away from his body too much longer. It'll degrade over time, and it's already been three months on the mortal side of the veil."

"Veil?"

"This side of the spiritual partition separating humankind and us."

"What are you? Another demon? Haint?"

High John ignored her and appeared to listen to something she couldn't hear.

"Carry me up to my place so I can fix my hair and change my clothes," Lulabelle demanded.

High John nodded and put his car back in drive. They rode along in silence to the side of the juke joint where some of the band members she hired had already parked. Lulabelle jumped out and High John followed her. He stopped at the front porch and reached for a leather string around his neck. He pulled on it until a small blue handkerchief bundle the size of half a man's fist popped up. Untying it carefully, his nimble fingers reached inside and he pulled them back out. Brick-red dust colored his digits. High John squatted and traced a symbol in the dirt before walking all around the juke joint, pouring more dust on the ground. There shouldn't have been enough to circle the juke joint, but somehow, someway, the man completed the circle and sealed it back in front of the porch again. He tucked the mojo bag under his clothes again and clapped his hands together hard. The sound echoed all around, even scaring an old hooting owl that lived in a tree behind Lulabelle's Loving Rooms, where her clientele got busy with her girls after chowing down on chicken or fish.

"This spell will only last as long as the moon stays high. Once it drops… if we don't find The Geechee's body before moonset… my protective circle fades and they can leave the juke joint. He'll be a goner for sure then. Lost forever if we don't get that jar and man back together," High John said.

He turned his head toward the woods from where they came.

"Once the hag and her demons cross over this circle and go into your place, they're stuck inside until the moon goes away. That'll give us time to sneak back to their house and get Erik."

"We?"

"Yes, we. You opened the jar and broke the seal. That means you're the only one who can get him out."

"But we have to find his body first."

"That's where Elizabeth comes in."

"How do you know about her?"

High John winked at Lulabelle.

"I have my ways. Take me to her."

"I can't see her. I just get a feeling—"

"Take me to where you feel her the most," he said.

Lulabelle glanced at the juke joint.

"Eva said not to let you inside," she said.

"What would she rather have? Me helping you, or that hag stealing Erik's soul and ruining your business with all the body snatchin' she's been doin'?"

Lulabelle huffed and headed up the steps.

"C'mon, man."

High John followed her into the juke joint where the Midnight Ramblers were already set up on the small stage.

"Lula, gal, where ya been?" Gertie Mae said.

The lead singer of the Ramblers fussed her way over to Lulabelle.

"Honey Boy said you went to check out your competition, but when he went lookin' for ya, he couldn't find you," Gertie Mae said.

Gertie Mae looked at the scarf covering Lulabelle's hair.

"You not even dressed and ready yet. What's going on, girl?"

"Got busy with some business stuff. I'ma go get ready. Y'all get that music jumping and let these folks know that the party is starting!" Lulabelle said, flicking her right hand in the air.

She hustled High John away from Gertie Mae's prying eyes and took him to the back of the joint, where her usual seat was to watch the place in progress. Glancing around the area, Lulabelle threw out her hands.

"This is where I usually—"

She turned toward High John, catching him conversating with thin air. Lulabelle watched him talk in a hushed tone, pull out his mojo bag again, reach into it, and blow red brick dust in front of a chair. She glimpsed a ghostly figure, a woman with wavy long hair, and blinked back a tear or two as a bit of dust fell into her eyes.

"You should go get yourself gussied up, Lula. I freed Elizabeth to go find Erik's body," High John said.

He looked around the place as some customers high-stepped it inside just as the band struck up a hot, nasty jig that got folks hopping around before they even had their first drink. Honey Boy rushed over to her, and Lulabelle waved him away.

"I'm fine. Get these people liquored up and I'll get dressed," she said.

Gertie Mae eyed High John up and down one last time and yelled into her microphone.

"You gon' let that one hang his drawers low for ya?" Gertie Mae cackled.

High John howled with laughter, making everyone in the juke laugh with him. Lulabelle rolled her eyes and strode out of the juke joint through the hall that led to the Loving House creek bridge. Crossing it, she bypassed her girls, who flitted around in loose silk and lacy things. Making her way to a side room that she used for herself, Lulabelle poured water into a basin, stripped down, and rinsed off dust and the smell of the deep woods. It took her some time to get all the duckbill clips out of her hair. She combed, then fluffed out her tight curls, smoothing them into the perfect style. Make-up didn't take long to put on. Her plump lips smacked at her reflection in the mirror. Touching her stomach, she felt and heard the rumble of hunger, realizing she hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast. There was no time to focus on eating. She had to keep her wits about her. High John sent her former best friend, a ghost, to search for the rest of her supernatural lover's self. How could a hag trick the Crossroads Man? Erik was clever, powerful, and able to sniff out an inhuman creature from miles around. Ain't no way some slinky demon walked up on him and fooled him that easy.

Lulabelle took a moment and stretched out on her bed, calming herself. Too much was going on and all she wanted was for her man to come swaggering into her place again, showing her them shiny gold teeth, and lifting her onto that Daddy dick. She was tired of dead bodies showing up on her side of town instead of where the white folks were. A damn witch was making her life a mess. A knock on her bedroom door startled her agitated reverie.

"Who is it?" Lulabelle shouted.

The new girl, Altovise, stuck her head through the crack in the door. She had replaced one of Lulabelle's pregnant girls a few months back, right before Erik disappeared. Her short black bob of heavily greased curls made the room smell like bergamot.

"This man out here wants you, Lula," Altovise said.

High John pushed Altovise aside and stepped in, locking the door behind him. Lulabelle sat up, but he was next to her, sitting on the bed before she could feign decorum.

"Filling up fast out there. Good profitable business," High John said.

His fleshy lips said the words as his eyes raked down to her breasts that sat heavy and propped up with her good full-figure bra. Her cleavage spilled over the low cut of her dress. He reached over and dragged warm fingers up and down her arm.

"You look real nice, Lula. I cleaned up myself in that kitchen. Miss Eva let me use some hot water to bathe with and I changed my suit for you."

"No need to look good for me," she said.

He smirked. Without his hat, she could see his eyes clearly. Soft green ones with little flecks of pale jade toward the center. His cologne was spicy, like the kind the soldiers wore when they got paid and wanted to show off. The scent of nutmeg, anise and lemon tickled her nostrils with the odor of his breath reminding her of warm maple syrup. His wide nose complemented his full lips which had a playful twitching to them every time he said her name. Lulabelle tried to brush past him.

"I better get out there—"

High John gripped her by her arm tight and held her in place on the bed next to his hip.

"There needs to be a little discussion about payment," he said.

"Payment?"

She yanked her arm out of his hand.

"You said you were looking for him because he does business with you. A monetary transaction ain't got nothing to do with me, buddy," Lulabelle snapped.

"Who said anything about money, sweetheart?"

A lecherous pulling down of his lips made Lulabelle grit her teeth and huff under her breath.

"You want to fuck one of my girls?" she said.

"I wanna fuck you."

"This some bullshit, man. Why are men so typical?"

"I ain't no regular man."

"You act like one."

"You don't gotta pay me now. Let's just say you owe me, and I can collect later."

Lulabelle sucked her teeth.

"I'm just playin' girl. That Geechee said you don't enjoy being teased," High John said, slapping her kneecap.

He stood up and gave her a serious look.

"The moment they step in here, we have to play it cool and sneak away quietly. Hags only have power over their own dominion when they are in it. We get them preoccupied first, and then we can rescue Erik's spirit. The last thing we want is for them to harm anyone here," he said.

The old owl hooted outside, and High Joh turned his head in that direction. "I feel them coming," he said.

He clasped her hand, and they left the Loving House, crossing over the creek bridge and back into the juke joint. They pushed past excited dancers and the wall-to-wall patrons packed in her place. The Midnight Ramblers had Lulabelle's spot stacked like sardines in a can. Hot, funky, and full of spunk, Gertie Mae sang her ass off, and the crowd ate it up.

Outside on the porch, Lulabelle and High John spotted Sadie and her demon whores strolling out of the woods in stylish dresses and heels. Their movement seemed too fluid. Like they were floating instead of walking, but Lulabelle clearly saw their feet on the ground. Sadie shook her lean hips as she listened to the raucous sounds spilling out from the door.

"Ooh, sounds good in there, Lulabelle," Sadie said.

The hag eyed High John and gave him a wide smile.

"Thought you were expecting a crowd at your place," Lulabelle said.

"Later. We just wanted to come by and get some fried fish and listen to music. A little fun for my ladies before they have to work tonight," Sadie said.

One of the lighter-skinned whores snickered and held a finger under her nose like Sadie had said a funny joke. High John pulled out a toothpick and jabbed it between his teeth, making room for some new patrons to come inside. Lulabelle kept her cool.

"Come on in and see what good business looks like," Lulabelle said, mustering up a brave face.

Her heart pattered so fast in her chest watching Sadie and the others step across the protected threshold. She glanced at the moon that showed a glimpse of itself rising over the woods across from her juke joint. Opening the screen door, Lulabelle nodded her head toward the inside.

"Welcome," she said, grinning hard because Erik's life depended on it.

The women swept past smelling like strong perfume and trouble. She trailed behind them with High John just as Gertie Mae and the band whipped up another frenzy with a song talking about where to get the best sugar in town and everybody knew she was about to get filthy once she hiked up her dress and showed off gartered stockings.

Sadie and her demon girls wasted no time joining in with the dancing. They grabbed men away from other women and began grinding their breasts and asses against hips, groins, and hardening dicks. One bawdy demon, pretending to be a delicate-looking Black rose with succulent lips and feline eyes, took off her dress and slinked around a patron in her black bra and panties. She strutted her stuff, whipping up the thick crowd into another frenzy. Some men even had the nerve to throw money at her. Hoochie Coochie dancing began all around as if the crowd became infected with the seductively charged atmosphere. One demon girl jumped on the stage and thrust her narrow hips at the guitar player, nearly upstaging Gertie Mae who only fueled the fire by using her handkerchief that she used to wipe away a sweaty brow to fan the dancing whore on to more steamy shenanigans. Patrons sitting at the small tables stomped their feet and pounded the tables, making their liquor glasses and cold beer bottles jump with the brazen action.

Gertie Mae kicked up her heels and caterwauled into the microphone.

"I treats him kind but he don't do me right!

We fights and quarrel most every damn night

I can't have no man's got such low-down ways

Cause the blue gum man ain't the style now'days

I brought him from the north and I'm sendin' him back

Else I'll use his head for a carpet tack!"*

Lulabelle gazed at the crowd who had no clue about the wickedness among them. There was nothing she could do to prevent them from mingling with evil. Gertie Mae howled into the microphone a new tune that always brought the house down.

"Oh, the white girl rides in a Cadillac

The yella gal rides the same

Black gal rides in a dusty Ford

But she gets there just the same!"

High John slipped his hand around Lulabelle's and pulled her toward the kitchen. They slipped out of the juke joint through the backdoor and ran to his car. He drove fast out of the parking area, heading for the deep woods where Erik was held captive.

Lulabelle's heart lodged in her throat when they arrived at Sadie's whorehouse.

"Let's hurry," High John said.

Leaping out of the car, Lulabelle followed him to the porch. He checked around the grounds for something, holding his hand back for her to stay put. He dashed over to a stump on the side of the house and pulled out his mojo bag again. Quickly moving his fingers over the stump, Lulabelle listened to the house creak like it was about to collapse on itself. High John glanced at the house, then moved over to her.

"It's safe now. I had to put my protective root over it so the house won't snitch on us being here. Sadie may have some tricksters planted inside, but they won't notice us now," he said.

They cautiously climbed the steps, and High John opened the screen door. He juggled the front doorknob, and it opened whispery quiet as if it expected them.

"Hold on," he said.

He pulled a matchbox from his coat pocket and struck it, allowing them enough light for Lulabelle to get to a lamp and turn it on.

"There, on the mantle," Lulabelle said, pointing to the mason jars.

"Grab the one that has him," High John said.

Lulabelle eyed the jars and honed in on the one she remembered touching. She lifted it, spun around, and showed it to High John.

"Open it!" he said.

She twisted the lid and held out the jar to him.

"What do I do now?" she yelped, wide-eyed and scared.

High John took the jar from her hand and drank down the contents like he'd been parched for one hundred years.

"Da fuck you doin' man?!"

Lulabelle snatched the jar away from him, but the man swallowed down Erik and licked his tongue around his meaty lips.

"You tricked me!" Lulabelle shrieked.

"Calm down, Lula!" High John snapped.

Lulabelle wrestled the jar away from him and busted him upside the head with it. Blood gushed from the split in his temple, and she dashed toward the front door. High John grabbed her arm and swung her back into his chest. Smothering her lips with his large mouth.

She thrashed within his firm hold on her and jerked her face away from his, breaking his hold on her lips.

"Lula, baby! It's me!"

Lulabelle stopped moving and gazed deep into High John's eyes. The voice coming out of his mouth was Erik's. She swooned and his grip on her tightened and he pulled her in close.

High John kissed her, but the moist lips, the feel of them was all Erik. She cradled his face.

"What's going on?" Lulabelle said.

Erik nuzzled her cheek.

"You saved me, baby."

He dragged her out of the house and down the steps.

"Over there!" Lulabelle said, pointing to High John's Packard.

He helped Lulabelle get into the passenger side and he ran to the other door. High John left the keys in the ignition. Her man, using High John's body, held the steering wheel with trembling hands.

"Erik? Is it really you?"

Tears welled up in Lulabelle's eyes. High John turned to her and caressed her face. He pressed his dewy lips against hers and she squeezed her eyelids shut, praying that it wasn't a cruel trick. The taste, the feel, and the urgency of the kiss were all Erik. His deep wet kiss fed her a tongue that reminded her of why she adored him. This was her man. The Crossroads Man. The opener of the way to the old African Gods and pathways to other worlds. Back where he belonged. With her.

He released her and she jumped in her seat as the eyes staring back at her belonged to some other beautiful man. High John. She whimpered next to him and High John hugged her, his muscular arms and scent so different from Erik's but feeling like him just the same. Her lips hungered to kiss him again and tongue him down to his socks, but she couldn't get over that he was housed in a different man.

"What is happening?" she said.

"High John is letting me use him as a vessel to carry me until I can find my body."

"You sent… I mean… he sent Elizabeth to look for it. Do you remember where you were last?"

"Near the crossroads."

"How were they able to get you?"

Her head swam with the incongruence of hearing Erik's voice come out from a stranger's lips.

"Don't cry, baby."

She rested her head on his chest, listening to the heartbeat whispering love in her ear. Three months felt like three years while he was gone.

"They used a piece of your hair to cast a spell pretending to be you. One of them made an offering at the crossroads for me and clouded my eyes," Erik said.

"Your affections for her helped them fool you," High John said, interrupting Erik.

The switch-up made Lulabelle's head spin. A two-for-one sat next to her, and she reeled from the dizziness it produced in her.

"They must've come into the juke and got close to her… stole some hair or maybe fluids from something she drank out of and conjured a vision that clouded your eyes, Geechee," High John said.

"I can't stay in him long," Erik said.

The green eyes piercing into her made Lulabelle fret.

"I missed you, woman," Erik said.

He pulled Lulabelle onto his lap, and she felt his body react to hers. The skin beneath her fingers thrummed with anticipation as the heat from him seeped into her. She closed her eyes so she could imagine being with Erik, but the frisky hands on her ass made her gasp and stare at High John's handsome face.

Strong hands lifted her up and down onto a covered, bulging erection that felt like a steel rod underneath her panties. Determined fingers tore her underwear off and she lifted her hips so that High John… Erik… could unfasten his pants and released his dick.

"Wait," Lulabelle said.

She wanted to wait until he was in his own body, but Erik's heavy breathing told her otherwise. Plus, High John was a fine specimen of a man with just as much sex appeal as the Geechee man.

"I need you right now… please…" Erik begged.

He snaked that thick tongue in her ear and licked her down to her breasts, pushing them together. His palms squeezed and lifted the lush mounds until he could kiss them fully across the tops.

"Ride me, Lula, let me feel you again."

High John's body made Lulabelle ache with desire and long-felt longing. Their lips collided again, and he renewed their vows of pleasure that had been stolen for three months.

"We have to go, find your body—"

He smothered her lips and dominated the arch in her back, bending her until her shoulders rested against the steering wheel. His hands pulled down the front of her dress and slipped around her lower back to release the hooks on her bra.

Big tits spilled all over his chest, and the groan out of his throat thrilled her. She was with two men at the same time in one body, and the heat of them made her feel damp between the legs and wanton.

"Lula," he moaned.

He lifted her again, and she slid down on his erection, holding her breath and clutching his shoulders. It felt like cheating, but it wasn't. Not really.

"Fuck," High John groaned.

Her wide ass rested on his balls, and they both sat still, getting used to the sensation of the connection. Lulabelle's head fell back and High John stuffed a big nipple in his mouth, sucking on her breast with a ravenous tugging that shot down to her clit and made her clench her slick walls all around the girth that stretched her beyond belief. She threw her arms around his neck and bounced on his dick with an off-kilter rhythm, as if the Crossroads Man was still figuring out how to work the strange form he was in.

"So wet… tight..." he huffed, pumping himself into her.

She soaked his lap with the pent-up arousal she kept between her thighs waiting for him to return. It wasn't the reunion she imagined, but she took it hard and fast. Loud gushy sounds rang in her ears, listening to the splashy sounds in her pussy and the heavy slapping of her ass cheeks on his muscular thighs. High John played with her breasts again, and she sensed an internal struggle by watching his eyes blaze into hers. The conjure man wanted a taste, and she knew for sure the entity she fucked now was not Erik. It couldn't be. The feeling was different. The hands on her breasts and the tongue on her ripe nipples were foreign to her skin.

Lulabelle hollered in his ear as he pounded her pussy, slapping her ass as he took what he wanted from her. She let him, indulging in the forbidden touch of High John.

"We have to leave… now…" High John's voice returned, and Lulabelle pretended like she didn't hear him, wanting to feel that heavy dick carve unfamiliar territory in her pliant pussy.

"Fuck me, Daddy," she grunted, slamming her ass down on his balls, wanting him to feel all the harlotry she planned on giving him.

She kissed him, licking and biting on his big lips to make him open his mouth so she could rest her tongue in the maple-scented wetness.

"Oh, my damn!" High John screeched, losing full control of the situation.

His hand fumbled with the driver's side door and a gust of humid early fall air gusted around them. He moved out of the car with Lulabelle still stuffed with his dick. His pants fell around his shoes as he corrected his balance. She wouldn't let go of him, sucking on his neck and whimpering for more thrusting of that big meat. Tears dampened her eyes as she begged for more pumping.

"Give me some more, Daddy," she pleaded, purposely not saying anyone's name.

The squelching of her pussy told her Erik was back in the driver's seat. He spun them around and plopped her on the hood, drilling her folds like there was no tomorrow. Watching her titties bounce as he hunched and hollered her name gave Lulabelle joy. She scraped her nails on his nape and cooed his name into his big lips.

"I'm finna cum," he yelled.

"It's your pussy!" she encouraged.

She didn't know if it was Erik or High John. Didn't matter no way. Her pussy was plowed to smithereens and ready to receive.

"You like how it feels?" she purred.

Erik grabbed her throat and pushed her down on the hood.

"Fuck me harder… harder… lemme feel all that big dick!" she demanded.

His eyes burned holes into her skull, but the face looking at her was High John. The conjure man's lips slammed on top of hers and kissed her breath away.

She felt the hot spurts of semen against her walls. It warmed up her insides as his dick pulsed with a prolonged orgasm.

"Lula!" he groaned, flicking his fingers across her clit.

"Cum in this tight pussy!"

Her walls throbbed all around his dick from the bottom of her pussy. She lifted in time to see her opening grip and release with a rhythmic throbbing that made her whimper for God. The damp curls of her pubic hairs were beautiful against his wild bush of dark moist pubic curls. He grabbed her breasts again to hold them once more as he shot one last coating of cum all over her walls.

Hot, sweaty, and spent from the exertion, High John pulled his fat dick out of her pussy. His ejaculate pooled out on the hood. She squeezed as much of it out as possible, and he groaned at the amount spilling all over the car. Wiping his face, he reached for his pants like a drunk man trying to dress.

"Got no time for this shit… gotta find this niggas's body," High John grumbled.

Lulabelle slide down the hood and fixed her dress. With no panties on, the air tickled her naked vulva. She fastened up her bra again and caught her breath. High John regarded her with his own lust, not Erik's. He was in control again.

"Gotta find Elizabeth and see if she found his body," he said.

"Where should we look for her?"

"The crossroads," High John said. "Get in the car."

She crawled back in, and he slipped in beside her. He started the car and drove carefully out of the woods.

The crossroads were empty, only moonlight high above, and the distant sound of The Midnight Ramblers at her juke joint met them there. High John stomped around and peered in every direction before stepping to the center that joined all the directions together. He kicked around some dirt and rested his hands on his hips.

"He loves you," High John said.

Lulabelle stared at him with a curious expression.

"That's the only way they got him. If he didn't love you, then the root they put together to bind him wouldn't have worked. Love is a powerful spell, Lula. An incantation that holds hearts together takes two to manifest the conjuring," High John said.

He looked at her with soft, knowing eyes.

"They probably would've fooled me too," he said, winking at her.

He gazed all around him.

"I figure… they moved into these parts and wanted to grab people roaming around late at night. Drunk. Confused. Not paying attention to the signs. Someone who regularly fed Erik might've missed a night making an offering to him. It weakened the veil and made him come look-see when bodies were found here. Can't nobody resist a pretty girl pretending to be lost. Not even a drunk man. Even a woman looking for her wayward husband would stop to help another woman in trouble. They get caught, and the hag rides their body for… draining them of energy and the will to live. Geechee came to see what was going on and a demon pretending to be you seduced him with a binding spell. Stuffed his essence in a jar for Sadie to keep. Buried him somewhere…"

His eyes glanced behind her.

A glowing ball of yellow light bounced above a thicket of kudzu.

"There she is," High John said.

He ran toward the light, and Lulabelle followed him. The kudzu was thick and High John yanked on it at the spot where they saw the light. She helped him, and they found a decaying lump of plant matter and unsettled dirt. Dragging their hands through it, Lulabelle squealed when they discovered Erik's body stuffed in a hole. She brushed the soil off of his suit and wept as she helped High John pull him out and lay him flat on his back.

"Erik," she said, stroking his moldy and mottled face.

The stench of decay was sickly sweet, and she covered her nose and mouth once they took in the full reeking of the decomposing form. High John stuck his fingers in Erik's mouth and scooped out more dirt. He wiped his nose too, and Lulabelle looked up to check the placement of the moon. It was still high in the night sky.

High John widened Erik's lips and covered his mouth with his own, vomiting the liquid he swallowed from the jar down into his throat. The retching sounds almost made Lulabelle puke, and she turned her head, pinching her nose from the powerful odor of sulfur. She looked over at Erik again when High John sat back and wiped his lips. They waited.

Nothing happened.

"Are we too late? Is his body too far gone?" Lulabelle asked.

High John looked worried, and he stood up and paced among the kudzu. An hour passed. The sounds of the woods at night gave Lulabelle the creeps, but she felt safe with High John. When another hour passed, she couldn't hold her tears back.

"Come on, man. Get your ass back here!" High John shouted.

He slammed a fist on Erik's chest. Despite that, nothing happened.

"We were too late," Lulabelle whined, wiping her eyes.

"Nah, his body is still good enough to restore."

"Then what's wrong with him? Use your mojo bag, cast a spell on him or somethin'!"

"Calm down, woman," Erik said.

Lulabelle placed her hands on his chest and watched him blink the dirt out of his eyes.

"It takes time to get acquainted with the body again. Always wanna rush people," Erik teased.

He sat up and dirt dropped from his skin all over and his face filled with his beautiful ruddy brown coloring again. She helped him stand, and he brushed off his clothes and shoes. He held out a hand for High John and they clasped palms and bumped shoulders.

"Came right on time," Erik said.

"Lulabelle was a big help. She found you before I did," High John said.

She stood between them feeling sheepish and a little embarrassed thinking about what had transpired between the three of them earlier.

"I got 'em trapped at Lula's juke right now. We best hurry back before the barrier I put around the place wears off. I got no choice but to take the hag down there. Couldn't do it until I found you, though.

"Understood," Erik said.

They trotted back to High John's car, piled in, and rushed over to the juke. The noise from inside seemed louder, and the dancing and partying going on shook the foundation.

"Go in through the back," High John said.

They snuck around the side and entered the rear with stealth. No one paid attention to them except for Eva, who fried up the last orders of fish and chicken for the night. Her eyes grew wide at Erik being with them, and Lulabelle held up a finger to her lips, warning her not to say anything. Erik went to the kitchen sink and rinsed his mouth out and washed his face. Lulabelle poured him some whiskey, and he took the glass and gulped down the contents. He leaned over and kissed her lips. She closed her eyes and accepted the warm, smooth feel of his mouth over hers. High John handed Erik his hat that he hung up in the kitchen.

"Keep that down so they won't recognize you in the crowd," High John said.

Erik pulled it down low, and they listened to the hard partying.

"This place is on fire," Eva said, monitoring High John. "These people are eating and drinking up everything!"

Lulabelle could see the dollar bills Eva was adding up with her eyes, thinking about all the money they were making.

"People are so busy in the juke, they barely going to the Loving House," Eva said.

"Go on out there and stay in the back. Lula, let Sadie see you so she'll think you've been here, but stay away from her," High John said.

The conjure man stared at one of Eva's cupboards, then waved his hand at Lulabelle.

"Go on, get out there," High John ordered.

Lulabelle grabbed Erik's hand, and they squeezed through bodies. She shook one hip and waved her hand at customers as if she'd been making the rounds as usual. Sadie sat perched at the front table near the band, and her girls were still half naked and urging debauchery everywhere. The people obliged with lusty kissing on the dance floor, and fingers groping and grabbing partners in their seats.

Lulabelle called out a loud, "Hey girl!" to Gertie Mae, who had sweated out her pin curls and make-up. Streaks of pancake foundation dripped down her drenched face as she sang a bluesy, slow drag. Her eyes connected with Sadie, who smoked a cigarette with a long cigarette holder, blowing smoke circles at the piano player. Lulabelle pretended to roll her eyes and moved through the patrons to the back. Erik kept his head dipped low as they scurried and hid behind the standing audience.

For the first time in months, Lulabelle could relax with Erik pressed into her back. He threw an arm around her chest and felt on her breast openly. No one cared. Their gazes were stuck on Gertie Mae and listening to her moaning lyrics. She leaned her head against his chest.

"I thought you left me and found someone else," she said.

She didn't have to speak louder than the music because his keen hearing could pick up the softest whisper from her lips. He rested his back against the wall, and she clung to his arm.

"I'ma go wash up back at the Loving House. Change clothes," he said.

She gripped him tighter.

"Don't worry, I'm here. You're here. Can't trick me with my real woman," he said.

He kissed her forehead and pushed through the throngs toward the hall. She circled the juke and collected money from Honey Boy who looked dizzy from all the business.

"These men are finally heading to the back," Honey Boy said. "Thought them hoes from the woods would leave soon, but they are hunkering down for the night. That Sadie ain't left that table yet. She don't dance or nothin', just watches her women and smokes."

"She ask about me at all?"

"Nah. She likes her moonshine and people gawking at her hoes."

"I bet," Lulabelle said, stuffing the money down her bra.

The juke was sweltering, with so many people bumping up against each other. Erik met up with her in the back wearing a fresh suit that she kept pressed and ready for him in her room. He held her close. His touch was electrifying on her skin. They swayed to the slow drag and before she knew it, he had her dress hiked up her waist in the back while he unzipped his clean pants. Her lips made an "O" as he took her right there in the crowd, their eyes transfixed on nothing but The Midnight Ramblers. Erik gripped her shoulders and thrust in and out slowly. His balls slapped against her clit and her body jerked to his pacing.

"You enjoyed fucking High John a little too much," he growled in her ear.

Her eyes watered from the stretching his dick gave her walls, and he was not kind about letting her catch her breath as he stroked faster in her pussy. He slammed a hand over her mouth to keep her from moaning too loud. The cacophony of music, call and response shouting at Gertie Mae, and Erik's hot, heavy dick beating down her wet slit with no mercy had Lulabelle mewling and crying softly with too much stimulation. His dick was thick enough to make her clit tug down on its own without his fingers stimulating it. He wouldn't let up, digging his heels into the floor and thrusting into her until she was almost on her tippy-toes. Her pants were loud in her own ears against his hand, and she creamed on his dick with a sudden loss of control. His erection swelled and his grunt of satisfaction pushed a flood of cum into her that weakened her knees. He held her up and whispered in her ear.

"When this is over, I gotta punish that pussy. You know that, right?"

She whimpered, and he spanked her ass, covering her cheeks back up with her dress.

"I ain't like how you acted in that car and out of it. Didn't even say my name like you usually do. You liked fucking his body," he said.

"I was fucking you," she said.

The gleam in his eye and the smirk on his lips told her he thought she was lying. He gave her a fat smooch on her cheek and slid his tongue in her ear and around the shell.

"Were you?" he whispered.

Lulabelle rounded her shoulders and avoided eye contact. High John stepped out of the kitchen and she shivered, thinking about him sucking on her titties while she bounced on his fat dick. All three of them kept watch over Sadie and her whores.

"Night Lula!"

Lulabelle held a hand to her chest, trying to calm the tightness there and the shortness of breath as she watched the last of her patrons leave her juke. She waved at the man who called out to her, the piano player, and kept her eyes on two of Sadie's demon whores who were topless and lounging on chairs near the stage.

Sadie herself sat at the piano, tickling the ivory, keeping her sultry eyes on Lulabelle. Honey Boy took the last of the cash she collected and headed out to the Loving House to check on the girls and rest. Eva slung a coat over her shoulders and lifted a covered plate of chicken from the bar counter and bid Lulabelle goodnight as her husband waited to scoop her up at the front door. She left a bag on the counter, waving for Lulabelle to ignore it as she walked out with her man. The last stragglers headed out and finally, they were alone with the hag and her ladies. Erik slinked away from the wall and took off High John's hat. Sadie squinted and stood up once she realized it was Erik. The hag snapped her fingers and her women jumped up and stalked across the dance floor toward the entrance. Lulabelle glanced at High John and he checked for the moonlight through the window. He grinned.

Sadie and her women came back in, the barrier blocking their exit from the premises. Erik pulled Lulabelle behind him and she stayed near the wall.

"Ain't nobody here now. Might as well show yourselves," High John said.

He pulled out his mojo bag and sat it openly on his chest. Erik moved next to him and flexed his fingers before pulling out his switchblade. Sadie checked the juke to make sure no one else was around.

"Why not?" she said.

Sadie's face puffed out like a bullfrog again, and she stripped out of her dress and underwear, revealing a gorgeous body that split and twisted, turning itself inside out until her skin fell to the floor in a wet splat at her feet. Without her skin, she was a walking, red, glistening wound. She grinned, and everything inside her mouth was black. Lulabelle couldn't see a tongue or teeth anymore. The whores behind her shed their phony skin and dropped to all fours, snarling and gnashing vicious teeth looking like hell hounds skinned raw, the lean muscles in their bodies a wet scarlet nightmare as their claws clacked across the wood floor.

Lulabelle couldn't turn her head away from the horror in her juke and a chill dragged along her spine as she sincerely wondered what High John and her Geechee man looked like under their skin.

"No tit for tat boys? We get undressed and y'all stay pretending? That's not fair at all," Sadie said with her midnight black mouth.

Her eyes were still seductive and sinister. She turned toward Lulabelle, and Erik stepped forward.

"I would love to ride you gal, then put your shiny little soul in a glass jar," Sadie said.

"Don't look at her, Lula. Turn your head, baby," Erik said.

She did as he said so she wouldn't be hypnotized again. He lunged for the hell hounds, distracting Sadie. The demons attacked Erik, but he cut them with his razor, deflecting their snapping teeth as much as he could. The hag jumped on his back, whipping her head back and forth as she gripped his chin, yanking it back.

High John sprang into action, snatching the hag's skin off the floor and running with it to the counter. He stretched it open on the bloody wet side and dumped the contents of the bag Eva had left behind all over it.

Sadie shrieked when she noticed his actions and jumped off of Erik. He continued fighting and cutting the hell hounds that gave off the smell of burning flesh. High John stepped away from the counter and allowed Sadie to pick up her skin. She shook it and cursed High John, throwing her outer covering back on. It sizzled and burned her flesh, and she clawed at her skin, enraged and frightened.

The hell hounds flopped around the floor like they were having convulsions, and black acidic foam bubbled out of their mouths, filling the room with the stench of burning rot. Sadie clawed at her once beautiful face.

"You motherfucker!" she screamed at High John.

Erik ran to the conjure man and High John poured the contents of the mojo bag into the Geechee's hand. Erik balled his hand into a fist, blew through a small hole he made on the side of it, then slammed his hands together. There came a loud clap of sound that reverberated like thunder and Lulabelle could never be sure if she saw what she saw, but The Crossroads Man, her beloved Erik, stole the moon from the sky, reached right through the juke window behind the stage, and plucked it with his fingers, replacing it with the sweet sugary colors dawn.

Sadie shrieked again and fled out of the juke, breaking through the screen door and tumbling down the steps with a roar pouring out of her wicked mouth. Lulabelle ran to the entrance and watched the hag head for the woods, but it was too late. Sunlight pierced holes through her body and she sparked up like a human torch, her flesh scorched into black ash that floated to the morning sky. One last horrid screech sounded from her lips before she vanished in front of Lulabelle's eyes.

"My God today," Lulabelle whispered with wide eyes.

She turned back into her juke and the hell hounds had vanished too, leaving no trace behind. High John wiped his hands.

"Eva's salt trick don't work on me, but Miss Sadie sho did go out like a whiny bitch!" High John said.

Erik laughed at him, and both men slapped hands and shook their heads.

"Hags always have a bad habit of leaving their skin out in the wrong places tryna be tough all the time," Erik said.

Lulabelle could only stare at them, mouth agape, and her thoughts jumbled with all the terrifying sights she'd seen in nearly twenty-four hours. She tossed a weary hand up at them both.

"I'm going to bed. This shit… this was too much," Lulabelle complained.

"Oh, you ain't about to do no sleepin'," Erik said.

Lulabelle stopped and put a hand on her hip.

"Whatchu mean?"

"Told you already. I'm 'bout to be knee deep in that pussy. Go on back there and get naked. You gotta make up for the disrespect," Erik said.

High John snatched his hat from the floor where Sadie had knocked it off of Erik's head. He placed it back on his own head.

"Guess I'll just mosey along then. Come see me Geechee when you done with her. I'll be waiting over at the crossroads. We got work to do," High John said.

"You ever gon' give that conjure man his body back?" Erik said.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I kinda like it. What you think, Lula?" High John said.

"Don't be askin' her 'bout nothin', man. Take that shit back. I don't want her looking at that face again."

"Scared of some competition, I see."

"Whatever, man. Take that nigga his shit back so he can do his work."

High John sucked his teeth at Erik and winked at Lulabelle.

"Sure y'all don't need me to watch?"

Erik raised a fist. Lulabelle grinned.

"Tell the truth, Lulabelle, was all that hollerin' you was doin' for me or him?" High John asked.

"Goodbye High John. Close the door behind you," Lulabelle said.

Erik stuck out his tongue at High John.

"So ungrateful. I'll be waitin' on your ass," High John said.

High John looked into the corner of the juke and tipped his hat to nothing she could see.

"Thank you for your help, Elizabeth. You are a true friend to these two," High John said.

"Tell her thank you for me, please," Lulabelle said.

"She heard you," High John said.

He strolled out of the front door and politely closed it for Lulabelle.

Erik spanked her ass.

"I'ma start with those big thighs first. Then I'll lick and kiss that juicy pussy with my sweet jewel at the top…"

Erik nuzzled his face against hers. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Is it true that you love me?" she asked.

He kissed her softly and rubbed her shoulders.

"Yes."

"That's what got you in trouble," she said.

"One time. Won't ever happen again."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"What will happen to those jars they left in that house?"

"Nothing. I'll pour them out and release their souls to heaven at the crossroads."

"Will you ever show me what you truly look like?"

"No. Your human eyes couldn't handle it."

"So I'll never see you?"

"Not until you're an old woman and you pass on. Then I'll guide you to the other side of the veil."

He kissed her again, and she admired all the gold in his teeth.

"You'll stay with me until I die?"

"Or until you get sick of me."

She shook her head and pressed her face against his neck, smelling his skin and feeling his warmth.

"I won't ever get sick of you."

He spanked her backside, and she yelped.

"Lulabelle, Lulabelle… time for us to go to the Loving House," he teased.

She threaded her fingers with his and thought of all the things she wanted to ask him about turning night into day and loving her so much that a hag could trick his ass into a jar. He tugged on her hand and she walked beside him across the rickety creek bridge. He slipped a hand under her dress and fingered her folds, slipping two digits inside of her as she walked slowly for him, letting him watch her big ass jiggle while he worked her pussy.

When they reached her soft, lumpy bed, she forgot about the moon, the sun, and the shiny mason jars. All she saw were stars in her eyes as she raised her big legs high to the sky, letting the Crossroads Man make love to her again, and again, and again….

Part 1 "Ice Cold Jax" HERE.

A.N.:

Aaron Pierre is my new face claim for John the Conqueror. I had someone else originally, but it's fun to switch up. Basically Killmonger and Terry Richmond tag teaming in this. This sequel was also written as a birthday read for @soufcakmistress in 2022.

[erikftglitter]

Christmas in Winona Springs 🎄🤍

Chapter List

Intro

[violetmuses]

18+ MINORS DNI 👀 @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

House Calls.

Summary: Aaliyah has an elusive charm that can be alluring to some and frustrating to others. Professor Terry is compelled to have her. On one fateful evening at his college buddies bachelor party, he runs into Aaliyah. An interaction he hadn’t imagined would ever happen.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ CONTENT, based off of Players Club, Nasty Talk, Professor!Student. ANGST.

Part three

1999:

Walking into a hair salon was an interesting experience. Pulling into an overly stuffed parking lot in futile anticipation of being in and out “in a decent time.” opening the salon door and walking into a room overflowing with peering eyes full of a mixture of both curiosity and judgment that covers you from your head to the bottom of your favorite shoes. Slinking down into chairs that go from stuffed and comfortable to hard as steel while waiting for the appointment that was due more than an hour ago. Out bursts of group laughter, “girllll, no she didn’t!” and “say what now?!” coupled with the familiar smell of hair sheen spray and neutralizing shampoo that seeps through the fog of sporadic steam that fills the air from the super-wattage, neck-burning hair dyers, steamers and marcel ‘top of your ear frying’ irons, reminds you that this is going to be long day.

Aaliyah Noelle Davenport sat in an unoccupied salon chair within a popular salon in Baton Rouge called Gina’s. Gina’s had been around for over ten years. The pages of her coloring book she was currently scribbling in with old crayons kept her busy so she wouldn’t go snooping around like last time. She burned her fingers touching a curling iron heater.

“He’s back home…coming to pick Aaliyah up in a few…”

Aaliyah’s mother, Rochelle, was currently doing a roller set on a client. She worked the rollers around thick strands of hair with her long, curved, golden nails. Rochelle was a hard working woman. She did hair and worked night shifts at a local motel to pay the bills. Anything to make up for Aaliyah’s father being in prison for six years.

She was the epitome of 90s fine: Rochelle embodied a beauty that was both timeless and undefinable, leaving a permanent imprint on anyone that crossed her path. Her unique blend of elegance, confidence, and charisma inspired and resonated with Aaliyah. That kind of fine isn’t just about looks — it’s about attitude, style, and an effortless grace.

“Make the money, don’t let it make you. Money can't make you anything…only your actions can make you something. Money can buy you things that make life easier but one thing it can’t buy is happiness…”

“Girl, stop acting like you ain’t happy he back home...”

One of her mother’s friends and fellow stylist, Donna, was flipping through one of many hair catalogs the shop owned.

“The less he know the better,” Rochelle added the final touches before she walked her client over to the hooded dryers, “It was one time, that’s it…”

“Rochelle, if you don’t calm your fucking nerves. He won’t ever find the fuck out if you don’t hush!”

“Okay, okay…shit–that’s him coming up right now. Aaliyah?”

“Mhm?” Aaliyah mumbled from her seat while coloring in a teddy bear.

“Your father is here…come on and get ya stuff. He’s gonna take you back to the house while I finish up. C’mon, little girl!”

Aaliyah frowned and pouted her lip while packing away her crayons and coloring book.

“Fix that face. You got homework to do…”

She climbed down from her seat and slipped her Barbie book bag over her shoulders. A candy painted Donk with shiny rims slowed to a stop outside of the salon and Aaliyah’s eyes lit up when she recognized her father’s low–cut ceasar with the deep waves. He shut his door and strolled over to the entrance of the salon with swagger.

Roland Davenport AKA Pressure. He was a smooth cat from Baton Rouge with a nefarious past and a deep love for his daughter. Aaliyah was his entire world.

“Is that my little girl! What’s up, Princess!”

He scooped up his six year old and spun her around. Aaliyah giggled joyfully while clinging onto her father’s crisp white tee. His skin was the deepest brown and blemish free. He flashed his pearly whites at her before giving her a kiss to the forehead. Roland put Aaliyah down and then he made his way over to Rochelle.

Aaliyah watched her parents hug each other affectionately. Their lips connected with a gluttonous passion. Roland’s hands roamed down to cuff Rochelle’s dump trunk and she squeezed his bulging biceps in return.

“Stop! Stop…I’m with a client…”

“How long ya gonna be, baby? I was thinking ‘bout taking my favorite girls out to eat.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rochelle grinned flirtatiously, “Where to?”

“It’s a surprise…”

Aaliyah’s parents talked for a few more minutes before her dad led her out of the salon hand in hand. She skipped along the way. Roland opened the back door and took her back pack so that she could buckle in.

“Daddy, I wanna sit up front.” Aaliyah protested with her sweet little voice, “Please?”

“Liyah. You can’t sit up here today. Maybe next time, okay?”

Aaliyah hung her head before fastening her seatbelt. Roland made his way to the drivers side and climbed in.

“How was school today?” Roland questioned, staring back at his daughter through the rear view mirror.

“Good.” Aaliyah flashed a grin with no two front teeth.

“That’s not what ya momma told me…”

Her smile disintegrated.

Aaliyah fiddled with her pleated, khaki uniform skirt. She avoided her father’s gaze, afraid he’d appear angry and she would be in big trouble.

“Look at me, Liyah…”

She did as she was told, staring up at her father.

“I’m not mad. You had every right to defend yourself. ‘Dem lil’ boys won’t mess with you again after what ya did…”

Aaliyah had been dealing with constant bullying from two little boys in her first grade class. They would pull her long plats, kick the back of her chair, call her names, and other cruel things that always resulted in her crying in the bathroom.

“Now if these lil’ niggas wanna have kids of their own someday, they better leave my daughter alone or I’m putting foot in ass…”

Roland made a silly face at Aaliyah and she couldn’t help but to smile and laugh.

“How ‘bout we make a pit stop to grab a snowball?”

“YAY!!!” Aaliyah cheered, her little arms up in the air like she’d just had a victory lap.

Roland cranked the radio, Sho Nuff by 8ball & MJG blasting through the speakers. Aaliyah could feel the seat beneath her vibrate. She watched her father rap the lyrics, a sudden gush of humid air flooding the car when he let the windows down. Roland extended his arm from the window to greet people he knew, the Chevrolet Impala Donk slow gliding through the hood.

They pulled up to a snowball stand that was situated next to a bowling alley and roller-skate rink. Rolland turned his music down before looking back at Aaliyah over the headrest of his seat.

“Which flavor?”

“Georgia Peach!”

“Aight, munchkin. I’ll be back…”

Roland climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Aaliyah peered out of the open window, her eyes following her father’s retreating frame. What she hadn’t noticed, however, was the way an all black Escalade crept up, all four doors opening in unison.

Everything went in slow motion.

Repeated muzzle flashes sparked the air like it was the Fourth of July.

RAT–rat-rat-rat-rat!!!

Her scream pierced the air.

——

Those memories flooded Aaliyah’s mind that Wednesday morning. She’d woken up in good spirits, ready for her Ethics and Psychology class and a lunch date with a special someone. After showering, Aaliyah slipped on a pair of light grey leggings that molded into her hips, thighs, and booty. She paired it with a fitted, white T-shirt and low top Vans. Glasses on, messy hair pinned back with a claw clip, she threw on a denim jacket and collected her school bag near the front door.

Before she could even leave, a hard, booming knock on the storm door of her Shotgun House caused her forehead to wrinkle with surprise. She paused for a second before walking up to the door. Aaliyah brought one dark brown eye to the peephole.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Aaliyah flinched.

“Aaliyah! Open the door! I know you’re here!”

It was her junkie mother.

She didn’t look like herself.

Acne, dull skin, and self-inflicted wounds from picking at her face. Needle marks and collapsed veins from shooting up.

Rochelle was unrecognizable.

One look at her, and all the trauma from her youth flooded her mind. After her father was shot down, Rochelle went into a deep state of depression. She lost her job at the salon, and the pay checks from her motel job didn’t keep the bills paid. Rochelle had no choice but to seek help from a man. Any man that was willing. She sent Aaliyah away at the age of ten for a few years to live with her estranged grandmother, Ruby. Ruby was a strict, Christian woman with no tolerance for misbehavior or rebellion. She lived in a different Parrish in rural Louisiana, closer to Shelby Springs.

Aaliyah was made to do yard and farm work. She had Bible studies on weekends and couldn’t hang with many children because their parents weren’t ‘Godly Folk’. The only thing Aaliyah really enjoyed was horseback riding whenever her grandmother would visit a church friend. When Aaliyah was nearing fourteen, she started sneaking out to see an older boy. Word got around and Ruby lashed out on Aaliyah.

“I didn’t have sex with him! We were just kissing!”

Aaliyah wailed, hands raised to brace herself from her grandmother’s blows.

“You’re just like your mother! Can’t keep your legs closed! Don’t lie to me, Aaliyah! I know you slept with that boy!” Ruby shouted.

She couldn’t stay there any longer. Aaliyah called her mother that same night, begging her to come get her. Rochelle drove an hour out and when Ruby opened her door, Rochelle shoved past her mother.

“You put your hands on my child?! You evil bitch!”

Aaliyah watched from the top of the stairs with her packed bags. Rochelle and Ruby were in the middle of a screaming match.

“You asked for my help, remember?! She lives under my roof, she abides by my rules!” Ruby argued.

“But did I ask you to beat on my child?! Just the same ol’ shit with you! I can’t even rely on you to be there for my daughter—”

“OH! Now look who’s talking. You couldn’t even get your shit together after Roland died to be a mother. Which man is it now paying the bills, Rochelle?! Look at all this,” Ruby pointed to Rochelle’s jewelry and designer, “Don’t look like you struggling to me.”

Rochelle remained silent, scornful eyes glaring at Ruby.

“Aaliyah! Let’s go…”

She hadn’t seen her mother in almost four years. Rochelle looked…fancy.

“Sully is in the car…He drove me here…I missed you, Liyah…”

Ruby watched with folded arms. She locked eyes with Aaliyah, a look of guilt flashing across her face for just a second. They left without a backwards glance.

Aaliyah was very careful around Sully. He was a drug dealer, bringing home money and gifts to spoil Aaliyah. She became used to the revolving door of other criminals entering her home. She was just happy to with her mother again. Aaliyah focused on her studies and poured herself into cheerleading and hip hop majorette.

Eventually, things started to go downhill. Rochelle was introduced to harder drugs, Sully owed people money and he had gambling debts. Things in their home started to disappear, bills were piling up, and Sully turned violent. It took for Ruby and Aaliyah to fight back for Sully to finally leave. It opened the same wound of her father’s death, Rochelle unable to stay strong. Rochelle’s addiction became worse, so bad to the point that she would steal from her own daughter.

Aaliyah couldn’t handle it. As soon as she graduated high school, she got her own place and left her mother behind. It broke her heart, but in order for her to evolve, she needed to break free. Aaliyah hated working at Hooters, and when she turned twenty–six, she started stripping at Crazy Horse.

“Make the money, don’t let it make you…”

Aaliyah opened the front door, but the storm door remained locked. Aaliyah stared down at her mother. Rochelle looked desperate and more frail than the last time she showed up. She’d relapsed again.

“Hey, baby…”

Rochelle pressed her hands against the door.

“Can you help me? I need some cash—”

“I gave you five hundred dollars when I last saw you, momma. I see you back on that shit again…”

Rochelle hung her head in shame.

“I’m trying, Aaliyah. You don’t understand how hard it is.”

“You’ve tried for over twenty years now. I’m tired of helping you and all you do is use me. Weren’t you staying with Mama Ruby?”

She definitely wasn’t staying with Aaliyah.

“I can’t stay wit’ you?”

“Hell no.” Aaliyah quipped.

“I’m your fucking mother!”

“Did you forget what happened the last time you lived with me?! You stole shit from my house! I don’t trust you!”

Aaliyah didn’t need this. She had to go to school.

“Please…please, Li–Li. I’m hungry…I’m broke…pleaseeee…”

Aaliyah stared her mother down with a venomous glance. There will always be a soft spot for Rochelle, but the repeated hurt was exhausting. Seeing her mother like this broke her heart. She just couldn’t stop using.

“Okay…”

Aaliyah opened her storm door. Rochelle slipped inside quickly. Aaliyah kept a watchful eye on her mother while she admired Aaliyah’s cozy home.

“C’mon…”

They entered Aaliyah’s kitchen. Rochelle climbed onto a bar stool, peering around with a nervous look. Aaliyah opened her fridge, bringing out leftover catfish and grits she’d prepared last night for dinner.

“That piece right there…yeah…”

Aaliyah rolled her eyes.

She gave her mother the thickest piece of catfish and a good portion of cheesy grits. While the food heated, Aaliyah reclined her plush bottom against the counter. She stared her mother down, unable to shake the pain that fought to bubble to the surface.

“How’s school?” Rochelle questioned, unable to avoid picking at her skin.

Aaliyah tampered down her resentment and cleared her throat to speak.

“Good. I’ll be graduating in June.”

“That’s good, baby. Real good…June…How many tickets you gettin’?”

“Uhm,” Aaliyah checked on the catfish, “Not really sure yet.”

“Still dancing?”

Aaliyah rubbed her arms.

“No.”

The smell of the crispy fish wafted her mother’s nose. Aaliyah opened the oven to retrieve it. The grits on the stove top were nice and smooth now. After plating the food, Aaliyah wrapped it with aluminum foil and slid it across the kitchen island to her mother. She opened her pantry to grab a plastic fork and knife, securing it with some paper towels before holding it out towards her mother.

“I can’t sit here and eat?”

“You know you can’t…”

“Aaliyah—”

“Look, I have class. I’m gon’ miss it if you don’t take this shit and leave—”

“LOOK,” Rochelle stood, “I’m sorry you hate me so much. I’m sorry about all that shit, but I’m still your mother, Li–Li.”

“Oh? Last time I remember you being a mother was when I was six years old. Anything after that don’t count.” Aaliyah fired back.

Rochelle parted her cracked lips to speak, but her words stilled in her throat. Her tears flowed down her face and she wiped them away with the back of her dingy sleeve. Aaliyah stood before her with a rigid expression.

“Okay, I’ll leave…”

Rochelle grabbed her plate of food and Aaliyah stepped out of the way for her to walk in front of her. Tears prickled her eyes but she hastily pulled herself together. Aaliyah followed her mother towards the front door. She opened it, unable to reach her mother’s gaze.

“I love you, Li–Li…”

A solemn tear cascaded down Aaliyah’s face.

“…think you could look out for me?”

Aaliyah released a sigh before reaching into her bag. She plucked out whatever cash she had– one hundred and fifty dollars– handing it over to her mother.

Rochelle accepted it shamefully.

“Thank you, Li–Li. Take care of yourself…”

——

Professor Richmond carried his brown leather briefcase with him into the lecture hall. There were already students present the more he approached his desk in his brown dress shoes. His oceanic eyes swept the rows of students, his gaze zeroed into a vacant desk. Bringing his Apple Watch up, he was right on schedule. She would be arriving late today it seems.

Terry couldn’t go the remainder of his weekend into the early weekday without Aaliyah crossing his mind. She invaded and consumed him without her physical presence. He was two grand broker and overjoyed. He’d spend more on her in a millisecond. That shapely body is a walking sin. He found himself daydreaming of how it would feel to press his muscles into the softness of her curves. How would the curl of his biceps feel around her thighs? The ridges of his abdomen beneath her hands as she explored?

“I hope you all read up on Darwin and The Moral Sense. We’re jumping straight into discussion…”

Terry removed his navy blue suit jacket, then he rolled up the sleeves to his white, button down shirt that he wore tucked into matching navy blue slacks. He used a red Expo marker to write: Chapter Three of The Descent of Man. After capping the marker, he turned his attention to the class. With his pointer finger, he pushed his glasses back from the bridge of his nose.

“The keystone significance of morality in human distinctness is clearly asserted by Darwin in the first sentence…and the quote says….”

Terry snapped his fingers before pointing at a student within the second row with their hand raised. A white male with wooly, dark brown hair and a hooked nose.

“I fully subscribe to the judgment of those writers who maintain that of all the differences between man and the lower animals—”

“The moral sense of conscience is by far the most important, correct, James. But why is that?”

He cast his penetrating eyes across his students before flicking his gaze at the door. Another student bravely raised their hand and Terry motioned for them to speak. He continued to lecture shortly after that.

“We know from his notebooks that Darwin was reading the contemporary philosophical literature about moral behavior in 1837…”

As he continued, pacing in front of his desk, hands in the pockets of his slacks, the absence of Aaliyah weighed heavy on him. Minutes ticked away and soon enough, class was dismissed. Terry spoke with a student after class about the grade he’d given them for the midterm paper before packing away his things and leaving.

He made it back to his makeshift office space, shut the door and shuffled inside, careful not to knock his briefcase into stacks of decades old textbooks and files. With his thumb and pointer finger, he flicked on his table lamp, a yellow glow igniting the space. The swivel chair situated at his rectangular, wooden desk creaked slight as he settled down. Terry cracked his wrists, a habit of his when he felt too wound up.

iPhone in hand, he found Aaliyah’s contact.

“Here,” Terry handed Aaliyah his phone, “Put your number in.”

Aaliyah stared up at Terry through her curled lashes with a smile that enticed him into a further aroused state. She held out her small hand and made a come hither motion. Terry felt his phone slip from his fingertips and watched her with a sharp gaze and a slight smirk. She typed away, and he caught her eye before she saved it.

Terry texted her phone later that evening and Aaliyah replied with a kiss emoji.

Terry: Goodnight, Beautiful ❤️

Aaliyah: Nite Professor 😘

He texted her on Sunday, not saying much, just a simple greeting. He didn’t want to come off too strong, although he was fiendish for her attention.

Terry: Hi, Aaliyah. Hope you slept well ❤️ Any plans for today?

Aaliyah: Hi 😏 slept well thanks for asking. how was your sleep? & I’m currently out to brunch with friends.

Terry: You’re welcome. had a great rest. Brunch is fun. I’m sure you look great 😌

Aaliyah: I do 😉

Terry: SO BEAUTIFUL 😍

Aaliyah: Thank you ❤️ can’t wait to see you on Wednesday.

Terry: I’m looking forward to it ❤️

Terry sent Aaliyah a new text.

Terry: Hey, is everything okay?

It wasn’t like her to miss class. Terry unfastened the first few buttons of his shirt. He stood to stretch his sore legs from his workout earlier, easing his way over to the only window in his office. Terry looked out the window. The sky was tar-black and the large clouds seemed as if they were moving towards him. He heard a tapping on the window and then it became a pitter-patter. People ran for cover outside and umbrellas were opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. Puddles began plinking as the rainfall became heavier. The roofs of the cars danced with spray and he could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of angry bees.

Buzz Buzz

Terry back tracked to his desk, reaching over and grabbing his phone.

Aaliyah: I’m sorry I missed class, Terry. Everything isn’t okay actually. I wasn’t feeling it. Can I call you?

Terry: Yes

He answered immediately.

Terry took a seat, “Hello?”

“Hi…”

Her voice sent chills down his spine.

Terry sensed her sadness.

“Want to talk about it?”

“���Can we still meet for lunch?”

“We can. It’s raining pretty bad out. Sure you’ll be okay driving?”

“I’ll be fine, I’m standing on my back porch right now…looks like it’s slowing down.”

“Okay. Uh…I was thinking Noir. It’s a nice jazz inspired restaurant and it’s a great vibe for cozy and intimate dining. Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No, that’s okay. I can meet you there. I know Noir.”

“Okay, drive safely, love.” Terry said.

“I will, you too. See you there.”

——

Noir didn’t have many patrons that afternoon, and Terry wasn’t complaining. He scooted himself into a booth, the dim light hanging above him so dull as if a shade had been cast upon it. His wet dress shoes squeaked slightly as he made himself comfortable. Terry ordered two filtered waters with lemon and hot water to soak the silverware. His legs swung back and forth beneath the booth table anxiously. Eyes that appeared turquoise glanced towards the entrance and he made out the silhouette of Aaliyah Davenport entering.

She must’ve gotten caught in the rain. She was dressed casually, a large Louis Vuitton tote bag over her right shoulder and a denim jacket flung over her left arm. She paused, eyes searching for Terry. He leaned further out of the booth and waved her down. Aaliyah fixed her gaze on him and a small smile graced her beautiful lips. Terry watched her saunter over, and the further she approached, the more her smile brightened.

Terry stood, fixing his pants since they had ridden up on his thighs and bulged around his crotch. Aaliyah slowed down to a stop before him, an awkward pause with nervous glances between them. Ultimately, Terry opened his arms and Aaliyah giggled before wrapping her arms around him. Terry caught a whiff of her hair; coconut and hibiscus. Mmm…he could feel the slight dampness of her curls through his dress shirt.

Her T-shirt beneath his fingertips was slightly wet from the rain droplets. Aaliyah broke away from him and gave him one last look before settling into the booth. Terry followed, situated across from her. He loved how natural and beautiful she looked. Her curls were slightly heat damaged at the ends, giving it personality. She wasn’t wearing her glasses today, Terry able to enjoy those pretty brown eyes again. Her hoop earrings swung as she swept hair from her eyes.

“I ordered us some water for now if that’s okay.” Terry mentioned.

“That’s ‘awrite with me, Professor.”

She has such a cute voice. Honeyed.

“I hope I didn’t miss anything crucial. I’m sorry.” Aaliyah apologized.

“Don’t be. We discussed chapter three…have you read it?”

“I have. No assignments?” Aaliyah replied.

“No—Aaliyah, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t care to talk about class. He wanted to know what was bothering her. She looked so saddened. It didn’t sit right with him.

“Uh…it’s a lot. I don’t wanna pour my shit out on you.”

“I’m willing to listen, if you’ll let me. No pressure…”

Aaliyah tilted her head and considered his words. Their water arrived and the waiter was ready to take their orders. Aaliyah hadn’t even looked over the menu.

“Give us another minute, please? Thanks…”

Aaliyah started flipping through the menu. The conical body of the saxophone in the background soothing.

Terry decided to order them an appetizer. Mini crab bites. He wasn’t too sure what to order for lunch.

“Do you like crab bites?” Terry asked.

“I do. That sounds good,” Aaliyah peered up at him with a timid smile, “I was thinking of getting a salmon ceasar salad.”

“Tasty,” Terry stroked his goatee, “I’ll probably do a shrimp Po’Boy.”

Their waiter circled back and Terry ordered everything. Alone again, they sipped their water and caught each other’s eye. Aaliyah pushed the wedge of lemon in her glass down further with her straw. She released a sigh before leaning against the table.

“My momma showed up today. Right when I was leaving for school.”

“Ya’ momma? I take it you’re not happy about that…”

Aaliyah’s eyes glistened. Terry wanted to reach out and stroke her soft cheek.

“My mom is a drug addict. Been an addict since I was sixteen.”

Terry allowed what she revealed to him to settle into his mind. He gave her a slow nod, and his eyes fixated on her deeper.

Aaliyah continued with a shaky voice, “After my father was killed, she became depressed and she blamed herself for the longest time. I was there when it happened…saw the whole thing,” Aaliyah rubbed her arms, “He hadn’t even been out of prison for a year and he was shot…”

Terry watched her straighten her back and sniffle, trying her best to calm herself down.

“My momma’s been in and out of rehab. I’ve help her, my grandmomma helped her…she stole from me, disappointed me every single time…” Aaliyah stared down at her hands, “And all she can think to do is show up on my doorstep with her hands out. That broke me.”

Terry twisted his full lips and his eyes fell to her hands. He watched the way her fingers fiddled. With an impulse so strong, he covered her hands with his much larger ones, stroking them with his thumbs. Aaliyah watched the way his hands worked to sooth her. Like he was massaging the stress out of her. Aaliyah exhaled, and then she locked eyes with Terry.

“I love her so much…”

“I know you do, I can see it…I can feel it.” Terry spoke softly.

He released her hands so she could thumb away a tear.

“I’m so sorry, Aaliyah. Sorry about your father. Sorry about your mom…”

“Thank you, Terry. I really appreciate it. I know this is supposed to be a nice lunch. I feel like I’m ruining it with my fuckin’ bullshit.”

“There’s nothing ruined, love. I’m happy you felt comfortable enough to open up to me about it. I just don’t like seeing you like this…your mom isn’t willing to get help?”

“That’s the thing,” Aaliyah took a sip of her water to help get rid of the lump in her throat, “She’s been in and out of rehab plenty of times. It’s this guy she keeps running back to. I don’t really remember his name…all I know is that he’s a dealer. She’s always had a thing for criminals.”

“Your grandmother, what’s up with that?—am I asking too many questions?”

“No, no,” Aaliyah shook her head, “My grandma is…her and my mom have always had a strained relationship. She’s attempted to help, but it never works out. There’s a lot of unresolved issues and my mom just can’t stick around long enough to deal wit’ it, ya know?”

“I get it. What was your father like?”

Aliyah frowned slightly, “He was so funny. Had so much swagger to ‘em. Loved cars. He got himself mixed up in some shit. He was doing a favor for a friend that turned out to be a robbery and it landed him in prison.”

She had this faraway look in her eyes, as if she were recalling the nostalgic feeling of being with her dad.

“…I saw him…die…and…” Aaliyah exhaled, “Took me a while to shake it…”

“Damn,” Terry hung his head, “Aaliyah, that’s heavy…”

Terry squeezed her hands and sought out her gaze. Aaliyah looked across at him and a single tear cascaded down her cheek. Terry released her hand and lifted from his seat, scooting in next to her. He snatched up a few napkins and dabbed her face gently.

“It’s okay…it’s okay, Aaliyah…so sorry…”

One hand rubbed her shoulder while she bawled up the used napkin in her hand. With one last sniffle, Aaliyah turned her brown eyes that reminded him of cognac through a glass and just then, she leaned in and those lips he’d desired to feel grazed his cheek with a feather–like touch before molding into his skin with a pressure so soothing his eyelash’s fluttered in satisfaction.

“Thanks for listening,” Aaliyah whispered in his ear.

Terry turned his head at an angle towards her. He gave her a searing, sideways glance.

“You’re welcome. Anytime…”

“Crab bites…”

Startled, Terry leaped up from his seat and returned to his side of the booth. Aaliyah thanked the waiter and they put in their orders. Terry and Aaliyah shared the appetizer. After chewing, Aaliyah licked her lips before speaking.

“Tell me a little more about Terry Richmond.”

Terry gave Aaliyah an attractive half–smirk. 

“Ask me and you shall receive.”

“Why teaching? Is that something you’ve always had a passion for?”

“That’s a really good question. Uh…yes. I was an instructor when I spent time in the Marines. I trained Marines for combat and firearms. Each day was new and exciting. I’ve always had this…desire to share knowledge, inspire others, and make a positive impact. Although my pops wanted me to continue into the Marines, I fell in love with Psychology. So…I got my PhD a year ago, and here I am.”

Aaliyah sat her face into her hands with her elbows propped up on the table, listening to him like he was retelling a fairytale story. Her eyes sparkled with joy at listening to him drone on about moving to North Carolina with his parents after Katrina, enlisted into the Marines, finished his undergrad, living there up until the age of twenty–seven before he moved back to Louisiana to attend LSU. Both of his parents are still together and living in North Carolina. Their food arrived and they tucked in, talking in between bites.

Terry was happy that Aaliyah is in better spirits. She smiled and giggled and it warmed his heart. She thanked him for cheering her up. Terry was honored. The topic veered to hobbies and interests. Aaliyah shared that she used to be a majorette dancer.

“Fishing? Living outdoors? Wow. I grew up doing farm work and riding horses but nothing that deep,” Aaliyah responded with a giggle.

“I can take you sometime…show you what it’s like.”

Terry cocked his head to the side and stared at Aaliyah. She held onto his gaze, the tip of her tongue peeking through her teeth. Terry wanted to wrap his full lips around her tongue and suck on it.

“So…is it a date then? Taking me fishing and camping, Professor?” Aaliyah teased.

“I’ll take you anywhere,” Terry slurped down some water.

“Anywhere?” Aaliyah dragged out with her cutesy voice and lips twinged with a sultry smile.

“Anywhere…anything for you.”

“I like the sound of that,” Aaliyah smiled, “You’ve earned the privilege to spoil me.”

They laughed in unison.

“How did I earn it, exactly?” Terry quirked a brow up and narrowed his eyes playfully.

“Giving me two thousand dollars cash was enough to let me know,” Aaliyah replied bluntly.

Terry chucked. He licked his lips, eyes scanning the space before he lowered his voice an octave, “You liked that, huh?”

“More than you’ll ever know…”

“Let me know, girl…”

Aaliyah tucked her chin and giggled.

“Let me know…” Terry persisted.

“I didn’t like it I love it. I’m a princess and I should be treated accordingly.”

Terry’s eyelids lowered slightly. He leaned in on his arms, eyes roaming her body before staring into her eyes again. He felt a sensation so deep within his ripped core. Something akin to butterflies. Aaliyah excited him. That mouth on her…he loved it.

“The minute I laid my eyes on you at that bachelor party…you were gettin’ all my money…”

“Good, that’s what I wanted,” Aaliyah nibbled on her straw with a teasing smile.

Terry licked his lips. He stared at her through his spectacles while his fingers drummed against the table slowly. Aaliyah sat her glass down and leaned back against the booth.

Staring.

They were practically eye–fucking each other.

Beneath that table, Aaliyah took it upon herself to run her pointed, left foot up Terry’s right leg. She did it achingly slow. It traveled up and up until she stopped with her foot propped up against his seat between his legs. Terry did one lazy sweep of his eyes over her foot and his teeth latched onto his bottom lip.

”Aaliyah…”

“Huh?”

Terry was going to lose it. Lose all his control. He was itching to walk her to the back of the restaurant, push her into a bathroom stall, and beat that fat pussy up with her chest against the door and his large hands keeping her pinned in place and stable on that dick.

“If I could tell you how beautiful you are…how gorgeous you are a million times I would. The moment I laid eyes on you at the beginning of the semester…I couldn’t ignore it. The feeling. I just knew that I had to have you…”

Aaliyah sat transfixed by his words. Lips slightly parted, eyes misty. He loved that look on her face. He wanted her to look at him like that in a kneeled position with his dick hanging in her face waiting to be tended to.

The thoughts in his mind…

“Wow,” Aaliyah chuckled breathlessly, “You want me that bad, huh? Wow…”

She acted as if a man never pined for her so deep like Terry. His unspoken energy even spoke volumes.

He. Needed. Aaliyah.

Professor or not.

“You don’t even know…”

“Mm,” Aaliyah shut her eyes and nibbled on her bottom lip. Her eyes opened slowly, “Terry…you gotta stop.”

They chuckled, Aaliyah’s thighs clenching beneath the table and Terry’s thighs swinging back and forth.

“Why stop?” Terry whispered.

Aaliyah kisses her teeth, “‘Cause…”

Her cute voice was enough to make the tip of his dick respond. He could feel himself leaking.

Thank God the waiter returned with the check. Terry paid the tab, and Aaliyah looked at him, not quite ready to go. Terry didn’t want to, but he had an evening course starting within the next hour or so and he needed to head back to campus.

Fuck that class. Look what’s in front of of you, nigga…

“You ready?” Terry questioned reluctantly.

——

They hadn’t even made it out of Noir for two seconds before it started again. They quickened their pace as the clouds began to gather in the sky. Up to now, the sky had been postcard-perfect, but it was changing. The beautiful cocktail-blue shade was beginning to darken into gravel-grey. Large pillows of clouds were forming, blotting out the old-gold colour of the sun.

Aaliyah got the first splatter of rain when she was halfway across the parking lot. She took shelter under her Jean jacket, hoping that she could see out past the shower. Terry’s brawny bicep pulled her closer while he covered himself with his own jacket. Droplets of moisture began to drip from the leaves. They were sprinkling onto the concrete like a gardener’s hose. Then the rainfall became more intense. A wall of rain moved over the oak trees and the drops were drumming against the tops of cars. So much rain was falling that the sound blurred into one long, whirring noise. It reminded her of the rotor blades on a helicopter.

Terry’s truck was closer. He rushed to fling the door opened, helping Aaliyah inside before sprinting to his side and climbing in. He slammed the door shut before tossing his drenched suit jacket onto the back seat. The humidity caused the car windows to fog as it poured. Eventually, the noise lessened and the drops faded into a musical chime. They sought out each other’s gaze and laughed.

Aaliyah threw her head back and sighed with contempt. This was a great lunch date. She was so happy she came. After bawling her eyes out about her mother, she needed some fun. Terry was more than just his looks. He was so refreshing. Such a gentleman. Hard working. So deeply fascinated with her. And it was more than just a lustful gaze. A gaze Aaliyah was more than used to. No. This man wanted her.

Aaliyah turned her cheek against the headrest to watch him. Terry felt her eyes and he gave her his undivided attention.

“I want to see you again, as soon as possible, Aaliyah.”

The urgency in his voice let her know he was a man about action.

“I’ll let you know what my days are looking like…okay?”

Terry hummed. The sound vibrated her core. He was impatient.

“Why not check on that now? Friday for an hour and thirty minute class ain’t enough.”

The bite in his voice sounded so much different from his professional tone. Aaliyah was stunned.

“Okay,” She pulled out her phone from her bag, “I have plans Saturday with friends…”

“Friday night?”

“Nothing.” Aaliyah replied.

“Then how about Friday? I’ll take you to dinner.”

“I have to study, Terry.” Aaliyah said, a playful glint in her eyes.

Aaliyah clocked the way Terry’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath. She imagined what he looked like beneath his business attire. Her imagining could only conjure up enough for her to fantasize about. She needed to see the real thing. Up close. Touch on him and memorize the planes and valleys of muscle threatening to bring the freak out of her. He looked like he could bench press and squat three times her size and Aaliyah wanted to test that theory. In many positions.

“I’ll help you study.”

“Isn’t that cheating?!” Aaliyah replied.

“It’s called tutoring, baby girl.”

Baby girl? Oh fucking hell…

Aaliyah became acutely aware of her nipples hardening. So did Terry. His eyes were glued to her breasts sitting up and jutted out.

Terry reached down beside him and his seat reclined back. Aaliyah’s heart skipped a beat. He gave her a pointed look. Aliyah’s eyes fell to his inviting lap…and a rather mountainous bulge…

It was as if the blood coursing through his body carried downward and pooled into his…

The veins in his arms…she could see them clearer now. His large hands resting against his thighs…that man spread…she felt a buzzing in her ears. The silent dominance in his posture…

Aaliyah lifted from her seat in a frenzy, Terry scooped her up with one powerful arm around her waistline and Aaliyah climbed over his lap. She sat herself snugly over his thick bulge that protruded from the crotch of his navy blue slacks like an eruption was waiting to happen. Her fat pussy sat on that protrusion and her breath hitched.

“Professor…”

Terry’s large hands double–cuffed her thick ass and he forced his grip upward, arching her back. Those thick, long fingers sank into the plump flesh as he groped her. One hand above her, pressed against the roof of the car, Aaliyah allowed the feeling of him squeezing and jiggling her cakes to consume her.

His glasses had fogged up. Their mingled, uneven breaths along with the sound of the leather seats filled the space between them. Aaliyah felt his hands smooth around to the junction between her thighs and booty and he applied force, making her ass move on its own—left cheek, right cheek— peering down over her shoulder while she was pressed against him. Aaliyah had her feet folded over his knees.

“Ughhh….”

A deep grunt followed by his arms wrapping around her waist tight. Biceps cutting into her back. The new position had Aaliyah sitting over his print harder. They sat like that for a few minutes, Terry’s nose was pressed against her neck, inhaling cool air and exhaling heated air that caused goosebumps to spread.

His arms loosened and Aaliyah tilted her head down to meet his eyes. She removed Terry’s glasses, resting them inside of his cup holder. The interior of his car smelled like blackberry clove and leather. He smelled like sandalwood. Those eyes. She got lost in them before tearing her gaze away to stare at his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Terry asked softly.

Aaliyah closed the space between them and one of Terry’s hands tangled into her wet coils while his other hand sat above her ass. They gave each other an open–mouthed kiss filled with a feverish need for each other. Wet smacking noises sent signals of arousal. Eyes closed, heads swiveling, equally tasty and soft lips molding into each other’s. Aaliyah allowed her hands to run beneath his dress shirt and white better, coming into contact with warm skin stretched over an impressive physique.

“Unh…”

She found herself moaning.

A single finger of Terry’s traced the waistline of her leggings. The sensation caused her body to shiver. Aaliyah sat up, leaning back against his steering wheel. Terry locked eyes with her while his fingers brushed from her waist down to her pussy. The heat radiating from there could have added to the fog on the windows .

“You deserve so much…you’re so fuckin’ sexy…”

Aaliyah adjusted herself to tilt her body against his so that Terry could put his hand down her leggings.

“Damn…it’s like that, baby?”

“Uh-huh…”

Terry’s hand cupped her fat pussy through her thong. Aaliyah clung to his shoulders while holding his gaze. Terry’s tongue—thick and pink—poked out and Aaliyah accepted the invitation of touching tongues with him. His fingers moved her panties to the side. He grunted into Aaliyah’s mouth.

“Damn…damn…”

His fingers rubbed up and down. Aaliyah spread her thighs further.

“There you go…nasty girl… spreading your legs like that…want me to touch all over this pussy…I like that…”

His words. She whimpered when his fingers started doing that up and down motion between her swollen labia and over her stiff clit. Aaliyah couldn’t believe how wet her pussy is. Creamy viscous spread all over her.

“Unh…Terry…”

“This what you think about? You think about me expressing how much I want you with my fingers in your pussy?…”

Two fingers sank deep. Aaliyah’s mouth dropped open. Terry’s brows furrowed and his eyes would flicker from her face to his hand moving up and down in her leggings.

“Aaliyah…this lil’ pussy tight, girl…I can’t believe I’m fingering you right now…”

He looked like he couldn’t believe it. Jade eyes intense.

“It’s s–s–so, wet…”

His words stuttered out in disbelief.

“My pussy like you just as much as I do, Professor…”

Aaliyah chewed on her bottom lip and her head lulled back. She started bouncing on his fingers. Damn, she missed this. She missed being fingered the proper way. She ain’t have dick in almost a year. The last man to have her was a mistake and not even worth mentioning. All she could focus on was keeping her legs spread and that pussy open.

“Good girl…you follow directions well…I like that,” Terry dragged his teeth along his bottom lip, “Look at me, Aaliyah…”

She did as she was told.

“I played your little game. Now what?”

He was toying with her.

This man…this was another side to him she was more than excited to see.

“Now you make me cum…make me cum, Professor.”

Terry chuckled, “Make this pussy cum?”

His fingers were knuckle deep.

“Send me home in a puddle, Terry…”

“Mmm…that sweet, little voice gon’ get you in trouble…keep moaning…uh-huh…mhmmmm…”

Aaliyah clamped down on his fingers. She lowered her head over his headrest and rode out her orgasm. So intense. It hit her like a freight train. Terry pressed deeper, stroking a spot that had Aaliyah crying. Terry gently withdrew his fingers. Aaliyah’s breaths slowed down, but her body was still recovering from the after shocks.

His hand resurfaced just as the sun peered over the storm clouds. The aroma of her pussy and the cum clinging to his fingers flooded her nose in the best way. Terry held his manicured fingers up. Aaliyah locked her gaze on creamy–white goodness all over his fingers and dripping down to his wrist.

Terry played with it. Rubbing his fingertips together. Spreading his fingers to see how slimy it looked. Aaliyah watched him suck each finger while his eyes never left her face.

“I taste good?” Aaliyah asked with a smile.

“Fuckin’ amazing, baby…”

Terry licked his lips and Aaliyah leaned in to steal a kiss. They kissed for some time before Terry broke away. He released a growl of frustration.

“I gotta head back to campus…I have an exam for my next class…”

Aaliyah pecked his lips before climbing off his lap and into her seat. Terry had his lip pouted while fixing himself. Aaliyah giggled, her eyes dropping down to his neglected erection. He caught her watching, grabbing her wrist and sitting her hand over his bulge.

It…was…thick…

“It’s so big…”

Aaliyah explored, squeezing and stroking…Terry swiped his bottom lip with his tongue and closed his eyes for a second to gather himself. Aaliyah removed her hand and Terry looked over at her like he didn’t want her to stop. Ever. She didn’t want to go, but Terry needed to get back to Campus. The last thing she’d ever want to do is sabotage his career.

“I don’t want to leave, but it’s okay…I’ll see you Friday, right?” Terry questioned, grabbing Aaliyah’s hand and kissing the back of it over and over.

“Yes. I’ll be there…”

Terry made a come hither motion and Aaliyah obeyed, slipping him some final tongue before they parted ways. Terry put his glasses back on, giving Aaliyah one final look of longing. She knew she had to be the one to leave him behind because if she didn’t, he would have skipped the class and spent the rest of the day proving to her just how much he needed her.

“Bye, Professor.”

Aaliyah opened the car door. She hopped down from his truck, grabbing her jean jacket. She blew Terry a kiss before shutting his door and heading towards her Jeep.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of her pussy on his tongue and her scent on his fingers while he lectured.

——

Aaliyah 🌹: Studying for an exam tomorrow. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I had a really great time today 😏 just might touch myself thinking about it. Sweet Dreams, Professor. Xoxoxo 👄

Terry moved towards his living room, an NBA game on in the background. He was shirtless with black joggers on and a durag over his short curls. A single gold cross chain sat in the middle of his pecs. The heels of his socked feet sat into the throw rug beneath him. He had grilled salmon, broccoli, and dirty rice for dinner.

Aaliyah.

That woman awakened something primal in him. Although his eyes bounced back and forth across the screen, his mind wandered to the way his taste buds craved more pussy. He had such a good time getting to know her. The way her lips felt like the softest cushion against his lips. The soft, little whimpers she made drove him crazy. He dragged a hand down his face.

He studiously ignored the monster in his joggers.

Could’ve been full of something else if you had just taken what was in front of you.

The game did nothing to calm down his body. He flipped through the channels looking for something, anything to distract himself from the length of his dick pulsing against his thigh. Terry shifted his hips on the couch, the fight to ignore it impossible.

“Send me home in a puddle, Terry.”

Terry could still hardly believe that he had Aaliyah in his lap, lips against hers, fingers deep in her pussy, and in public. The morbid excitement from earlier returned to him in tenfold, echoing in the throb of his manhood. He stared forward at the movements on his television unseeingly, fighting his mind as it tried to conjure up an image of himself between Aaliyah’s legs. Her pretty pussy gleaming at him naughtily making his mouth water. He wanted to be the only one to taste her for as long as he lived. To bury his face in between her buttery–smooth thighs to kiss, lick and tongue fuck her until she was a whimpering, quivering mess. His name a constant chant on her lips as she feebly tried to push him away after her orgasm. He wouldn’t stop. Not until all she wanted was him.

“Terry…Terry…right there, Terry…”

“Shit,” he grunted as he lifted his hips off the couch slightly, pulling his joggers down to his thighs, his engorged dick springing free, curving up to look at him. The purpling head waved in the air at him in greeting and invitation. Terry scrubbed a hand over his face at the sight, exasperated at his excitement for a girl he’d never seen naked and his inability to turn this shit off. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily to him if he didn’t take care of big boy first.

Terry’s eyes tracked a drop of precum as it dribbled over his head and down his pulsating shaft, collecting at his heavy balls. His dick was quite literally demanding attention, the veins overly pronoucned along the sides beating in time with his heart, and he was hard pressed not to give in. He hadn’t touched himself in a few days, work had kept him busy and the thoughts of Aaliyah after the bachelor party had given him a reason to. He quickly contemplated walking back to his room and using his fleshlight to get the job done before he decided against it. He was too needy to move now.

Tentative fingers ran over the velvety tip, collecting the beads of moisture there and spreading them around slowly. He closed his blue–gray eyes and pushed his head back into the sofa cushion with a flex of his hips. A harsh ‘fuck’ escaped his clenched teeth at the sensitivity. This was going to be quick, rough and lacking any of the finesse he usually showcased in any moment of sexual gratification. Even if that moment was just with him.

Terry’s dominant hand wrapped lightly around himself, trying to mimic how his Aaliyah would touch him, his other dragging over his exposed abdomen. His hand pulled down roughly, electing a low groan from him, as a fantasy bloomed in his mind. He could see her behind his lids that had fallen closed. Kneeling in front of him, between his parted thighs, bright eyes glued to his expression as she bit her lip in concentration. Watching him with that sassy look she got any time she wanted things her way.

Terry spread his knees as far as his joggers would allow, his hand twisting and pulling himself, gaining momentum with every tight pass of the head. Thumb coming up to swiped over the moist slit. Half curses spewed out of him as his pace quickens, his free hand coming down to fondle his sack. Rolling it between his fingers. The sensation doing nothing to abate his impending release.

“Fuccccckkk…..” his voice hitched and raised, battling with the enthusiastic wet sounds of his hand pumping.

His fantasy girl looked between him and his twitching dick, her hand moving as fast as he was. She licked her parted lips and leaned towards his thick pipe. Her warm breath only heightened his pleasure as she whispered to him lowly.

“Cum for me, Professor…”

And he did just that. His heels dug into the plush rug beneath him, using it for leverage as he fucked up into his hand, the coil in his belly growing tighter until it snapped. A croak of Aaliyah’s name bouncing off his walls. Thick spurts of warm cum landing haphazardly across his upper body didn’t deter him as he continued to drag his fist over his oozing dick until the motion became too much for his overly sensitive body. Legs shuddering with each pass.

Terry let go with a deep sigh, taut body relaxing slowly until he was sitting naturally in his seat. Terry glanced down at the evidence of his ecstasy littered across his chest, stomach and hand.

He huffed an annoyed laugh at how quickly his orgasm had taken him. And how hard his dick still was as it bobbed in front of him, his stamina was working against him this time around. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he gripped the base, pulling his hand with a slow rotation of his wrist upwards. His release making the perfect slick for round two.

“F–fuuck, babyyy…” Terry hissed at the feeling. He let go, palming the head a few seconds to stave off the mounting pressure. He would not come that quickly again.

Terry took his time, languidly pulling at his dick, unrushed. Rubbing his free hand up and down his stomach, tweaking his nipple quickly before sliding back down. He repeated this process as his hand gradually picked up speed.

The short nails on Terry’s left hand bit deliciously into his skin as he raked them down his chest and stomach. The sharp pain was closely followed by a wave of hazy pleasure causing his hips to buck faster into his hand. He abandoned all notion of slow, the tightening in his balls and urge to reach completion pushing fast and hard to the forefront of his mind. The juxtaposition of two intense sensations never failed to throw him over the edge.

Terry threw his head back, neck straining as he clenched his jaw. A constant string of yes, fuck, yes screaming in his head as his abdominal muscles flexed and clenched. His hand is almost a blur with how quickly he’s moving.

Twist

Grip

Plunge

Slap

Squeeze

Fucking Aaliyah did this to him. Those eyes, that smile, her voice, that goddamn body…

Flashes of her twerking in a split, making that ass clap, looking back at it, licking her lips with that tongue ring, talking her shit, how sweet her pussy tasted, how snug her walls were around his fingers.

He wished it was her. Her delicate hand working him. Her brown eyes drooping with arousal. Her heavenly voice encouraging him to go ahead. Let go. He could almost smell her. Almost taste her.

Her pussy was so fucking sweet. He couldn’t wait to suck on her pussy. He wanted to bury his nose into it and draw in a deep breath that almost burned his lungs. He wanted to make her unravel beneath his tortuous tongue and lips. Over and over and over—

He erupted at the thought, breathing hard and keening through his messy release. The second nut even more than the first. Still, he continued to stroke, torturing himself, milking himself like he wanted her to.

Terry was out of breath by the end of it. Body spent and tingling.

So much for not cumming quickly.

He sat there for a long time, waiting for the hollow feeling to retreat from his bones, his cum cooling on his skin. He needed to take another shower.

But what he really needed was her.

Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @helloncrocs @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter @dashhoney25

[keyaho]

As I update everything, again! I wanted to have a map of where things are for those looking/interested!

FOR THE ROMAN REIGNS & RANDY ORTON GWORLS ———— Vevesi is a mafia au in which Joseph and Randy are two of the most powerful figures in the underground world. You can find that AND it’s spin off Mayhem: Next Gen ( HERE ) cowritten with @zillasvilla

That Exclusive Honey is being revamped and the new title is TRIBAL MATCH. It’s an arranged marriage au with Roman Reigns and follows the Anoa’i and Hapeta families as they combine their wealth and warriors to preserve their culture and way of life. It has more of a royal/monarchy type vibes. But things will be explained in the story of course.

FOR THE TERRY RICHMOND GWORLS ———- Operation Valor follows CYPHER a special team created by the military. In the story, they uncover a huge domestic and international scheme to disrupt the state of the USA. ( HERE ) co-written with @zillasvilla

R.E.L.Ls ———— Dom!Terry Richmond has found a new submissive and he puts her through training that pushes boundaries and his own resolve.

Part One

Part Two

I may have a solo Randy Orton story as well. I just have a ton of ideas to sort through.

Plus my random shorter works.

[violetmuses]

Terry Richmond + Female Reader ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Rebel Ridge” Film Universe

Character: Terry Richmond

Main Storyline: Your “best friend” offers some news.

@episodes-ff @becauseimswagman1 @helloncrocs @diaries-of-me @liquorlaughslove @babybratzmaraj @cloveroctobers 🏷

This Idea 📞

====

2024

Blocking time off from work, you noticed that your cell phone started ringing out of nowhere.

Officer Jessica Sims from the Shelby Springs Police Department called.

“Jess?” Picking up this afternoon, you definitely responded.

“Girl! I'm so sorry for not reaching out, but guess what?” J's Southern accent revealed itself.

“Don't worry.” You're fully aware that the rural precinct struggled now. “What happened?”

“Think I found your husband.” Despite that police station keeping vintage technology, you noticed Jessica's humor loud and clear.

“Oh, God!” You nearly laughed out loud. “What are you talking about?”

“I helped out this man earlier and…” Jessica wouldn't go on.

“Spit it out, J!” You kept listening to her no matter what.

“I'm working, but we don't have reception outdoors.” Jessica cleared her throat for a moment. “He's fine.”

“Don't play matchmaker again.” You quickly rolled both eyes.

“Listen: Light eyes, in shape with service tattoos, and acts respectful.” Jessica detailed this man.

“Sounds too good to be true.” For once, you don't believe her.

“Visit tomorrow. He's still in town. Bye!” Jessica dropped the call before you could say anything else.

Here we go. You thought.

*****

Uniformed once more, Jessica traded this brief smile when you entered the department.

“I'm here. What's going on?” You spoke quietly en route to her desk.

“I'll explain everything.” Sims then faced your direction.

Just before you could sit down and learn gossip, the door opened again.

Leaving her desk behind, Jessica held your wrist and you both hid near one corner, watching whoever arrived.

“What's wrong?” Your voice immediately whispered to Jess.

“That's him!” As Jessica pointed upfront, her accent pulled all over again.

Uh-oh. This time around, you finally realized what Sims meant.

Remarkable eyes noticed the building and service tattoos inked along his muscular frame.

This morning, the handsome individual paired another tight shirt with jeans and sneakers.

“Go back to work. We'll talk soon.” You prompted Jessica to speak with this man.

“All right. Pardon me…” Jessica excused herself from your side and sat down, addressing the man.

******

“Who was that?” When Officer Jessica Sims found her longtime desk this morning, veteran Terry Richmond chuckled through his deep tone.

“My friend…” Jessica would pull this vague response.

“I could use some good news at this point.” Terry encouraged Jessica. “What were y'all talking about?”

“Nothing.” Jess shrugged while beginning to work as usual. “How are you holding up with the case?”

“No better than before.” Richmond lost bail money for his cousin during an altercation with law enforcement. “Know any lawyers if I can't reach out on Monday?”

“Attorneys pool from the local courthouse, but workloads get swamped over there.” Jessica declined.

“Fair enough, but you didn't answer my other question.” Terry arched his brow.

“Which question?” Jessica asked.

“What were y'all talking about?” Catching Sims red-handed, Terry's smile offered brightness.

“Should I tell the truth?” Jessica spoke up for many reasons.

“I don't appreciate falsehoods.” Terry crossed both arms.

“You.” Jessica stopped playing around and headed out for lunch. “Good luck with your case.”

Right when Officer Sims walked away, Terry glanced down and noticed a sticky note waiting on her desk.

Jessica had discreetly written your phone number on paper.

******

“Sorry.” Terry apologized when you first met him up close. Drama flew all over the police station now.

“Everyone hopes for better circumstances around here.” You picked up Richmond and started driving away from this hospital.

On the other hand, medics helped legal assistant Summer McBride for various reasons.

“Sims told me about you.” Terry changed the subject.

“Surprised you didn't call me first.” You know that Jessica slipped your phone number by this man.

“Chief got in the way.” Richmond almost laughed and chided Sandy Burne.

“Where should we go since you're free?” You learned that Terry confirmed this settlement for this case, especially with his cousin Mike gone.

“Anywhere you want.” Terry grinned toward you and watched the city limits disappear.

[violetmuses]

“You’re already knee-deep in this swamp with me. Ain’t no runnin’ from that now.” 🍿

@brattyfics Ooh! 👀

Swampbound II

Adla shot up from sleep, jolted by the sound of something heavy dragging outside. The old porch creaked under the weight, those worn boards groaning like they were telling her to stay inside. For a heartbeat, she thought it was just a remnant of a bad dream. But then it came again—slow, deliberate shuffling, as if someone was moving through the dark with purpose.

She kicked off the sheet, her bare feet gliding over the cool floorboards. Reaching for the shotgun, she crept to the window, quiet as a whisper in the night. Pulling the curtain back just a crack, she squinted into the gloom.

A figure loomed large, hunched over, moving as though it was in pain.

The wolf?

No, that shape was all wrong. Its movements were jerky, struggling to stay upright. Then she spotted it—clawed hands gripping the railing, barely managing to hold on. Her breath caught as the figure slumped, twisting and warping in a way that made her skin crawl.

The truth slammed into her, sharp and unforgiving.

This wasn’t just any wolf.

Adla tightened her grip on the shotgun, heart pounding in her chest. Every instinct told her to retreat, but something gnawed at her—a pull she couldn’t explain. The stories whispered through the town—tales of beastly protectors and vengeful spirits—had always danced at the edges of her mind, but tonight, with this strange presence lurking outside, those old myths felt like a warning.

Whatever was out there, it wasn’t just a man, and it sure as hell wasn’t just a wolf.

Fear gripped her as the shadow twisted, revealing the shape of a man. She blinked, praying to wake from a nightmare, but when her eyes opened, it was still there. The dried pool of blood pooling beneath him turned her stomach.

What kind of trouble had she stumbled into?

Piercing blue-green eyes, both wild and human, locked onto hers through the dim light. She gasped, every muscle screaming at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. The massive man raised one hand, then the other, pounding against the walls of her little house so insistently that the whole place rattled.

She flinched at the frantic banging, the noise shaking the thin window panes. It sounded desperate, but not dangerous. And then, through the chaos, she heard it—a rough voice, weak but clear enough to make her freeze in place. “Help me... please.”

Her instincts urged her to stay put, but that voice—it was broken, pleading. She bit her lip, torn between caution and compassion. She couldn’t rush headlong into a mess, but could she really turn away someone who was hurt?

Shifting her grip on the shotgun, she edged toward the door. "Who’s out there?" she called, her voice steady but low, trying to mask the tremor in her heart.

"Just need a place to catch my breath. I promise I won’t cause no trouble. I’m just trying to escape something that ain’t right. I ain’t gonna hurt you, I swear. Please, just let me in for a minute—I’m beggin’ you."

“Lord, have mercy...” Adla muttered under her breath, caught in a bind. She’d always prided herself on being sharp and cautious, but her heart? Too soft, too generous—sometimes for her own good. “What brought you all the way out here?” she asked, frustration creeping into her voice.

“A whole string of bad luck. If I had anywhere else to go, I wouldn’t be standin’ here, believe me.” She shook her head, eyes on the lock, knowing this was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Slowly, she twisted it open, pulling the door just wide enough to peek through the screen. 

There he was—wolf turned man, bigger than any person she’d ever seen. His body, thick with muscle, seemed almost sculpted from stone, hard to ignore, even with the bruises and cuts marring his skin. He was bare as the day he was born, flaccid yet exuding a raw strength. She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze upward. He had a face that was almost too beautiful, framed by full lips and those captivating eyes. A fierce, primal energy radiated from him, pulling her in and sending a shiver down her spine.

Letting in a naked stranger was easily the most reckless thing she’d ever done.

He was hunched over, leaning against the front of her house like he was too weary to stand on his own. Each second felt like a battle for him, swaying as if the ground beneath him were unsteady. His eyes, weighed down with exhaustion and pain, locked onto hers, drawing her into a tug-of-war between caution and compassion. “You best not be thinkin’ I’m a fool,” Adla warned, flipping the lock on the screen door. He reached for the door, but then jerked his hand back, hissing as if he’d been bitten by a snake.

“What now?” she asked, her brow knitting in confusion as she took a cautious step back, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.

“You gotta invite me in.” His voice was ragged, as if every word cost him. She frowned, not quite understanding—didn’t she already by opening the door?

“Come on in,” she finally said, stepping back with her shotgun still in hand, not fully trusting him yet. “Just don’t ruin my floor with all that blood.” He limped inside, his gaze never leaving hers, before collapsing clumsily into a chair in her kitchen.

“What the hell happened to you?” Adla asked, watching as his big hands explored his injuries, assessing the damage. He didn’t answer, too focused on his wounds.

“Hey!” she snapped, needing answers. If she was about to shelter some strange, naked wolf-man, she deserved to know what mess he was dragging to her door. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?” His gaze slid over her, assessing, and suddenly she felt exposed—the cool night air making her nipples pebble beneath her thin nightgown. Shifting uncomfortably, she caught his eyes snapping back to her face.

“Just passin' through. My cousin, Mike, and I ran into some trouble with the wrong crowd back in town. I got hurt, lost track of him, wandered off, and ended up here." He hissed, the twisting and turning only aggravating his injuries even more. "I'm just tryin’ to keep it together long enough to find him.”

“And what’s that gonna take? You getting yourself together?” Adla's skin prickled with unease, a warning that she had stumbled into something far beyond her understanding. She needed him out of her space and her life—pronto.

“You got any vinegar?” His voice rasped, dry as a corn husk.

“‘Course I do.” Adla replied, moving around the kitchen with purpose. Her hands worked quickly yet deliberately, keeping him in her line of sight. She set the bottle down on the table, her eyes sharp and filled with suspicion. “What’s that gonna do?”

“It’ll help me heal.” The words came out strained, frustration simmering beneath the surface, though it was clear he was in no shape to argue. She could feel his urgency, a mirror to her own—both of them itching to be rid of each other.

“What else you need?”

“Baking soda and cayenne powder.”

“That’s it?”

Adla raised an eyebrow but gathered the supplies anyway, her movements smooth but laced with tension. She reached for each item from the cupboard, swaying with practiced ease.

“Fresh garlic wouldn’t hurt, if you have it. Maybe some moonshine.”

She paused, lips pursed. Was he fixin’ to heal or cook?

In no time, her table was cluttered with mismatched items—baking soda, vinegar, garlic, cayenne. It looked more like the makings of some old root-worker’s brew than anything meant to patch up a man.

“Pour the vinegar first to clean it out,” Terry instructed, his voice steadier now despite the pain. “Then mix the soda and spices.” He reached for the garlic bulb, popping it open with one strong press, the sound cutting through the silence. She jumped at the display of casual strength. Just how strong was he?

“Please.” His tone softened, pulling her from her startled state.

Adla shot him a wary look, but something in his voice—a strange vulnerability beneath that tough exterior—made her hesitate. He wasn’t lying; she could feel it deep in her bones. Without a word, he grabbed one of the cloves and swallowed it whole. 

With a slow breath, she set her shotgun by the counter, still close enough to grab if things took a turn. Her daddy would be turning in his grave if he knew she was doing this, but something about Terry had her ignoring every warning bell that usually rang loud and clear.

Standing behind him, she stared at the raw, twisted wounds crawling across his back, almost like vines. “Go on,” Terry grunted through clenched teeth.

Steadying herself, she poured the vinegar down his back, watching it stream over the jagged flesh and trickle down his long legs. Terry tensed, letting out a sharp hiss as the vinegar hit the open wounds. His skin bubbled, frothing where it met, as if fighting something deep within. Adla mixed the baking soda and cayenne in a bowl with water, then followed his instructions to spread the strange paste over his back.

She froze as she saw it—right before her eyes, the skin began pulling together, like unseen threads stitching him back together. It wasn’t fast, but it was happening, slowly mending him back to who he was.

Adla’s breath caught in her throat.

Magic wasn’t something she doubted—any Black woman raised out in the marsh knew better than to dismiss it—but seeing it unfold in her own kitchen? That was something else entirely. Her fingers twitched as she stepped back, eyes wide with awe and caution.

“Keep goin’.” Terry grit out, his voice rough but laced with urgency.

She rolled her eyes, cutting him a sharp look. “Mind how you talk to me, mister. You're in my house.”

Terry mirrored her, letting out an exasperated sigh and tapping his foot impatiently as she took another look at his injuries, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. His muscles tensed and flexed, discomfort rippling through him as the mixture worked its way into his wounds. Whatever it was doing, it sure wasn’t gentle. She caught him tilting the moonshine bottle to his lips, her eyes narrowing. So that’s what that was for. She bit her tongue, figuring now wasn’t the time to fuss about him treating her liquor like his own. He probably needed it more than she did right now.

She knelt to check his leg wounds, only to find herself face-to-face with his... package. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed it seemed to be swelling—whether from the pain, nervousness, or something else entirely, she didn’t know. Her gaze darted away just as quickly.

"Would some aloe help?" she asked, curiosity edging out any pretense of concern. The fabric of her gown grazed his bare skin as she stood, the warmth of her scent wrapping around him like a blanket. He drew in a deep breath and then his eyes fluttered shut.

“Nah, this’ll do,” Terry muttered, his jaw tightening as he shifted again, turning away from her. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the soft curve of her body just inches away igniting something primal within him. Every movement coiled his muscles tighter, and he fought to keep his breathing steady, hyper-aware of her scent wafting through the air.

Finally, she stepped back, breaking the spell.

“Rest’ll heal on its own. Thank you.” There was sincerity in his tone now, softer than before, though the longing still lingered in the air between them.

“What are you?” She asked softly, testing the waters. She didn’t mean any offense; under the circumstances, it seemed like a fair question.

Terry stiffened for a moment, then met her gaze. “Terry Richmond,” he said, a faint, strained smile flickering across his lips. “But what I am... well, that’s a bit more complicated. Some call me a shifter. I just call myself a survivor.”

“Survivor, huh?” she replied, running the dishrag over her bloody palms. The image of that massive wolf flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t shake the thought that he could swallow her whole without a second thought. “Well, as long as you ain't tryin’ to survive off me, we’ll be alright.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Terry, deep and rough—an echo of a man who’d weathered too much. “Don’t worry, I’ve got enough on my plate without addin’ you to it.” He paused for a beat. “What they call you, miss?”

“Adla.”

That thing between them—the charge—was heavy and palpable, and Adla felt it coursing through the air like a summer storm, but she wasn’t about to act on it—at least, not yet. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Terry froze, his body going rigid, as if he sensed something dangerous lurking.

“Somebody’s comin’,” he muttered, forcing himself to his feet despite the visible pain.

“What are you talkin’ about? I don’t hear anything—” Adla’s voice trailed off as she moved to the window, squinting into the early dawn. Her breath caught when she saw a police cruiser creeping down the slick, muddy road. The lights were off, but the car moved deliberately, as if searching. Morning had crept up on her, the sky shifting from inky black to pale gray-blue, the sun just starting to break the horizon.

“It’s him,” Terry growled, his expression hardening with anger. He stood, wincing, but what stopped her cold was the intensity in his eyes—hungry, vengeful. “I’m gonna kill him,” he growled, his words cold and laced with hatred.

Her pulse quickened, a dozen questions racing through her mind. Who? There were plenty of officers driving cruisers like that, but the way Terry spoke made it seem like he knew, like he could smell them.

“Hold on a minute,” she snapped, stepping closer to him and placing a hand firmly against his chest. “You just got back on your feet, and you sure as hell ain’t in any shape to fightin’.” She pushed against him gently, but with enough force to drive her point home. He winced, the pain breaking through his tough exterior.

“This is my house, my land, my rules. Sit down and keep quiet. I don’t need them knowing you’re here. You can get your revenge later—on your own time.”

Terry stared her down, jaw clenched, clearly battling with his pride. He was a man used to taking charge, not letting someone else handle his problems—especially not a woman. But Adla met his glare head-on, refusing to back down. They stood at an impasse, tension thick between them like the heavy air before a storm. She didn’t flinch; his size and predatory presence didn’t shake her, not after she’d pulled him back from death’s edge.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Adla grabbed her old housecoat from the hook by the door and pulled it on, tying it tightly around her waist. She shot one last glance at Terry—his wild, dangerous eyes still trained on her—before stepping out onto the porch, her bare feet meeting the wooden planks. The door clicked shut behind her, a barrier between him and whatever came next.

She marched toward the fast approaching car, steeling herself for what was coming.

Police Chief Sandy Burne rolled down his window, a scowl carved deep into his features.

“Good mornin’, Chief,” Adla greeted with a nod. He didn’t bother to return the courtesy, his eyes narrowing as he cut straight to business. “You seen anything strange out here lately?”

Well, yes. There’s a damn wolf man in my kitchen!

“No, sir.”

“You sure, gal?” His tone dripped with skepticism. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, holding steady before speaking again, her voice calm but firm. “Yes, I’m sure.”

This was the same tired routine they played whenever their paths crossed. Her daddy had taught her to show respect for the law—not because they earned it, but because they wielded the power to make her life hell, and that was especially true now that he was gone. She was a lone woman in this world, with no safety net outside her own grit.

“Ain't nobody been by? No strangers nosin' around or passin' through?” he pressed, his voice sharper than the edge of a rusty knife.

“No, sir,” she replied, holding his gaze steady, her heart pounding like a war drum. Terry, Jesse—neither were his concern. This part of the marsh was her domain.

Burne’s eyes locked onto hers—beady and treacherous. “Take a look at these pictures. You best be sure,” he warned, passing her sheets of sketches from his window. One was definitely Terry; she recognized him instantly. The other bore a resemblance too—slimmer but sharing the same wide nose and full lips. That must be the cousin he mentioned.

“I ain't seen either of those men,” She lied with a smile, handing the papers back to him. Turning on Terry would be easy, the safest thing to do, but she wouldn’t be complicit in whatever Burne was cooking up. He’d already gotten away with too much. Doubt flickered in the grey-haired man’s eyes. He knew she was lying; she could feel it.

“Alright then. I trust you’ll give me a holler if that changes.” Irritation crossed her face before she could mask it, like a storm cloud rolling in on a clear day. “You got somethin' better to be doing, girl?” There it was again, that single word dripping with the venom of prejudice. Her fist clenched at her sides.

Low growls rumbled from her kitchen, echoing past the porch and into the yard. Adla's heart raced. There was no way that brother was turning into a beast in her kitchen.

“What’s that noise?” Burne demanded.

“A dog,” she replied, keeping her voice casual. “Found him after the storm. Crawled up on my porch and wouldn’t leave. Felt sorry for him, so I let him in. Ain’t like he’s been alone in the house yet.” She prattled on as he swung open the door of his cruiser, stepping out with the confidence of a man with something to prove.

“I thought you said you didn’t see anything.”

“Just a dog,” she insisted, her heart racing as he prowled around her. If he made it to the porch and caught sight of the blood—

“Chief, we need you.” His radio crackled to life. “Got a report of a violent altercation happening over on Flower Street. It’s Mr. Simmons; the family is requesting you personally.”

Burne narrowed his eyes, his tone sharp as he stepped closer, his breath hot against her cheek. “Watch yourself with them dogs, especially the ones you don’t know. Get too close, and you might end up with fleas. You don’t want that, Ms. Bennett.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I find out you’re keeping secrets from me, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

She felt her teeth clench at the threat. 

The growling continued, rising in a way that sent chills down her spine. 

“I’ll call if I see anything worth mentioning.”

Burne gave her one last intense look before climbing back into his cruiser, kicking up mud as he drove off down the winding road. The nerve of that man! Anger simmered in her veins as she imagined him ripped apart, piece by piece. The sensation coursing through her felt electric, tingling deep in her bones like a storm brewing on the horizon.

She marched back into the house, her voice steady but firm. “You can rest and pull yourself together, but after that, you gotta leave, and don’t even think about coming back.”

Terry nodded, understanding the finality in her tone. As much as he wanted to jump into action against Burne, he wasn’t ready. He and Mike had stumbled into this trouble by underestimating Burne. If Terry was gonna get Mike back, he had to regain his strength, and that meant he needed to rest.

“Don’t move. I’ll find you something to wear,” Adla muttered, tugging a storage bag down from the top of the closet. Her fingers sifted through the men’s clothes she hadn’t had the heart to toss—each piece a remnant of her Daddy’s spirit, lingering like a ghost in her memories. The thought alone weighed heavy on her heart.

“Here,” she said, passing him some of her Daddy’s old things, the ghost of his scent still clinging to the fabric. Terry’s fingers grazed against hers, lingering just a moment too long before she turned away from him.

With a sigh, she led Terry to her childhood bedroom, gesturing to the too-small twin bed where she once dreamed of escaping this very life. No way was she inviting him into her own bed. That was a can of worms she feared would never close if she pried it open.

“Thanks,” Terry said softly, standing too close. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine, like he was weaving an unintentional spell. She shook off the feeling. “Ain’t no thing,” she replied, her tone casual but guarded. “Just get some rest. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

Sinking onto the plastic-covered sectional, she felt the crinkling beneath her as her mind raced. Thoughts tumbled over one another, tangled like the Spanish moss outside. Something about Terry being a shifter tugged at her like an old tune she couldn’t quite place—more than just town legends.

One thing was for sure: she’d never seen skin behave the way his had. That was a memory she’d never shake.

Jesse’s grandmother had been a healer, claiming she could cure anything as long as the healed soul accepted the consequences. That same woman brewed her soothing teas on nights when her father was away on the fishing boat, filling the gaps her mother left behind. As a child, Adla had believed in her magic without question. But the older she got, the more it felt like a fairytale—yet perhaps it had been right there all along, hidden in plain sight.

Minutes passed before loud, unmistakable snores broke through the fog of thoughts. Terry sounded every bit like the beast she knew he could become. Rising, she moved to close the cracked bedroom door. She didn’t trust him alone in her space, but the openness felt like it was clouding her ability to think clearly.

Glancing inside, her gaze roamed over his sleeping form. He lay stretched out, exuding a readiness even in slumber. Her eyes lingered on the defined veins in his arms, the ink marking his bicep.

He was undeniably attractive.

Terry hadn’t bothered to wear any of the shirts she’d given him; the faded sheets barely covered his waist. With each breath, his abs flexed, drawing her in closer. A rush of heat flooded her skin as her mind wandered to what lay just beneath those sheets. She felt like a trespasser in her own childhood bedroom—caught between the past and a present that dared her to let go.

Terry stirred as the door creaked open, a tired smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “I don’t mind a little company while I dream.” He drawled, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he was her man, waiting for her to slip into bed beside him, not some stranger she'd only met a few hours ago.

She gasped, her face growing hot. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryin' to disturb you or nothin’.”

Terry sank deeper into the pillowcase that held her scent—a calming blend of saltwater and magnolias, with a hint of citrus underneath. She couldn’t deny how it felt seeing him there, laid out in her bed with his hands tucked behind his head like he belonged. And it was clear he liked it too. The thought stirred something deep inside her, intoxicating and undeniable.

“I just wanted to close the door, that’s all. You were snorin’ like a bear, and I—”

Her mouth hung open as he shifted on the bed, the sheets slipping down just enough to reveal more of his toned torso, the warm light from the window casting soft shadows across his skin.

“This here’s your house, your rules, don’t forget,” he teased, a playful edge to his tone but laced with something sharper.

The idea of climbing in beside him was oh-so-tempting. She’d never felt a heat like this pooling between her thighs, searing and intense. Adla had always feared falling in love, haunted by how losing her mother had shattered her father, but she had nothing against the thrill of hot flings. She loved the playful banter and the slow build to something deeper with a man. With Jesse, it took years to reach that point, but with Terry, the heat flared too quickly. He made her want to toss caution aside, and that sense of risk sent shivers down her spine.

“What do you take me for?” She shot back, one hand perched confidently on her hip.

He remembered how she’d pushed him earlier, bossing him around with that fierce spirit. He craved her fire, even if it meant getting burned. “A woman who knows how to take charge and go after what she wants. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, is there?”

He had that look about him—sure of himself, like a cat toying with a canary, or maybe a werewolf eyeing a Southern belle, ripe for the taking. "Quit playin' around with me." She turned to leave, but he caught her arm, pulling her down to the edge of the bed. She didn't fight him. "You ain’t scared, are you? Thinkin' I might just gobble you up?"

"Just caught off guard, that’s all." Her gaze lingered on his lips, like a wild cat reduced to a purring house cat. Heat pooled beneath her skin, making her feel as if she needed to shed layers. “I ain’t scared of you,” she insisted.

Terry’s soft, seductive smile shifted into a confident smirk. "You got no reason to be," he replied, leaning closer, his warmth wrapping around her. “I ain’t gon’ bite… ‘less you ask real polite.”

A deep pulse thrummed through her core, something fierce. She felt like prey, yet made no move to escape the gaze of her predator. His focus sharpened on the pulse in her neck, and he leaned in, his soft lips grazing her skin as her blood rushed to the surface. She trembled in his embrace. "Don’t you worry, Ms. Adla. You ain't asking for it... not yet."

She gasped as his warm tongue flicked out, pressing against her skin, meant to soothe, yet it sent her heart racing. “Please,” she breathed, torn between desire and confusion.

“Please what?” he asked, pulling back to meet her big brown eyes. She looked like a doll, wild curls escaping from beneath her scarf, the bright blooms of her nightgown drawing his gaze. Her soft curves were undeniable, making it nearly impossible for him to tear his eyes away.

“Don’t devour me,” she whispered, the weight of her words thick with the understanding that she wouldn’t survive if he did. Already drowning in sorrow, she struggled with the truth that the supernatural was real and had come knocking at her door. Her mind raced back to Jesse's grandmother—wait, Jesse.

In an instant, she jolted out of his arms, springing up from the bed as if it had caught fire beneath her.

Terry watched her, a mix of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. Her chest rose and fell in quickened breaths, and he couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the quiet room. "You okay, there, sugar?"

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she replied quickly, her voice shaky. “I just... I gotta think.”

“You sure ‘bout that? You look a tad flustered to me.” Terry’s eyes danced with mischief as he grinned, leaning back against the tiny headboard like he owned the place.

Adla felt the tension crackle between them, electricity simmering in the air. “I’m not about to get caught up in whatever foolishness you’ve got goin’ on,” she declared, though her voice wavered, betraying the strength she wished she had.

“You’re already knee-deep in this swamp with me. Ain’t no runnin’ from that now.”

Chapter Three.

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[heartofstanding]

Which are, in your opinion, the best novels dealing with Owen Tudor & Catherine de Valois? Which ones would you recommend to a reader that is new to them? What about nonfic on this couple? Thanks xoxo

I'm really sorry to say this but none of them. @beardofkamenev is the Catherine expert so she might have more recs than I do, but...

My problem is that the novels about Catherine all tend to follow the same tropes and I could write a 6000-word essay on them or I could just show you this piechart I made:

The best of them is probably Rosemary Hawley Jarman's Crown in Candlelight, which does avoid some of the more annoying tropes (I mean, Owen kinda has a personality as "hot studly Welsh dude who rapes his wife"?) and gives some nuance to some of the villains of Catherine's life. But Jarman has a penchant for the grotesque and melodrama (@skeleton-richard noped out in the first section) plus "magic is Real and the Welsh are all magical good people". You also have to accept that Owen Tudor rapes Catherine violently and the narrative brushes it off and Catherine doesn't even have a reaction to her own rape.

I would definitely avoid: Joanna Hickson's The Agincourt Bride and The Tudor Bride (a simplistic, manipulative narrative about how Catherine is the best and most tragic woman around, very rapey), Anne O'Brien's The Forbidden Queen (claims she wants to rescue Catherine from the "dumb blonde" stereotype, writes her as being illiterate which is just flat out bizarre and wrong), Dedwydd Jones, The Lily and the Dragon (historical fantasy AU, extremely smutty in a dude-bro fantasy way and highly inaccurate).

As for non-fiction, Terry Breverton has a bio of Owen Tudor but I've been warned off it by @beardofkamenev. Mary McGrigor has a joint-biography of Catherine and her oldest sister, Isabelle de Valois, and that's a horrific mess of mistakes, typos, filler, misogyny and an author who gives the impression that she really wanted to write a bunch of historical romances (she basically follows the piechart but includes "James I of Scotland/Catherine = OTP") instead of a study on Catherine. I quite liked how Amy Licence wrote about Catherine in Red Roses: Blanche of Gaunt to Margaret Beaufort, though Licence isn't the best historian around, and the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography entry on Catherine is worth a read Hopefully @beardofkamenev will have more recs for you.

*EDIT: If you haven’t already read them, I  definitely rec @richmond-rex‘s two fics about Owen and Catherine, Caged Birds Still Sing and Heart Harder Than Stone. I also have one about them called The World Anew.

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for. 

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries? 

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex? 

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit. 

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time? 

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate. 

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan. 

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors. 

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent. 

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner. 

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad. 

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief. 

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend? 

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it. 

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest. 

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice. 

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not? 

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes. 

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit. 

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body. 

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy. 

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you. 

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing. 

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun. 

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks. 

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic? 

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off. 

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut. 

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath. 

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed. 

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box. 

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick. 

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia. 

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits. 

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies. 

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire. 

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out. 

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness. 

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said. 

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said. 

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?” 

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips. 

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes. 

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said. 

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser? 

It was impossible. Hopeless.  

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn? 

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release? 

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said. 

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body. 

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro. 

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again. 

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question. 

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said. 

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man. 

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute. 

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall. 

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell. 

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them. 

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands. 

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal. 

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it? 

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent. 

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas. 

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside. 

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with. 

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face. 

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring. 

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered. 

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1

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[mauvecherie-writes]

Does anyone want to give me a trope for Terry Richmond? 🙈👀

I’ll answer the first three someone gives me - I’ll do AU’s as well

[violetmuses]

@mauvecherie-writes 18+ MINORS DNI 👀

Goodness! 😳

FREAKTOBER 04 | terry richmond.

RATING: 18+ NSFW mature. [not my best writing I will admit.]

🎀 FREAKTOBER MASTERLIST 🎀

A loud moan escaped before you could stop it. A deep chuckle came from behind you as he pressed his chest into your back which pushed him deeper into you. His large hand came to your neck and gripped it to turn your head.

“You’ve got to be quiet baby.” Terry spoke into your ear with a teasing tone in his voice. “You don’t want the party to hear you getting fucked, do you?”

“Then stop fucking me so good then.” You whispered back. You felt the smirk on his lips against your cheek before he placed a kiss on it.

“Sorry, I can’t do that.” Terry said. “I have to make sure that I have you coming back for more.” His free hand then came to the lower part of your back and pushed down to arch you forward.

As your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you thought about how dirty this whole situation was. Getting fucked in your brother’s guest bathroom by his new friend.

You didn’t care about the optics of it all as his dick was pushing through your tight pussy and touching spots your past lovers could not reach. Damn it all, all you wanted and needed in that moment was for Terry to keep doing what he was doing.

He groaned against your shoulder, kissing and nipping sat your flushed skin before letting his hand drop from your neck to your chest to cup your exposed breast into his large palm.

From your bent position, you tried your best to push back against his thrusts, squeezing your walls around him each time he pulled his dick out. You smiled at the change of pattern in his breathing as your hips moved in perfect rhythm.

“This pussy is so good, shit.’ He managed to stutter out. You looked back and the intense gaze of his molten grey eyes that drew you in initially sent a shiver down the length of your spine.

“Fuck me harder.” You begged. You held on the forearm of the hand that was on your waist. At the back of your mind, you had began panicking about the time. You knew that you had been gone for close to ten minutes and very soon, your brother was going to be looking for you.

Pure adrenaline was rushing through your veins as Terry drove into your pussy harder and faster. His pounding was infectious and it was making you dizzy from the pleasure.

“Kiss me.” You whimpered and Terry did not need telling twice as he pulled you back, curving your back even further so that you could meet his lips. You moaned into his mouth as you deepened the kiss, your tongue teasing his.

“I”m about to cum.” You whispered as your muscles tightened as your orgasm was close.

“Cum for me, baby.” He whispered against your lips. “Let me feel you drench this dick.” His words didn’t stop as he also felt his climax approaching. As you cunt clenched around him, you crashed your lips into his to muffle your whines as your pussy pulsated around him as you came.

That brought his climax forward.

Terry pulled out of you just in time for him to spill on your ass cheeks.

You stayed still until he moved behind you to grab some tissues and began cleaning up the mess that the both of you had made. Once the top of your dress was back in place, you turned around and Terry placed his hands on either side of you.

“Are you going to give me back my underwear?” You asked as you soothed out the creases of his t-shirt.

“Nah, those are mine now. Need something to remember you by.”

“Stick around and you won’t need a token reminder.”

“Yeah.” He dragged out the word as if he was thinking. “I think I’ll be sticking around a little longer.” He murmured, licking his lips before he reached forward. But just as he was about to kiss you once more, knock came to the bathroom door.

Your breath ceased in your throat.

“Aye Terry! You okay in there?” The voice of your brother came through which forced your eyes shut as you tried to keep still.

“Yeah, I’m alright. I was just taking some time alone. I’ll be out in a minute.” Trey quickly responded.

“Cool. Have you seen my sister? She just disappeared.”

“Um, on my way in I saw her walking somewhere with her phone. It looked pretty urgent.”

“Probably that new guy that has her nose in her phone lately.” Your brother said. You had to bite your lip to stop the laughter that wanted to come out. “See you out there.”

“Aight man. See you out there.”

Once your brother moved away from the door, the laugh that had been trapped within your throat spilled out.

“So, I had you smiling down at your phone huh?” Terry asked with a smirk of confidence on his face which caused you to roll your eyes playfully and you pushed him away by his shoulder.

“You’re not that funny.” You mumbled trying not to boost his ego even further. Losing your control and pulling him into the bathroom at a barbecue was already enough for his pride.

————————————————

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